"Have you got your coat?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"And your pajamas?"
I sighed. "Yes."
"What about your toothbrush? Or your hairbrush? Will you need a hairbrush though? Probably, seeing as this is international and everyone is coming - even cute blokes, you have to absolutely talk to some cute bloke on the way -"
"Marie! I'm not going to be flirting with anyone nor will I search for a boyfriend!"
She paused and whirled to face me, staring as if I were a very complicated puzzle. It was odd, seeing as she still managed to look unattached at all.
"Then where is the point in going at all?" she demanded to know.
I heard someone stifling a laugh. Without bothering to turn around, I said, dryly, "I hate you both," and continued shoving a few things inside my old tattered backpack.
"No, you don't," said Natasha once I finished. She was holding a small bag of floo powder. "Are you ready?" I nodded.
Still fuming, Marie said, "You're going to be that lady that lives with twelve cats before you even realize it."
I smirked at her as I tied my hair in a high ponytail. "Why stop at twelve?"
She snorted and said, rhetorically, "Yes, why?"
It was normal I was cranky at this time in the morning. It was five o'clock in the morning! The sun wasn't even up yet!
But the Quidditch World Cup was a very important event, and very famous too. Due to security issues, no one was told of its exact location; Natasha said that the buyer had to leave his information of in which region he lived (wizarding neighborhoods were catalyzed in zones by the Ministry), and he would be told where to find his portkey, an object which takes you to the place the wizard picked.
Natasha led me, with Marie following from behind, to the darkest part of the attic, going so deep she had to pull out her wand and lit our way. She stopped beside an old wooden cabinet and muttered something under her breath. There was a flash of light, blowing my hair back, and suddenly, the bottom burst into flames.
"Is flame-proof," said Marie, just as I opened my mouth to yell in panic.
Scowling, I turned to watch the flames, noticing they looked more amber in color than red. I coughed when Natasha suddenly dropped a large amount of dust from my side and the flames turned bigger and green.
Waving my hand in front of my face, I eyed the fire.
"Is it safe?" I asked hesitantly.
"This is not my first time, kiddo," said Nat, rolling her eyes. From my other side, Marie offered me the bag of floo powder. I let out a breath and took a handful of it.
"Wish me luck," I muttered.
Marie nodded. "You will need all of it."
I stepped onto the green flames and turned around to face them. Just as I threw the powder and shouted, "the Burrow!", I could have sworn Natasha said to be careful of the masks.
The world was spinning and spinning around me, making me dizzy, and I closed my eyes, making sure to not move my arms or legs at all. Before I could fall face forward, I threw my arms out, and gripped the sides of the Weasleys' chimney, hovering above the floor as I balanced in one foot.
"That was a close one," said the familiar voice of Ginny Weasley.
I laughed, accepting the unknown hand in front of me, "Tell me about it!"
The hand belonged to none other than Hermione Granger. She squealed, and as soon as I got upright, she crushed me into a hug.
I grunted, "'Llo Mione."
"Careful there, Hermione," said Fred Weasley teasingly - or was it George?
"Yeah, Hermione," his twin agreed, "you're killing your bff there."
I snorted, "What does that mean?" said Ron groggily from where his head laid on the table.
Looking at each other, the twins grabbed their hands and swung them back and forth, and blinking innocently, they sang, "Best friends forever, silly!"
Everyone in the room laughed. Ron grumbled, "Forget I asked," and fell asleep on his plate of food.
"Want something, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley cheerfully. I sat down next to Hermione and said, "If its not much trouble, thanks."
"Why do we have to be up so early?" said Ginny, rubbing her eyes.
"We've got a bit of a walk," said Mr. Weasley.
"Walk?" said Harry, looking surprised. "What, are we walking to the World Cup?"
Mr. Weasley took a large sip from his drink and shook his head, smiling. "No, no, that's miles away. We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup -"
"George!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply, and we all jumped. I ended dropping my piece of bacon on the floor. I eyed it mournfully.
"What?"
"What is that in your pocket?"
"Nothing!"
"Don't you lie to me!"
Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, "Accio!"
Several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George's pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand.
"We told you to destroy them!" said Mrs. Weasley furiously, holding them in the air for anyone to see. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"
Then she began to profusely shout, "Accio! Accio! Accio! Accio!" and more of those colored toffees zoomed into sight from all places, including from the lining of George's jacket and under Fred's jeans.
"What are they?" I asked through my lips, not wanting to direct Mrs. Weasley's attention on me.
"Ton-Tongue Toffees," said Ginny grimly. "They make your tongue grow larger. They gave one to Harry's cousin when they picked him up."
"I'm not surprised."
"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother when she threw the toffees away.
"Oh a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!"
Our departure was not on friendly terms. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering when she said her goodbyes and when she shouted after the twins' backs, they didn't look back at her.
It was a really chilly morning and the sun still hadn't come out. I walked beside Ginny, my head lolling to the side and keep jerking back. Hermione was no better: she was walking with her eyes closed but for some reason, she still hadn't tripped.
"How does she do that?" Ron hissed from behind.
"Its Hermione," said Harry, and that itself seemed to explain all. He sped to catch up with Mr. Weasley and started talking with him.
Meanwhile, the twins slowed their pace and before I knew, I was being sandwiched between them, having shoved Ginny aside.
"Have we told you Miss Barton," started Fred in his best impersonation of his brother Percy, "You have positively blossomed over this summer."
"Yes, ma'am," said George, smirking. "Absolutely spiffing. Have you yet been hoarded by any youngsters?"
Ginny giggled as I threw my head back and laughed, catching the males by surprise, including Ron and Harry.
"Nothing of the sort, misters," I said pompously. "I'm being held at wand's point though, and according to my roommate, I have to find a dazzling young man before the end of the year."
"Oh no!" George gasped. "What a tragedy!"
"A controversy!"
"Completely absurd!"
"Shut up!" said Ginny, doubling over as she and Hermione laughed. "Don't encourage them, Anya! They'll never shut!"
"Yes, Anya," said George, serious, "Do stop."
"You three are mad," said Ron, shaking his head. "Barking, I'd say!"
Giggling, Hermione asked, "Where are we going?"
Ron shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest."
We trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by our footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as we made our way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. I could feel my feet throbbing by both the cold and the long walk. Mr. Weasley checked his watch again.
As we began to climb Stoatshead Hill, I stumbled a lot on the little holes on the ground. I could barely breathe without holding my side.
"Whew," Mr. Weasley panted, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time - we've got ten minutes..."
Hermione arrive clutching her side behind me.
"Now we just need the Portkey," Mr. Weasley panted, putting his glasses on his face. "It won't be big... come on..."
I stuck with Hermione as we spread out to search for the Portkey.
"Over here, Arthur!" a voice called out.
"Amos!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of us followed.
By the time I was wheezing, Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand.
"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," Mr. Weasley said. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
Then, to my horror, someone dropped from the trees and I shouted.
"Ah! This must be Cedric!" said Mr. Weasley, completely unaware of our reactions.
If handsome boys fell from trees, I would have suggested to Marie to plant a colony on the backyard.
Cedric Diggory was well known at Hogwarts. He was on his seventh year, but I mostly recognized from Quidditch as he was the Hufflepuff's team Captain and Seeker
"Hi," he said. I just waved at him tiredly, and the rest just stared at him, except for Fred and George, who still seemed to not have forgotten the last match in which Cedric beat Harry.
"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.
"Not too bad," Mr. Weasley said. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"
"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still... not complaining... Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons - and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy..." Mr. Diggory looked at all of us. "All these yours, Arthur?"
"Only the redheads," Mr. Weasley said with a smile as he gestured to Hermione, Harry and me. "This is Hermione and Anya, friends of Ron's —and Harry, another friend-"
"Merlin's beard," Mr. Diggory interrupted. "Harry? Harry Potter?"
"Er—yeah," Harry said.
"Ced's talked about you, of course," Mr. Diggory said. "Told us all about playing against you last year... I said to him, I said—Ced, that'll be something to tall your grandchildren, that will... You beat Harry Potter!"
I snorted a laugh, hiding it with my hand as I faked a cough. Cedric had turned beat red, and he hissed through his teeth, "Harry fell off his broom, Dad. I told you... it was an accident..."
"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" Mr. Diggory yelled, slapping Cedric on the back, making his own son stumble a little. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman... but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"
"Must be nearly time," Mr. Weasley said quickly, pulling out his watch again. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"
"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Pawcetts couldn't get tickets," Mr. Diggory said. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"
"Not that I know of," Mr. Weasley said. "Yes, it's a minute off...We'd better get ready..."
He looked around at Harry, Hermione, and I.
"You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do -"
With difficulty, owing to our bulky backpacks, the ten of us crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. We all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop.
Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to me how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now… ten people, two of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semidarkness, waiting…
"Three…" muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, "two… one…"
It happened immediately: I felt as though a hook just behind my navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. My feet left the ground; I could feel Harry and Cedric on either side of me, their shoulders banging into mine; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; my forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling me magnetically onward and then - my feet slammed into the ground and fell onto my back.
From where I was, I stared upside down as Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric jumped gently on the ground, their hair looking messy by the wind. As for the rest, i could only guess they were also on the ground.
"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," a voice said.
I dropped my head on the grass, "Ugh."
"Need any help?" a hand was tentatively hanging in front of me, and without thinking it, I grasped it and let myself be hauled. I was suddenly face-to-face with Diggory.
"Thanks," I muttered. He threw me a smile and when he turned, I slapped my cheeks with both hands, noticing how hot they had turned. Catching Hermione's eye, I quickly looked away, feeling more embarrassed, and ran to Harry's side.
"What's wrong?" he said, and I shook my head quickly, not looking at him. I prayed to however listened that he didn't notice my pink tinged cheeks.
Looking around, I saw we had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of us was a pair of tried and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Although they tried to dress as Muggles, they looked like a fashion mess. The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-lenght galoshes, and his colleage, a kilt and a poncho. They honestly looked more outdated than a hippie.
"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; I could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.
"Hello there, Arthur," Basil said 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," Mr. Weasley said, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.
We 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, I 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.
We said good-bye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door.
A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. By the way he was correctly wearing his Muggle clothes, I can safely say he really is a Muggle.
When he heard our footsteps, he turned his head to look at us.
"Morning!" Mr. Weasley said brightly.
"Morning," the Muggle said.
"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"
"Aye, I would. And who're you?"
"Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"
"Aye," said Mr. Roberts , consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"
"That's it," Mr. Weasley said.
"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts .
"Ah - right - certainly -" Mr. Weasley stuttered. He walked a couple of steps off and pulled Harry with him. Few minutes later, he returned and gave the man a few bills.
"You're foreign?" Mr. Roberts asked, glancing down at the money.
"Foreign?" repeated Mr. Weasley, puzzled.
"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts, scrutinizing 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 out over 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, but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to him.
"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?"
"It's like some sort of… I dunno… like some sort of rally. They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."
At that moment, 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.
To my shock, Mr. Roberts' eyes misted over and for a moment, his hand hung limply but then he shook his head and said, to Mr. Weasley, "A map of the campsite for you," and handed out a piece of parchment along with a couple of coins, "and your change."
"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley, unperturbed.
I stared in disbelief as Mr. Roberts walked away and the unknown man began to speak as if this sort of thing was normal.
"Been having a lot of trouble with him. Need 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 to worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you around, Arthur."
He Disapparated and I scowled.
"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 led us 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."
My momentary anger faded as we trudged up the camp. Each tent was different by style and size, and some of them already showed who they supported, even though it seemed they tried to make it look as 'muggle' as possible but failed miserably at it. I could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts had been suspicious all the time.
Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. I recognized it as the Malfoys' family crest, if the books had been right. Further was another extravagant tent of three floors with turrets, and a little away was one that resembled a small cabin, complete with birdbath, sundial, and a fountain.
"You really know the art of subtlety," I commented, moving aside as a small toy broom flew by.
"Oh, Anya, you haven't seen the rest yet!" said Mr. Weasley cheerfully. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."
At the end of the tents, there was an empty spot with a sign that said WEEZLY.
"Couldn't have a better spot!" Mr. Weasley said happily, not at all fazed that they couldn't spell his name correctly. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be. Right," Dad said, taking off his backpack, "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?"
With also Hermione's and my help, the four of us managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents. I was slightly wondering how would all the us, including the rest of the Weasleys that were yet to arrive, fit in them?
Mr. Weasley held the flap open and hunched over to go inside.
"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."
I waited until everyone entered and I bent down, ducking under the tent's flap, and took a long look at the inside. My mouth opened in disbelief.
I 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," Mr. Weasley said, 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 — Ron, get out of the kitchen. We're all hungry," Mr. Weasley yelled. I looked over at the kitchen and saw Ron searching on one of the small cabinets.
"Yeah, get out of the kitchen, Ron!" yelled the twins.
"Feet off the table!" Mr. Weasley yelled to the twins.
"Feet off the table!" the twins called back, taking their feet off the table before putting them right back on. I chuckled.
"Just when I think I'm beyond being shocked by this world, something like this happens," I murmured to myself looking around.
"Tell me about it," Harry agreed behind me.
Mr. Weasley 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 once he returned from the kitchen. "It's on the other side of the field."
"Well, why don't you, Harry, Hermione, and Anya 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," Ron said. "Why can't we just -"
"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" Mr. Weasley said, 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 girl tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys, though without the smell of cats, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.