The Potter Twins and the Goblet of Fire {4}

6. Bagman and Crouch

"Take cover from our future hearts" ~ Take Cover, All Time Low

I disentangle myself from Ron and Harry and pull myself to my feet, dusting off my black jeans and jacket. We've arrived on what appears to be a deserted stretch of a misty moor. In front of us is a pair of tired and grumpy looking wizards, one of whom is holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both are dressed as Muggles, though, much like Mr Weasley, very inexpertly; the man with the watch is wearing a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.

"Morning, Basil," Mr Weasley says, picking up the old boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who throws it into a large box of empty drink cans and a punctured football.

"Hello there, Arthur," Basil says 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'be got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite...Weasley...Weasley..."

He consults his parchment list carefully.

"About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site managers called Mr Roberts. Diggory...second field...ask for Mr Payne."

"Thanks, Basil," says Mr Weasley, and he beckons all of us to follow him.

We set off across the deserted moor, unable to make our much through the heavy mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swims into view. Beyond it, I can just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field.

We bid our goodbyes to the Diggorys and approach the cottage door.

A man is standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. I know at first glance that this is the only real Muggle for several acres. When he hears our footsteps, he turns his head to look at us.

"Morning!" Mr. Weasley says brightly.

"Morning," the Muggle replies.

"Would you be Mr Roberts?"

"Aye, I would. And who're you?"

"Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," Mr. Roberts says, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," Mr. Weasley replies.

"You'll be paying now, then?"

"Ah - right - certainly," says Mr Weasley. He retreats a short distance from the cottage and beckons me towards him. "Help me, Haylee," he mutters, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and beginning 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," I correct him in an undertone, uncomfortably aware of Mr Roberts trying to catch every word.

"Ah yes, so it is...I don't know, these little bits of paper..."

"Your foreign?" asks Mr Roberts, as Mr Weasley returns with the correct notes.

"Foreign?"

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," he says, scrutinising Mr Weasley closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?" Mr Weasley says nervously.

Mr Roberts rummages around in a tin for some change.

"Never been this crowded," he says suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up..."

"Is that right?" Mr Weasley asks, his hand held out for the change, but Mr Roberts doesn't give it to him.