Hermione slowly came to her senses, her head still swimming and her navel still twinging with slight pressure. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of a misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one holding a large gold watch, the other holding 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 goloshes, and his colleague was in a kilt and poncho. Their outfits were very similar to Mr Weasley's: he was wearing what appeared to be a golfing jumper and an ancient pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt.
"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; Hermione could see an old newspaper, an empty drink can, and a deflated football.
"Hello there, Arthur," said the man called 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." Hermione perked up at the mention of "Roberts."
"Thanks, Basil," said Mr Weasley, beckoning 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. Hermione could make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field towards a dark wood on the horizon. They said goodbye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door.
A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Hermione knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres and scrutinised him for any resemblance to Finnigan. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them. Was this his cousin, Liam?
"Morning!" said Mr Weasley brightly.
"Morning," said the Muggle.
"Would you be Mr Roberts?"
"Aye, I would," said Mr Roberts. Well, that answered that. Hermione fought the urge to share their mutual acquaintance. "And who're you?"
"Weasley – two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"
"Aye," said Liam 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," said Mr Weasley. Hermione frowned. She had thought Quidditch Matches had the potential to go on for days.
"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr Roberts.
"Ah – right – certainly –" said Mr Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry towards him. Hermione hurried over as well. "Help me, Harry," he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. "This one's a – a – a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now... so this is a five?"
"A twenty," Harry corrected him in an undertone. Hermione tried to step in between them and Mr Roberts so he couldn't see Mr Weasley's confusion.
"Ah yes, so it is... I don't know, these little bits of paper..."
"You foreign?" said Mr Roberts, as Mr Weasley returned with the correct notes.
"Foreign?" repeated Mr Weasley, 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. Hermione made a mental note to discuss potentially working with Mr Weasley and his associates at the Ministry on a sort of pamphlet to help Wizards pretend to be Muggles. She would be happy to help. Maybe Percy could help to organise it as well.
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?" said Mr Weasley anxiously.
"It's like some sort of... I dunno... like some sort of rally," said Mr Roberts. Hermione was starting to get anxious, and she could tell Mr Weasley was, also. Mr Roberts was much too suspicious. "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. Hermione jumped at his sudden appearance.
"Obliviate!" the Wizard said, pointing his wand at Mr Roberts.
Instantly, Mr Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Hermione recognised the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified.
"A map of the campsite for you," Liam said placidly to Mr Weasley. "And your change."
"Thanks very much," said Mr Weasley with a sad smile.
The wizard in plus-fours accompanied them towards the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted; his chin was blue with stubble, and deep purple shadows were under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Liam 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."
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, bell pulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Hermione could hardly be surprised that Finnegan's cousin 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 further on, they passed a tent with three floors and several turrets; a short way beyond that was a tent with a front garden attached, complete with a 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 there 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 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 gave Hermione a wild look of terror. She realised he had probably never been camping in his life. The Dursleys didn't seem like the camping type. Hermione went to his side, and together, they emptied the contents of Mr Weasley's backpack on the ground. Tent poles, canvas tarps, and twine littered the ground. Hermione's mind drifted back to the summer her parents and she had camped in the Forest of Dean. That was one of the first times she specifically remembered doing magic.
After some trial and error, Hermione and Harry started systematically laying out all the poles and pegs, figuring out the most logical way to piece them together. Finally, the shape of two tents began to emerge. Mr Weasley tried to help, though his excitement at using a mallet was more of a hindrance than a help.
All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards, Hermione thought, but the trouble was that once Bill, Charlie and Percy arrived, they would be a party of ten. Harry seemed to have spotted this problem, too; he gave Hermione a quizzical look as 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."
One by one, Harry and the Weasley boys ducked inside. Hermione couldn't help but feel as though she was witnessing something entirely outside the realm of reality, even in the Wizarding World.
"Come on," Ginny said, snapping Hermione out of her confusion. "Let's see ours then." Without a second thought, Ginny crouched down and through the tent flaps.
Hermione took a steely breath and followed Ginny inside, expecting to bump into her at any moment. The collision never came. Instead of a tiny, tattered canvas tent, Hermione entered a decent-sized sitting room. There was an overstuffed maroon couch in the centre of the room facing a small pot-bellied stove that vented out the high, vaulted ceilings. A small table was in between the sofa and stove. Off to the right was a kitchenette, and to the left was a small room with what appeared to be bunk beds. The interior looked tired but well-kept.
"I love magic," Hermione murmured, taking it all in.
"I thought it'd be bigger," Ginny said with a frown.
"This is amazing," Hermione replied.
"If you say so," Ginny said, tossing her bag into the bedroom and lying on the bed. "I'm ready for a kip. It's still much too early to be awake."
"No time," came a voice from the doorway. Ron had just ducked in, followed by Harry. Hermione could see Harry's eyes take in everything and feel the same wonder as she did. "Dad wants us to get some water to cook with."
"You can go without me," Ginny said. "You don't need four people to get water."
"Then you can help Dad, Fred, and George get some firewood," Ron said.
"Again, they don't need four people to get firewood," Ginny said.
"You can't just lie there and do nothing," Ron whined.
"Watch me," Ginny said, turning away from them all.
"That's not fair!" Ron yelled. "We're all tired!"
"Ron, let's just go get some water," Harry spoke up, giving Hermione a knowing glance. "I want to take a look around."
"Me too!" Hermione said, joining Harry in trying to avoid an inevitable argument between the youngest Weasley siblings.
"Fine," Ron huffed, and the three friends ducked back through the doorway and out into the campgrounds armed with a kettle and saucepans to collect the water.
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. Seeing so many Witches and Wizards in one place was almost overwhelming. Hermione could feel herself get more and more overwhelmed with all of the sights and sounds.
Their fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; Hermione 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, 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 – yeuch!"
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 bit further down, Hermione saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, riding toy broomsticks. Luckily, it appeared that the toys wouldn't lift more than a few inches above the ground. Their squeals of joy attracted the attention of a Ministry Wizard who hurried past Hermione, Ron, and Harry towards the little Witches. "In broad daylight!" the Ministry official exclaimed. "Parents having a lie-in, I suppose!"
As they continued to walk, Witches and Wizards emerged from their tents and started cooking 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 earnest conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire. In contrast, a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents, which read: The Salem Witches' Institute. Hermione could feel the excitement from everyone she passed and couldn't help but get excited as well. Why anyone would want to ruin the fun was beyond her, though Death Eaters were a nasty breed. Hermione kept her eyes peeled for anything amiss.
"Er-" Ron said, breaking Hermione's concentration. "Is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?"
Hermione looked around. It wasn't just Ron's eyes. They had wandered into a patch of tents covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so much so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. It was like they had just stepped into the hills of Ireland.
"Harry! Ron! Hermione!"
Hermione spun around and saw Seamus Finnigan, their fellow Gryffindor fourth-year. He was sitting in front of his own 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 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 Hermione, Ron, and Harry beadily.
Hermione was surprised at Mrs Finnigan's ferocity. Why people get so intense over something as silly as sports was beyond Hermione's comprehension. Nonetheless, Hermione had to admit she was highly intimidated by the fiery Irishwoman and went along with Ron and Harry in saying they would most definitely be rooting for the Irish.
"Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot," Ron muttered as they walked away. Hermione nodded her agreement.
"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" Hermione asked incredulously.
"Let's go and have a look," said Harry, pointing to a large patch of tents ahead with the red, green, and white Bulgarian flag fluttering in the early morning breeze.
The tents here had not been outfitted 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.
"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.
"'Really grumpy?'" Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. "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. Hermione and the boys joined it, right behind a pair of men having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard wearing a long flowery nightgown that was remarkably similar to one Hermione's grandmother used to wear. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard, holding out a pair of pinstriped 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 on 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," old Archie indignantly said. "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 again.
"My nan has the same exact nightgown," Hermione laughed. "Sorry, I just couldn't keep it together."
"Breeze around his privates?" Harry laughed as well, hoisting the kettle filled with water. "That's a mental picture I didn't want to have."
Their walk back to the tents was much slower because even more people were up and about to look at, and the water was quite heavy. They saw more familiar faces from Hogwarts with their families here and there. Oliver Wood, the old captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, dragged Harry to meet his parents. Oliver had been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Next, they saw Ernie Macmillan, Cho Chang, and a few other Ravenclaws from Hermione's Ancient Runes class.
Hermione nearly walked into a girl crouched near her campsite. "Watch out!" the girl exclaimed, turning around to face Hermione. It was Sophie, Hermione's "secret" Slytherin friend. She and Sophie had forged a friendship after being in so many classes together. Both were perfectly fine with maintaining distance in public - it made their friendship all the more special.
"Oh, hey," Sophie said in surprise.
"Hey!" Hermione said with a smile.
"I didn't know you'd be here," Sophie said in a loud whisper, her eyes darting around. Harry and Ron were walking up behind her a few paces.
"The Weasleys invited me," Hermione said. "Excited to get back to school?"
"I can't bloody wait," Sophie said. "Me mam and dad are driving me up the wall."
"Same," Hermione said. She looked over her shoulder towards Ron and Harry. They were both heading her way. "So I'll see you there then?"
"Of course!" Sophie said with a smile and turned away.
Hermione fell into step with the boys as they continued walking through the campgrounds. Harry pointed out a large group of teenagers. "Who d'you reckon they are?" he 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."
Harry looked amazed that there could be other Wizarding Schools and Hermione shook her head at his naivety. Did he think Britain was the only magical country?
They finally got back to the Weasleys' tents. "You've been ages," one of the twins said.
"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You don't have that fire started yet?"
"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred, rolling his eyes.
Hermione turned to see Mr Weasley sitting on the ground, surrounded by what looked like hundreds of splintered matches.
"Oops!" he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise.
"Come here, Mr Weasley," Hermione said with a smile. She took the matchbox from him and slid it open. There were only four matches left. "See here? When you rub the match head on the side of the box, a chemical reaction happens. The friction between the match and the chemical on the box creates heat. The match head is flammable, so the heat goes there and lights the match. The wood will burn eventually, too, but not as fast, so you have time to light something. Here, watch." Hermione struck a match and held it in her hands.
"Muggles are magic!" Mr Arthur exclaimed.
"Muggles rely on science much more than Wizards do," Hermione smiled.
Together, she and Mr Weasley lit another match and finally got the fire lit. It was a slow-burning fire, and it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while they waited, however. Their tent seemed to be on the main thoroughfare to the pitch, and Ministry officials kept going back and forth. Most of them stopped to greet Mr Weasley as they passed. Mr Weasley kept up a running commentary, primarily for Hermione and Harry's benefit. The Weasley children did not seem as impressed as Hermione and Harry were.
"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..."
Hermione frowned. "They're what?"
"From the Department of Mysteries, top-secret, no idea what they get up to..."
At last, the fire was ready, and they had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie and Percy came strolling 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 striding towards them. "Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"
Hermione followed Mr Weasley's gaze towards one of the most eccentric Wizards she had seen all day which was saying a lot. Ludo Bagman was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal strips of bright yellow and black. An enormous wasp logo was stitched across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly plump. The robes were stretched tightly across his ample belly, and his nose was smashed widely across his face. Nonetheless, his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like an overgrown schoolboy.
"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He bounced to the tents, excitement exuding from him like an aura. "Arthur, old man," he puffed. "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!"
Hermione sincerely doubted that mainly because a group of haggard-looking Ministry Wizards were running towards some sort of a magical fire, shooting violet sparks twenty feet in the air right behind the aged Quidditch player.
Percy hurried forward and shook Bagman's hand.
"Ah, yes!" Mr Weasley said. "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. That's my daughter, Ginny, and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."
Even Hermione noticed Bagman's small double take at Harry's name and how his eyes flicked up to Harry's forehead. She couldn't imagine having that happen every time she met someone she knew.
"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 to say it had been nothing. Hermione immediately was wary of this man - he reminded her of a snake oil salesman.
"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 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 week-long match."
Hermione barely understood a single word the man said. Mr Weasley looked slightly embarrassed. "Oh, go on, then," Mr Weasley said. "Let's see… a Galleon on Ireland to win?"
"A Galleon?" Ludo 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 pooled all of their money, "that Ireland win - but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand."
Even not knowing much about Quidditch, Hermione knew that was a pretty specific and far-fetched bet.
"You don't want to go showing Mr Bagman rubbish like that," Percy hissed, swiping at the fake wand in Fred's hand, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbish at all. On the contrary, as he took it from Fred, his boyish face shone with excitement. He gave it a wave, and the wand squeaked 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!"
"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. Hermione had to agree with Mr Weasley. If Mrs Weasley found out, they wouldn't live to see another day.
"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 excitedly. "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."
"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr Weasley asked as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside them.
"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 the 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 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!"
A wizard had just Apparated at their fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled on the grass in his old Wasp robes. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, older man dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short grey hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush moustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide-rule. His shoes were very highly polished. Mr Crouch had complied with the rule about Muggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed as a bank manager. Finally, Hermione thought, a Wizard who could pass for a Muggle.
"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," said Ludo brightly, patting the ground beside him.
"No, thank you, Ludo," said Crouch, 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?" 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 which Hermione was sure he wouldn't hear the end of from his brothers. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Oh," said Mr Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes – thank you, Weatherby."
Hermione cringed as Fred and George choked into their cups. Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle. Poor Percy.
"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 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 as Hermione perked up her ears. "We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details –"
"Oh, details!" said Bagman, 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," 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.
A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air seemed to be quivering with anticipation. As darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretence disappeared: the Ministry appeared to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.
Salespeople 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 bedecked 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 collectable figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.
"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron said as they strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though Ron purchased himself a dancing-shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backwards and forwards over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him. Hermione bought herself and Ginny some Ireland scarves to thank her for letting her borrow her makeup.
"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered in all sorts of weird knobs and dials. Hermione had never seen anything like them before.
"Omnioculars," said the sales wizard 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.
"Three pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.
Hermione saw Ron's ears go pink. "No – don't bother," said Ron.
"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his and Hermione's hands. "For about ten years, mind."
"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.
"Oooh, thanks, Harry," said Hermione. "And I'll get us some programmes, look –" If the match weren't interesting, at least she'd have something to read.
Their money bags considerably lighter, they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie and Ginny were also sporting green rosettes, and Mr Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.
And then a resounding, 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 pitch.
"It's time!" said Mr Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"