𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑

the one with the dark mark

"There is someone in
my head but it's not
me."

•

WE SET UP the tent after a lot of drama. Mr Weasley believed that we can't use oven as muggles used fire. Who was going to tell him that was like ages ago.

Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. Draco's. Have to stop by soon, I made a mental note. A little farther on we passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain. Probably Theo's. Notts were always extravagant.

The girls tent was a bit smaller than the boys tent but unlike the boys tent that smelled of cats, the girls tent smelled of pumpkin spice.

Me, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans. Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, we could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. We made our way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on me how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; I had never really thought much about those in other countries.

Our fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; I 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 we drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.

"I didn't know they were allowed wands," Ron said furiously. "Mum never gave us a wand until we were eleven!"

A short way farther on, we saw two little witches, barely older than the boy before, 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 us 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. I caught snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents we passed, and though I couldn't understand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited.

Suddenly, everything was green.

We stopped. Seamus' tent screamed Ireland. It was so green that eyes hurt.

Bulgaria supporters' tents had the grumpy face of Viktor Krum, moving and scowling.

Ron fangirled. Take a moment to imagine that, thank you.

"Krum," said Ron quietly.

"What?" said Hermione.

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

"He looks really grumpy," said Hermione, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at us.

"And extremely handsome," muttered. "Tall, dark, brooding-"

"'Really grumpy'?" Ron raised his eyes to the heavens, ignoring what I was saying. "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."