𓏲 . THE BOY WHO LIVED . .៹♡
                                                      CHAPTER FORTY
                      ─── LONG WALKS & UNEXPECTED GAMBLES

Charlus felt as though he had barely lain down to sleep in Ron's room when he was being shaken awake by Mrs. Weasley. "Time to go, Charlus, dear," she whispered, moving away to wake Harry, Alistair and Ron.

Charlus sat up. It was still dark outside. Ron muttered indistinctly as his mother roused him.  At the foot of Charlus' mattress he saw two large, disheveled shapes emerging from tangles of blankets. "Is it time yet?" Fred said groggily.

They dressed in silence, too sleepy to talk, then, yawning and stretching, the six  of them headed downstairs into the kitchen. Charlus was so sleepy that he had forgotten to tie the laces of his sneakers and had practically tripped and fallen down the stairs.

"I hate my life..." the boy groaned as he stood up.

Mrs. Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as the boys entered and
spread his arms so that they could see his clothes more clearly.

He  was wearing what appeared to be a golfing sweater and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt. "What d'you think?" he asked anxiously. "We're supposed to go incognito — do I look like a Muggle?"

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

"Well, they're Apparating, aren't they?" Mrs. Weasley said, 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."

Charlus knew that Apparating meant disappearing from one place and reappearing almost instantly in another, but had never known any Hogwarts student to do it, and understood that it was very difficult.

"So they're still in bed?" Fred said grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge toward him. "Lucky ones..." Charlus muttered. "Why can't we Apparate too?" "Because you're not of age and you haven't got your test," Mrs. Weasley snapped. "And where have Ginny and Hermione got to?"

"I thought they came down before us." Alistair said, glancing around the room. "You never know with those girls," Mrs. Weasley said, shaking her head. She bustled out of the kitchen and they heard her climbing the stairs.

"You have to pass a test to Apparate?" Harry asked, going back to the conversation beforehand.

"Oh yes," Mr. Weasley said, tucking the tickets safely into the back pocket of his jeans. "The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a license. 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."

Everyone around the table except the Potter twins winced. "Er — splinched?" Charlus asked. Alistair couldn't help but chuckleat the lack of knowledge. "They leave half of themselves behind," he explained to Charlus and Harry, who both made an Ohhhh face.

"Yes, so, of course, that means they were stuck," Mr. Weasley continued on, tucking the tickets safely into the back pocket of his jeans. "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...." .

Charlus had a sudden vision of a pair of legs and an eyeball lying abandoned on the pavement of Privet Drive. "Were they okay?" he asked, startled.

"Oh yes," Mr. Weasley said 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, Charlie and Percy can all do it?" "Charlie had to take the test twice," Fred said, 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?"

"Yes, well, he passed the second time," Mrs. Weasley said, marching back into the kitchen amid hearty sniggers. "Percy only passed two weeks ago," George said. "He's been Apparating downstairs every morning since just to prove he can."

There were footsteps down the hallway and the girls came into the kitchen, both seemingly putting on a state of drowsiness. "Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny said, rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the table. "We've got a bit of a walk," Mr. Weasley said. "Walk?" Harry said. "What, are we walking to the World Cup?"

"No, no, that's miles away," Mr. Weasley said, 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's 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!" Mrs. Weasley said sharply, and they all jumped. "What?" George said, in an innocent tone that deceived nobody. "What is that in your pocket?" "Nothing!" "Don't you lie to me!" Mrs. Weasley said and pointed her wand at George's pocket, "Accio!"

Several small, brightly coloured 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!" Mrs. Weasley said furiously, holding up what was unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

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

"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,"  Mrs. Weasley said, "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, Charlus, Harry, Alistair,  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.

They trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. Charlus' hands and feet were freezing. Mr. Weasley kept checking his watch.

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. Each breath Charlus
took was sharp in his chest and his legs were starting to seize up when, at last, his feet found level ground.

"Whew," Mr. Weasley panted, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time — we've got ten minutes...."

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side. Charlus had walked over to her when he noticed her out-of-breath state. He pulled his backpack off, opened it and took out a bottle of water as he approached her.

"You okay?" he asked with an awkward smile as he handed her the water, "Here." "Yeah, thank you," Hermione said and took the bottle from the boy's hands.

However, as she did, she accidentally grazed his hand with hers which ultimately sent a bolt of an unusual, yet exciting feeling through the both of them.

Pulling her hand away instantly to not cause anymore awkward tension, Hermione opened the water bottle and took a large swig while Charlus stood there awkwardly — what the hell was he supposed to say?

When she was done, she handed the bottle back to the light brown-haired boy, "Thanks." "It's no problem," Charlus said quietly, putting the bottle back in his backpack.

The two of them stood in silence for a moment before moving back to the group. Thankfully, a voice had cut the tension as soon as they approached. "Now we just need the Portkey!" Mr. Weasley said, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big... Come on..."

"What's a Portkey?" Harry said curiously as they walked. "Enchanted objects," Hermione explained in a whisper. "They're created to bring anyone who touches them to a specific location."

Charlus was puzzled, "And what sort of objects are Portkeys?" "Well, they can be anything," Alistair chimed in. "Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don't go picking them up and playing with them... stuff they'll just think is litter...."

After that, they spread out, searching for the Portkey with the rest of the Weasley's. They had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rent the still air.

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

Three tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop. "Amos!" Mr. Weasley said, 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," Mr. Weasley said. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I think you know his son, Cedric? And this is Anna."

Charlus recognized Cedric immediately — he was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts. Anna, on the other hand, he only knew by name and face.  Like him, she was in Slytherin, but they had never had a conversation.

"Hi," Cedric and Anna said as they looked around at them all. Ron gave Anna a shy look. She was very beautiful, to say the least; almost as enchanting as a Veela, but with dark brown hair and a sweet smile.

Ginny and Hermione has instantly looked at one another, thinking the exact same thing; Cedric was extremely handsome. Charlus, of course, took notice of this and rolled his eyes slightly as a feeling of jealousy had washed over him — he didn't like this at all.

Everybody said hi back except for Charlus, obviously, and Fred and George, who merely nodded. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating their team, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Mr. Diggory asked. "Not too bad," Mr. Weasley said. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we? 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, Charlus, Harry, Alistair, Hermione, and Ginny. "All these yours, Arthur?"

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

"Merlin's beard!" said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Charlus? Harry? Charlus and Harry Potter? The Potter Twins?" "Er — yeah," Harry said while Charlus nodded.

Charlus and Harry were used to people looking curiously at them when they met them, used to the way their eyes moved at once to the lightning scars on their foreheads, but it always made  them feel uncomfortable.

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

Harry couldn't think of any reply to this, so he remained silent. Fred and George were both scowling again. Charlus and Alistair had rolled their eyes. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed. "Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he muttered. "And I told you... it was an accident..."

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" Amos roared 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!"

Before Amos could boast some more, Mr. Weasley stopped him. "Must be nearly time," he said 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," Mr. Diggory said. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," Mr. Weasley said. "Yes, it's a minute off... We'd better get ready...." He looked around at Charlus, Harry, Alistair and Hermione. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do —"

With difficulty, owing to their bulky backpacks, the twelve 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. It suddenly occurred to Charlus how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now; twelve people, two of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semidarkness, waiting....

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

It happened immediately. Charlus felt his feet leave the ground; he could feel Harry and Hermione on either side of him, their shoulders banging into his; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; his forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling him magnetically onward and then —

His feet slammed into the ground;Harry staggered into him and he fell over; the Portkey hit the ground near his head with a heavy thud. Charlus looked up. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, Cedric and Anna were still standing, though looking very windswept; everybody else was on the ground.

They had arrived.

                                           ────────⊹⊱🐍⊰⊹────────

Charlus disentangled himself from Harry before he and got to his feet.  In the near distance, thousands and thousands of tents were set up with crowds of wizards and witches surrounding them; each of them with dressed in Ireland or Bulgaria colours — yeah, this was definitely the right spot.

The twelve of them walked a little further into the crowd, but as they reach a certain intersection, Mr. Weasley bid a farewell to the Diggorys before he lead Fred, George, Charlus, Hermione, Harry, Alistair, Ron, and Ginny through the crowd.

The walked a little further until they stopped at a small tent that was all set up. "We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

Charlus bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt his jaw drop. He had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Oddly enough, it was furnished in exactly the same sort of style as Mrs. Figg's house: There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and a strong smell of cats.

"I love magic," Harry said in awe. Charlus let out a small chuckle at his brother before going to claim a room. The light brown-haired boy placed his stuff down on a bed in a room with four beds.

Then, after a quick tour of the girls' tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys', without the smell of cats, Charlus, Harry, Alistair, Ron, and Hermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.

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. It was only just dawning on Charlus how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; he had never really thought much about those in other countries.

Their fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; Charlus had never seen witches and wizards this young before. A tiny boy no older than two was
crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami.

As the five of them drew level with him, his mother came hurrying 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 scolding carried after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells — "You bust slug! You bust slug!"

A short way farther on, they saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls' toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Charlus, Harry, Alistair, Ron, and Hermione he muttered distractedly, "In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose —"

Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn't work.

Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents that read: the Salem witches' institute.

Charlus caught snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents they passed, and though he couldn't understand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited.

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

It wasn't just Alistair's eyes. They had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, they heard their names.

"Charlus!Harry! Alistair! Ron! Hermione!"

It was Seamus Finnigan, their fellow fourth year. He 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 Thomas.

"Like the decorations?" Seamus said, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colours?" Mrs. Finnigan said. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing Charlus, Harry, Alistair, Ron, and Hermione beadily.

When they had assured her that they were indeed supporting Ireland, they set off again, though, as Ron said, "Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot."

 "I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" Hermione said."Let's go and have a look," Harry said, pointing to a large patch of tents upheld, 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 course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl.

"Krum," Ron said quietly. "What?" Hermione asked. Alistair rolled his eyes, "Oh, please." "Krum!" Ron said in shock. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"

"He looks really..." Hermione said, but she trailed off as Charlus had raised a brow in her direction — don't even think about it. "Grumpy." Charlus finished, looking around at the many Krum's blinking and scowling at them.

"Really grumpy?" Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. "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. Charlus, Harry, Alistair, Ron, and Hermione 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 —"

"I bought this in a Muggle shop," the old wizard said stubbornly. "Muggles wear them." "Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," the Ministry wizard said, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers. "I'm not putting them on," old Archie said in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."

Alistair and Hermione were overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles at this point that they 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, they made their way back through the campsite.

Here and there, they saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, the old captain of Harry's House Quidditch team, 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, they were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, and a little farther on they saw Cho Chang, who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back.

More to stop Charlus from laughing and Ron from smirking than anything, Harry hurriedly pointed out a large group of teenagers whom he 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," Alistair said. "I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. " "Bill had a pen-friend at a school in Brazil..." Ron told them. "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."

Charlus laughed, but didn't voice the amazement he felt at hearing about other wizarding schools. He supposed, now he saw representatives of so many nationalities in the campsite, that he had been stupid never to realise that Hogwarts couldn't be the only one.

He glanced at Harry and Hermione. Hermione looked utterly unsurprised by the information but Harry looked even more surprised than himself. No doubt Hermione had run across the news about other wizarding schools in some book or other.

"You've been ages," George said when they finally returned to the Weasleys' tents. "Met a few people," Ron said, setting the water down. "You not got that fire started yet?" "Dad's having fun with the matches," Fred said.

Mr. Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but he looked as though he was having the time of his life.

"Oops!" he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise. "Come here, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly.

At last, they got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while they waited, however. Their tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley cordially as they passed.

Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for Charlus', Harry's, Alistair's and Hermione's benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested.

"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office... Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he's had those horns for a while now... Hello, Arnie... Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator - member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know...and that's Bode and Croaker... they're Unspeakables..."

"They're what?" Charlus asked. "From the Department of Mysteries, top-secret, no idea what they get up to..." Mr. Weasley replied.

At last, the fire was ready, and they had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percy came strolling out of the woods toward them. "Just Apparated, Dad," Percy said loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"

They were halfway through their plates of eggs and sausages when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward them. "Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person Charlus had seen so far, even including old Archie in his flowered nightdress. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest.

He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he indeed had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England.

His nose was squashed (probably broken by a stray Bludger, Charlus thought), but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very over-grown schoolboy.

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet and was plainly in a state of wild excitement.

"Arthur, old man," he puffed as he reached the campfire, "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!"

"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 and Ron's friends,  Alistair Black, Hermione Granger and Charlus and Harry Potter."

Bagman did the smallest of double takes when he heard Charlus' and Harry's names, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward to the scars on the twins' foreheads. "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 as if to say it had been nothing.

"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."

"Oh... go on then," Mr. Weasley said. "Let's see... a Galleon on Ireland to win?" "A Galleon?" Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well... any other takers?" Bagman looked at Alistair, clearly more interested in the boy. "Will you try, Black?"

"They're a bit young to be gambling," Mr. Weasley said. "Molly wouldn't like —" "We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," Fred said 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."

"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 boyish 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! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval. "Boys," Mr. Weasley said under his breath, "I don't want you betting... That's all your savings... Your mother —"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" Ludo Bagman boomed, 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..."

Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names. "Cheers," George said, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away carefully.

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?" Percy said, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. "He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll..." "Anyone can speak Troll," Charlus said dismissively. "All you have to do is point and grunt."

Alistair and Harry laughed slightly as Percy threw Charlus an extremely nasty look and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil. "Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asked as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside them all.

"Not a dicky bird," Bagman said comfortably. "But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha ....memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it's still July."

"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Mr. Weasley suggested tentatively as Percy handed Bagman his tea. "Barty Crouch keeps saying that," Bagman said, his round eyes widening innocently, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh — 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. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short grey hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush moustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule.His shoes were very highly polished.

Charlus could see at once why Percy idolized him. Percy was a great believer in rigidly following rules, and Mr. Crouch had complied with the rule about Muggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed for a bank manager.

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," Ludo said brightly, patting the ground beside him. "No thank you, Ludo," Crouch said, and there was a bite of impatience in 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?" Bagman said. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."

"Mr. Crouch!" Percy said breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half-bow that made him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?" "Oh," Mr. Crouch said and looked over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes — thank you, Weatherby."

Charlus, Alistair, Fred and George choked into their own cups. Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle. "Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," Mr. Crouch said, 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."

Mr. Weasley heaved a deep sigh. "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 Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"

"I doubt it," Mr. Crouch said, accepting a cup from Percy. "He's desperate to export here." "Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" Bagman said."Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," Mr. Crouch said. "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.

"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" Bagman said breezily. "Fairly," Mr. Crouch said dryly. "Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo."

"I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?" Mr. Weasley said. 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 organize, eh?"

Mr. Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman. "We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details —""Oh details!" Bagman said, 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 —"

"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," Mr. Crouch sharply said, cutting Bagman's remarks short. "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. "What's happening at Hogwarts, Mr. Weasley?" Alistair said at once. "What were they talking about?" "You'll find out soon enough," Mr. Weasley said, smiling.

"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," Percy said stiffly. "Mr. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it.""Oh shut up, Weatherby." Charlus and Fred said in annoyance as they high fived each other.

"Why don't you get in bed with Mr. Crouch if you're that obsessed with him." Alistair said, which caused everyone to laugh.

A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the camp- site as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretence disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.

Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes — green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria — which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectable figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron told Charlus, Harry and Alistair as they and Hermione strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs.

Though Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette,he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him. "Just put it in your pocket and try to not let me see it," Charlus said. "I don't want to accidentally break it."

Ron looked angrily at Charlus, but then put the small figure back in his pocket. "Wow, look at these!" Harry said, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials. "I think these are omnioculars." Alistair said to him.

"Right you are, young man!" the sales wizard said eagerly. "You can replay action...slow everything down ...and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain — ten Galleons each."

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," Ron said, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars. "Six pairs," Charlus said firmly to the wizard, just as Alistair was about to say the same.

"No — don't bother," Ron said, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that Charlus, Harry and Alistair, who all had inherited a small fortune from their parents, had much more money than he did.

"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Charlus told him as he thrust Omnioculars into his, Harry's, Alistair's and Hermione's hands. "For about ten years, mind." "Fair enough," Ron agreed, grinning.

"The last one is for Ginny." Charlus said. "Oooh, thank you, Charlus," Hermione said, kissing  the boy's cheek. "And I'll get us some programs, look -"

Their money bags were considerably lighter, so they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag.

Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold, so Charlus had gotten them large flags that they draped over their shoulders.

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field. "It's time!" Mr. Weasley said, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"

━━ AUTHORS NOTE

This was more of a filler chapter as I wasn't sure on if you prefer longer chapters or shorter ones :)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it❤️

Please, don't forget to vote and share If you did, and if you want, comment too ! I'd really appreciate it <3

Thank you for reading this far.

Until next time, much love to you all!