I watched, laughing, as Harry disentangled himself from Ron and got to his feet. We had arrived on 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.
"Morning, Basil," said Dad, 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 Dad, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.
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. A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents.
"Morning!" said Dad brightly.
"Morning," said the man.
"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 Dad.
"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.
"Ah — right — certainly —" said Dad. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him.
"Help me, Harry," I heard him mutter, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. "This one's a — a — a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now. . . . So this is a five?"
"A twenty," Harry corrected him in an undertone.
"Ah yes, so it is. . . . I don't know, these little bits of paper . . ."
"You foreign?" said Mr. Roberts as Dad returned with the correct notes.
"Foreign?" repeated Dad, puzzled.
"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts, scrutinizing Dad closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."
"Did you really?" said Dad 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 Dad, 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."
YOU ARE READING
The Weasley of Slytherin: The Goblet of Fire
Fanfiction(Y/n) Weasley, starting to feel disconnected from his family, is staring his fourth year at Hogwarts, and with that brings new adventures, new threats, and new feelings.
