I-I can't believe it! Oh My God! I've gotten nearly 1k reads! I-Thank you, thank you thank you so, so, much! I appreciate every read, vote and comment!

Happy Reading!

~Pocketful_of_words

I felt as though I had barely lain down to sleep in Ginny's room when I was being shaken awake by Mrs.Weasley. 

"Time to go, Emma, dear," she whispered, moving away to wake Ginny and Hermione. 

I sat up. It wasstill dark outside. Ginny muttered indistinctly as her mother rousedhim. We dressed in silence, too sleepy to talk, then, yawning andstretching, the three of us headed downstairs into the kitchen.Mrs. Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on thestove, while Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheafof large parchment tickets. He looked up as the we entered andspread his arms so that we could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing what appeared to be a golfing sweater and a very oldpair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thickleather belt.

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

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

 "Where're Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?" said Ginny, 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 intobowls. "So they can have a bit of a lie-in." 

I knew that Apparating meant disappearing from one placeand reappearing almost instantly in another, but had never knownany Hogwarts student to do it, and understood that it was verydifficult.

 "So they're still in bed?" said Ginny grumpily, pulling her bowl ofporridge toward her. "Why can't we Apparate too?"

 "Because you're not of age and you haven't passed your test,"snapped Mrs. Weasley. "And where have those boyss got to?" 

She bustled out of the kitchen and they heard her climbing thestairs.

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

"Oh yes," said Mr. Weasley, tucking the tickets safely into theback pocket of his jeans. "The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparatingwithout a license. It's not easy, Apparition, and when it's not doneproperly it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I'm talkingabout went and splinched themselves." 

Everyone around the table except me and Hermione winced.

"Er — splinched?" I said.

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

I had a sudden vision of a pair of legs and an eyeball lyingabandoned on the pavement of Privet Drive. 

"Were they okay?" Hermione asked, startled. 

"Oh yes," said Mr. Weasley matter-of-factly. "But they got aheavy 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 adultwizards who don't bother with it. Prefer brooms — slower, butsafer." 

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

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

 "Yes, well, he passed the second time," said Mrs. Weasley,marching back into the kitchen amid hearty sniggers Harry, Ron, Fred and George behind her. My sleepy head brother was living is real nightmare.

"Percy only passed two weeks ago," said George, plopping down beside me, as Fred sat down on my other side. "He's beenApparating downstairs every morning since, just to prove he can." . 

"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ron said, rubbing his eyes . 

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

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

 "No, no, that's miles away," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "We onlyneed to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a largenumber of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best oftimes, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup —"

 "George!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply, and we 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!"Several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George'spocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped rightinto 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, bothof you!"

 It was an unpleasant scene; the twins had evidently been tryingto smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it wasonly by using her Summoning Charm that Mrs. Weasley managedto find them all."Accio! Accio! Accio!" she shouted, and toffees zoomed from allsorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket andthe turn-ups of Fred's jeans.

 "We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at hismother as she threw the toffees away. 

Luckily though, they trusted their apprentice, and my face was perfectly neutral.

"Oh a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonderyou didn't get more O.W.L.s!" 

All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as they took theirdeparture. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr.Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, whohad each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked outwithout 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 notlook back or answer. "I'll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy alongaround midday," Mrs. Weasley said to Mr. Weasley, as me, Harry,Ron, Hermione, and Ginny set off across the dark yard after Fredand George. 

"You have them?" whispered George

I gave him a wink.

It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenishtinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak wasdrawing closer,I having been thinking about thousands ofwizards speeding toward the Quidditch World Cup, sped up towalk with Mr. Weasley. 

"So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?" I asked. 

"It's been a massive organizational problem," sighed Mr.Weasley. "The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turnup at the World Cup, and of course, we just haven't got a magicalsite big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can't penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousandwizards into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters. Sowe had to find a nice deserted moor, and set up as many antiMuggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry's been working on it for months. First, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeksbeforehand. A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can'thave too many clogging up their buses and trains — remember,wizards are coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, ofcourse, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, wellaway from Muggles. I believe there's a handy wood they're using asthe Apparition point. For those who don't want to Apparate, orcan't, we use Portkeys. They're objects that are used to transportwizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can dolarge groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundredPortkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearestone to us is up at the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we'reheaded." 

Mr. Weasley pointed ahead of them, where a large black massrose beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole."What sort of objects are Portkeys?" I said  curiously.

 "Well, they can be anything," said Mr. Weasley. "Unobtrusivethings, obviously, so Muggles don't go picking them up and playing with them . . . stuff they'll just think is litter. . . ." 

We trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, thesilence broken only by our footsteps. The sky lightened veryslowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. my hands and feet were freezing.Mr. Weasley kept checking his watch. 

We didn't have breath to spare for talking as we began toclimb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbitholes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath I took was sharp in my chest and my legs were starting to seize upwhen, at last, my feet found level ground.

"Whew," panted Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and wipingthem on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time — we've got tenminutes. . . ." 

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitchin her side. 

"Now we just need the Portkey," said Mr. Weasley, replacing hisglasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big. . . .Come on . . ." 

We spread out, searching. We 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 theother side of the hilltop. 

"Amos!" said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the manwho had shouted. The rest of us followed.Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard witha scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old bootin his other hand. 

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr. Weasley. "He worksfor the Department for the Regulation and Control of MagicalCreatures. 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. His eyes lingered on me, I was wearing Slytherin colours. I raised my eyebrows, daring him to say something.

"Hi," said Cedric, looking around at us all.Everybody said hi back except Fred and George, who merelynodded. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating theirteam, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year. 

"Get over it" I hissed.

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

"Not too bad," said Mr. Weasley. "We live just on the other sideof the village there. You?" 

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be gladwhen 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 gotoff easy. . . ." 

Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at thethree Weasley boys,Me,  Harry, Hermione, and Ginny.

 "All these yours,Arthur?"

 "Oh no, only the redheads," said Mr. Weasley, pointing out hischildren. "

This is Hermione, friend of Ron's — and Harry and Emma his other friends —" 

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

 "Er — yeah," said Harry. 

I was used to people looking curiously at us when theymet us, used to the way their eyes moved at once to the lightningscars on our foreheads, but it always made us feel uncomfortable. 

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

Harry couldn't think of any reply to this, so he remained silent.Fred and George we

re both scowling again. I narrrowed my eyes at Cedric. Cedric looked slightlyembarrassed."Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he muttered. "I told you . . . itwas 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'tneed to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!" 

Hermione shot me a warning look. I knew it was for, but I'm no idiot. I couldn't hex the man.

"Must be nearly time," said Mr. Weasley quickly, pulling out hiswatch again. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more,Amos?"

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

 "Not that I know of," said Mr. Weasley. "Yes, it's a minuteoff. . . . We'd better get ready. . . ." 

He looked around at Me, Harry and Hermione."You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do —" 

With difficulty, owing to our bulky backpacks, the ten of us crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. We all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept overthe hilltop. Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to me how oddthis would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now . . . ten people, two of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot inthe semidarkness, waiting. . . . 

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

It happened immediately: I felt as though a hook just behind my navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. My feet left the ground;I could feel Ron and Harry on either sideof me, their shoulders banging into mine; we were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; our forefinger was stuckto the boot as though it was pulling me magnetically onward andthen —

My feet slammed into the ground; Ginny staggered into me and we fell over; the Portkey hit the ground near my head with a heavythud. 

I looked up. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric werestill standing, though looking very windswept; everybody else wason the ground. 

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

I disentangled myself from Ginny and got to my feet. We had arrived on what appeared to be a desertedstretch of misty moor. In front of us was a pair of tired andgrumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large goldwatch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both weredressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with thewatch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague,a kilt and a poncho. 

"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot andhanding it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box ofused Portkeys beside him; Harry could see an old newspaper, anempty drinks can, and a punctured football. 

"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's allright for some. . . . We've been here all night. . . . You'd better getout 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 ofa mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's calledMr. Roberts. Diggory . . . second field . . . ask for Mr. Payne."

 "Thanks, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned everyone tofollow him. 

We set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out muchthrough the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, I could justmake out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents,rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on thehorizon.

 We said good-bye to the Diggorys and approached thecottage door.A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. I knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard our footsteps, he turned his head tolook at us. 

"Morning!" said Mr. Weasley brightly. 

"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. 

"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.

 "Ah — right — certainly —" said Mr. Weasley. 

He retreated ashort distance from the cottage and beckoned me toward him."Help me, Emma," he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle moneyfrom his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. "This one's a — a — a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now. . . . Sothis is a five?

""A twenty," I corrected him in an undertone, uncomfortably aware of Mr. Roberts trying to catch every word.

 "Ah yes, so it is. . . . I don't know, these little bits of paper . . ." 

"You foreign?" said Mr. Roberts as Mr. Weasley returned withthe correct notes. 

"Foreign?" repeated Mr. Weasley, puzzled.

 "You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," saidMr. Roberts, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley closely. "I had two try andpay 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."Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out overthe misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usuallyjust turn up. . . ." 

"Is that right?" said Mr. Weasley, his hand held out for hischange, 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 abloke walking 'round in a kilt and a poncho."

 "Shouldn't he?" said Mr. Weasley anxiously. 

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

 At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin airnext 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 look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face.

i recognized the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified.

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

"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley. 

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied them toward the gate tothe campsite. He looked exhausted: His chin was blue with stubbleand there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out ofearshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered to Mr. Weasley, "Been havinga lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a dayto keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trottingaround talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice,not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad whenthis is over. See you later, Arthur." 

He Disapparated.

 "I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games andSports," said Ginny, looking surprised. "He should know betterthan to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?" 

"He should," said Mr. Weasley, smiling, and leading themthrough the gates into the campsite, "but Ludo's always been abit . . . well . . . lax about security. You couldn't wish for a moreenthusiastic head of the sports department though. He playedQuidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the bestBeater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had." 

We trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents.Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried tomake them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up byadding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that I could hardly besurprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up thefield stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniaturepalace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A littlefarther 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 gardenattached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

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

Ww had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of thefield, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered intothe ground that read weezly. 

"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr. Weasley happily. "Thefield is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as wecould be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," hesaid excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we'reout in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tentsup by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult. . . . Muggles do it all thetime. . . . Here, Harry, Emma where do you reckon we should start?" 

Harry and I had never been camping in our lives; the Dursleys hadnever taken us on any kind of holiday, preferring to leave us with Mrs. Figg, an old neighbor. However, we and Hermioneworked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, andthough Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, becausehe got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, we finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. 

Nobodylooking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards, I thought, but the trouble was that once Bill, Charlie, and Percy  arrived, we would be a party of 11. Hermione seemed to havespotted this problem too; she gave Harry and me a quizzical look as Mr.Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent.

 "We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeezein. Come and have a look." I bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt my jawdrop. I had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned,three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Oddlyenough, it was furnished in exactly the same sort of style as Mrs.Figg's house: There were crocheted covers on the mismatchedchairs and a strong smell of cats. 

"Well, it's not for long," said Mr. Weasley, mopping his baldpatch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk bedsthat 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 needwater. . . ."

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

"Well, why don't you, Harry, Emma and Hermione go and get us somewater then" — Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple ofsaucepans — "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 shiningwith anticipation. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on firesoutdoors. I've seen them at it!" The tent I was sharing with Hermione and Ginny was slightly smaller but more spacey since it was just us 3.

Me, Harry, Ron, andHermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they couldsee the city of tents that stretched in every direction. 

We made our way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It wasonly just dawning on me how many witches and wizards theremust be in the world; I had never really thought much aboutthose in other countries. our fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir werethe families with small children; I had never seen witches andwizards this young before. 

A tiny boy no older than two wascrouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand andpoking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly tothe size of a salami. As we drew level with him, his mother camehurrying out of the tent. 

"How many times, Kevin? You don't — touch — Daddy's —wand — yecchh!" 

She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scoldingcarried after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy'syells — "You bust slug! You bust slug!" 

A short way farther on, we saw two little witches, barely olderthan Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only highenough for the girls' toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Me, Harry, Ron, andHermione he muttered distractedly, "In broad daylight! Parentshaving a lie-in, I suppose —" 

Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging fromtheir tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looksaround them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure thiscouldn't work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, allof them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked likea rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-agedAmerican witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled bannerstretched between their tents that read: the salem witches'institute. 

I caught snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents we passed, and though I couldn'tunderstand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited. 

"Er — is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" said Ron. 

It wasn't just Ron's eyes. We had walked into a patch of tentsthat were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that itlooked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out ofthe earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had theirflaps open. Then, from behind us, Harry, Ron and Hermione heard their names. 

"Harry! Ron! Hermione!"It was Seamus Finnigan, their fellow Gryffindor fourth year. Hewas sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with asandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend,Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor. He ignored me, I ignored him. Apart from the weasly's my brother and Hermione I didn't interact with anyone from 

"Like the decorations?" said Seamus, grinning. "The Ministry'snot too happy." 

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" said Mrs. Finnigan."You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all overtheir tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?

" she added, eyeing Me, Harry, Ron, and Hermione beadily. When we had assured herthat they were indeed supporting Ireland, we set off again,though, as Ron said, "Like we'd say anything else surrounded bythat lot." 

"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over theirtents?" said Hermione.

 "Let's go and have a look," said Harry, pointing to a large patchof tents upheld, where the Bulgarian flag — white, green, andred — was fluttering in the breeze.The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but eachand every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a posterof a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, ofcourse, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl. 

"Krum," said Ron quietly. 

"What?" said Hermione. 

"Krum!" said Ron. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"

 "He looks really grumpy," said Hermione, looking around at themany Krums blinking and scowling at them. 

" 'Really grumpy'?" Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. "Who careswhat he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Onlyjust 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 thefield. Me, Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined it, right behind a pair ofmen who were having a heated argument. One of them was a veryold wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The otherwas 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 walkaround like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious —" 

"I bought this in a Muggle shop," said the old wizard stubbornly."Muggles wear them." 

"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wearthese," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstripedtrousers. 

"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "Ilike a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks." 

Hermione was overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles atthis point that she had to duck out of the queue and only returnedwhen Archie had collected his water and moved away. I burst out laughing.

"They've been at it for a while." said a voice behind me, I could almost hear the smirk in it.

My whole body froze, I knew that voice. 

I spun around, Draco Malfoy was giving me a smirk, hands in his pocket, and a glint in his grey eyes, and his hair was being ruffled by the wind. "Dray!" I said, running and throwing my arms around his neck, he caught my around the waist and spun me around in the air.

"Did you get my sweets and all" he asked, putting me down.

"Yes, I did, they saved my life!" 

"Glad to hear it." he chuckled, then he sharply turned someone was calling him. It was a woman, she was too far for me to make her out. Must be his mother.

"I have to go" he said, then he leaned down and whispered his warm breath tickling my neck "I plan to get you back on what did last time I saw you." he said, then he pulled away and walked to his mother.

What in the name of merlin did that mean?

"What did he say?" all three of them-Harry, Ron and Hermione--asked me as soon as I made my way back to them. However,there were mixed reactions; Hermione was grinning, Ron was raising his eyebrows and Harry--well, Harry looked ready to hit someone very hard on the head.

"Nothing" I said trying to cover my blush.

"Your blushing" sang Hermione.

"Shut it, Hermione."