Dudley disentangled himself from Ron and got to his feet. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.
"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Dudley could see 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, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.
They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Dudley could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. They said good-bye to the Diggory's and approached the cottage door.
A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Dudley knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.
"Morning!" said Mr. Weasley brightly.
"I never knew there'd be so manu people here," Dudley said, glancing around while Hermione went with Mr. Weasley to help sort out the muggle money.
"Yeah, dad says the stadium holds 100,000," Fred said. "Wizards from all over the world come here."
Dudley had never thought about how many witches and wizards there actually were. He knew that there was a large Minstry of Magic with multiple levels and many departments, so he figured there must be quite a lot.
Dudley was just about to ask Fred this when a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door.
"Obliviate!" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.
Instantly, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a took of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Dudley has used the memory charm many times under instruction of Gilderoy Lockhart, so he recognised the symptoms of someone having their memory modified pretty well.
"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 toward the gate to the campsite. 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, smiling, and leading 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."
Dudley recognised the name as being the one who had secured them tickets for the World Cup, and he vaguely remembered Lockhart mentioning him too.
"Lockhart knows him, I think," Dudley said to Mr. Weasley. "He said something about Bagman been someone who migth take over from Fudge."
Mr. Weasley smiled. "I don't think Fudge is going anywhere, despite what Gilderoy thinks. He's had a tough run, but he has many loyalists in the Ministry."
They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Harry could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.
"Always the same," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "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, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read WEEZLY.
"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr. Weasley happily. "The field 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, Dudley, where do you reckon we should start?"
Although Dudley had gone on vacation with his parents a lot, he had never been camping. They usually stopped in hotels, though there was one memorable occasion when they had rented caravan and Dudley had accidentally flooded the toilet. Petunia had spent the Saturday morning with a scented rag over her nose as she cleaned up the mess. On the same holiday, Dudley recalled, Vernon had fell into the pond while fishing. It had been the last time they went to the countryside.
Dean however, it seemed, had gone camping a few times. His uncle was a keen outdoorsman and hiker and had took him a few times. Between them, Hermione and Dean managed to figure out where the poles went, and though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, because he got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, they finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.
Dudley stayed out of the way, talking to Fred and George who told them all about Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and their plan to open a joke shop. Dudley thought it seemed a cool idea. The twins were the biggest troublemakers in Hogwarts, and Dudley could think of noone better suited to design pranks and jokes.
"How are we all gonna fit?" Dudley asked, staring at the tents. Once Bill, Charlie and Percy arrive, there would be a party of 12.
"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."
Dudley bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt his jaw drop. He had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and 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 four bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago."
He picked up the dusty kettle 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 Dudley inside the tent and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions. "It's on the other side of the field."
"Well, why don't you, Harry, and Hermione 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', though without the smell of cats, Dudley, Dean, Ron, and Hermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.
Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. "This is so cool," Dean whispered. "I had no idea there'd be so many."
Their fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; Dudley had never seen witches and wizards this young before. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly 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 - yecchh!"
She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells "You bust slug! You bust slug!"
A short way farther on, they saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls' toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Dudley, Dean, Ron, and Hermione he muttered distractedly, "In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose -"
Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn't work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents that read: THE SALEM WITCHES' INSTITUTE. Harry caught snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents they passed, and though he couldn't understand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited.
"Er - is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" said Ron.
It wasn't just Ron's eyes. They had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, they heard someone speak.
"So, you have come too."
They turned around, it was Seamus Finnigan. Dean and him got along ok, but Dudley had never liked Seamus. There was just something about that annoyed Dudley. Dudley had even beaten him up before.
"Hey, Seamus," Dean greeted. Ron and Hermione greeted him too. Dudley just gave a stiff nod.
"You must be Seamus' classmates," a voice said. A sandy haired woman had stepped out of the nearest tent. Dudley guessed she was Seamus' mother.
"This is Dean, Hermione, Ron and Dudley," Seamus said.
At the mention of Dudley's name, Mrs. Finnigan stiffened.
"Seamus has mentioned you," she said coldly. "And let me tell you this, if you dare to lay a hand on my boy again, it'll be the last thing you ever do."
"Mam, leave it," Seamus said, looking embarassed.
Dudley glared at Mrs. Finnigan. He understood why she didn't like him, but he still didn't like being spoken too like that.
"You may have a good reputation in the wizarding world, Dursley, but I know what you're really like. You're nothing but a bully, and one day, everyone else will realise that too." Mrs. Finnigan said.
Before Dudley could reply, Hermione stepped forward.
"Mrs. Finnigan, Dudley may have been a bully in his first couple of years. But he's changed. He's become a decent person."
Dudley's annoyance started to evaporate after Hermione's words.
Mrs. Finnigan however, remained unimpressed. "You best be off, you're not welcome around me or my boy."
"Come on, let's go check out the Bulgarian tents," Ron said, awkwardly, trying to difuse the situation.
Dudley, still glaring at Mrs. Finnigan gave a nod of his head and followed Ron.
Dean said an awkward goodbye to Seamus and followed.
"Family of gits," Dudley said.
"To be fair, you did beat him up in year 2," Ron said. "I'd be angry too."
"Wait up!" a voice called, it was Seamus. He had run to watch up with them. "Listen I'm sorry about her."
"Why'd you go crying to mummy?" Dudley sneered.
"Leave it, Dud," Dean said, in a low voice.
"That was 2 years ago," Seamus said. "Hermione's right—you've changed. You're hanging around with Neville and standing up for Luna."
"Thanks," Dudley said gruffly. Hermione gave him a nudge in his ribs.
Dudley sighed and offered his hand to Seamus who shook it briefly.
"Well, I best be off, mom's cooking, see you at Hogwarts," Seamus said, before heading back to his parents.