I sort of took a two-week break in the middle of writing this chapter so I got completely lost when I returned to it! Anyway, I hope it turned out fine. Please rate and review!

Chapter 6

Bagman and Crouch

"Thanks," Rachel said to Zaine, who let go of her arm.

They were on what seemed to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards. One held a large golden watch and was dressed in a tweed suit with high-length galoshes; his colleague, who held a thick roll of parchment and a quill, wore a kilt and a poncho. Rachel thought they had attempted to look like Muggles, but they didn't do well.

"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard. The kilted wizard threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him. When Rachel peered inside, she saw an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.

"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some… we've been here all night… you'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite… Weasley… Weasley…" He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory… second field… ask for Mr. Payne.

"Thanks, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, beckoning for everyone to follow him.

Rachel set off with the others across the deserted moor. She could barely see through the mist, but after about twenty minutes, she could see a small stone cottage next to a gate, and beyond it, she could barely see the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents. They said goodbye to the Diggorys and the Shaws and approached the cottage door.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents, and Rachel had the sudden feeling that this was the only real Muggle at the campsite. When he heard them approaching, he turned his head to look at them.

"Morning!" said Mr. Weasley brightly.

"Morning," said the Muggle.

"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"

"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "And who're you?"

"Weasley—two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," said Mr. Roberts, looking at a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," said Mr. Weasley.

"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.

"Ah—right—certainly—" said Mr. Weasley, retreating a short distance from the cottage and beckoning Harry and Lukas towards him. Rachel grinned and turned to Ron to talk about the World Cup, now wide awake.

A minute later, Mr. Weasley returned with the correct notes.

"You foreign?" said Mr. Roberts.

"Foreign?" repeated Mr. Weasley, sounding puzzled.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts, scrutinising Mr. Weasley closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley nervously.

Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.

"Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking toward the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up…"

"Is that right?" said Mr. Weasley, his hand held out for his change. Mr. Roberts ignored Mr. Weasley's hand.

"Aye," he said thoughtfully. "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking round in a kilt and a poncho."

"Shouldn't he?" said Mr. Weasley anxiously.

"It's like some sort of… I dunno… like some sort of rally," said Mr. Roberts. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

Out of nowhere, a wizard in plus-fours appeared next to Mr. Roberts' front door.

"Obliviate!" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.

Mr. Roberts' eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Rachel didn't like the sight of it and took a step back as Mr. Roberts' memory was modified.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said placidly to Mr. Weasley. "And your change."

"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied them towards the gate to the campsite. Rachel noticed that he looked exhausted. His chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered to Mr. Weasley, "Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur."

He Disapparated.

"I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports? Said Ginny, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

"He should," said Mr. Weasley. He led them through the gates into the campsite. "But Ludo's always been a bit… well… 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. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

The walked up the misty field between long rows of tents. Some looked almost ordinary, obviously trying to be like Muggle-tents, but they had chimneys, or bell-pulls, or weather vanes. Every now and then, they passed a tent that looked very obviously magical; an extravagant confection of stiped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance; further on, there was one with three floors and several turrets; a short way beyond that, a tent with a front garden, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

"Always the same," smiled Mr. Weasley, "we can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."

They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, where there was an empty space. A small sign was hammered into the ground that read 'Weezly'.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr. Weasley happily. "The pitch is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult… Muggles do it all the time… here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"

Harry seemed clueless on how to set up a tent, but Rachel and Lukas, who had gone camping many times before, quickly jumped in to help. Without too much difficulty, they managed to erect two shabby two-man tents. Mr. Weasley got thoroughly over-excited when it came to using the mallet.

Rachel and Lukas stood back when they were done, admiring their handiwork. The tents looked like ordinary Muggle tents, and with that Rachel saw a different problem; how would they all fit into them, especially when Bill, Charlie, and Percy arrived?

Mr. Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent.

"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

Rachel ducked down under the tent flap and entered the tent, which made her eyes widen. It looked like she had walked into a three-roomed flat, with a bathroom and a kitchen. There were crocheted covers on various mismatched chairs, and there was a strong smell of cats.

"Well, it's not for long," said Mr. Weasley, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the five bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. Harry entered behind Rachel, and he, too, looked shocked at the inside of the tent. Mr. Weasley continued, "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much any more, poor fellow, he's got lumbago."

He picked up the dusty kettle in the kitchen and peered inside it. "We'll need water."

"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron, who had followed Harry inside the tent, seeming completely unimpressed by its inner proportions. "It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, Harry, Hermione, Rachel, and Lukas go and get us some water, then—" Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans, "—and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire."

"But we've got an oven," said Ron, "why can't we just-?"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" said Mr. Weasley, his face shining with anticipation. "When real muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors, I've seen them at it!"

After a quick tour of the girls' tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys' and didn't reek of cats (Rachel was pleased with this), Harry, Ron, Hermione, Rachel, and Lukas set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.

Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, Rachel could see all the tents on the field. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. Rachel had never seen this many witches and wizards together.

The other campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slowly-swelling slug in the grass. It was nearly to the size of a salami. As they drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.

"How many times, Kevin? You don't—touch—Daddy's—wand—yeuch!"

She had stepped on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after them in the still air and mingled with the little boy's yells—"You bust slug! You bust slug!"

A short way further on, they saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks which rose only high enough for the girls' toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard was already hurrying toward them, muttering distractedly, "In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose—"

Here and there, Rachel saw adult wizards and witches emerging from their tents, starting to cook breakfast. Some conjured fires with their wands after making sure nobody could see them; others were striking matches, looking as though they hardly believed it would work. Three African wizards sat together wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire. A group of middle-aged American witches sat happily beneath a banner that was stretched between their tents, reading The Salem Witches' Institute.

"Er—is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" said Ron.

"I don't think it's your eyes," mumbled Rachel.

They were walking among tents that were covered with a thick growth of shamrocks. They looked like oddly shaped hillocks that had sprouted out of the earth. From behind them, they heard their names.

"Harry! Ron! Lukas! Rachel! Hermione!"

Rachel turned around; Seamus Finnigan, their fellow Gryffindor fourth-year was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman that Rachel guessed was his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.

"Like the decorations?" said Seamus, grinning, when they had gone over to say hello. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colours?" said Mrs. Finnigan. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing Harry, Ron, Lukas, Rachel, and Hermione with beady eyes.

They assured Mrs. Finnigan that they were indeed supporting Ireland and set off again.

"Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot," Lukas said.

"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" said Hermione.

"Let's go and have a look," said Rachel, looking across the field. She saw a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag was fluttering in the breeze.

The Bulgarians hadn't decked their tents with plant life, but they all had the same poster attached to it, a very surly but attractive face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture moved, but it only blinked and scowled.

"Krum," said Ron quietly.

"What?" said Hermione and Rachel.

"Krum!" Ron repeated. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"

"He looks really grumpy," said Hermione, looking around at the pictures.

"'Really grumpy'?" said Ron with disbelief. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young, too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius, you wait until tonight, you'll see."

There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. The five of them joined the queue, standing behind a pair of men that seemed to be having a heated argument. One of the wizards, clearly a Ministry wizard, was almost crying with exasperation as he held out a pair of pinstriped trousers to the other wizard, who was very old and wore a long flowery nightgown.

"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap, you can't walk around like that, the Muggle on the gate's already getting suspicious—"

"I bought this in a Muggle shop," said the old wizard stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."

Rachel and Hermione snorted.

"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry wizard, brandishing the pinstriped trousers.

"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze round my privates, thanks."

Rachel and Hermione got a very strong fit of the giggles and ducked out of the queue, returning only after Archie had collected his water and had left.

They walked back slowly, careful not to spill any of the water. Here and there, Rachel saw familiar faces emerge from tents, including Oliver Wood, the old Gryffindor Quidditch Captain; Ernie Macmillan, a fourth year Hufflepuff; and Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who was the Seeker of the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who spilled water all over his front as he waved back. Rachel, Ron, and Lukas smirked, and Harry was very fast to point at a group of teenagers.

"Who d'you reckon they are?" Harry said. "they don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"

"'Spect they go to some foreign school," said Ron. "I know there are others, never met anyone who went to one though. Bill had a pen-friend at a school in Brazil… this was years and years ago… and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His pen-friend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."

Rachel laughed. She remembered what Jordan had told her of Ilvermorny and wondered how different all the other schools were.

"You've been ages," said George, when they finally got back to the Weasleys' tents.

"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You got that fire started yet?"

"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred.

Mr. Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the ground around him, and he looked thoroughly amused.

"Oops!" he said, as he lit a match, promptly dropping it in surprise.

"Come here, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione kindly, taking the box from him, and starting to show him how to do it properly.

At last, they got the fire lit, though it took at least another hour until it was hot enough to cook anything. While they waited, Mr. Weasley pointed out Ministry members that kept hurrying up and down what Rachel guessed was a thoroughfare to the pitch. Harry, Hermione, Rachel, and Lukas listened with interest.

"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office… here comes Gilbert Wimple, he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms, he's had those horns for a while now… Hello, Arnie… Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator—member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know… and that's Bode and Croaker… they're Unspeakables…"

"They're what?" said Rachel.

"From the Department of Mysteries, top-secret, no idea what they get up to…"

At last, the fire was ready, and just as Rachel and Hermione started helping Mr. Weasley cook the eggs and sausages, Bill, Charlie, and Percy strolled out of the woods towards them.

"Just Apparated, Dad," said Percy loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"

They were halfway through their plates of sausages and eggs when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward them. "Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Rachel looked around at Ludo Bagman. He worse long Quidditch robes in horizontal strips of bright yellow and black, and an enormous picture of a wasp was stitched onto the front. He had a large belly, a squashed nose, and round blue eyes, short blond hair, and a rosy complexion.

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He walked toward them with an excited sort of bounce.

"Arthur, old man," he puffed, as he reached the campfire, "what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming… and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements… not much for me to do!"

Behind Bagman, a group of Ministry wizards rushed past and toward some sort of magical fire which was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

Percy hastily shook his hand, trying to make a good impression.

"Ah—yes," said Mr. Weasley, grinning, "this is my son, Percy, he's just started at the Ministry—and this is Fred—no, George, sorry—that's Fred—Bill, Charlie, Ron—my daughter, Ginny—and Ron's friends, Lukas Haney, Rachel Haney, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter."

Bagman did a very small double-take at Harry.

"Everyone," Mr. Weasley continued, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets—"

Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing.

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" he said eagerly, jingling the pockets of his yellow and black robes, which were filled with gold. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first—I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years—and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match."

"Oh… go on, then," said Mr. Weasley. "Let's see… a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon?" Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well… any other takers?"

"They're a bit young to be gambling," said Mr. Weasley. "Molly wouldn't like—"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, Fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," said Fred, as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "that Ireland will win—but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand."

"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that—" Percy hissed, but Bagman's face shone with excitement as he took the fake wand from Fred, and laughed loudly when it turned into a rubber chicken.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval. His face made Rachel snicker.

"Boys," said Mr. Weasley under his breath, "I don't want you betting, that's all your savings… your mother—"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" boomed Ludo Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance… I'll give you excellent odds on that one… we'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we…"

Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.

"Cheers," said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away carefully.

Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr. Weasley. "Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages."

"Mr. Crouch?" said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. "He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll…"

"Anyone can speak Troll," said Fred dismissively, "all you have to do is point and grunt."

Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look, and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil.

"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asked, as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside them all.

"Not a dicky bird," said Bagman comfortably. "But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha… memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word of it. She'll wander back into the office some time in October, thinking it's still July."

"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Mr. Weasley suggested tentatively, as Percy handed Bagman his tea.

"Barty Crouch keeps saying that," said Bagman, his round eyes widening innocently, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh—talk of the devil! Barty!"

Rachel turned around, for a wizard had just Apparated at their fireside. Barty Crouch, a stiff, upright, elderly man, was dressed in a crisp suit and tie, a strong contrast of Ludo Bagman. His short grey hair was almost unnaturally straight and his toothbrush moustache was very narrow. His shoes were very polished. If Rachel had seen him walking down her street, she'd never have guessed that he was a wizard.

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," said Ludo brightly, patting the ground beside him.

"No, thank you, Ludo," said Crouch, and Rachel thought she heard a bite of impatience in his voice. "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?" said Bagman. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."

"Mr. Crouch!" said Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half bow. Rachel thought he looked like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Oh," said Mr. Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes—thank you, Weatherby."

Fred, George, and Lukas choked into their own cups. Percy's ears turned pink and he busied himself with the kettle.

"Oh, and I've been wanting a word with you, too, Arthur," said Mr. Crouch, his sharp eyes falling upon Mr. Weasley. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."

Mr. Weasley heaved a deep sigh. "I set him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: carpets are defined as a Muggle Artefact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"

"I doubt it," said Mr. Crouch, accepting a cup from Percy. "He's desperate to export here."

"Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" said Bagman.

"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," said Mr. Crouch. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve—but that was before carpets were banned, of course."

"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" said Bagman breezily.

"Fairly," said Mr. Crouch drily. "Organising Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo."

"I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?" said Mr. Weasley.

Ludo Bagman looked shocked. "Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun … still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organise, eh?"

Mr. Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman. "We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details—"

"Oh, details!" said Bagman, waving the word away. "They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts—"

"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," said Mr. Crouch sharply, cutting Bagman's remarks short. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."

He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet again, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily.

"See you all later!" he said. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me – I'm commentating!" He waved, Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated.

"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" said Fred at once. "What were they talking about?"

"You'll find out soon enough," said Mr. Weasley, smiling.

"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," said Percy stiffly. "Mr. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."

"Oh, shut up, Weatherby," said Fred.

Rachel got more excited as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air felt like it was quivering with anticipation. By darkness, the Ministry seemed to have given up on trying to fight the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.

Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes—green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria—which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats completely covered with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries which played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts, which really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," said Ron, as he, Harry, Hermione, Rachel, and Lukas strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Rachel bought a dancing shamrock hat and a green scarf with the names of the Ireland team players stitched on. She found the miniature figure of Viktor Krum that Ron had bought very amusing, watching it scowl at the green rosette Ron wore.

"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, covered in all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action… slow everything down… and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain—ten Galleons each.

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.

"Five pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.

"Harry!" gasped Rachel. "You shouldn't!"

"No—don't bother," said Ron, going red.

"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," said Harry, thrusting Omnioculars into Ron's, Hermione's, Rachel's, and Lukas' hands. "For about ten years, mind."

"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.

"Oooh, thanks, Harry," said Hermione. "And I'll get us some programmes, look—"

They went back to the tents with their money bags considerably lighter. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs for they had no gold.

And then a deep, booming going sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and, at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the pitch.

"It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking very excited. "Come on, let's go!"