Shout-out to LionsWing! Sweetheart, your comment made me grin all night. And thanks for the correction of Cedric's year at Hogwarts. I'll actually fix that by the next chapter.

It just dawned on me that not only Britain was full of wizards, but the rest of the world too. Natasha had said she and my father were Americans but from British heritage, and that had made me believe we sort of were a secret bunch. But as we slowly made our way through the rows, I heard many different voices with accents and even a few unknown languages on the air.

The first ones that seemed to rise were families with children. We passed a pyramid-shaped tent with the symbol of an eye, were a child stood out poking a moving slug with a wand.

His mother ran out of the tent, yelling, "How many times, Kevin? You don't - touch - Daddy's - wand - yecchh! "

But then she accidentally stepped on the slug, making it explode, the air filling with smoke.

"You bust slug! You bust slug!" the little boy yelled.

As we walked, we came upon two little girls riding small beginners' brooms, the two of them holding hands as they hovered over the grass, which made Hermione coo at the sight.

There were also Ministry Officers hanging around, snapping at a few wizards to keep control of their kids or scolded them for using magic. I saw a man looking furtively around him before he whispered to himself and his roaster lit up with fire. There others though that apparently gave up quickly, as we soon passed a trio of African wizards staring at a rabbit burning in a stick while rotating from up and down. I had to look away before I threw up or something.

My interest was picked when we passed by two tall, blue tents in form of a castle, with odd symbols on the fabric, which I only could manage to understand a few pentagrams. Hermione didn't seem to have trouble figuring them out: she was happily muttering under her breath as we rounded their space, watching with wide eyes as they changed of color. There was a banner hanging between the tents, with spangled letters that read 'THE SALEM WITCHES' INSTITUTE'.

This was the American school of magic my dad could have gone to - or was it only for women? Then if that was the deal, I supposed I could have went there. How life would have turned out then?

I shook my head and followed the trio.

"Hey - is it just my eyes, or has everything gone green?" said Ron hesitantly, rubbing his eyes.

I hummed. "No, it is definitely green."

The Irish weren't scared to show their support for their team. All their tents were so fully covered of shamrocks it wasn't easy to tell them apart from the grass. Barely, I could make out a few grinning faces behind their tent-flaps.

"Harry! Ron! Ann'! Hermione!"

I instantly recognized the atrocious pronunciation of my name.

I turned around, and was faced with Seamus Finnigan and his best friend, Dean Thomas. Both of them were fellow Gryffindors ad in our year, but I knew them better because of the ridiculous bets they were used to make, along with Dean's amazing drawing skills.

"Like the decorations?" Seamus asked, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" said the sandy-haired woman behind him - 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 us through squinted eyes. Too afraid of the so called Irish temper, I nodded quickly, actually forgetting I already had my heart set on Ireland.

"Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot," Ron said once we were a safe distance from the Finnigans.

'"Tell me about it," I said.

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

"Let's go and have a look," Harry said, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag - white, green, and red - was fluttering in the breeze. The tents had not been filled with leaf clovers but each of them had a poster of the same bloke - a young man with thick eyebrows and a sour look on his face. Although it moved, it only blinked and scowled - which didn't make this lot better than the Irish.

"Krum," said Ron, awe filling his voice as he stared at one of biggest images.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Krum!" Ron repeated, this time more excitedly. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"

"He looks really grumpy," said Hermione , looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at us.

" 'Really grumpy'?" he repeated, his voice rising at the mere thought of his crush being 'really grumpy'. "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."

We had to get in line behind a pair of men for the tap of water. They were arguing heatedly, the one who wore Ministry garments holding out a pair of normal trousers to the old man - who wore nothing but a flowery nightgown.

"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."

Only women, pal, I thought merrily.

"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."

I couldn't hold it: I let out a laugh so hard I had to duck with Hermione, who hadn't stopped giggling since we caught wind of the conversation, and held my ribs as they started to hurt. We only resurfaced when the comical Archie finally used his turn.

"Oh god, I won't look at those the same again!" I told Hermione.

Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, we made our way back through the campsite. Here and there, we 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 Puddlemore United reserve team.

Next we were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, and a little farther on Cho Chang from Ravenclaw waved at Harry, smiling happily. I puffed out a cheek, rolling my eyes as Harry grinned stupidly and waved back, slopping a lot of water down his front.

"Hey, watch it!" I snapped, and before he could even make more mess, I took the bucket from him, which now was easier to carry because of its weight loss.

Ron was starting to smirk, and so was Hermione. Before either of them could open their mouths, Harry pointed out to a bunch of girls wearing fancy normal dresses.

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

"'Spect they go to some foreign school," Ron said. "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."

"Must be the reason why he chose to be a curse breaker, innit?" I said.

"Why don't you ask him?"

I stared in amazement as we passed even more people with different clothing, all of them showing their excitement so publicly it made me smile widely without even thinking it. I caught Harry's eye for a moment, and I could tell he was just as amazed as I was. But then I thought I probably looked quite silly and let my grin fade to a small tight-lipped smile, the so strange feeling of warmth returning to my cheeks.

"You've been ages," said George when we entered our quarters.

"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You've not got that fire started yet?"

"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

I stared bemusedly as Mr. Weasley shouted in delight when his match lit up, but then dropped it in surprise.

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

The fire lit up eventually, but we had to wait for another hour for it to heat enough to cook anything. The wait wasn't so boring, surprisingly. It looked like the tent had been placed in the most busy patch of field, and Ministry members kept stopping by to say hello to Mr. Weasley and hurried to their posts. To my relief, Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, but none of his children looked interested as Harry, Hermione, and I did.

"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..." he whispered.

"They're what?"

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

I was poking at the eggs in the fire when Percy, and another two redheads, came strolling out of the woods to our way.

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

Just like if I weren't there, he made a empty plate appear of thin air and served himself. I scowled at him and backed, jumping when I accidentally bumped into one of the newcomers.

"Hello, I don't think we have met," said the stockiest one. "You must be Anya, I'm Charlie. And this is my brother, Bill."

"Nice to meet you two," I said, shaking his and Bill's hand. Had it not been for his good-natured face, Charlie would have looked scary, as his body was full of scars and burns; his brother Bill, was a bit of a surprise: I've heard he was Head Boy at Hogwarts and that sort of put him in the same range as Percy but he actually looked - in short, cool. He was tall, with long red hair tied into a ponytail and also wore a fang earring. His clothes looked like if they had been pulled out of a rock concerts' magazine, except for the boots made of dragon hide.

"Hey Ron!" Bill called to his brother. "I don't see what the fuss was all about. She doesn't look scary, she's way too pretty for that."

I grinned, my tongue peeking between my teeth, and I raised over my toes to look at Ron's expression (even for his short stature, Charlie still was taller than I).

"Aww, Ron" I cooed. "What have you been telling? By the way," I turned to the elder Weasley boys, "whatever he said, all of it is probably true."

"See!" Ron yelled, waggling his finger.

We were halfway through our plates of eggs and sausages when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward us.

"Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Besides old Archie, this Ludo Bagman was the most noticeable man in the camp. He wore long quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. They didn't seem to fit him, as they were stretched tightly over his large stomach. His nose was squashed but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy.

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. "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.

Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting 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, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and Anya Barton."

Like everyone we had met, Bagman did a double take at Harry's name and his eyes flickered towards his forehead, were rested the shaped lightning bolt that had made Harry famous.

"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 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 three are the strongest I've seen in years - and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a weeklong 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 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 rubbish like that -" Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and 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 an attitude of stunned disapproval.

"Boys," Mr. Weasley said under his breath, "I don't want you betting... That's all your savings... Your mother -"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" Ludo Bagman boomed, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to knkow what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chanch, 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," George said, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away into the front of his robes. 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."

"They should have told us that our first year," I said absently.

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 us all. My head snapped up at the name, finding it slightly familiar.

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

I somehow doubted this Bertha would appear at all.

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

The man who just Apparated outside the tent was a huge contrast to Bagman. From all the people we had seen, he had to be the only one that really looked like a Muggle. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man with an impeccable crisp suit and tie. His short hair was parted neatly on the side, hardly any hair was out of place, even his narrow mustache looked neatly trimmed. I glanced down momentarily and was not surprised to find that his black shoes were polished.

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

"No thank you, Ludo," Crouch said, and there was 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?" Bagman said. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."

"Mr. Crouch!" Percy said breathlessly, sinking into a kind of half-bow that made him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

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

I certainly had to look elsewhere before I could end up ridiculing myself like Percy by laughing.

"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."

"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."

He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law.

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

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

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

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 organize, eh?"

Mr. Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman.

'We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details -"

"Oh details!" Bagman said, waving the word away like a cloud of midges. "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," Mr. Crouch said sharply, cutting whatever Bagman was going to say. "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, 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?" Fred said at once. "What were they talking about?"

"You'll find out soon enough," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. The usual annoyance I felt when something was being hidden from me didn't show up: Mr. Weasley's enthusiasm actually made me look forward to whatever was going to happen at Hogwarts.

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

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