Hermione and Ginny handed me a spare of their muggle clothes. Never having to pretend to look like one, I didn't have anything other than robes and nightclothes. Slipping on some black tights and a large American football sweater, I gave them a large smile, content with my outfit.
"How do I look? Like a muggle?" I beamed.
"I'd say so, although it looks like you're swimming in the sweater," Ginny laughed.
"It was my dad's. I didn't have any other spares," said Hermione.
"I love it! It's warm," I smiled.
Together we went down the stairs to have breakfast before we leave for the Quidditch match. Fred, George, Harry, and Ron were already seated while Mrs. Weasley continued to make breakfast.
"Wow, Mousey's disappeared," Fred laughed. "Where'd she go?"
"Oh, stuff it," I glared, taking a seat next to Harry.
"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," 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—"
"Mousey, come with me," Fred whispered in my ear and dragged me away to the living room.
"What's up?"
"Can you hold these toffees for us please?" said Fred, holding out brightly colored candies.
"Why me? Why can't—?"
"George!" I heard Mrs. Weasley say sharply.
"What?" said George.
"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!"
"That's why," Fred said. "Mum suspects us to hold all kinds of prank stuff, but'll never suspect you."
"You want me to defy your mum?" I gasped. "No!"
"It's not defying, just helping us sneak the candies—"
"We told you to destroy them!" said Mrs. Weasley furiously. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on!"
"What's in it for me?"
"My love and affection?" Fred offered. I laughed slightly and scrunched up my face.
"Fine," I sighed. "But if Mrs. Weasley says anything, I'm saying I had no clue."
"Deal," Fred grinned and handed me a handful of different types of candies and toffees.
When we walked back into the room, I could tell the atmosphere was not very friendly. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had walked out without 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 not look back or answer. "I'll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday," Mrs. Weasley said to Mr. Weasley, as he, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.
Harry seemed to have a million and one questions about the Quidditch World Cup and how we would get there. The entire hike up the mountain consisted of Mr. Weasley answering his questions. We trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by our footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as we made our way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. My hands and feet were freezing. Mr. Weasley kept checking his watch.
"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."
"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!"
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 the other side of the hilltop.
"Amos!" said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted.
The rest of us 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, Cedric?"
Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts.
"Hi," said Cedric, looking around at us all.
All of us said hi back except Fred and George, who merely nodded. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating their team, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year.
Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and me. "All these yours, Arthur?"
"Oh no, only the redheads— except this one," said Mr. Weasley, pointing to me. "These three are friends of Ron's— Hermione, Maisey, and Harry—"
"Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Maisey? As in the Potter Twins?"
"Er— yeah," said Harry as I hid behind him.
I hadn't expected anyone to know who I was, I thought Dumbledore meant tell all the Hogwarts students, not the entire Wizarding world.
"Ced's talked about you, of course, Harry," said Amos Diggory. "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! But I haven't heard much about the girl. What do you do?"
"Er— I'm an academic?" I said.
"Must be nearly time," said Mr. Weasley quickly, stopping the awkward conversation. "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..."
We all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to me how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now... ten people, two of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semidarkness, waiting...
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 Harry and Hermione on either side of me, their shoulders banging into mine; we were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; my forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling me magnetically onward and then—
My feet slammed into the ground; Ron staggered into Harry and they fell over; the Portkey hit the ground near Harry's head with a heavy thud. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, Cedric, and I were still standing, though looking very windswept; everybody else was on the ground.
"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," said a voice.
Helping Hermione to her feet, and then Harry and Ron, I looked around at what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of us 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 funny-looking Muggles: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.
"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard.
We 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, I 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. We said good-bye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door.
Mr. Weasley and a muggle spoke to each other about money— muggle money. I had only seen a small glance of it before Mr. Weasley asked Harry how much it's worth.
"You foreign?" said Mr. Roberts, the muggle, 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, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley closely. "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. Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.
"Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up..."
"Is that right?" said Mr. Weasley, his hand held out for his change, 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 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's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a look 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.
We trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that I could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. 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.
"Always the same," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."
We 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," he said excitedly, "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 helped Mr. Weasley build the tent as the rest of us watched. Not that I could be any help, I've never camped a day in my life.
"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."
The tent looked like it could barely fit five people inside, more or less eleven once Charlie, Bill, and Percy were to come. After a tour of the girls' tent, Mr. Weasley told Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me to get wood and things to make fires so we could cool like the muggles as well since we weren't allowed to use magic in front of the muggles that were around us. On our walk to get supplies, we met multiple Hogwarts students, who gave me weird looks, and other foreign students from other wizarding schools.
"You've been ages," said George when they finally got back to the Weasleys' tents.
"Here," I took the candies out of my pocket and gave them to George, who gave me a cheeky smile.
"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You lot've 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, 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!"
We were halfway through our plates of eggs and sausages when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward us.
"Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"
"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!"
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, Harry and Maisey Potter."
Bagman did the smallest of double takes when he heard mine and Harry's name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward to the scar on Harry's forehead and racked my body as if trying to see if I had one.
"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."
Conversations about Quidditch and the Ministry droned on and I found myself quite bored. It wasn't until Barty Crouch, another Ministry worker, brought up Hogwarts that it peaked my interest.
"We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details—"
"Oh details!" said Bagman, 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," 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?" I asked softly.
"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.