Right Now Could Last Forever

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.

“How many times, Kevin? You don’t – touch – Daddy’s – wand – yeuch!”

She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after us on the still air, mingling with the little boy’s yells – “You bust slug! You bust slug!”

A short way further on, we saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks which rose only high enough for the girls’ toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried pas Harry, Ron, Hermione and I, he muttered distractedly, “In broad daylight! Parent 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 which read; ‘The Salem Witches’ Institute’. I caught snatched of their conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents we passed, and though I couldn’t understand a single word, the tone of every voice was excited.

“Er – is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?” said Ron.

It wasn’t just Ron’s eyes. We 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. Grinning faces could be seen under those which had their flaps open. Then, from behind us, we heard our names.

“Harry! Corey! Ron! Hermione!”

It was Seamus Finnigan, our 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, when we had gone over to say hello. “The Ministry’s not too happy.

“Ah, why shouldn’t we show our colours?” 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 us beadily.

When we had assured her that we were indeed supporting Ireland, we set off again, though, as I 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 Harry, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag, red, green and white, 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,” I said 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.

“‘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.”

“I think you’re in love, Ron,” I said.

There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. We 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 on 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 fir of 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 again.

Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, we made our way back through the campsite. Here and there we saw more familiar faces; other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, the old captain of the Gryffindor House Quidditch team, who had just let Hogwarts dragged Harry over to his parents’ tent to introduce him, and told him excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Next we were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth-year, and a little further on we saw Cho Chang, a rather pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back. Harry hurriedly pointed out a large group of teenagers whom none of us had ever seen before, more to stop me and Ron smirking than anything.

“Who d’you reckon they are?” he said. “They don’t go to Hogwarts, do they?”

“’Spect they go to some foreign school,” I said. “I know there are some others, never met anyone who went to one though.”

“Bill had a pen-friend at a school in Brazil...” said Ron, “this was years and years ago... he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn’t afford it. His pen-friend got all offended when he said he wasn’t going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up.”

I laughed and we kept walking.

“You’ve been ages,” said George, when we finally got back to the tents.

“Met a few people,” said Ron, setting the water down. “You 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 starting to show 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 whole we waited, however. Our tent was seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the pitch, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for Harry and Hermione’s benefit; his own children and I knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested.

“That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office... here comes Gilbert Wimple, he’s with the Committee on Experimental Charms, he’s had those horns for a while now... Hello, Ernie... 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 we had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie and Percy came strolling out of the woods towards us.

“Just Apparated, Dad,” said Percy loudly. “Ah, excellent, lunch!”

We were halfway through our plates of sausages and eggs when Mr Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding towards u. “Aha!” he said. “The man of the moment! Ludo!”

Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person I had seen so far, even including old Archie in his flowered nightdress. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal strops 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 see; 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 (probably broken by a stray Bludger), but his round blue eyes, short blonde 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,” 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 arrangement.... 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 which was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

Percy hurried forwards with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him 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 – my adopted daughter, Corey Samuels – Ron’s friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.”

Bagman did the smallest of double-takes when he heard Harry’s name, and his eyes performed a familiar flick upwards to the scar on Harry’s forehead.

“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 week-long 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 win – 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 out from me, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter. I couldn’t help but feel proud my Fred, George and myself.

“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 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 whopped 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 Gobblegook and Troll...”

“Anyone can speak Troll,” said Fred dismissively, “all you have to do is point and grunt.”
Percy threw Fred and 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 us all.

“Not a ducky 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 our 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 grey hair was almost unnaturally straight and his narrow toothbrush moustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide-rule. His shoes were very highly polished. I could see at once why Percy idolised 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 as a back manager. I stirred in my spot on the grass between Fred and George; people like that made me feel slightly uncomfortable.

“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 king of half bow which 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, George and I all chocked into our 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 Artefact 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.”

He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law.

“So, been keeping busy, Barty?” said Bagman breezily.

“Fairly,” said Mr Crouch drily. “Organising Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo.”

“I expect you’ll both be glad when this is over?” said Mr Weasley.

Ludo looked shocked. “Glad! Don’t know when I’ve had more fun... still, it’s not as though we haven’t got anything to look forward to, eh Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organise, 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 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 again, swigging down the last of his tea, the golf in his pockets clinking merrily.

“See you later!” he said. “You’ll be 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?” I said at once. “What were they talking about?”

“You’ll found 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 quiet 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 which played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts, which really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves. I had to get Ron, Harry and Hermione to get me some, since I really couldn’t be bothered getting up.

“If you guys lose that bet,” I said to Fred; seeing as George was somewhere in the tent, “I’ll give you guys the money.”

“Oh, we’re not going to need it, Blondie,” Fred said confidently. “We’ll win this bet.”
We were sitting cross legged across from each other, and I smiled at him, reaching over and hitting him lightly on the arm. He caught my hand, and managed to somehow wrestle me so I was lying on the ground.

“Not fair; you’re bigger than me, and I wasn’t ready!” I whined.

“Even if you were ready, I’d still have pinned you,” said Fred through a chuckle.

“Oh, psh,” I said, “whatever; no you wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Oh, I would,” I said, squirming a little under his grip as he pinned me, “but you have nothing to bet with, so it’s no point me winning and getting nothing.”

Before he could retort, a shadow passed over us.

“What are you two doing?” Charlie asked a playful smile on his face.

“Wrestling,” said Fred, looking up, but keeping his grip as firm as ever.

“Well, no, not really –“ I started to say.

“Yeah, we were,” said Fred. “And I won.”

Charlie observed us for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he as contemplating something.

“What?” I asked.

“Is there like, something going on between you two?” he asked, a sneaky smile now spreading across his face.

“What?” we said in unison.

“Are you two, like, dating?” Charlie asked again.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they are,” said George, who now came strolling out of the tent.
Fred and I instantly sat up.

“No, we aren’t,” Fred said, throwing his brother a dirty look.

“Most defiantly not,” I said.

“If you two say so...” said Charlie unconvinced.

Harry, Ron and Hermione arrived, handing me a pair of Omnioculars and a green rosette. 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. They wouldn’t let me buy them anything; something about their pride.

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 patch to the pitch.
“It’s time!” said Mr Weasley, looking as excited as any of us. “Come on, let’s go!”