Book: Courage
Chapter 41
Word Count: 6567
A/N: Just to clarify for those who don't know, Cedric is two years older than Layla and is 16 at the start of the year but he turns 17 at the start of October so he is still able to enter the Goblet of Fire. He is in the same year as Fred and George, but since the twins' birthday is in April, they are still 16 at the start of the tournament so can't enter. Again, Cedric turns 17 before the tournament starts but is 16 at the moment!
-Lunamalfoy06 ❤️
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Layla felt as though he had barely laid down to sleep in Ginny's room when she was being shaken awake by Mrs Weasley.
"Time to go, Layla, dear," she whispered, moving away to wake Hermione and Ginny.
Layla sat up. It was still dark outside.
"Oh, and Layla?" said Mrs Weasley, walking back over to Layla's bed once she'd woken up Hermione and Ginny. Mrs Weasley held up a letter. "This arrived for you this morning." She then left the room.
Layla grinned when she noticed her boyfriend's neat handwriting, opening the letter.
Layla,
I remember you saying in your last letter yesterday that you were staying at Weasleys' home for the rest of the holidays so I hope I got the address right.
Are you looking forward to the Quidditch World Cup? I'm sure it's going to be an exciting game.
I have good news! My father spoke to Mr Weasley and guess what I found out. I never knew this until now but we live not far from the Burrow! The lot of us will be taking the same Portkey to the World Cup! That means that I get to see you before the match :)
I can't wait to see you! I've missed you a lot.
With love,
Ced
Layla's smile widened. She would be seeing Cedric soon! Not seeing the need to reply to his letter since she'd be seeing him in an hour or two anyway, Layla got up to get dressed. She was suddenly wide awake, unlike both Hermione and Ginny, who were yawning and stretching as they changed.
The three of them headed downstairs into the kitchen.
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 girls 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, Hermione?"
"Yeah," said Hermione, smiling, "very good."
"Where're the boys?" said Layla.
"Harry, Ron, and the twins are getting dressed. They should be down soon. Bill, Charlie, and Percy are apparating there," said Mrs Weasley, 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."
Apparating meant disappearing from one place and reappearing almost instantly in another. Layla understood that it was very difficult.
"So they're still in bed?" said Ginny grumpily, pulling her bowl of porridge toward her. "Why can't we Apparate too?"
"Because you're not of age and you haven't passed your test," said Mrs Weasley. "And where have those boys got to?"
She bustled out of the kitchen and they heard her climbing the stairs.
There were footsteps down the passageway and Mrs Weasley came into the kitchen, followed by Harry, Ron, Fred, and George, all of them looking pale and drowsy.
"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ron said, rubbing his eyes and sitting down at the table.
"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 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.
"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'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!" said Mrs Weasley furiously, holding up what were unmistakably 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," said Mrs Weasley, "and behave yourselves," she called afterthe 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, Harry, Layla, 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. Layla's 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. At last, they reached the top of the hill.
"Whew," panted Mr Weasley, 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. Layla turned to her and couldn't help but giggle.
"Sorry, 'Mione. Gin and I were going to walk with you but you were so slow."
Hermione sent her a playful glare, a small smile painted across her lips as she continued clutching her stitch. Layla laughed again. It was a genuine and quiet laugh, reserved, but the happiness in her eyes seemed to light up her whole face. The happiness that only seemed to come out when she was with her best friends.
Harry glanced over when he heard Layla's quiet, delicate laugh, and it occured to him that he never noticed how pretty and gentle Layla's laugh was. The kind of laugh that was a reflection of the prettiness and gentleness of Layla's features.
Then, Harry thought privately, because he would never dare say it out loud to Layla, he would like to hear her laugh more.
"Now we just need the Portkey," said Mr Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big. Come on..."
They spread out, searching. They 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 the other side of the hilltop.
"Amos!" said Mr. Weasley, 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," said Mr Weasley. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Ce—?"
"Cedric!" Layla suddenly screamed with a wide grin, rushing forward towards Cedric, who grinned when he spotted her and opened his arms, allowing Layla to jump into them. Cedric lifted her off of her feet, hugging her tight, and when he placed her back on her feet, he went to press a kiss to her lips but faltered when he noticed his dad, Amos, staring at the two of them. Cedric awkwardly cleared his throat.
"Layla, my father has been wanting to meet you for a while."
"Don't stop because of me, son," Amos chuckled. He grinned brightly at Layla. "It is wonderful to finally meet you, Layla. My boy here has been talking my ear off about you all summer."
"Thanks for that," Cedric flushed, embarrassed. Layla, however, just smiled and chuckled.
"All good things, I hope."
Amos chuckled again and nodded. Cedric smiled and pressed a kiss to Layla's cheek. Layla smiled kindly at Amos."
"Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr Diggory."
"Please, no need for the formalities. Call me Amos."
Layla smiled at him before turning to her boyfriend.
"Oh! And congrats on making Captain for Hufflepuff Quidditch team!"
"Thank you, gorgeous," replied Cedric, before he turned to address the rest, his hand finding and intertwining with Layla's. "Hello."
Everybody said hi back except Fred and George, who merely nodded. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating Gryffindor team in the first Quidditch match of the previous year.
"Long walk, Arthur?" Amos asked.
"Not too bad," said Mr Weasley. "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." Amos peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Layla, Hermione, and Ginny. "All these yours, Arthur? Apart from Layla here, the lovely lady."
"Oh no, only the redheads," said Mr Weasley, pointing out his children. "Well, your boy here clearly knows Layla, and this is Hermione, friend of Ron's — and Harry, another friend—"
"Merlin's beard," said Amos, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?"
"Er — yeah," said Harry.
"When Ced's not rambling on about his Layla here, first proper girlfriend, he's talking about you, of course," said Amos. "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!"
Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed.
"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he muttered. "I told you... it was an accident."
"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" roared Amos genially. "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!"
"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. "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, the only two that didn't know what a Portkey was. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do—"
With difficulty, owing to their bulky backpacks, the ten 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.
"Three..." muttered Mr Weasley, one eye still on his watch, "two... one..."
It happened immediately: Layla felt as though a hook just behind her navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. It was her first time using a Portkey. She had almost always travelled by Floo or side-by-side Apparation.
Her feet left the ground; she could feel Cedric and Harry on either side of her; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; her forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling her magnetically onward and then—
Her feet slammed into the ground; Ron staggered into him and he fell over; the Portkey hit the ground near his head with a heavy thud.
Layla looked up. Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory, and Cedric were still standing, though looking very windswept; everybody else was on the ground. Cedric walked up to Layla and grinned, holding out his hand to help her up. Layla smiled up at him and grabbed his hand, letting Cedric pull her to her feet.
"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," said a voice.
They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly.
"Morning, Basil," said Mr Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him.
"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some. We've been here all night. You'd better get out 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 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 beckoned everyone to follow him.
They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Layla could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon.
"I'll see you at the match, gorgeous," Cedric said to Layla, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Layla's lips when Amos wasn't looking. Layla giggled at that, finding it adorable that Cedric was embarrassed about kissing a girl in front of his dad. Noticing that Amos was in a deep conversation with Arthur, Layla took the opportunity to press a longer kiss to Cedric's lips.
"Bye, Ced."
With that, Cedric smiled and walked over to Amos, the two of them walking off.
The Weasleys, Harry, Layla, and Hermione approached the cottage door.
A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. It was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.
"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 a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him for help, and Harry began to show him what types of Muggle notes were equivalent to Galleons.
"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. "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.
"Never been this crowded," Mr Roberts said, looking out over the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up."
"Is that right?" said Mr Weasley.
"Aye," said Mr Roberts 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."
"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 big party."
At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr Roberts's front door.
"Obliviate!" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr Roberts.
Instantly, Mr Roberts' eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a took of dreamy unconcern fell over his face.
"A map of the campsite for you," Mr Roberts said placidly to Mr Weasley. "And your change."
"Thanks very much," said Mr Weasley.
The wizard in plus-fours accompanied them toward the gate to the campsite, and then Disapparated.
Mr Weasley led them through the gates into the campsite. They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents.
"Ah, here we are, look, this is us," said Mr Weasley, smiling.
They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read 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, 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, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"
Harry and Hermione worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, because he got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, they finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.
All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards, Layla thought. 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 squeeze in. Come and have a look."
Layla bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and smiled at the interior. Mr Weasley had done a good job. It looked like an old-fashioned, three room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen.
"Well, it's not for long," said Mr Weasley, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk beds that 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 need water."
"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron, who had followed Layla inside the tent and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions.
"It's on the other side of the field."
"Well, why don't you, Harry, Layla, and Hermione go and get us some water then 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. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!"
Layla then quickly checked out the girls' tent that she would be sharing with Ginny and Hermione, and then she set off with her friends across the campsite with a kettle and saucepans.
They made their way slowly through the rows of tents, staring eagerly around. Their fellow campers were starting to wake up.
"Er — is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" said Ron.
It wasn't just Ron'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. Then, from behind them, they heard their names.
"Harry! Ron! Layla! Hermione!"
It was Seamus Finnigan, their fellow Gryffindor 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, also of Gryffindor.
"Like the decorations?" said Seamus, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."
"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" said Mrs Finnigan. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing Harry, Layla, 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?" said Hermione.
"Let's go and have a look," said Layla, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, 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," 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 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. Harry, Layla, 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," said the old wizard stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."
"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.
"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."
Hermione was overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles at this point that she 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 the Gryffindor Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged both Layla and Harry over to his parents' tent to introduce them, and told them 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, a very pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. Harry 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," said Ron. "I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a penfriend at a school in Brazil... this was years and years ago... and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His penfriend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."
"You've been ages," said George when they finally got back to the Weasleys' tents.
"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You've not got that fire started yet?"
"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred.
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," said Hermione 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.
"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office," Mr Weasley commented. "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?"
"From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to."
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," said Percy 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 Layla 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 surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed, but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown 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, 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!"
Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.
Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting to make a good impression.
"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, Hermione Granger, Layla Lupin, and Harry Potter. Everyone, 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," said Mr Weasley. "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?"
"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," said 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."
"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," 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."
Mr Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.
"Cheers," said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away into the front of his robes. 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 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," said Fred dismissively. "All you have to do is point and grunt."
Percy threw Fred 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," said Bagman 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," said Bagman, 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 gray hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished. Layla 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," said Ludo brightly, patting the ground beside him.
"No thank you, Ludo," said Crouch, 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?" 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 halfbow that made him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Oh," said Mr Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes — thank you, Weatherby."
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," 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."
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," 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."
"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 took 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!" said Bagman, waving the word away. "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," said Mr Crouch sharply, 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, 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."
"Oh shut up, Weatherby," said Fred.
A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite 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 collectible 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 as he, Harry, Layla, 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.
"Wow, look at these!" said Layla, 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.
"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard 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," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.
"Four pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.
"No — don't bother," said Ron, going red.
"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his, Layla's, and Hermione's hands. "For about ten years, mind."
"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.
"Thanks, Harry," said Layla happily. "And I'll get us some programs, look—"
Their money bags considerably lighter, 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.
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!" said Mr Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"