A/N: I'm going to make this clear. I don't own the Harry Potter series or it's characters. That right goes to JK Rowling
If you haven't yet, read before this story:
The Son and Nephew of the Maurders: The Sorcerer's Stone
The Son and Nephew of the Maurders: The Chamber of Secrets
The Son and Nephew of the Maurders: The Prisoner of Azkaban
Also if you haven't please take part on voting for which story you want me to update next month
Harry Meets Barty Crouch Sr and Ludo Bagman
Harry 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 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: old newspapers, 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 from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite."
"It should be assign next to the Potter campsite," James said.
Basil looked up. "Oh James. I didn't expect you with the Weasleys. They must of got good tickets then." Then Basil returned to the parchment list. "Yes, here are you both—Weasley and Potter party. About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site's manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory… second field… ask for Mr. Payne."
"Thanks Basil," said Mr. Weasley as everyone follow him.
They set off across a 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, hundreds and hundreds of tents were rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. They said good-bye to the Digogorys and approached the cottage door.
A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Harry knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres—although he and James pass off more Muggle than wizard at this point.
"I'll talk to the Muggle," James told Arthur and Augusta. "I have plenty of experience thanks to the Dursleys."
Arthur was about to protest but Augusta stopped him.
When the muggle heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.
"Morning!" greeted James extending his hand.
"Morning," said the Muggle, taking James hand and shook it.
"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"
"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "And who're you?"
"James Potter. I'm here with the Weasleys and Longbottoms. Three tents, we booked a couple of days ago?"
"Aye," said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"
"That's it," James replied.
"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.
"Right here," James pulled out some Muggle money.
"You must not be foreigners," Mr. Roberts said.
"Foreigners?" James asked.
"I had campers who had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."
"Oh, no. You see, my late wife had a sister in England, and I take my son to visit them once a year, and over the years I learn how to use your money," James explained, not going into much details about the Dursleys since he know Petunia and Vernon would burst a blood vessel if word got out they're related to anyone they consider weird. James also was trying divert the conversation away from the topic of 'foreigners'.
"Ah, I see. Sorry of your lost, but that's nice of you to take your son to visit her family," Mr. Roberts said.
"Here you go," James handed money to Mr. Roberts. "This is for all of us."
"Aye. Here's a map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said. "And your change."
"Thanks very much," said James.
They walked away from Mr. Roberts and eight wizards accompanied them out of no where to the camp site. One looked exhausted, his chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes.
"Thank goodness you have Muggle skills, sir," he said. "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. I'll be glad when this is over."
"Well like I said earlier. It helps to have Muggle In-laws." James said.
"Was your wife Muggle?"
"Muggle-born witch," James replied.
"Thank god either way."
Then he and his pals disapparated.
"Ludo Bagman really should be more careful," Mrs. Longbottom scowled. "He's Head of Magical Games and Sports. He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles."
"Ludo always been a bit… well… lax about security." Mr. Weasley said. "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 Wasp ever had."
"As my dad use to say: nothing brings out the excitement of wizards and witches than the Quidditch World Cup," James said.
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 bell pulls, 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.
"That doesn't excuse it." Mrs. Longbottom said. "Look around, James. Out of all of us here, you and Harry look most Muggle."
"That I can't take all credit," James said. "I got these clothes last year when Vernon's sister Marge came to visit so I can pass off as Muggle University Professor."
"That's what I mean though. You know what Muggles expect, so you dressed like one and behave like one," Mrs. Longbottom said. "That's why Molly told Arthur to leave all talking to Muggles to you before we left."
"Always the same," said Mr. Weasley, trying to change the topic of his wife's advice. "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 there was two empty spaces, each with a small sign hammered into the ground that read WEEZLY and POTTER.
"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… ah, where do we start?"
Thankfully not only they had James who was taught by Lilly the actual way muggles camped out, but they also had Hermione whose muggle parents had taken her camping many times so they manage to get the poles and pegs in place. Mrs. Longbottom ended up banding Mr. Weasley from 'helping' as he was more hindrance getting overexcited using the mallet. She didn't need magic to beat Mr. Weasley with her cane anytime he tried to defy her. They finally got what appears to be two-man tents.
Hermione looked quizzical at the tents as if noticing a problem.
"These tents are enchanted to host nine people inside," Harry told her.
They dropped to their hands and feet and ducked under the first tent flap into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen.
"All right. Augusta, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna you will have the tent in the middle. Arthur, you Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George will have this tent, Harry, Ron, Neville and I will have the last tent with Sirius and Remus when they get here," James said.
"That works fine with me." Mr. Weasley said as he picked up a dusty kettle and peered inside it. "We'll need water…"
"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron. "It's on the other side of the field."
"Well, why don't you Harry, Hermione, and Neville 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 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!"
"Hermione, you're in charge," James said. "Augusta and I will stay here and make sure things get done."
They toured the other tents, girls being slightly smaller, and Harry's being slightly bigger than both Arthur's and the girls, Harry, Ron, Neville, 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.
Their fellow 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 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 Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville 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 conversations in all sorts of languages from inside the tents they passed.
"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 their names.
"Harry! Ron! Neville! Hermione!"
It was Seamus Finnigan, their fellow Gryffindor fourth year. He was sitting in front of his on shamrock-covered tent with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.
"Like the decorations?" said Seamus, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."
"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" said Mrs. Finnigan. "You should see what the Bulgarians got dangling over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione beadily. They assured her that thy were supporting Ireland and they set off again.
"Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot," Ron said.
"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" said Hermione.
"Let's go and have a look," said Harry, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag—white, green, and red—was fluttering in the breeze.
The Bulgarian tents had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, of course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl.
"Oh boy," Harry responded.
"Krum," said Ron quietly.
"What?" said Hermione.
"Krum!" said Ron. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"
"He looks really grumpy," said Hermione, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at them.
"You shouldn't have said that," Harry said.
"'Really grumpy'?" Ron raised his eyes to the heaven. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something."
"Ron, Hermione haven't grown up to Quidditch," Harry reminded him.
"Yeah, she'll see what he can do tonight," Neville explained.
"Still, I can see what Mrs. Finnigan meant. Irish tents are least magical compare to Bulgarians," Harry responded.
There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pinstripped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.
"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious—"
"I bought this in a Muggle shop," said the old wizard stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."
"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.
"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."
Hermione was overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles at this point that she had to duck out of the queue and only returned when Archie had collected his water and moved away.
Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, they made their way back through the campsite. Here and there, they saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, the old Captain of Harry's House Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry over to his parents' tent to introduce him, and told him excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Next they were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a fourth year Hufflepuff, and a little farther they saw Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw fifth year Seeker—and another friend of Harry's from before he became a student.
"You've been ages," said George when they finally got back to the Weasleys' tents.
"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water next to the fire. "I see you got the fire started."
"Only after Mr. Potter took over. Dad kept having fun with the matches," said Fred. "Every time he strike one he dropped it in surprise."
"Seriously? I didn't think it be that amazing," Harry said remembering his Muggles Studies lessons, "I mean Muggles been using fire long before they had technology. Matches just makes it easier to start one."
"Maybe so, but dad found it interesting." Fred said.
Their tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Longbottom cordially. Although Mrs. Longbottom didn't work for the Ministry, she was still well known there as mother/mother-in-law of two great Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom. Mr. Weasley introduced Hermione and Luna to many Ministry members.
"Sorry Mr. Weasley, but I already know many of them," Luna said.
"Oh, right. Sorry, Luna. I forgot your mother use to work for us."
"She did?" Hermione asked.
"Yes, she was an unspeakable for the Ministry," Luna explained.
"Unspeakables…" Hermione said.
"A secret job in the Ministry. No one really knows what they do there," James said. "One thing is certain is that they don't have to answer to anyone—not even to the Ministry. Most members aren't known until they die even then if they died on the job its kept a secret."
"Wassup guys!" a witch with bubble gum hair showed up.
"Tonks!" Harry responded.
"You look well rested," James said.
"Well too be honest I got off hours ago, so I thought I get some shut eye," Tonks explained. "My cousin not here yet?"
"No. Sirius and Remus haven't arrived yet," James replied. "We're also waiting on Bill, Charlie, and Percy too."
"Not anymore," a voice said. Bill, Charlie, and Percy came strolling out of the woods toward them.
"We just apparated," said Percy. "Where's lunch?"
"Augusta is cooking," James said.
"Lunch is ready!" Mrs. Longbottom called.
They started eating lunch when Sirius and Remus joined in.
Sirius was a rugged man with black hair while Remus was slim with sandy hair.
"Hey guys!" Sirius greeted.
"Uncle Padfoot!" Harry greeted. "Uncle Moony!"
"Harry, look at you. I swear you grown since your birthday," Sirius said.
"Aw, eggs and sausages. Perfect," Remus said. "I'm starve."
"That's because all you had to eat before coming here was tea," Sirius joked.
That's 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!"
Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person at camp. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly. His nose was squashed, but his round eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a overgrown schoolboy.
"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet and was plainly in a state of wild excitement.
"Ludo Bagman! You shouldn't be dressed like that out in the open!" Mrs. Longbottom shouted.
"Ah, Augusta, nice to see you too," Ludo responded. "How are your son and daughter-in-law?"
Augusta seemed laxed at the question. "Same as always. One day at a time."
"I'm sure they're getting the best help possible though," Ludo said. "Arthur, old man, 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 him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.
"Ah James. Nice too see you and Harry this year," Ludo greeted. "I guess I shouldn't be surprise. You two often come to Quidditch World Cup."
Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Percy spend months complaining about how Ludo Bagman ran his department but that didn't stop him from hurrying forward with his hand outstretched 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—Ginny's friend Luna Lovegood and Ron's friend Hermione Granger. And of course you know Augusta's grandson Neville and James' son Harry. Everyone, this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets—"
Bagman beamed and waved is hand as if to say it had been nothing.
"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur and James?" he said eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first—I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front 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?"
"Ten on me," Sirius handed ten galleons.
"Same here," James said.
"I'm good." Remus said.
"Twenty-one galleons," Ludo Bagman said. "Very well, any other takers?"
"The kids are a bit young to be gambling," said Mrs. Longbottom.
"She's right." Arthur agreed. "Besides, Molly wouldn't like—"
"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, and three Knuts," said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "that Ireland wins—but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand."
"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman that—" Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think badly of the wand; on contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk it turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter.
"Excellent. I haven't seen one that convincing in years. I'd pay five Galleons for that!"
Percy froze in attitude of stunned disapproval.
"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 stroke the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil.
"Uncle Moony can speak Bulgarian," Harry said pointing at Remus.
"Really?" Ludo turned to Remus curiously.
"How about if you help me with the Bulgarians, I'll put you in 10 galleons with James and Sirius for Ireland to win," Ludo suggested.
"Go on Remus," James said. "Not everyday an opportunity like this comes up. Plus you probably do Crouch a favor helping Ludo."
"Thank you, Mr. Bagman," Remus said.
"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asked as Bagman shook Remus' hand.
"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 for it. She'll wander back into 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 suggested.
"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, here comes Barty. Come on… Remus, right? If we go now, we can finish up in time for you to return before the game starts."
As soon as they left another wizard had just Apparated at their fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short gray hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished. Harry could see why Percy idolized him. Percy was a great believer in rigidly following rules, and Mr. Crouch had complied with the rule about Muggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed for a bank manager.
"I thought Bagman was here. I've been looking for him everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."
"He left with a friend of mine, Remus Lupin. My son volunteered Remus to translate for Bagman," James explained.
"Oh, good. At least someone is willing to translate for him," Crouch said.
"Mr. Crouch!" said Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half-bow that made him 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 and George choked into their own cups. Percy, very pink around the ears, 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 sent 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 Artifact 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. Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," said Mr. Crouch. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminister that could seat twelve—but that was before carpets were banned, of course."
He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law. Augusta hmphed which gained Crouch's attention.
"Augusta, I didn't think I'll see you here," Crouch said in worried tone.
"Why wouldn't I be here with my grandson and his friends," Mrs. Longbottom stated. "I'm the only close relative he has left to raise him."
"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" asked James trying to defuse the situation.
"Fairly," said Mr. Crouch dryly. "Organizing Portkeys across five continents i no mean feat."
"I expect you will be glad when this is over?" said Mr. Weasley.
"Yes—at least until the next event," Mr. Crouch said. 'Thank you or the tea, Weatherby."
He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy.
"What were they talking about?" Fred asked. "What other event?"
"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.
"Oh shut up, Weatherby," said Fred.
A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretense disappeared: The Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting 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 Bulgarian—which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries had played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that 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," Ron told Harry as they Hermione and Neville strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum waled backward and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him. It didn't help Harry bought every member of the Irish team and miniature firebolts, although Harry didn't give the miniature firebolts to the players until they get to the tents.
"Come on. Dad wants me to buy everyone Omniculars," Harry said carrying a sack of 200 galleons. "You can replay action… slow everything down… and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if needed."
"You don't have to," Ron said, touchy about the fact he's the only one here poor.
"Relax Ron. Dad is paying for Uncle Moony too," Harry said as Remus didn't like James and Sirius spending their money on him.
"Fine," Ron responded.
Harry nearly spend the galleons James gave him on the omniculars—brass-looking binoculars covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials.
When they were done, they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, Ginny, and Luna were sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Even Tonks magically change her hair color to Irish green—which she rarely change her hair color into anything other than bubblegum green to match her colors.
Only Fred and George had no souvenirs besides the omniculars, as they had given Bagman all their gold. Remus was decorated too, but in Bulgarian colors.
"The Bulgarians were very grateful for my translation," Remus said slightly embarrassed. "They apparently been at wits end trying to get Bagman to understand them."
Harry let loose his Miniature Irish team and Ron let loose his Miniature Krum with their firebolts and they soar around thetent.
And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.
"It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"