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┄┄ .•* 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑 *•. ┄┄

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔, 𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒔

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The next morning, Hermione woke up earlier than the crack of dawn.

And let something sink in. She was not a morning person. She woke suddenly when she felt a heavyweight being put upon her. She groaned and opened her eyes to find a stag casually sitting on her bed, half his rear on top of her. Hermione had to bite her lip to prevent herself from laughing or shouting at the stag. The latter turned his head to her and gave her a cheeky grin (if that's even possible) before he shifted and James Potter was in his place.

"Why the fuck did you do that for?" Hermione hissed at the laughing James Potter.

"I just thought I'd help Mrs. Weasley wake you up," said James with the same cheeky grin, "Besides you're the only one free at the moment."

"I wasn't free. I was sleeping," said Hermione rolling her eyes careful not to wake Ginny. "Why aren't you with your wife? Or creepily, but sweetly, watching your son?"

"My wife is with No—Occupied at the moment. And believe it or not but watching my son sleep isn't the best entertainment—"

James was interrupted by the sound of someone going up the stairs so, he waved at Hermione and vanished—with enough time for her to flip him off.

"Oh! I didn't know you were awake Hermione."

Hermione turned around to see Mrs. Weasley smiling at her from the door, "Could you be a dear and wake Ginny up?"

"Of course, Mrs. W." Hermione grinned and after a smile, Mrs. Weasley continued to make her way up the house to wake the four boys crammed up in Ron's room.

Hermione stood up from the bed and, as she was about to wake Ginny up, she had a better idea. She wandlessly accio'd a bowl and conjured water. She then picked it up and poured it on top of the clueless sleeping redhead, who shot up, awake, with a screech. Ginny opened her eyes and glared at a smirking Hermione.

"Payback is a bitch, innit?" Hermione smirked before squealing as Ginny started chasing her through the house.

Hermione ran through the door and down the stairs to the kitchen, running to the other side of the table; Ginny fuming was fuming as she stood on the other side, and narrowed her eyes at the curly-haired witch.

"Come on Gigi, relax, I just wanted to get even. . . ." said Hermione smiling sheepishly.

"You are so not getting away with this, Hermione Jean!" Ginny hissed, her eyes merely slits and her face red from anger.

Luckily for Hermione, before the redhead could lunge at her, Mrs. Weasly along with Mr. Weasley had arrived in the kitchen.

"Good Morning girls!" Arthur said cheerily. "Had a good shower, Ginny?" he asked his daughter with a smile and Hermione burst out into laughter, only to shut up when Ginny glared at her.

"Oh, you girls should go get dressed. You'll be leaving soon," Mrs. Weasley told them.

Hermione nodded and cautiously approached Ginny with an extended hand.

"Just for now, Granger," said Ginny with her jaw twitching as she shook the older girl's hand.

Hermione grinned and they both went up to Ginny's room to change into their clothes. Hermione got dressed in a pair of high waist flared jeans with a short tank top (that showed her stomach) and her leather jacket on top. She put on her converse and grabbed her bag—which had an extension and feather-light charm on it so she could fit other clothes and still be practical. On her way out she bumped into the four guys who were just coming downstairs—Ginny was taking a shower to wash her hair.

"Morning," they all said slightly dazed by the girl's clothes. The latter clueless as she was didn't even notice and passed it on as grogginess.

"Morning guys!" Hermione beamed then she turned to Fred and George. "You guys should give me some of your products to put in my bag, otherwise your mum might confiscate them."

She smiled and, as if her talking brought them back to Earth, all four of them cleared their throats and as Ron and Harry continued downstairs, the twins shoved products inside Hermione's bag. Afterward, the three walked down to the kitchen where Mr. Weasley was questioning Harry on his muggle attire. . . .

"What d'you think?" he asked anxiously. "We're supposed to go incognito—do I look like a Muggle, Harry?"

"Yeah," said Harry, smiling, "very good."

"Where're Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?" said George, failing to stifle a huge yawn.

"Well, they're Apparating, aren't they?" said Mrs. Weasley, heaving the large pot over to the table and starting to ladle porridge into bowls. "So they can have a bit of a lie-in."

"So they're still in bed?" said Fred grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge toward him. "Why can't we Apparate too?"

"Because you're not of age and you haven't passed your test," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "And where did Ginny went to?" She bustled out of the kitchen and they heard her climbing the stairs.

"You have to pass a test to Apparate?" Harry asked.

Hermione zoned out at the start of the conversation, letting herself almost fall asleep on top of her plate of porridge. She didn't, though, as Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had reentered the kitchen.

"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny said, rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the table next to a drowsy Hermione who immediately let her head fall on the redhead's shoulder.

"We've got a bit of a walk," said Mr. Weasley and Hermione groaned.

"Walk?" said Harry. "What, are we walking to the World Cup?"

"No, no, that's miles away," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "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 they all jumped.

"What?" said George, in an innocent tone that deceived nobody.

"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!"

A few 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 up what were unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

The twins made a gesture they didn't have more so Mrs. Weasley recurred to the summoning spell, "Accio! Accio! Accio!" she shouted but nothing happened, "That's better. I'll take these," she said referring to the first toffees she had taken from George.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother as 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!"

All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as they took their departure. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her.

"Well, have a lovely time," said Mrs. Weasley, "and behave yourselves," she called after the twins' retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer. "I'll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday," Mrs. Weasley said to Mr. Weasley, as he, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.

It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. Hermione got tired after the first couple of feet so she managed to muster up the strength and walk up to the twins with an innocent smile—which they saw.

"What do you need, Mione?" Fred asked, visibly in a better mood now than when they left.

"A ride?" Hermione asked through her lashes giving him the best puppy eyes she could muster. "Please?"

Fred laughed and stopped in his tracks.

"Hop on!"

Hermione grinned at him and jumped to his back. Fred continued to walk with her on his back, George by his side.

"How did you know?" George asked Hermione at some point in their conversation.

"Know what?" Hermione whispered groggily not even lifting her head from Fred's shoulder.

"That she would take the toffees away from us." George elaborated.

"You saved us a lot of work," Fred told her and Hermione chuckled.

"I just did." Hermione shrugged. "Honestly, I think you guys will have a lot of success with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," she told them and they grinned at her.

At some point, the conversation died down. They didn't have breath to spare for talking as they began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass—Fred refused to let Hermione go, though, even when she insisted.

"Whew," panted Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time—we've got ten minutes. . . . Now we just need the Portkey," said Mr. Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big. . . . Come on . . ."

They spread out, searching—Hermione still on Fred's back. They had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rent the still air.

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!"

Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

"Amos!" said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed.

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," said Mr. Weasley. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts.

"Hi," said Cedric, looking around at them all—more specifically at Hermione who had now climbed down of Fred's back. This didn't go unnoticed by the guys who just nodded at him while Ginny and Hermione sent him a "Hi".

"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.

"Not too bad," said Mr. Weasley. "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. . . ." Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh no, only the redheads," said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. "This is Hermione, a friend of Ron's—and Harry, another friend—"

"Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

"No, Harry Styles," Hermione deadpanned and Amos Diggory gave her a weird look. They didn't know who Harry Styles was (and wouldn't for another decade), but her friends chuckled anyway (along with Cedric).

"Er—yeah," said Harry.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory. "Told us all about playing against you last year. . . . I said to him, I said—Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will. . . . You beat Harry Potter!"

"He didn't though," Hermione said.

"Oh but of course. I was merely stating he stayed in his broom," Amos Diggory said and they all scowled with exception of Hermione who was looking baffled, and Cedric who looked embarrassed.

"Dad, there were dementors—"

"And he fell and you didn't. Don't be so modest Ced." Amos Diggory waved his son off and Hermione was gaping.

"Is he for real?" She asked the twins who just shrugged while scowling.

"Must be nearly time," said Mr. Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again, trying to ease the tension. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," said Mr. Diggory. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," said Mr. Weasley. "Yes, it's a minute off. . . . We'd better get ready. . . ."
He looked around at Harry and Hermione.

"You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do—"

With difficulty, owing to their bulky backpacks—except Hermione who had a simple backpack—, the nine of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory.

They all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke.

"Three . . ." muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, "two . . . one . . ."

It happened immediately: Hermione felt as though a hook just behind her navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. Her feet left the ground; she could feel Harry and one of the twins—she couldn't bother to know which at the moment—on either side of her, their shoulders banging into hers; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; her pinky was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling her magnetically onward and then—

Her feet slammed into the ground; Harry staggered into her as Ron staggered into him and they fell over—as she groaned; the Portkey hit the ground near his head with a heavy thud. She sighed and let her head fall to the ground.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," said a voice.

"GERROFF ME, YOU FAT-ARSES!" Hermione shouted and Harry and Ron were quick to disentangle themselves and got to their feet offering their hands to help Hermione up with sheepish smiles. She grinned at them, shaking her head, took their hands, and was pulled into a standing position.

They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them 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, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt, and a poncho.

"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.

"Hello there, Arthur," said 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."

"Thanks, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him. Hermione grabbed a better hold of her bag and walked alongside her two friends.

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—this time Hermione actually walked. Beyond it, Hermione could make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising the gentle slope of a large field toward 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 took out her Walkman from her bag and put on the headphones, as the cassette she got from Nirvana. She was just halfway through Heart-Shaped Box when she felt someone nudge her in the ribs. She looked around to see Ron urging forward toward the gate to the campsite. She looped arms with him and let him lead her as she continued listening to music.

They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents—Hermione now listening to All Apologies.

Most tents looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent obviously magical. 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. Hermione couldn't help but grin at the sight before her. As the song that she was listening to stopped, it was when she heard Mr. Weasly talk, so she decided to actually pay attention and put the Walkman back in her bag.

"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—Hermione couldn't help but admire the older man by his positivity. How he wasn't a Puff, she would never know.

"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," 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?"

Hermione knew Harry had never been camping in his life—not that she could talk, cause she didn't have any experience either; during her time in the orphanage she never went camping; not with tents at least—they usually camped out in the summer under the starry sky.

However, Hermione and Harry worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help because he got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, they finally managed to set up a pair of shabby two-man tents.

All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards.

"We'll be a bit cramped," Mr. Weasley called as he dropped to his knees and started to make his way inside, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

Hermione bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt her jaw drop. She had been waiting for it but she couldn't help but be impressed, the only thing that made her scrunch up her nose and grimace was the strong smell of cat. She had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with a bathroom and kitchen.

"Well, it's not for long," said Mr. Weasley, 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."

He picked up the dusty kettle and peered inside it. "We'll need water. . . ."

"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron, who had followed inside the tent and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions. "It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, Harry, and Hermione 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," said Ron. "Why can't we just—"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" said Mr. Weasley, 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 girls' tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys', though without the smell of cats—which Hermione couldn't be happier about—, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans—not that Hermione was carrying any; she was taking pictures of the campsite. 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.

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