Calla stood up, staring around at her surroundings. They seemed to have landed somewhere on a misty moor, where night and fog still half-clung to the horizon. Before her stood a pair of tired and rather grumpy looking wizards, one with a large gold watch and the other with a roll of parchment and a quill. They looked like they had tried to dress as Muggles, but had done even worse than Ginny. She was simply unfashionable; they looked completely ridiculous, and Calla couldn't help but gaps between them, one with a tweed suit and knee length galoshes, and the other in a bright kilt and a poncho. She could tell Hermione was trying not to giggle, too.
"Morning, Basil," said Mr Weasley cheerfully. He handed the boot over to the wizard in the kilt and poncho, who threw it into a box behind him filled with loads of other assorted junk; an old newspaper, a very battered football, an empty Coke can. Calla supposed they were some of the other used Portkeys. There were loads of them.
"Hello there, Arthur," the wizard called Basil said wearily. "Not on duty today, eh? Alright for some... we've been here all night... you'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party just about to come in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on a minute and I'll find your campsites... Weasley... Weasley... Eleven of you?" He looked up from his parchment list curiously, glancing around them. "About a quarter of a mile's walk in that direction, Arthur, first field you come to. The manager's called Mr Roberts. Diggory, you're the same way in the second field... Ask for a Mr Payne."
"Thanks, Basil," Mr Weasley said, beckoning the rest of them to follow him over to the campsite.
They all set off across the deserted looking moor, and Calla looked curiously about her. She'd expected more hustle and bustle, the sort of energy that she always felt around Diagon Alley, but she could barely see through the mist anyway and it was so early in the morning. It was almost eerie, to be honest. She felt a very alarming sense of foreboding and her eyes darted to Harry just as her scar prickled. She rubbed it gently, and stuck close to the group.
It took them almost twenty minutes before they came across any semblance of other people; there was a little stone cottage, behind which she could sees the faint outlines of hundreds, no, maybe even thousands of tents, rising against the misted early dawn sky and a dark wood. They bid the Diggory's goodbye as they went over to the stone cottage, Mr Weasley looking very excited at the prospect of interacting with more Muggles. Despite his job, Calla did have to wonder how often he actually spoke to Muggles.
A man, dressed in a perfectly Muggle way, was staring out at the sea of tents, looking a little bit dazed. Calla frowned as they approached. She wondered how exactly they had concealed the presence of so many wizards from the Muggles here. The man turned to them when he heard their footsteps.
"Good morning!" Mr Weasley called cheerfully.
"Morning," the man said back.
"Would you happen to be Mr Roberts?" Mr Weasley asked.
Mr Roberts nodded. "Aye, I would," he said, looking around at them all. "And who would you be?"
"Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago."
"Aye," said Mr Roberts, consulting his list which had been stuck up on the door. It was very long. "You've got a space up near the wood there. Just the one night?"
"That's it," said Mr Weasley.
"You'll be paying upfront then?" Mr Roberts asked, looking at them rather dubiously.
"Ah - right - certainly." Matilda mewed from Calla's arms as Mr Weasley turned back to Harry hopefully. "Just give me a moment."
He wasn't very far out of earshot, but Calla was determined to chat to Mr Roberts. "Had a good Summer then?" she asked him awkwardly. "Been busy?"
"Oh, very," Mr Roberts said, looking out over the site. "Very busy recently, too. People started arriving about two weeks ago - some weird people, you know. Just keep turning up. Don't know what it is."
"Suppose it's this time of year," she said with a shrug, feeling a bit nervous about it. "You always get weird people turning up in the Summer don't you?"
"Not here so much," Mr Roberts said with a frown. "Weird, like. And they all seem to know each other... Dress strange too, all of them..."
"Eh, maybe that is a bit weird," Calla had to admit to him. "People are just like that sometimes. Might be some sort of Scout convention, I know one of the units near me are awfully weird. Go about in costumes for their camps, no idea why."
"Scouts," Mr Roberts mused. "That makes sense...
"At least it'll be good for business, I suppose."
"Oh, yes," Mr Roberts agreed happily. "Very good for business, it is."
"There we are!" Mr Weasley said, beaming as he brandished a collection of bank notes. Harry grinned sideways at Calla.
"You foreign?" Mr Roberts asked him.
"Foreign?" Mr Weasley repeated.
"Only you're not the first to have trouble with money. I had someone try to pay with gold coins the size of hubcaps the other day..."
"Oh, Really?" Mr Weasley said nervously, handing over the money.
"Like I said," Calla interrupted. "Scouts. They can be a bit funny."
"Suppose," Mr Roberts said, rooting around for the change. "I was telling your girl here we've had an awful lot of people showing up recently. Never this crowded, and we've had loads of pre-bookings... Most people just show up... Still, if it's Scouts... Though none of them would say and we're not exactly a hotspot..."
"Is that right?" Mr Weasley said tightly, giving Calla a curious look. She smiled back at him in what she hoped was an assuring manner.
"Yeah... We're getting them from all over I was saying. France, Russia, everywhere. And they're not your everyday tourist either. Some weirdos. Had one guy walking about in a kilt and a poncho, and I can't say I've ever seen any of our Scouts wearing that before."
"Ah," Mr Weasley said nervously. "
"It's weird, like. I dunno, it's like it's some kind of rally. Like a big party, and they all seem to know each other... I suppose... Scouts..."
At that moment, before Calla could speak again, a wizard in plus-fours popped out of nowhere and pointed his wand at Mr Roberts. Calla's eyes widened in surprise as he said sharply, "Obliviate!"
Mr Robert's eyes slid to unfocused, his eyebrows unknitted themselves out of their confusion, and a dreamy sort of look came over his face. Calla stared at it, and then at the wizard who had cast the spell. She was certain that was the spell to modify memories... No, maybe even to get rid of them. That was why poor Mr Roberts had seemed so confused.
"Your map of the campsite for you," said Mr Roberts in a placid way, handing over a piece of paper to Mr Weasley. "And your change."
"Thanks very much," said Mr Weasley.
"It was nice to meet you," Calla said cheerfully to Mr Roberts, who waved them off dazedly.
The wizards who'd shown up to Obliviate Mr Roberts accompanied them to the campsite gate. He did look rather exhausted, Calla thought. His chin was stubbly and grey, and he had very large, heavy-looking purple bags underneath his eyes. Once they'd hurried on out of earshot of Mr Roberts, the wizard said, "Been having an awful lot of trouble with that one, we have. Needs a memory charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman certainly doesn't help, walking about talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his lungs. Doesn't have a whit of care about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is all over. See you later, Arthur."
He Disapparated and Matilda mewed loudly, trying to get out of Calla's hold. "Not yet," she told her quietly. "Wait until we've reached our pitch." Matilda hissed loudly at her and Calla stuck her tongue out in return, receiving a light scratch. "Ow!"
Matilda just held her head up and Calla stared at her, nursing the scratch. She'd entered the toddler years, she decided. That was what Muggle parents liked to call the tantrum years, and Matilda looked very much like she was having a tantrum. "I'll let you down soon," she whispered.
"I thought Mr Bagman was the Head of Magical Games and Sports?" said Ginny, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers and Quaffles in front of Muggles, shouldn't he?"
"He should," Mr Weasley said, smiling. He led them through the gates into the campsite, where they were confronted with that sea of tents, all of them strange and some very distinctly... wizard-y. "But Bagman's always been rather, em, lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic head of the Sports Department, though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know, back in the day. And he was the best Beater that the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."
They trudged on through the mist between the rows and rows of tents. It seemed almost never-ending, and Calla kept staring around at the sights that confronted her. Some looked relatively normal, but with chimneys or weather vanes or bell-pulls, and one that had a narrow chimney shaped like a firework which did indeed, send up sparks every few seconds. But every here and then she saw things so obviously magical that she could hardly believe they hadn't let the secret out completely to Mr Roberts. It was no wonder he was suspicious when the wizards were barely trying to be normal; or possibly, didn't even know how to be. Maybe, she thought as she passed a silk tent that looked like a palatial circus, with peacocks wandering the garden, Muggle Studies should have been a core subject from the start of Hogwarts. Matilda hissed ferociously at the peacocks as they passed.
Only a little further on than that, she saw a tent that may as well have been a castle; it was three stories tall with grand turrets at the corners. And after that was one with a whole garden attached, complete with a sundial and a birdbath. Calla stared at them as she passed.
"Always the same," Mr Weasley chuckled as they passed. "We can never resist the urge to show off whenever we all get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."
They had reached the very edge of the campsite field, near to the dark woods. They looked a little creepy, Calla thought, in this half light. There was an empty space just before them with a sign hammered into the ground that said, 'Weezly'.
"Couldn't have a better spot!" Mr Weasley said cheerfully, though Calla didn't quite agree. She didn't like the look of the woods. They were dark and murky and she thought anything might come out of them from between the trees. "The pitch is just on the other side of the woods there, we're about as close as we could be."
He dropped his backpack down onto the ground, grinning. "Right! No magic allowed here, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. So we'll be putting these tents up by hand!"
He beamed at them, especially Calla, Harry and Hermione. She hoped he didn't expect them to know how to do it, though she was sure he probably did. "Shouldn't be too difficult, these Muggles do it all the time... Here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"
Calla knew fine well that Harry had never pitched a tent before in his life. He shot her a look, and she just shrugged; it wasn't like she knew what to do either. But Hermione pitched in to try and help and she did too, and between them they managed to work out where most of the poles and pegs were meant to go. Mr Weasley tried to help but was really more of a hindrance, babbling excitedly about Muggle genuosity, and got very over excited when it came to using a mallet to hammer in the pegs and erect a pair of shabby-looking two man tents. Calla thought her, Hermione and Ginny could probably fit into one of them, as the other girls were both quite small, and she was rather slim, but there was no way all the boys and Mr Weasley were going to fit into the other one.
She looked at Harry quizzically, as he and Hermione both seemed to have thought of the same problem. How were all of them going to manage to fit in, especially once Bill, Charlie and Percy arrived later on. Mr Weasley, however, dropped to his hands and knees happily and made to crawl inside. "We'll be a little bit cramped all of us," he said. "But I'm sure we'll make do if we squeeze in. Come and have a look."
Harry and the others all went to follow him, so Calla did too, slipping inside. She gasped at the sight. It was... Well... It was bigger on the inside. "Tardis," she whispered between Harry and Hermione, and the two of them nodded, eyes wide.
"Tardis."
The tent was not a normal tent. It was more like a modest, three bedroomed flat, with a complete kitchen and a bathroom. Oddly enough, it was furnished similarly to Mrs Figg's house, which Calla and Harry had visited a few times when they were younger and Remus wasn't able to babysit them, or when the Dursleys wouldn't let him. The cushions on the couch were crocheted in a variety of colours and the whole place smelled rather like cats.
Matilda seemed right at home, and took Calla's loosened grip as permission to hop down and have a look around the place.
"Well, it's not for long," said Mr Weasley, mopping the bald patch on his head. She peered into the nearest bedroom, which had four bunk beds in it, one for each of the boys that were there already. "Old Perkins lent it to me, from the office. He used to go camping a lot but can't anymore, he's got lumbago, poor fellow."
He picked up a dusty, old-looking kettle and peered inside it as though he'd expected it to be already full of boiled water. "We'll need water," he said.
"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," Ron was saying. He, unlike Calla, didn't seem at all surprised by the fact that the tent was bigger on the inside. "It's on the other side of the campsite."
"Well, why don't you, Harry, Calla and Hermione all go and get us some water then?"
He handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans which didn't honestly look like they'd hold a lot of water. Calla frowned at hers and Matilda looked up at it in a sort of mocking way. "The rest of us can get some wood for the fire."
"But we've got an oven," Ron said. "Can't we just-"
"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" Mr Weasley said, his face positively shining with anticipation at the thought of trying to live like a Muggle. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors, I've seen them at it."
"They do," Calla put in, grasping her saucepan. "Matilda."
Her little kitten hissed lightly and followed them out and into the girls' tent, which was similar to the boys' but smaller with only one room for them to share, and without the cat smell. Matilda actually seemed to like it more, curling up next to an armchair. Calla glared at her. "Are you just going to stay here then?"
Matilda purred in reply. She shook her head with a huff. "Fine then. Don't run out anywhere and play with any strangers." Matilda gave her a look. If cats could roll their eyes, Calla was sure that was what she would have been doing.
With a sigh, she left Matilda behind in the tent and the four of them set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans. The makeshift tent city become more solid around the edges as the mist cleared, and it was still massive. "I never really realised how many witches and wizards there are in the world," Harry whispered to Calla, and she nodded with him, still a little stunned. Mr Weasley had said over a hundred thousand people were coming... Even the population of Magical Britain had to be larger than she'd imagined. Daphne had mentioned other wizarding schools last year, not only in the rest of the country but abroad too.
"This is crazy," she whispered back to her either, staring around.
People were beginning to stir from their slumbers in their tents, beginning with families with children. A tiny boy, probably not much older than two, was sitting outside a bright, pyramid shaped, canary yellow tent and holding what Calla thought was a stick but seemed to be an actual a wand, which he poked at a slug with. The slug was swelling up and Calla stared at it, watching as his mother came hurrying out of the tent after him. "How many times, Kevin?" she said exasperatedly. "You - don't - touch - Daddy's - wand - yeuch!"
Kevin's mother had just stepped on the massive slug. Calla winced as it splattered over the grass and the four of them hurried on, her scolding drowned out by Kevin yelling, "You bust slug! You bust slug!"
A short way further on they came across two small witches, probably about the same age as Kevin, who were sitting cheerfully on small toy broomsticks, the tips of their toes just skimming the grass. Calla stared, as the girls chased each other in a circle, bobbing happily in the air. A ministry wizard rushed past them, muttering under his breath. "Parents thought they'd have a lie in I suppose... In broad daylight... Plain view of Muggles..."
Well, Calla thought, it wasn't as though most people her seemed to care about Muggles anyway. They continued on, seeing adult wizards coming out of their tents and starting to cook breakfast. There were some who looked cautiously about them before conjuring fires up, and others who struck matches and held them to wood looking very dubious, as though a method that Muggles always used couldn't possibly work for them. Calla giggled at a pair of wizards who were arguing over how matches were lit, one arguing to use the side of the box and the other insisting that they were to be held up to the sun. She wondered who had actually briefed these people on Muggle behaviour.
"It is meant to be struck against the side of the box," she told them breezily as she passed, and could have sworn Hermione laughed at the expression of the wizards' faces.
"I told you, Babirin! I told you!"
She grinned at a group of middle-aged American witches who were huddled outside their tent, which bore a spangled banner reading Salem Witches Institute and chattering loudly. It occurred to her how much Uncle Vernon would hate that; in addition to generally hating magic, he also didn't like Americans, because he thought they were too loud, obnoxious, and bossy, rather like himself.
Calla could catch bits and pieces of conversation comin from inside tents. There was a bit of French, though she had no idea what was being said, and then what sounded like a Scandinavian language, and then something she didn't recognise at all. But even without knowing what was being said, she could hear and feel the excitement in every voice, that spread between every tent, and it put a considerable bounce in her step. "Watch you don't hit anyone with that saucepan," Hermione warned as Calla skipped ahead of them, beaming.
"Don't be silly," she said, grinning as she tucked the saucepan safely at her side. "See-" She stopped a moment, halting.
"Is it just me," Ron started, "or has everything gone green?"
"No," she said, pointing to a flag hanging high above a tent, "this is the Ireland supporters."
Everywhere around them were shamrocks, not just on the ground but clambering up the side of tents, too. It looked rather odd, but the brightness certainly didn't diminish Calla's mood. She grinned as they went onwards.
"Harry!" a voice called unexpectedly, and she turned. "Ron! Hermione! Calla!"
Seamus Finnigan, who Calla knew to be one of Harry and Ron's dormmates, was waving at them from his own shamrock covered tent. Beside him was a sandy haired woman who Calla assumed to be his mother, and Dean Thomas, who was also the boys' dormmate and Seamus' best friend.
"Like the decorations?" Seamus asked, grinning as the four of them went over to him. "The Ministry's not too happy."
"Well, why shouldn't we show our colours?" asked Seamus' mother, bristling. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents."
"I think the shamrocks are cool," Calla said, grinning at Seamus, who grinned back.
"You'll be supporting Ireland then?"
Calla nodded furiously. "Yeah. Or I am at least."
"We all are," Ron agreed quickly, with a grin, and they moved off. "Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot. You really supporting Ireland, Calla?"
"Of course I am," she said, affronted. "Izzy said she is, so Daphne, Padma and I are all supporting the same."
"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" Hermione asked.
"Let's go see," Harry suggested, pointing just ahead where they could see the red, green and white Bulgarian flag flying above a load of tents.
Unlike to Irish tents, these had not been decked out with any particular forms of plant life, but instead all had the same poster hanging from them of a very handsome, if scowling, young-looking man. "Who's that?" Calla asked, glancing at Hermione, who just raised her eyebrows.
"Krum," Ron said quietly.
The Krum they'd been talking about last night. Calla assumed her must be like their star player.
"What?"
"Krum," said Ron. "Viktor Krum. The Bulgarian Seeker!"
"He looks really grumpy," said Hermione, looking around, and Calla laughed as she looked around them at the many Krums glaring and scowling down at them.
"Really grumpy?" Ron said, looking up at the sky. "Hermione, who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable on the pitch, and he's really young, too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius, just wait until you see him tonight, you'll see."
There was already a small queue forming for the tap at the end of the campsite. They joined on the end, and Calla was promptly startled by someone shrieking her name.
She turned and had only enough time to see Daphne, Isobel, and Padma sprinting towards her before she was almost bowled over. Izzy's ginger hair swung in Calla's face, and Daphne grabbed her either shoulder. "We wondered when we'd see you!" Daphne said, beaming. "Hey, you three," she said quickly to Harry, Ron and Hermione, who grinned back. "When did you get here? We arrived last night, and we've been showing Isobel around everybody we knows' tents."
"They're bigger on the inside," Isobel said, and Calla giggled.
"I know!"
"This is mad," she said in a whisper. "Like, seriously mad. There's so many people, I had no idea there could be that many wizards in the world!"
"We'll jump in with you to get water," Daphne said, darting just behind Calla. "Is that a saucepan?"
"It'll work," Calla said dismissively.
"What's going on there?" Padma whispered with a giggle, pointing to a very old man just in front of them, who was wearing a very flowery nightgown. Another wizard, probably a Ministry wizard, was holding out a pair of trousers to the nightgown man and seemed to be on the verge of tears as he pleaded with him.
"Just put them on, Archie," he begged, "there's a good chap. No, you can't walk around like that, the Muggle on the gate's already getting suspicious..."
"I bought this in a Muggle shop!" Archie said, crossing his arms stubbornly. "Muggles wear them!"
"Muggle women wear them," said the Ministry wizard with an exasperated sigh. "Not the men, they wear these." He brandished the pinstriped trousers in Archie's face.
"I'm not putting them on," said the old wizard indignantly. "I like a healthy breeze about my privates, thanks." Isobel bashed into Calla's shoulder from trying not to laugh. That made her giggle, too, of course, and her shoulders were shaking enough that she accidentally hit Daphne in the shins with the saucepan.
"Calla!"
"Sorry," she said through tears of laughter. Hermione seemed to have completely lost it as well, clutching onto Calla's arm for support. She ended up having to duck out of the queue, looking very pink, and only returned once Archie had gotten his water.
"I suppose that was quite funny?" Padma said uncertainly, and Isobel gave another snort of laughter, which incidentally sent both Calla and Hermione off again. They took a moment to catch their breath and collect themselves before fetching the water, Harry and Ron shaking their heads at them.
"I'll see you later," Calla said, still giggling as the saucepan trembled in her hands. "Enjoy the match!"
They went back considerably slower, now they had the water, and Calla was very nervous about the prospect of spilling it. Every now and then they'd come across a familiar face, such as Zacharies Smith and Justin Finch-Fletchley, whom the others didn't seem to like much, but Calla chatted away to, and Oliver Wood, who had been the Gryffindor Quidditch Team Captain and dragged Harry off to meet his parents, telling the four of them all about how he'd just been signed to the reserve team for Puddlemere United. They came across Ernie MacMillan a little bit later, as he was heading back to meet with Zach and Justin, and then met Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw in the year above them. Calla chatted to her for a while, and grinned at the look on Harry's face - she knew he fancied Cho. He then spilled water down his front and Calla had to try very hard to keep herself from laughing, as they hurried away and Calla pointed out a large huddle of teenagers who she didn't recognise.
"I don't suppose they go to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, pointing at them.
"Nah," Ron said. "S'pect they go to some foreign school. Bill used to have a pen pal at a school in Brazil, they got along really well until he said he couldn't go on the exchange trip, and his pen pal got all upset about it and he sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears get all shrivelled up."
Harry was still looking rather amazed by this information and Calla grinned. She was still getting her head around the sheer scale of the Wizarding World, how it managed to be hidden away despite being so expansive. She wondered if any Muggles did know, if any of the government did. Uncle Vernon would hate that, she was sure. Wizards in government, what next?
She giggled as they continued on, finally arriving at the Weasleys' tents. "You took your time," George said to them.
"Met a few people," Ron said, setting the kettle down on the ground. Calla followed suit, and ducked into the girls' tent to call Matilda out.
"Dad's having fun with the matches," Fred said, as Matilda scampered out the tent and jumped up to sit on his knees. He stared at her, and Calla grinned, trying not to laugh.
She glanced over to Mr Weasley then, who was clearly not having a whole lot of success at lighting the fire without magic. There was a whole collection of splintered matches in the grass around him, but the fire wasn't lit at all. He didn't seem to care about though; in fact he seemed to be finding it an immensely enjoyable experience.
"Oops!" he said, finally lighting a match and then promptly dropping it in his excitement. Matilda let out a mew of disapproval and hopped off of Fred to stand at Calla's feet, staring up at her.
"I'll get that for you, Mr Weasley," Hermione offered kindly, as Calla sat down next to Matilda, who crept onto her stomach and then wouldn't let her up. Calla sighed, but resigned herself to her fate as a cat-stand.
It took a long while for Mr Weasley and Hermione to get the fire going, but Calla didn't mind. The boys kept her entertained with their chatter, and she enjoyed watching all the Ministry wizards rushing about near their tent, which seemed to be near some sort of thoroughfare. Mr Weasley commentated for Calla, Harry and Hermione, letting them know who everyone was and what they did. The other Weasleys didn't seem to care much, already knowing most of this, and Ginny, Fred and George ended up in a fascinating game of Exploding Snap, which Calla watched in between sketching one of the tents nearest them, which was canary yellow and lime green and had a large tree sticking out the middle of it where there should have been a pole holding the thing up.
They'd managed to get the fire hot enough to start cooking sausages and eggs on it when Percy, Bill and Charlie Weasley strolled out of the forest, all of them smiling. "Just Apparated, Dad," said Percy loudly, and Calla caught Fred rolling his eyes, catching her gaze with a wink. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"
Calla managed to pry a very annoyed Matilda off of her so she could take her plate from Mr Weasley, who seemed immensely proud of the work he'd done cooking 'the Muggle way'. They were halfway through eating their sausages and eggs when Mr Weasley sat up straighter, waving and grinning at a man who was striding through the tents towards them.
"Ah, Ludo!" he called with a grin. "The man of the moment!"
Ludo Bagman had definitely not made any attempt to look like a Muggle; he was the most noticeable person Calla had seen so far, including old Archie in his flowery nightgown. He was wearing what Calla thought looked like old Quidditch robes, in bright yellow and black. At first she thought it was meant to be Hufflepuff colours, except with the wrong shade of yellow, before she saw the massive emblem of a wasp that was splashed across the front of her robes. His nose also looked like it had been broken multiple times, and Calla frowned at it. It didn't look very comfortable, but then again she'd never had her nose broken and she supposed one would get used to it. She got used to her scars; well, mostly used to them, anyway.
"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily, striding over to them. Striding perhaps wasn't a strong enough word; he was pretty much bouncing, like he had springs attached to the soles of his feet, and he was beaming with his whole face, looking altogether like he'd never been more excited in his life. His excitement was rather infectious, too. Calla found herself grinning.
"Arthur, old man," Bagman puffed as he reached their campfire. "Good to see you, good to see you. What a day, eh? What a day. Could we have asked for more perfect conditions for it? There's a cloudless night coming... and not a hiccough in the arrangements... why, there's nothing really for me to do!"
Just behind him, a group of Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing to somewhere in the furnace where violet sparks were being sent up from a fire twenty feet in the air. Percy hurried forward to Bagman, hand outstretched eagerly. Apparently his disapproval of Bagman which he'd voiced the day before didn't stop him from trying to suck up to him, Calla noted. Matilda looked like she was trying to roll her eyes again.
"Ah - yes," said Mr Weasley with a grin. "That's my son, Percy, he's just started at the Ministry. And this is Fred - no, George, sorry - that's Fred, Bill, Charlie, Ron, there's my daughter, Ginny, and then Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Harry and Calla Potter."
Bagman did a bit of a double take then when he heard their names, and his eyes did that familiar flick between their foreheads. Calla shifted uncomfortable and Matilda took the moment to try and push her down so that she could stand on her stomach again, meaning Calla had to snatch her plate out of her way. She waved at Bagman awkwardly around her cat.
"Everyone," Mr Weasley continued, "this is Ludo Bagman. You know who he is, it's thanks to him that we've gotten such good tickets."
Bagman smiled and waved his hand as though it had all been nothing. "Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" Bagman asked eagerly, jingling what appeared to be an enormous amount of gold in his pocket. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first - I've given him nice odds on that, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years - and old Agatha Times has put up half shares on her eel farm for a week long match."
"Oh, go on, then," Mr Weasley said. "Just this once. Let's see... A galleon on Ireland to win?"
"A galleon?" Bagman looked rather disappointed, but recovered cheerfully. "Very well. Any other takers?"
Calla was very confident that Ireland were going to win, but she also remembered Ron saying that there would be a souvenirs stall and she wanted to keep her money for that. But when Fred and George stepped forward, she whispered, "Ireland'll win," and they grinned at her.
"There we go then," George said. "An endorsement. Let's see, we've got thirty seven galleons, fifteen sickles and three knuts. For Ireland to win," he nodded to Calla, "and Krum to get the Snitch."
"Now, boys, you're a little young-"
"Oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand," Fred added with a grin. Calla really hoped she was right and Ireland won - and now, that Krum got the Snitch, too.
"You don't want to go showing Mr Bagman rubbish like that," Percy hissed at the twins, but Bagman was looking rather intrigued by the idea of Fred and George's fake wands. More than that even, his face shone with boyish enthusiasm as he took the wand from Fred, and beamed as it gave a loud squawk and turned abruptly into a rubber chicken. He let out a howl of laughter and Calla grinned.
"Excellent! I haven't seen one as convincing as that for years! I'd pay you five galleons for that!"
Percy's mouth had fallen open, stunned, and Calla was grinning at the twins. They might not work hard in school, but she was beginning to see that they were bloody geniuses when they put their minds to something.
"Boys," Mr Weasley said quietly. "I don't want you betting - that's all your savings... Your mother..."
"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" Ludo Bagman boomed, jingling the gold in his pocket. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland'll win but Krum'll catch the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance... I'll give you excellent odds for that one... And we'll throw in five galleons for the funny wand, shall we..."
Mr Weasley looked on helplessly as Bagman whipped out a notebook and jotted the bet details down, noting the twins' names.
"Cheers," said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman had given him and putting it away carefully
Bagman turned cheerfully back to Mr Weasley. "You couldn't do me a brew, could you Arthur? I'm waiting on Barty Crouch..."
"What do you think?" Harry whispered. "Ireland to win but Krum to catch the Snitch?"
"It's foggy," she replied quietly. "But I've got a good feeling. You, however," she said sternly, "aren't betting."
"What? But I could-"
"Don't you want to save your money for souvenirs?" she pointed out, and Harry shut his mouth.
"Alright, yeah, I guess."
"Mr Crouch?" Percy said excitedly, looking like he was about to start jumping and down with excitement at the mention of his boss. "Oh, he speaks well over two hundred languages! Mermish and gobbeldegook and troll!"
"Anyone can speak troll," Fred muttered. "It's just a load of pointing and grunting, isn't it?"
Percy looked at Fred nastily, the tops of his ears going a little pink, and he stoked the fire a bit more aggressively than was necessary.
"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr Weasley asked as Bagman settled himself down on the grass.
"Not a dicky bird," he said, quite comfortably. Calla frowned at him; she'd been missing over a month now, after all. "But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha, memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office sometime in October thinking it's still July."
"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Mr Weasley asked tentatively as Percy handed Bagman his tea.
"Barty Crouch keeps saying that," Bagman said, eyes widening in innocence, which Calla also thought a bit fishy. "But we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Ah, speak of the Devil! Barty!"
A wizard had just apparated by the fire who couldn't have looked more different to Ludo Bagman if he tried. He looked rather stiff and upright, an elderly man in a crisp grey suit and tie. His hair was parted perfectly, almost too straightly, and even his teeth seemed perfectly straight, his shoes polished to a high shine. He looked exactly like the sort of boring person Percy would idolise; he even, she thought hesitantly, looked like someone Uncle Vernon wouldn't hate talking to. That was how dull he looked. Either he'd taken the rule about Muggle dressing very seriously - though Calla wanted to point out no one would wear a suit like that on a camping trip - or he really was an incredibly dull person. Maybe both.
"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," said Bagman brightly, and he patted the patch of grass beside him.
"No," said Mr Crouch crisply, with a touch of impatience. "Thank you, Ludo. I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the top box."
"Oh, is that what they're after?" Bagman said, eyes widening in realisation. "I thought the chap was asking for a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."
"Mr Crouch!" Percy said breathlessly. Calla looked at him, torn between amusement and concern, as he sunk into a low sort of half bow. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Oh, yes, thank you, Weatherby," said Mr Crouch distractedly. Fred spluttered, trying to hold in a laugh.
Percy's ears went all pink again as he fussed with the kettle, and Matilda decided to move and curl up by Calla's side so she could better watch what was going on.
"Oh, and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," said Mr Crouch crisply. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath again, he wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."
Mr Weasley sighed. "I sent him an owl about this just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a thousand times. Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artefact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but does he listen?" Calla thought that was a bit odd, because she was sure wizards had to have carpets too.
"I doubt it," Mr Crouch said, taking his tea from Percy. "He's desperate to export here."
"Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" Bagman said contentedly.
"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," Mr Crouch said, and Calla thought immediately not of flying carpets but of Mr Weasley's flying car - though she of course didn't mention this. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve - but that was before they were banned, of course."
The way he spoke was as if he wanted to leave no room for anyone to think any member of his family might have ever done anything less than legal. "So, been keeping busy, Barty?" Bagman breezed.
"Fairly," said Mr Crouch drily. "Organising Portkey across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo."
"I'll expect you'll both be glad when this is over with," said Mr Weasley mildly.
Ludo Bagman looked utterly shocked by this suggestion. "Glad! Why, I don't know when I've ever had more fun, Arthur! Still, it's not as though we don't have anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty to organise, eh?"
Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman in a cautioning sort of way. "We have agreed not to make the announcement until we have all the details..."
"They're at Hogwarts!" Bagman said. "They'll find out soon enough anyway! And they've signed, haven't they? They've agreed?"
Calla was leaking forward very curiously, waiting for Bagman to let this secret slip, but Crouch caught her and pursed his lips. "We do need to speak to those Bulgarians," he told him. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."
He pushed his still full cup of tea back towards a flushing Percy, and gestured for Bagman to stand up. Bagman struggled to his feet, but beamed around at them all as he took a last swig of the rest of his tea, jangling the money in his pocket.
"See you all later!" he called cheerfully. "You'll be in the Top Box with me - I'm commentating!" He waved, Barty Crouch nodded sharply, and then they both turned around and Disapparated.
"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" Fred asked at once. "What are they talking about?"
"Does it have anything to do with dragons?" Calla asked innocently, and Charlie stared at her like he wasn't sure if she was joking. She laughed in response even though she wasn't. "I'm kidding," she lied.
"You'll all find out soon enough," Mr Weasley said with a smile.
"It's classified information until such time as the Ministry chooses to disclose it," said Percy loftily. "Mr Crouch was quite right not to tell you anything."
"Stick it, Weatherby," Fred retorted, and Percy went very pink again.
The afternoon wore on as the atmosphere of excitement rose all around them. It seemed every Wizarding family in Britain and Ireland must have shown up; at one point Calla saw Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini go by, and then Marietta Edgecombe of the year above, and Luna Lovegood seemed to dance past them at one point, waving dreamily at Calla and Ginny before she skipped on, saying something about an Erumpent. By the time the sun was setting, Calla was sure she could feel the excitement in the air. It was like the world and nature itself was excited for the match, and even Matilda looked excited as she scampered around their patch of the campsite - though that might have had more to do with the young Canadian witches in the tent two down from them who kept petting her and teasing her with yarn and little red dots cast from their wands.
The Ministry seemed to have given up on stopping the blatant displays of magic all around them; someone set off scarlet fireworks a few tents from them, and now salesmen were beginning to pop up everywhere, advertising their souvenirs. "Been saving my money all year for this," Ron said excitedly as the four of them set off amongst the throng of people
Some advertised luminous rosettes - bright green for Ireland and scarlet for Bulgaria - which lit up and squealed the names of their team's players, pointed green hats covered in shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves with lions that roared at passers-by, flags from both countries which played their national anthems when they were waved, and models of Firebolts and various players, which really flew and ran, and one of the Irish players' models swore at Calla when she stared at it.
Calla got herself one of the bright Irish rosettes - "Troy! Mullet! Moran!" it squealed - and a massive shamrock hat which half fell over her eyes, so she had to keep pushing it up. She got a model of one of the Irish players too, Mullet, the one whose model had sworn at her, because she thought it was funny and it would annoy Lisa Turpin if she brought it back to Hogwarts. They had leprechaun models too, which she liked, but they were just a bit too annoying for her, and Harry distracted their attentions anyway, pulling Calla over to a tray that had been stacked with weird brass binoculars, covered in a whole load of strange knobs and dials.
"Omnioculars," said the sales wizard carrying it proudly. "You can speed up action... slow it down... replay the action... and it can flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you want it. Bargain. Ten galleons a pop."
"Wish I hadn't bought these now," Ron said gloomily, gesturing to his shamrock hat and rosette.
"We'll take four pairs," Harry said immediately.
"No, don't bother," Ron said, the tips of his ears going red. Calla knew he didn't like it when Harry bought him things he couldn't afford; but her brother also wouldn't let his best friend miss out.
"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry said, thrusting Omnioculars into his and Hermione's hands, and then handing another pair to Calla, who gave him a look. But he wouldn't give it up, and she took them with a fond roll of the eyes. "For about ten years, mind."
"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.
"I'll get the programmes," Calla said quickly, fishing around for the money in her bag. The programmes flashed between bright green and red, and the players on the front swooped around the edges on their brooms. She distributed the programmes, and then spotted miniature shamrock hats which were intended for children but which she thought would be cute on Matilda, if she wanted to wear it.
"Maybe I should get one for Crookshanks," Hermione said excitedly.
"He didn't seem to like the Christmas tinsel so much," Calla reminded her with a grin. "Maybe not."
Hermione pouted. "Maybe not."
Still, they all went away with their money bags considerably lighter. Calla went about settling the small shamrock hat on Matilda's head. She seemed to like it, and paraded in front of everyone, wearing the hat proudly. Bill, Charlie and Ginny were all proudly wearing green Irish rosettes, too, and Mr Weasley was brandishing an Irish flag proudly.
And then a deep, booming gong rang through the campsite from beyond the woods, and at once it sprung to life, green and red both rising from the tents. "It's time!" Mr Weasley said, looking around at them excitedly. Everyone was beaming back at him, and Calla felt like skipping the whole way to the match. "Come on, let's go! Calla, I'm not sure Matilda will like the noise of the match."
He had a point. Calla looked at Matilda, who licked her hand before padding into the tent. "Stay here," she told her gently.
Matilda didn't look like she needed to be told twice. She curled up on the sofa and bobbed her head in Calla's direction. Calla ducked out, shutting the tent flaps securely so that she wouldn't run out, and then she turned to the others, giddy with excitement. "Come on," she said, beaming. "To the match!"
