Chapter 79: Exploring The Camp
I disentangled himself from Harry and got up off the ground. We had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of us was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles. Badly dressed Muggles.
"Morning, Basil," said Dad, 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," said Basil wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's alright 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," said Dad, and he beckoned us 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 we could see 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 goodbye to the Diggory's and approached the cottage door.
A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents.
"Morning!" said Dad brightly.
"Morning," said the man.
"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"
"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "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," said Dad.
"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.
"Ah - right - certainly -" said Dad. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him. They stood there looking over papers in Dad's hands.
"Muggle money." whispered Hermione to Ginny and I. "He must be an actual Muggle."
"You foreign?" said Mr. Roberts as Dad returned with the correct notes apparently.
"Foreign?" repeated Dad, puzzled.
"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts, inspecting my dad closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."
"Did you really?" said Dad 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 Dad, 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," said Mr. Roberts. "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.
Instantly, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a took of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. He looked like he had just had his memory modified.
"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said placidly to Dad. "And your change."
"Thanks very much."
The wizard in plus-fours walked with us toward the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted. His chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes.
Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered to Dad, "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 Dad, 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."
We trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Harry pointed out that most looked almost Muggle-like, but some had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that I could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.
"Always the same," said Dad, smiling. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."
We had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read WEEZLY.
"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Dad happily. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be."
He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right. 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 looked at Dad as if he was just as new to this as he was. However, he and Hermione worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and even though Dad was more a hinder than a help, they finally managed to build a pair of shabby two-man tents.
Harry, Hermione, and Dad stood back to admire their handiwork. Then Dad went in to inspect it. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards. Hermione gave Harry a quizzical look and then the both of them looked at me.
"What's wrong?" I whispered.
"How are we-"
"We'll be a bit cramped," called Dad from inside one of the tents, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."
Harry went in first as I followed. When I got in, I couldn't help but want to laugh at the fact that Harry looked completely awestruck. The tent had a kitchen, a sitting room, a den, bathroom, and two bedroom sections.
"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us." I said, after hearing Dad say we needed water. "It's on the other side of the field."
"Well, why don't you, Harry, and Hermione go and get us some water then, and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?" said Dad as he handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans
"But we've got an oven," I said. "Why can't we just -"
"Ron, anti-Muggle security! When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!"
After a quick tour of the girls' tent, ("very, it doesn't smell like cats in here" said Harry), Harry, Hermione, and I set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.
Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, we could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. We made our way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. Harry and Hermione kept looking around, amazed at all the different witches and wizards from around the world.
"Er - is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" I said, as we had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks.
"Harry! Ron! Hermione!"said a familiar Irish voice.
It was Seamus, who 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.
"Like the decorations?" said Seamus, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."
"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" said Mrs. Finnigan. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing Harry, Hermione, and I beadily. We shook our heads and smiled as proudly as we could, then we set off.
"Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot." I said.
"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" said Hermione.
"Let's go and have a look," said Harry, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag - white, green, and red - was fluttering in the breeze.
The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was of my favorite Quidditch player of all time. OF ALL TIME.
"Krum," I said quietly.
"What?" said Hermione.
"Krum! Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"
"He looks really grumpy," said Hermione, looking around at the many Krum's blinking and scowling at us.
"'Really grumpy?" I exclaimed. The bloody hell was wrong with her?! "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. We joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of 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 at the gate's already getting suspicious -"
Hermione and Harry were holding back laughs.
"I bought this in a Muggle shop," said the old wizard stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."
"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.
"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."
Hermione was overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles at this point that she had to duck out of the queue and only returned when Archie had collected his water and moved away.
Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, we made our way back through the campsite. Here and there, we saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry over to his parents' tent to introduce him, and told him excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Next we were saw by Ernie Macmillan (the great prat), and a little farther on, we saw Cho Chang, the Seeker on the Ravenclaw team, whom Hermione and I could tell that Harry fancied. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back like an idiot. The, to keep me from really taking the mickey, he hurriedly pointed out a large group of teenagers whom we had never seen before.
"Who d'you reckon they are?" he said. "They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"
"'Spect they go to some foreign school," I said, shrugging."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 laughed and glanced at Hermione, who looked unsurprised by the information. No doubt she had run across the news about other wizarding schools in some book or other, and researched everything she could.