Chapter 8: the Goblet of Fire


In the early hours of the morning, Ginny woke up, despite not wanting to get out of bed she struggled to separate herself from the warmth of her boyfriend.

"It's time to go, Harry, honey," she whispered, leaving him to dress up.

Harry reached for the glasses with his hand, put it on, and sat down on the bed. It was still dark outside. He dressed quietly, too sleepy to speak, and then, yawning and stretching, the two of them went downstairs on their way to the kitchen.

Her mother stirred the contents of a pot placed on the fire, and her father, sitting at the table, checked a bundle of large parchment entries. He looked up as the children entered and stretched out his arms so they could get a better look at his clothes. He was wearing something strange, to Muggle.

"What do you think?" Asked "We're supposed to go undercover... Do I look like a Muggle, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry replied, smiling. "It's perfect."

The twins and Ron came down the stairs, fresh from getting up.

"Where are Bill and Charlie and Pe...Pe... Percy?" George asked, unable to suppress a huge yawn.

"Well, they're going to appear, aren't they? " her mother said, carrying the pot to the table and starting to pour the porridge into the bowls with a saucepan, "So they can sleep a little longer.

"So, they're still in bed," Fred said sulkily, reaching over his bowl of porridge. "And why can't we appear too?"

"Because you're not old enough and haven't passed the exam, " her mother replied sharply. "And where's Hermione? "

She came out of the kitchen and was heard coming up the stairs.

"Do you have to pass an exam to be able to appear?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Ginny's father replied, putting the tickets in his back trouser pocket. "The Department of Magical Transport had to fine a couple of people the other day for showing up without having their license. The appearance is not easy, and when it is not done as it should be done it can bring very unpleasant complications. Those two I'm telling you about splinched themselves."

Everyone made gestures of displeasure except Harry.

"Did they splinched?" Harry repeated, confuse.

"Half the body was left behind," he explained, spooning a pile of molasses into his bowl of porridge. "And, of course, they were immobilized. They had no way to move. They had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to arrive and put them back together. A lot of paperwork had to be done, I can assure you, with so many Muggles who saw the pieces they had left behind..."

Harry imagined at that moment a pair of legs and an eye lying on the sidewalk of Privet Drive.

"Did they fine?" Harry asked, frightened.

"Yes," he replied calmly. "But they got a good fine, and it seems to me that they are not going to repeat the experience no matter how much of a hurry they have. The apparition is not to be trifled with. Many adult magicians don't want to use it. They prefer the broomsticks: it's slower but safer."

"But can Bill, Charlie, and Percy?"

"Charlie had to retake the test," Fred said, smiling. "The first time he didn't pass because it appeared five mills further south than where it was supposed to go. It appeared right on top of some old men who were doing the shopping, remember?"

"Well, but he approved the second one," said Mother, while the others burst out laughing, when she went back into the kitchen, accompanied by Hermione.

"Percy did it only two weeks ago," said George. "Since then, he's shown up every morning downstairs to prove he's capable of doing it."

They all had a hurry for breakfast as soon as they were seated, and when they had finished, Ginny looked at her father, waiting for his signal to leave.

"We've got a little walk ahead of us," he said as he got up.

"Walk?" Harry wondered. "Are we going to walk to the Quidditch World Cup?"

"No, no, that's a long way off," he said, smiling. "You just have to walk a little. The thing is, it's hard for a large number of wizards to get together without attracting the attention of Muggles. We always have to be very careful when traveling, and on an occasion like the Quidditch World Cup..."

"George!" Mother cried abruptly, startling everyone.

"What?" George asked, in a tone of innocence that fooled no one.

"What's in your pocket?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't lie to me!"

Ginny got up and took Harry's hand, leading him out of the kitchen before the screaming began, it was very unpleasant to her.

o-o-o-o

They walked for a long time, all focused on continuing to breathe. Ginny grunted from time to time explaining to Harry that they were going to a Portkey and what it was.

"It was a huge organizational problem," Mr. Weasley said with a sigh before he began to climb a mountain that seemed gigantic. "The thing is, about 100,000 magicians are coming to watch the World Cup, and of course, we don't have a magic venue big enough to accommodate them all. There are places where Muggles can't enter, but imagine if we tried to squeeze thousands of wizards into Diagon Alley or Platform Nine and Three-Quarters... So, we had to find a nice deserted wasteland and put as many anti-Muggle precautions in place as possible. The whole Ministry has been working on it for months. First, of course, arrivals had to be staggered. People with cheaper tickets had to arrive two weeks early. A limited number use Muggle transports, but we can't crowd their buses and trains. Keep in mind that magicians come from all over the world. Some do appear, of course, but safe spots have had to be found for their appearance, well away from Muggles. I think they're using a nearby forest as a spawn point. For those who don't want to show up, or don't have the card, we use Portkeys. They are objects that are used to transport magicians from one place to another at a predetermined time. If necessary, a large group of people can be transported at the same time. Two hundred portover points have been set up in strategic locations across Britain, the nearest being at the top of Stoatshead Hill. That's where we're headed.

Harry was struggling to breathe, and his legs were beginning to fail when his feet finally found solid ground.

"Ugh!" Mr. Weasley gasped. "Well, we're here in time. We have ten minutes..."

On the other side of the hilltop, two tall silhouettes stood out against the starry sky.

"Sirs!" Mr. Weasley said, smiling, as he strode toward the man. The others followed. Mr. Weasley shook hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a sparse brown beard, who was holding an old, musty boot.

"This is Amos Diggory," announced Mr. Weasley. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you already know his son Cedric."

"Hiya," Cedric greeted, looking at them all. Everyone returned the greeting, except Fred and George, who merely nodded their heads.

Ginny took advantage of the fact that her heart had stopped beating like crazy to approach Harry and lean her head on his shoulder, tired from the walk. He rested his arm on her shoulder so he could lean back better. He distracted himself from the talk of the adults until he felt Mr. Diggory's gaze.

"Are they all yours, Arthur?"

"No, only the redheads," Mr. Weasley said, pointing to the children. "This is Hermione, Ron's friend... and this is Harry, he's my little girl's boyfriend...

"By Merlin's beard!" Amos Diggory exclaimed, opening his eyes. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

"Ehhh... Yes," Harry replied. Even if he didn't believe how Mr. Weasley had presented it, did they see it that way? Harry was almost too self-satisfied.

"Ced told me about you, of course," said Amos Diggory. "He told us about the game against your team last year... I told him, I said: you will tell this to your grandchildren... You'll tell them you beat Harry Potter!"

Harry couldn't think of what to say, so he shut up. Fred and George frowned again. Cedric looked uncomfortable. "Harry fell off the broomstick, Dad, he muttered. I told you it was an accident... "

"Yes, but you didn't fall, did you?" Amos said cordially. Harry only smiled awkwardly as he squeezed his girlfriend's hand to calm her down, who had been enraged by the man's words and was too ready to jump to his defense. Finally, everyone began to turn their attention to the Portkey and stopped chattering.

For Harry, the Portkey was too awkward and he could barely stand up when they arrived. In front of them were a couple of tired, moody-looking wizards. One of them held a large gold watch; the other, a thick scroll of parchment and a goose feather. They were both dressed like Muggles, though with very little success: the man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-high flip-flops; His companion was wearing a kilt and poncho.

"Good morning, Basil," Mr. Weasley greeted, taking the boot and handing it to the wizard in the skirt, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him. Harry saw an old newspaper, an empty beer can, and a punctured soccer ball in the box.

"Morning, Arthur," Basil replied wearily. "You're free today, huh? How well some people live... We've been here all night... You'd better get out of there: there's a very large group that arrives at five minutes past fifteen from Mirkwood. Wait... I'm going to find where they are... Weasley... Weasley." He consulted the list on the parchment.

Once he gave them the address, they walked over and saw some tents.

As soon as he saw it, Harry recognized that it was a Muggle, probably the only one around. At the sound of their footsteps, he turned to look at them.

"Good morning!" Mr. Weasley greeted cheerfully.

"Good morning," replied the Muggle.

"Are you Mr. Roberts?"

"Yes, I am. Who are you?"

"The Weasleys, We've booked two tents for a couple of days, I think."

"Yes," said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list pinned to the door with tacks. "You have a plot up there, next to the forest. Just one night?"

"Yes," said Mr. Weasley.

"Then you're going to pay now?" Mr. Roberts asked.

"Ah! Yes, right..." He pulled back from the house a little and beckoned Harry to come closer. "Help me, Harry," he whispered, pulling a wad of Muggle notes out of his pocket and beginning to pull them apart. This one is from... of... ten pounds? Oh yes, I see the number written on it...! So this one is five?

"Twenty," Harry corrected him quietly, uncomfortable because he could see that Mr. Roberts was watching every word.

"I see...! I do not know... These little pieces of paper..."

"Are you a foreigner?" Mr. Roberts inquired as Mr. Weasley returned with the correct bills.

"Foreign?" Mr. Weasley repeated, perplexed.

"You´re not the first to have trouble with money," explained Mr. Roberts, examining Mr. Weasley. "Ten minutes ago, two arrived who wanted to pay me with gold coins as big as hubcaps."

"Really?" Mr. Weasley exclaimed nervously.

Mr. Roberts fumbled for change in a can.

"The campsite has never been so crowded," he said suddenly, looking back at the fog-shrouded field. "There have been hundreds of reservations. People don't usually book. "

"Really?" Mr. Weasley repeated foolishly, holding out his hand to receive the change. But Mr. Roberts wouldn't give it to him.

"Yes," said the Muggle thoughtfully. "People from all over. Lots of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a guy out there who wears a kilt and poncho."

"What's so strange about it?" Mr. Weasley asked, worried.

"It's kind of... I do not know... as a kind of concentration,"Mr. Roberts explained.

It seems as if they all know each other as if it were a big party. At that moment, by the front door of Mr. Roberts's little house, a magician in baggy trousers appeared out of nowhere.

"Obliviate!" He said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.

Mr. Roberts unfocused his eyes instantly and relaxed his brow, and an air of carefree reverie transformed his face. Harry sees, almost horrified, the symptoms of those suffering from memory modification.

"Here's a map of the camp," Mr. Roberts said placidly to Ginny's father.

"Thank you very much," said Mr. Weasley.

The wizard wearing the baggy pants escorted them to the gate at the entrance to the camp. He looked very tired. He had a bluish beard of several days and deep dark circles under his eyes. When they were out of Mr. Roberts' earshot, he explained to Mr. Weasley, "You're giving us a lot of trouble. He needs a forgetfulness incantation ten times a day to keep him calm. And Ludo Bagman isn't much help. He goes around talking about bludgers and quaffles out loud. Anti-Muggle security doesn't give a damn. The truth is, I'll be glad when it's all over. See you later, Arthur."

And just like that, he disappeared.

"Mr. Bagman was the head of The Department of Magical Games and Sports," Ginny said in surprise, looking at Harry as if explaining, and then turning to her father. "He shouldn't be talking about bludgers when Muggles are around, should he?"

"Yes, that's true," Mr. Weasley admitted as he led them into the camp. "But Ludo has always been a little... Well... lax when it comes to security. However, it would be impossible to find a director of the Sports Department with more enthusiasm. He played for England's Quidditch team, you know? And he was the best puncher the Wimbourne Wasps have ever had."

They trudged up the mist-shrouded hillside, between long lines of tents. Most seemed almost normal. It was clear that their owners had tried to make them look as Muggle-like as possible, although they had made mistakes by adding chimneys, doorbells, or weather vanes. But, from time to time, shops were seen so obviously magical that Harry was not surprised that Mr. Roberts was wary.

In the middle of the meadow stood an extravagant striped silk tent that looked like a miniature palace, with several peacocks tied to the entrance. A little farther on, they passed a shop that had three floors and several turrets. And almost immediately afterward there was another with an attached garden, a garden with a sink for the birds, a sundial, and a fountain.

"It's always the same," Mr. Weasley said, smiling, Harry barely paid attention to him, Ginny's annoyed expression distracted him, it wasn't usual for her to show so many emotions without being alone. "We can't resist ostentation every time we get together. Ah, we're there."

They had come to the very edge of the forest, at the edge of the meadow, where there was a space with a small sign nailed to the ground that said "Weezly."

"We couldn't have had a better place!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed happily, "The stadium is just on the other side of that wood. We couldn't be closer. Well, there are so many of them in Muggle land, that magic is forbidden. Let's set up these tents manually! It can't be too hard: Muggles always do it that way... Well, Harry, where do you think we should start?"

Harry had never camped in his life. Between him and Hermione, however, they were ascertaining the placement of most of the irons and pickaxes, and, though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, for the excitement overcame him when he tried to use the mace, they finally succeeded in erecting a pair of threadbare tents of two squares each. They stepped back a little to contemplate the product of their labor.

No one who saw the shops would guess that they belonged to wizards, Harry thought, but the problem was that by the time Bill, Charlie, and Percy arrived, there would be ten of them. Hermione, too, seemed to have noticed the problem: she gave Harry a chuckle when Mr. Weasley got on all fours and entered the first of the tents.

"We'll be a little tight," he said, "But we'll fit. Come in and take a look.

Harry leaned over, slipped through the opening of the tent, and was open-mouthed. He had just walked into what looked like an old-fashioned three-bedroom apartment, complete with a bathroom and kitchen.

"Well, it's only for a short time," said Mr. Weasley, wiping a handkerchief over his bald head, and looking at the four bunks in the bedroom. "They were lent to me by Perkins, a colleague in the office. He doesn't camp anymore because he has lumbago, the poor thing."

Harry discreetly left the tent and went to meet Ginny at the tent she would share with Hermione. There were too many of them for them to be considerate.

They both left the tent when Ron caught up with them and began arguing with Hermione. Ginny took his hand and smiled at him, indicating that he could ask her what was on the tip of his tongue.

With the sun that had just risen and the fog lifting, they could see the sea of tents stretching in all directions. They walked between the rows of tents, looking curiously around.

Until then, Harry had never wondered how many witches and wizards there were in the world; he had never thought about magicians from other countries. Campers were starting to wake up, and the early risers were families with young children.

It was the first time Harry had seen wizards and witches at such a young age. A little boy, not two years old, was on all fours and very happy at the door of a pyramid-shaped shop, hitting a slug with a wand, which was gradually becoming the size of a sausage. When he reached her height, the mother came out of the tent.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Kevin? No... Touch... The wand... Dad's... Oh!"

He had just stepped on the giant slug, which burst. The air carried the mother's rebuke mixed with the child's cries:

"Mumbad, the slug is broken!"

A little farther on they saw two little witches, just a little older than Kevin. They rode toy broomsticks that rose high enough for the girls to brush their toes across the damp grass.

A magician from the Ministry, who seemed to be in a great hurry, overtook them, and they heard him mutter in great thought, "In broad daylight! And the parents will be sleeping so soundly! Like I saw it..."

Everywhere, wizards and witches came out of the shops and began to prepare breakfast. Some, casting furtive glances around them, set fire to their wands. Others rubbed matches in the boxes with skeptical looks, as if they were convinced it couldn't work.

Three African magicians in white robes chatted animatedly as they roasted something that looked like a rabbit over a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches gossiped merrily, seated under a glittering banner they had unfurled among their tents, reading, `Salem Witches' Institute´.

From within the tents they passed, they heard snippets of conversation in foreign tongues, and though Harry could not understand a word, the tone of all voices was one of enthusiasm.

Finally, he dared to ask, "Is it common to do that with the Muggles?"

"Of course." Ginny replied, knowing what he meant. "They do whatever it takes to keep the secret."

Harry felt disgusted, it was too horrible to see how they manipulated people's minds without any remorse as if they were nothing. Then he saw Ginny staring closely at a particularly extravagant tent, seeing her countenance darken and anger fill her face, even the hand she was holding squeezed so hard it was painful. "And yet they dare to exhibit themselves like that, they deserve everything that will happen to them."

The young woman next to him flinched and looked at him in surprise, as if those words had escaped her by accident, and Harry didn't want to listen any longer. So, he just kept moving forward as he dragged her hand.

o-o-o-o

Ginny was jaded, she couldn't help but feel those bad feelings, and her fear and anxiety increased with every minute she spent there. And it got worse the closer she got to Harry, so she decided to stay with her favorite brother.

"Gin, did I do anything wrong? Are you angry?" Harry asked as discreetly as he could, however, all of his girlfriend's siblings heard him and the twins began to scoff at his plea-like tone. She looked at him almost indifferently, although she almost laughed when she saw Hermione looking at them in surprise, she had probably just realized that their relationship was true, maybe having only two friends, and men at that, did not make her shine in the area of personal relationships. Ginny smiled sweetly and knowing that everyone was watching, she stepped forward and kissed him on the lips tenderly.

Harry was too frightened at this and couldn't reciprocate, but the girl didn't care.

"Don't worry my love, it's just that I want you to have fun with my brother and your friend, I'll go with Percy while I haven't lived with him for a long time, he's been so busy." She said as she pulled away from him and took her older brother's hand, forcing him to move forward with her.

The game passed, whoever had to win won and while the whole stadium celebrated, she and Parcy looked like a couple of bitter complainers annoyed by the noise, Ginny tried with all her might to pay attention to the conversation, but the chills, the cold sweat and the sour mouth did not leave her. Percy knew her so well that he didn't even ask her what was wrong and just chattered about things in the office while putting an arm around her shoulder protectively as he looked suspiciously around the stadium.

She felt so much danger that she could go mad at any moment. And when it was all over and she was hugging Harry in the sleeping tent, that feeling still didn't go away, even when they were back at the Burrow.


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