iii. shamrocks and wagers

THE NEXT MORNING, she was the first of the girls to wake up. She was used to starting her day extremely early, always wanting to make the most of the day when her family — bar sweet, sweet Harry— wasn't up and about, annoying her with just their presence.

She dressed in silence so as to not disturb Hermione or Ginny, it was still too early for them. She even took her time in the bathroom, washing her face thoroughly as she stared back at her reflection in the mirror.

Evie stretched her limbs and carefully walked down the staircase, trying to avoid tripping and waking up the entire house. She entered the kitchen and was met with Mrs. Weasley with a large pot on the stove, and Mr. Weasley sat at the table with what she assumed were the tickets in his hands.

"Morning," she greeted, unintentionally startling both of them.

"Oh, dear, please don't scare me like that," gasped Mrs. Weasley, a hand drawn to her chest in fright.

She smiled sheepishly, murmuring an apology as she took a seat at the table. She peered at the tickets in Mr. Weasley's hands as she slowly ate her breakfast, standing up when she was finished.

"Evie, dear, can you go and wake the boys up? I'll get the girls," called Mrs. Weasley over her shoulder, after Evie put her plate on the sink, where a dish brush was magically cleaning other utensils.

"Yeah, sure," she said, heading up the stairs.

She went for her cousin first, not only because he was the closest one to the door, but because he was the one she was most comfortable with. She lightly shook his shoulder, seeing him slowly open his eyes.

"Haz, it's time. Wake up," she whispered, smiling softly at him when they made eye contact.

She moved on to Ron, who mumbled incoherently until he woke up. When his eyes settled on her, he went red, and effectively roused awake. The twins were sleeping at the foot of Harry's mattress, and she kicked George's leg, who woke up startled.

She shook Fred awake, gentler than she had his brother. "'S' time already?"

"Why are you already dressed?" said George groggily, voice slightly muffled because of his pillow, looking up at her with eyes half-closed.

"Would you rather I was naked?" she retorted. Evie heard a collective groan, coming from George and Harry. "I was obviously joking, no need to get your wands in a twist. I've been up for a while, you lazy asses."

She swiftly left the room when she made sure they were awake and ready, and once again went down the stairs, still as silently as she could. When the boys joined them downstairs, Evie kept her lips sealed shut about George's shirt being inside out.

Mr. Weasley looked up as they joined them, and spread his arms so they could see his clothes more clearly. Now that Evie could see the entire outfit, she noted how his tattered oversized jeans were being held up by a thick leather belt that looked vintage. Along with the sweater, he could very well pass for a muggle.

"What d'you think?" he asked them, but mostly Harry and her, as they were the ones raised by muggles. "We're supposed to go incognito — do I look like a muggle?"

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

"You'd pass for a golfer," she added.

"That is marvellous!" he said, but frowned for a moment. "Although you'll have to tell me what a golfer is, Evie."

"I could explain on the way?" she suggested, and Mr. Weasley nodded at her.

"Where're Bill and Charlie and Per—Percy?" asked George, failing to stifle a yawn.

"Well, they're Apparating, aren't they?" said Mrs. Weasley, starting to ladle porridge into bowls as they sat at the table. "So they can have a bit of a lie-in."

"Godric, can't wait to learn how to Apparate," she mumbled, plopping down in the seat she'd used before.

Thankfully for her, that year in Hogwarts they would teach them. Being sixth-years, Evie and the twins were finally qualified for training for the test, even if they wouldn't be allowed to Apparate until they turned seventeen — which would happen sooner for her.

"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, making her think that the twins should have been treading lightly after what happened the night before. "And where have those girls got to?"

She bustled out of the kitchen and rushed to the stairs.

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

"Oh yes," said Mr. Weasley, tucking the World Cup tickets safely into the back pocket of his battered jeans. "The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a licence. It's not easy, Apparition, and when it's not done properly it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I'm talking about went and splinched themselves."

She winced at the mental image of that scenario.

"Er — splinched?" asked Harry.

"They left half of themselves behind," said Mr. Weasley, now spooning large amounts of treacle onto his porridge. "So, of course, they were stuck. Couldn't move either way. Had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to sort them out. Meant a fair old bit of paperwork, I can tell you, what with the Muggles who spotted the body parts they'd left behind..."

"Were they okay?" Harry asked, startled.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Weasley matter-of-factly. "But they got a heavy fine, and I don't think they'll be trying it again in a hurry. You don't mess around with Apparition. There are plenty of adult wizards who don't bother with it. Prefer brooms — slower, but safer."

"But Bill and Charlie and Percy can all do it?"

"Charlie had to take the test twice," said Fred, grinning. "He failed the first time, Apparated five miles south of where he meant to, right on top of some poor old dear doing her shopping, remember?"

Her lips twitched into a smile, remembering the belly laugh they'd gotten as second-years listening to an embarrassed seventeen-year-old Charlie recount his tale.

"Yes, well, he passed the second time," said Mrs. Weasley, marching back into the kitchen amid hearty sniggers.

"Percy only passed two weeks ago," said George, a frown on his face. "He's been Apparating downstairs every morning since, just to prove he can."

"This year we can take our test," said Evie, grinning at Harry. "I'll be a whole lot more annoying."

Harry looked at her like he was doubting she would practise Apparition back at Privet Drive, which he would be absolutely right about, if she were planning on coming back.

They were footsteps down the passageway, and Hermione and Ginny came into the kitchen, looking as if they had slept both twenty hours and none at the same time, clearly not having had the time to go through their routines like she had.

"Why do we have to be up so early?" asked Ginny, rubbing her eyes and sitting down beside her.

"We've got a bit of a walk," said Mr. Weasley, adjusting his rucksack.

"Walk?" said Harry, with wide eyes. "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 startled at the sudden shriek.

"What?" said George, in an innocent tone that fooled 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!"

Small, coloured packaged sweets shot out flying from his clothes, slipping through his fingers as George tried holding on to them, speeding right into Mrs. Weasley's open hand.

Evie flinched as the matriarch of the family roared in anger.

"We told you to destroy them!" she said, furiously, recognising the sweets as Ton-Tongue Toffees. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

It was one of the most uncomfortable moments of her life, she reckoned, as she stood while Mrs. Weasley continued using the summoning charm to find all the toffees the twins had tried to smuggle out of the house.

"Accio! Accio! Accio!" she shouted, waving her wand around, and toffees zoomed from inconspicuous places, like the lining of George's jacket or the cuffs in Fred's jeans.

Evie had to give it to them, she would have never even looked there.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother as she threw every single toffee away.

"Oh, a fine way to spend six months!" She shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more OWLs!"

Evie grimaced. She knew her scores hadn't particularly helped the twins' situation, having gotten Outstanding in almost all of them, and probably becoming another example to Mrs. Weasley of what her sons hadn't managed to replicate.

All in all, the atmosphere when they left wasn't very friendly. They had said their goodbyes — not the twins, they had walked off without a word, and had set off across the dark yard. It was chilly, and as she glanced at the moon, she quickened her pace to walk alongside Mr. Weasley, eager to change the grimace on his face.

"You know, you do pass as a muggle, Mr. Weasley," she said, smiling at him.

"I've got to admit I was worried about not doing so," he said, shooting a satisfied look towards his clothes. "So, tell me, what exactly is a golfer, Evie?"

As she explained to him the muggle sport, only a greenish tinge along the horizon showed that the sunrise was coming close. Mr. Weasley's curious eyes only left hers to make sure they were on the right path, extremely interested in her sporadic physical demonstrations of golfers.

"That's a bizarre sport," he said, when she was done.

"No doubt," she agreed.

"And muggles watch that?"

"Uncle Vernon does," said Harry, who had been walking on the other side of Evie, and also curious about her explanation. "Mr. Weasley, how does everyone get to the Cup without all the Muggles noticing?"

Mr. Weasley started explaining to them, mostly to her cousin, how the Ministry had arranged a massive amount of Portkeys all across the world in order for all wizarding folk to get to the match. It had been a difficult task because it involved several countries and anti-muggle precautions, but they had gotten it done. The only alternative to Portkeys was Apparating, because taking public transport would surely cause clogging — as if the system wasn't faulty enough on its own.

The nearest Portkey was at the top of Stoatshead Hill, a large black massrose beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, going by where Mr. Weasley had pointed his finger.

As they trudged down the dark lane toward the village, Evie wondered what sort of object their Portkey would be. She'd heard from Katie, one of her best friends, that she once used a pair of used socks, which had been disgusting. She just hoped the ministry wouldn't be as terrible as to do that to them. The sky lightened very slowly as they climbed the hill, not stopping to take any breath. Evie's fingers were freezing, even as she rubbed her hands together.

Every breath she took was sharp in her chest, but a smile still managed to tug at her lips when occasionally someone stumbled in hidden rabbit holes, or slipped on thick patches of grass. As unused to exercise as she was, the moment Mr. Weasley stopped checking his watch and stood still, she let out a deep breath, grateful for the stop. Evie supported her body weight onto George's back, who had leaned forward to rest his hands on his knees.

"Whew," panted Mr. Weasley, and she couldn't agree more. "Well, we've made good time — we've got ten minutes... Now we just need the Portkey..."

George shrugged her off, and all of them spread out.

She started her search with a frown on her face, squinting at every thick patch of grass she found. They'd only been at it for a couple of minutes, when a shout filled the air, calling for Mr. Weasley.

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

Startled, Evie joined the group once again, watching as two tall figures walked toward them, just silhouettes in front of the starry sky.

"Amos!" Said Mr. Weasley brightly, smiling as he strode over to the man.

As they got closer, recognition flashed across her face.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr. Weasley, but her eyes weren't on the older man holding a mouldy-looking old boot. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

They did. She did. Cedric Diggory was a fellow sixth year prefect, and he was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team at Hogwarts. Pretty much everyone knew who he was, unless you lived under a rock. She certainly didn't live under one.

"Hi," said Cedric, looking around at them all, his eyes stopping a second too long on hers before quickly looking back at his dad.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Amos asked.

"Not too bad," replied Mr. Weasley, and she scrunched her nose, in disagreement. "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..."

He wasn't wrong. If the Weasleys hadn't gotten them as a gift, they would have gone into bankruptcy if they tried to buy the tickets themselves, given how many of them they were. Mr. Diggory took a long look at them, before facing Mr. Weasley once again.

"All yours, Arthur?"

"Oh no, only the gingers," said Mr. Weasley, although he quickly backtracked, his eyes settling on her. "Not this one, though, she's Evie — a friend of George's. This is Hermione, friend of Ron's – and Harry, another friend—"

"Merlin's beard," he gasped, eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

Evie's left eye twitched as her cousin hesitantly nodded.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory, and she watched his son with narrowed eyes. "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!"

All of them remained silent in response, and Cedric had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he muttered, his ears flushing pink when he made eye contact with her. "I told you... it was an accident..."

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman... but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same,wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"

She quickly decided she didn't like this man.

"Must be nearly time," said Mr. Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. "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, with a pensive look on his face. "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—"

Even if she didn't quite understand the mechanics of it, she supposed it sounded rather simple. Which was good, because her knowledge of Portkeys was minimal — they hadn't learnt in profundity about them in school yet because every wizard knew what they were, and she wasn't as curious as to actually research it.

The ten of them crowded around the old boot held by Amos Diggory in a tight fit as they all reached toward it. She found herself uncomfortably sandwiched by George and Cedric Diggory as they stood in a circle and Mr. Weasley started counting down.

It happened in under a second, and suddenly she was everywhere and nowhere at once. She could feel George's shoulders smashing into hers, and the feeling of being jerked forward as her feet left the ground, just as soon as they slammed into the ground once again.

Disoriented, she almost didn't feel the hand on her waist, steading her on her feet. Cedric stood right beside her, along with Mr. Weasley and Mr. Diggory, and the four of them had been the only ones to remain standing.

She gave the boy beside her a smile. "Thank you."

His hand left her waist, and he smiled back.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," announced a man, standing in front of them holding a large gold watch. Alongside him stood another wizard, with a thick roll of parchment and a quill writing on its own. Both wizards had clearly tried to dress as muggles, but failed miserably.

"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, handing the Portkey to the wizard dressed in a kilt and a poncho.

"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil, sounding as tired as he looked. "Not on duty, eh? It's alright for some... We've been here all night... You'd better get outta 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 checked 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 motioned everyone to follow him.

"See you," said Evie, shooting Cedric a smile, completely unaware of the red she'd caused to cover the boy's face.

The path was misty, and they walked for about twenty minutes before they saw anything in front of them. A small cottage next to a gate swam into her view, a man — a real muggle, this time— standing in the doorway, looking towards the hundreds and hundreds of tents that rose up the hill encased into the gates.

"Morning!" said Mr. Weasley brightly, when the man turned around

"Morning," said the muggle.

"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 Mr. Weasley, nodding.

"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts, with a twitch of his eyebrows, cautious.

"Ah — right — certainly —" muttered Mr. Weasley, beckoning Harry and her towards him, pulling muggle money from his pockets. "this one a — a — a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now... So this is a five?"

"A twenty," her cousin corrected him in an undertone.

"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.

Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.

"He's just not used to using cash, you know? Too much trust in credit cards, these old folks," Evie tried to amend, sharing an amused glance with the man, who nodded absentmindedly.

"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."

"Terrible costumes, right? Too many people have seen the Lord of the Rings lately..." she nervously said, ignoring the weird looks the Weasley gave her.

Of course they wouldn't know what the Lord of the Rings was. She didn't know why she kept being surprised. They were purebloods, afterall, Mr. Weasley got excited with rubber ducks.

"It's like some sort of... I dunno... like some sort of rally," said Mr. Roberts, pondering her words. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

At that moment, a wizard in all-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door.

"Obliviate!" he yelled, wand pointed at Mr. Roberts. Instantly, his eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face as his memories were erased.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said placidly to Mr. Weasley. "And your change."

"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley.

She mumbled a thank you to the obliviated man, swallowing past the knot in her throat as they left the disoriented Mr. Roberts behind. They had learnt in class that performing too many Obliviates on one person could harm them, and she didn't want to think about how many times the poor muggle had been charmed.

Almost as if he were following her thought process, the wizard started to talk as soon as they were out of earshot of Mr. Roberts. "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."

The nameless man Disapparated without another word.

They walked into the campsite, threading up the misty field between long rows of tents. Some were inconspicuous, looking like regular tents set up by muggles, while most looked almost ordinary — if it weren't for the added chimneys, bellpulls or weather vanes.

"Always the same," said Mr. Weasley, smiling fondly at the sight. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."

Evie raised an eyebrow at the small sign hammered into the ground that said Weezly.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr. Weasley 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," 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, Evie, where do you reckon we should start?"

She hesitated. She'd only gone camping once, and had been forbidden ever since after setting the tent on fire with accidental magic.

Thanks to Godric, Hermione had been camping, and along with Harry the three of them worked out how to set up the tents. Mr. Weasley had tried to help, but his excitement over the smallest things while endearing, was a bit of a hindrance.

Fred patted her on the back when they finished and the two tents stood upright in front of them. "Good job, Evs."

George swatted his hand off her back.

Evie was too busy examining the tents to care about whatever the hell the twins had going on. They were the most normal-looking tents she'd seen in the campsite, but judging from their size, they must be magical — there was just no way all of them would fit in there otherwise.

She caught the look Hermione and Harry shared, probably thinking the same as her, when Mr. Weasley crawled through the entrance to the first tent.

"We'll be a bit cramped," he called from the inside. "But I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

She went right behind Ginny, and felt her jaw drop. She was right, they were enchanted to be bigger on the inside, but the difference was insane. While the decoration reminded her of Mrs. Figg's house, it was a nicely shaped three-room space, with a bathroom and a kitchen.

"Well, it's not for long," shrugged Mr. Weasley, as if it weren't bigger than most flats in central London. "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," peeped Ron from behind her, clearly eager to go on his own. "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!"

"I'm sure it will be fun," she said, receiving a grateful smile in response.

They did a quick tour of the tent the girls and her would be sleeping in and Mr. Weasley sent them off on their own, Harry, Hermione and Ron heading in the opposite direction of them.

Now, the early morning sun caressed her skin as they headed towards the spot on the map in Ginny's hands that signalled where they were supposed to gather the wood. The people around them were starting to wake up — it was just getting to be a normal hour to rise, and she couldn't help but stare at everything and everyone. Unlike her companions, she'd never seen so many witches and wizards in one place. The two girls hung back as George and Fred walked in front of them, enjoying gossiping about whatever they saw.

She gasped at the sight of miniatures of the Irish players floating around tents, seemingly imitating plays from past matches as they passed a quaffle around. She elbowed Ginny and pointed towards the flying figurines, and the girl shrugged, smiling.

"Charlie had the Chudley Cannons flying around his room all the time," she said dismissively, having seen it most of her life.

"Well, now I want one of those too," she mumbled, glancing back as they walked past them.

A lightbulb went off in her head. Surely that would be an amazing birthday gift for Harry! She only had to find out his favourite players, because they changed with the wind.

"Shit," cursed Fred, amazement in his voice. "The Irish know how to decorate."

She turned around and raised her eyebrows in surprise. Everything had turned green — the tents were covered in shamrocks, as if they were just prolongations of the green grass beneath them. The people treading between the rows of tents were just as green, their skin painted and their clothes an obnoxious combination of bright greens and shamrocks.

"Almost makes me reconsider supporting Ireland," she jokingly said as they walked through the greenery, ducking to avoid a flying shamrock.

"Nonsense, Evs," said Ginny, narrowing her eyes at her. "We look great in green, don't you dare— "

Her friend was suddenly silent, and Evie followed her gaze to where two boys were sitting in front of one of the tents that were in their way. They were the least obnoxious-looking people around, decked in muted colours, their green decorations sticking out more because of it. One of them raised his shamrock-mug at them in greeting.

"'Morning, Dursley, Weasley!" cheerfully said Terence Higgs.

They stopped in front of their schoolmates, leaving the twins to unknowingly wander off on their own.

"Morning, Higgs," she smiled at the blond, eyes shifting towards the dark-haired boy quietly sipping what she hoped was coffee. "Pucey."

"You'll be supporting Ireland, I hope?" Adrian Pucey asked, midnight blue eyes searching her body, she supposed looking for any colours that gave her away.

"Obviously," said Evie. "Only thing likeable about Bulgaria is the veelas."

Both Slytherins chuckled at her joke, causing her to smile. Pucey opened his mouth, like he was about to say something, but promptly closed it when he saw something behind them.

"Evie, Gin!" said George's voice. "Why have you— oh. Pucey, Higgs." His voice turned cold as soon as he noticed who was in their company, never really getting over the house rivalry — or the Quidditch one.

"Hello, Weasley number two and three," greeted Pucey, the image of casualness.

"If I may ask, who is Weasley number one?" she asked, tilting her head at the duo.

"Her, clearly," said Higgs, pointing at Ginny with his head.

Ginny shuffled closer to Evie, a smile dancing in the younger girl's lips.

"C'mon, we have to leave," urged Fred, a deep frown on his face. "Dad will have our heads."

The four of them knew he wouldn't, but they also knew that had been the only excuse the boy had thought of that could excuse them immediately out of their presence — Evie considered the opportunity to mess with them about their rivalry could arise at any other given moment.

"See you at school!" she said over her shoulder as they left, receiving two waves in response.

As soon as they were out of their hearing range, she turned to the normally-outspoken girl that had suddenly become meek and quiet before the two boys from Slytherin.

"You didn't tell me you'd gotten over Harry!" She whispered to her, remembering the last time she'd seen her with that behaviour.

Ginny quickly looked at her brothers and back at her. "Be quiet, they could hear you!"

She chuckled, dismissing the thought. "Not happening, they're the most oblivious blokes to ever exist."

True to her word, the two brothers walked right in front of them without a clue of what the girls were talking about for the whole walk to where the wood was — and the exact same on the walk back, even when they walked past their schoolmates once again, and Ginny's ears went pink.

...

"YOU'VE BEEN AGES," said George when Hermione, Harry and Ron finally joined them back at the campsite.

"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water jug down beside the tents. "You haven't got that fire started yet?"

"Your dad's having fun with the matches," she said, head turned towards the eldest man.

Mr. Weasley wasn't being successful at all, but at least he was having fun. It wasn't for lack of trying, really, he just startled each time they caught fire and proceeded to drop them. She wasn't being much help either, grinning at the sight. There was something so wholesome in seeing a grown man finding such a simple task a quest out of this world.

"Come here, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione, more kind that Evie could find herself to be at the moment.

They sat around the lit fire, her back towards their tents so she could indulge in people-watching as they waited for it to be hot enough to cook anything. They were located in what seemed to be a hotspot, because Ministry workers constantly hurried up and down in front of them, greeting Mr. Weasley as they passed, who kept a running commentary on who they were.

She'd seen people from all ages and cultures pass before them, and stared curiously at what she knew to be students from other magical schools — sometimes she found herself forgetting that Hogwarts wasn't the only place to learn magic.

The food had started to cook when she saw Bill, Charlie, and Percy strolling out of the woods toward them, smiles bright on their faces.

Her fork was halfway to her mouth when Mr. Weasley jumped from his seat, waving and grinning at a man striding toward them. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Ludo Bagman was a blond man with round blue eyes, and he was easily the most noticeable person she'd seen that day, even including the Irish supporters. He was wearing Quidditch robes with thick horizontal black and yellow stripes, which couldn't be other than the Wimbourne Wasps, the team she knew he played for in his youth.

"Ahoy there!" he called happily, a spring in his step as he approached. "Arthur, old man," he said when he reached them. Her eyes widened at the sight of his bright yellow shoes. "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!"

Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched, and she choked in a laugh. Seeing what a kiss-ass he was in person was different from hearing about it.

"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 — George's friend, Evie Dursley — and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."

Bagman's eyes performed the familiar flick upward to her cousin's scar. If she was already tired from the double takes Harry had been getting, she couldn't imagine how he was feeling.

"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 dismissively.

"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."

She grimaced. Little Agatha Timms might not be a very bright woman to do a bet that risky.

"Oh . . . go on then," said Mr. Weasley, from the look on his face thinking the same. "Let's see . . . a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon?" Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but quickly recovered and looked at them. "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," interrupted 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."

"Jeez, you've been practising that?" she whistled, taking in the most riskiest bet the could have done.

"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 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!" he cheered, like an overgrown man-child. "I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

She grinned at Percy when she caught him wrinkling his nose in disapproval.

"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..."

Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names. She was sure that on spite alone, they would manage to win that bet.

"Cheers," said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and slipping it to her for safekeeping.

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 filled 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."

"George has it down to a tee," added Evie, easily dodging George's elbow.

Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look and stoked the fire to bring the kettle back to the boil. She extended her own cup to him, so he could fill it when he was done.

She sipped quietly on her tea, half-listening to a conversation about a missing Ministry worker.

"... 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. Where Bagman was a laid-back relatively young man, the one who was supposedly Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. He looked every bit a muggle, even her father couldn't have sniffed him out — he looked like a man Vernon Dursley would approve of. She immediately disliked him.

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

"No thank you, Ludo," said Crouch, impatience tinging 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 that made him look like a hunchback, and Evie watched cautiously another exhibit of him kissing ass. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

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

She choked into her own cup, along with the twins. Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle.

"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."

Her jaw dropped. For all the years being in the magical world. She hadn't once considered flying carpets could exist. She now had to take her friends to see the movie Aladdin.

"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."

He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law. Mr Crouch seemed to Evie a pretentious man, too rigid and perfect for that to be real.

"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?" 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?"

She frowned, glancing between the two men.

Mr. Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman.

"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 —"

Her empty cup almost fell out of her hands in surprise.

"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," said Mr. Crouch sharply, cutting Bagman's remarks short, and leaving her hungry with curiosity. "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. All of them turned towards Mr. Weasley.

"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."

She pouted. It wasn't fair that Percy of all people knew what was happening at school and they didn't.

"Oh shut up, Weatherby," said Fred, followed by snickers from Bill and Charlie.

She looked toward the eldest of the Weasley brothers, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at them. When both of them met her eyes, they raised their hands in innocence, but they weren't fooling her — they definitely knew something. And she was going to get it out of them.

ren speaks!
hellooo!! hope you liked this, thank you for reading! knowing
my track record, it hasn't been too long since the last update, so
cool. i hope i can get the next one out before the year
ends. i'm kidding. i hope.