The Sun, Moon & Stars

66. The 422nd Quidditch World Cup Final

"Welcome to the Quidditch World Cup, kids." Arthur beamed.

They were standing in what appeared to be a misty moor; dewy grass beneath their feet, fog and mist clouding the sky, and it was quite humid. Only one man very poorly disguised as a muggle was before them.

"Morning, Basil."

"Hello there, Arthur. Hang on, I'll find your campsite...Weasley...Weasley..." He murmured, scanning the page in front of him.

'Basil' had to be a bit older than Mr and Mrs Weasley, but not by much; maybe in his late forties or early fifties. He wore a kilt, a poncho, and odd spectacles; a poor attempt to pass for a muggle in Britain, but it was an effort.

She always found it to be comical how terrible witches and wizards were at concealing themselves. It wouldn't take much; a pair of jeans and a stained t-shirt and you're golden — yet everybody made it seem so difficult.

"Ah, yes, about a quarter mile walk from here, first field you come to, and camp site number thirty-seven. As for the Diggory's....ah yes, second field...number forty-four. Remember to pay the muggle managers and wipe their memories."

With a farwell to the man, they set off across the deserted moor, none of them able to make out much of anything through the thick mist.

After about twenty minutes of straight walking, the silhouette of thousands of tents began to come into view. Ophelia's eyes widened as more became clear; hundreds of people could be viewed much farther down. It was enormous.

"Wicked." She heard Harry breathe.

They approached a man, whom was most definitely a muggle guarding the entrance to the camp site. He didn't have a very friendly expression on his face, but Mr Weasley didn't seem to care as they strolled up to him. He wore cargo shorts and a grey t-shirt, a backwards baseball cap and his face was sunburnt; the classic "devil may care" attitude a lot of muggles seemed to adapt in the warmer months.

"Hello there. We've a tent booked for one night." Mr Weasley explained, "Under the name Weasley."

"Weasley...ah yes." The man nodded, checking something off on his clipboard. "Are yeh gonna pay now?"

"Oh, yes, right!" Arthur smiled, fishing into his pockets for the muggle money he had gotten, "Harry...erm, help me. Don't know muggle money..."He muttered, desperate.

"How much?" Harry asked the man.

"Three twenties will do."

Harry nodded as he collected the correct amount and handed it over to him.

"Are yeh a foreigner?" The man asked Mr Weasley as he checked off something on the page.

"A what?"

"A foreigner. From anotha country. Yer not the only one that's been havin' trouble with money today." The man explained, "Someone tried to pay me with these grand gold coins! Granted, I'd have taken em if it wasn't illegal. Quite odd though."

"Interesting."

"Any idea what's so special about this weekend? So many people are coming." The man went on.

"Quidditch tournament, big deal, but I suppose you muggles haven't heard of it." Mr Weasley shrugged.

"Muggles?" The man questioned, brows furrowed.

Mr Weasley nodded as he pulled his wand out of his pocket, "Now, I'm quite sorry about this — but as you surely understand, we mustn't have you remember what I've told you."

"Obliviate."

The kids were only momentarily shocked until the man's eyes shifted, and he cleared his throat — back to normal.