Chapter 7 Bagman And Crouch

Harry disentangled himself from Ron and got to his feet. 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: 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, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Harry could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.

“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, Harry 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. They said good-bye to the Diggory's and approached the cottage door.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Harry knew at a glance that this 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. “Help me, Harry,” he muttered, 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, uncomfortably aware of Mr. Roberts trying to catch every word.

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

“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, 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 took of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Harry recognized the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified.

“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. He looked exhausted: His chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered to Mr. Weasley, “Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur.”

He Disapparated.

“I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports,” said Ginny, looking surprised. “He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?”

“He should,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling, and leading them through the gates into the campsite, “but Ludo's always been a bit…well…lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had.”

They 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, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Harry 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 they 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.”

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,” 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 had never been camping in his life; the Dursleys had never taken him on any kind of holiday, preferring to leave him with Mrs. Figg, an old neighbor. However, he 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, Harry thought, but the trouble was that once Bill, Charlie, and Percy arrived, they would be a party of ten. Hermione seemed to have spotted this problem too; she gave Harry a quizzical look as 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.”

Harry bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt his jaw drop. He had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Oddly enough, it was furnished in exactly the same sort of style as Mrs. Figg's house: There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and a strong smell of cats.

“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 Harry 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, and Hermione go and get us some water then -” Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans “- 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, his face shining with anticipation. “When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!”

After a quick tour of the girls’ tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys', though without the smell of cats, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.

Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on Harry how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; he had never really thought much about those in other countries.

Their fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; Harry 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 they drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.

“How many times, Kevin? You don't - touch - Daddy's - wand - yecchh!”

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

A short way farther on, they saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls’ toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Harry, Ron, and Hermione he muttered distractedly, “In broad daylight! Parents 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 that read: THE SALEM WITCHES’ INSTITUTE. Harry caught snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents they passed, and though he couldn't understand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited.

“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. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, they heard their names.

“Harry! Ron! 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, 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 Harry, 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 Krum's 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, 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 Harry's House Quidditch team, who had just left 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 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. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back. More to stop Ron from smirking than anything, Harry hurriedly 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.”

Harry laughed but didn't voice the amazement he felt at hearing about other wizarding schools. He supposed, now that he saw representatives of so many nationalities in the campsite, that he had been stupid never to realize that Hogwarts couldn't be the only one. He glanced at Hermione, who looked utterly unsurprised by the information. No doubt she had run across the news about other wizarding schools in some book or other.

“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. Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for Harry's and Hermione's benefit; his own children 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, 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 Harry 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 (probably broken by a stray Bludger, Harry thought), 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,” 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 and Harry Potter.”

Bagman did the smallest of double takes when he heard Harry's name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward 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 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. Harry 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; Harry doubted even Uncle Vernon would have spotted him for what he really was.

“Pull up a bit of grass, Barry,” 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.”

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 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 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, 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 Harry as they 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 Harry, 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.

“Three pairs,” said Harry firmly to the wizard.

“No - don't bother,” said Ron, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that Harry, who had inherited a small fortune from his parents, had much more money than he did.

“You won't be getting anything for Christmas,” Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his and Hermione's hands. “For about ten years, mind.”

“Fair enough,” said Ron, grinning.

“Oooh, thanks, Harry,” said Hermione. “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!”

哈利把自己和罗恩松开，站了起来，他们到了一个看起来十分荒凉的、雾气蒙蒙的荒野。在他们前面是一对看起来很累很粗暴的巫师。他们其中一个拿着一只大金表，另一个拿着一卷厚厚的羊皮纸和一支羽毛笔。两个都穿得像马格似的，不过看起来很拙劣。拿着表的男人穿着一件苏格兰粗呢外套，他的同事穿着一件有褶裥的裙子和一件宽大的防水衣。

　　“早上好，巴西人。”威斯里先生打着招呼，拿起靴子，把它递给穿裙子的巫士。他把靴子扔进了旁边的一个装着用过的波奇的大箱子里；哈利可以看到一份旧报纸，一个空饮料罐和一个有洞的足球。

　　“你好，亚瑟，”巴西人疲倦地说，“不用值班吧？对某些人来说是好事……我们已经在这里一个晚上了……你最好让让路，一大群人即将到达，他们来自黑森林，五点十五分出发的，等一下，我找一下你的营地……威斯里……威斯里……”他查看着羊皮纸上的名单，“在那边，大约四分之一英里，你去一号营地，找派恩先生。”

　　“谢谢！”威斯里先生叫其他人跟着他。

　　他们穿过荒野出发了。大约二十分钟以后，在路的旁边，有石头小屋出现在眼前。除了这个，哈利还可以看到成百上千个外型丑陋的帐篷，布满了这片原野。他们同迪格瑞父子道别后，走向小屋。

　　一个男人站在门口，望向那些帐篷。哈利一眼就看出他是这方圆几英亩内唯一的真正马格。当他听到脚步声后转了过来，看向他们。

　　“早上好！”威斯里先生聪明地说。

　　“早上好！”马格说。

　　“您是罗伯特先生吗？”

　　“是的，”罗伯特先生回答，“你是谁？”

　　“威斯里，两个帐篷，几天前就预订了。”

　　“啊，”查看了一下钉在门上的名单，罗伯特先生说，“你的在森林的旁边，只是一晚，对吗？”

　　“是的。”威斯里先生说。

　　“你是现在付钱还是迟些呢？”罗伯特先生问道。

　　“啊，现在，好，当然！”说着，威斯里先生走出小屋去叫哈利到他这里来。“帮我，哈利，”他低声说，从口袋里拿出一卷马格人的钱，开始把它分开。“这是一个……十？啊，对，我看到上面的小数字！……所以这是一个五？”

　　“二十。”哈利小声地纠正他，非常担心地发现罗伯特先生正在努力地听他们在谈什么。

　　“啊，对，是的……我不知道，这些小纸张……”

　　当威斯里先生拿着正确数目的钱回来时，罗伯特先生问：“你是外国人吗？”

　　“外国人？”威斯里先生重复着，十分迷惑。

　　“你并不是第一个不懂得用钱的，”罗伯特先生说着，凑近去仔细观察威斯里先生，“十分钟以前有两个人竟然想用如瓶盖那么大的金币付钱。”

　　“真的吗？”威斯里先生紧张地问。

　　罗伯特先生在一个铝罐中找零钱。

　　“这里从来没有这么拥挤过，”他突然说，又看了一下迷蒙的田野。“成百上千个人都预订了。有些刚刚才出现……”

　　“真的吗？”威斯里先生问着，他伸出手去拿他的零钱，但罗伯特先生没有给他。

　　“啊，”他若有听思地说，“那些人来自世界各地，有很多外国人，不仅仅是外国人，还有很多古怪的人，你知道吗？有个家伙穿着裙子和风衣到处走。”

　　“他怎么可以这样？”威斯里先生十分紧张地说。

　　“看起来像……我想……像某种集合，”罗伯特先生说，“他们似乎都互相认识，像一个大聚会。”

　　在那时候，一个巫土悄悄地出现在罗伯特先生的前面。

　　“遗忘！”他用魔杖指着罗伯特先生厉声说道。

　　一瞬间，罗伯特先生的眼睛马上失去焦距，他的眉毛松散，脸上呈现出一种漠不关心的样子。哈利认得这种症状，那意味着的他的记忆被限制住了。

　　“你的营地地图，”罗伯特先生平静地对威斯里先生说，“这是你的零钱。”

　　“非常感谢。”威斯里先生说。

　　刚才那个巫士陪着他们走到营地的门口，他看起来十分疲惫，他的下巴是蓝色的，布满了胡茬，眼睛下面有深紫色的眼圈。一出罗伯特先生的听力范围，他就对威斯里先生小声说：“这家伙非常麻烦。一天需要施十次记忆魔法才能让他高兴。露得。巴格蒙不肯帮忙。特洛厅到处大声地谈论布鲁佐球和可尔夫球，一点也不担心防御马格系统的安全情况。啊呀！当这一切结束时，我一定会很高兴的。待会见，亚瑟！”

　　他消失了。

　　“我想巴格蒙先生是魔法运动部的领导吧？”金妮说，看起来十分惊讶。“他应该知道在马格人旁边谈论布鲁佐球是怎么样的，对吗？”

　　“他应该知道，”威斯里先生笑着说，把他们引进营地，“但是露得总是对安全情况比较大意。即使如此，再也没有比他更热情积极的运动部门的领导了。你知道他为英格兰打快迪斯，他是温包尔黄蜂队最优秀的队员。”

　　池们在迷蒙的田野上的一排排帐篷中艰难地走着。绝大部分看起来很平常；它们的主人已经尽量把它们弄得像马格人一样，如加上了烟囱、铃钟，或者风向标。然而，到处都有帐篷实在是太明显了，哈利对罗伯特先生的怀疑一点也不感到惊讶。半路上，有一个过度奢侈、矫揉造作的作品，挂着一条一条的丝绸，就像宫殿一样。在人口还系着几个活着的孔雀。木久他们经过一个三层高，有几个角楼的帐篷；前面几米，有个帐篷前面设有花园，里面还建有水盆、日规和喷泉。

　　“总是这样，”威斯里先生笑着说，“当我们聚到一起时，我们总是忍不住要显示一下自己。啊，我们的在这里，看，这是我们的。”

　　他们到达了森林的边上，在田野的最前方。这是一个空旷的地方，只有一个小小的用铁锤打在地面上的标志，上面写着“威斯里”。

　　“这真是个再好不过的地方！”威斯里先生十分高兴地说。“搭帐篷的地方正好在森林的另一边，我们要尽可能地接近。”他从臂膀上拿下他的背包，“好了，”他兴奋地说，“不许用魔法，严格地说，我们将用手把帐篷搭起来！不会太困难的……马格人经常做……这里，哈利，你认为我们应该从哪里开始呢？”

　　哈利一生中还从没有露营过，杜斯利一家在假期从来没有带他外出过，他们情愿把他放在一个老邻居菲格太太家里。虽然如此，他和荷术恩还是决定了在哪里应该打柱子和桩子。当威斯里开始用木锤时，他实在是兴奋过度了。他成一个障碍，帮不上什么忙。但是，最后他们还是搭起了两个简陋帐篷。

　　所有的人都站到后面去欣赏他们亲手做的物品。哈利想没有人会猜到这些帐篷是由巫上造成的。但是问题是一旦比尔、查理和伯希到后，他们将会是十个人。荷米恩似乎想到了这个问题。当威斯里先生，第一个进入帐篷时，她投给哈利一个戏弄的眼神。

　　“我们将会很拥挤的，”他说，“但我认为我们都可以挤进去。

　　来看一下吧。“

　　哈利弯下腰来，有三个房间，还有沐浴室和厨房。巧合的是，它的样式跟菲格太太家的完全一样，在椅子上有钩针织品的盖布，一点也不搭配，还有一股很浓的猫味。

　　“呃，不是住很久的，”威斯里先生说着，用手帕擦他的光头，斜看着房间里的四张床铺。“我向帕金的办公室借的。他现在不露营了。可怜的家伙，他现在正腰痛。”

　　他拿起那个满是灰尘的水壶，斜视了下里面，“我们需要水……”

　　“在马格人给我们的地图中可以看到一个水龙头，”罗恩说，他跟着哈利走进了帐篷，而且看起来对里面的情况一点儿也不感到奇怪。“在田野的另一边。”

　　“好。不如你、哈利和荷米恩去取一些水，好吗？”威斯里先生把水壶递过来，还有一个锅，“其余的将去找些木材，因为我们需要火。”

　　“但是我们有火炉，”罗恩说，“为什么我们不能只是……？”

　　“罗恩，这是为了安全，防御马格人！”威斯里先生说，他的脸上充满了期待。“当真正的马格人露营时，他们用火在户外煮东西，我见过这些！”

　　很快地看了一下女孩子的帐篷后，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩拿着水壶和锅，穿过营地出发了。女孩子的帐篷只是比男孩的稍微小了一点，但没有那股猫味。

　　现在，太阳刚刚升起，雾也小了很多，他们可以看到这个帐篷的世界向各个方向伸展。他们慢慢地穿过那一排排的帐篷，到处张望。只有哈利会在想这个世界上到底有多少的巫婆和巫士；他从来没有想过那些在其它国家的巫士。

　　其他的露营者开始起床了。首先是一些有着小孩子的家庭；哈利从来没有见过这么年幼的小巫婆和巫士。一个不超过两岁的小男孩从一个金字塔形的帐篷爬了出来，拿着一个魔杖，十分高兴地戳着草地上的一个慢慢膨胀得像意大利香肠那么大的蛞蝓。当他们走近他时，他的妈妈急忙从帐篷里走了出来。

　　“多少次了，凯文？你不可以碰爸爸的魔杖！”

　　她踩了一下那巨大的蜡输，那蛞蝓便裂开了。她的骂声，混合了小男孩的哭喊声“你弄破了蛞蝓！你弄破了蛞蝓！”飘荡在宁静的空中。

　　不远处，他们看到两个小巫婆，和凯文年龄差不多。她们正骑着一个玩具扫帚，只能升到一个女孩的脚趾头那么高，仅仅可以掠过带有露珠的小草。一位巫士官员发现了她们，经过哈利、罗恩和荷米恩，他急忙跑向她们，并不停地发牢骚：“都大白天了，父母还在睡懒觉，我想……”

　　四周的巫婆和巫士们都从帐篷里出来了，开始准备早餐。有些偷偷地看一下四周，然后用魔杖点火；有些充满怀疑地试着用火柴点火，好像这是不可能似的。三个非洲的巫婆正在严肃地交谈，她们都穿着长长的白色泡子，而一群中年的美国巫上坐在一个亮晶晶的标语下面十分高兴的闲谈。那个标语挂在他们帐篷之间，上面写着“巫土沙龙”。当他们经过这些帐篷时，哈利听到里面正用一种奇怪的语言交谈，虽然他听不懂，但每个声音的语调都是非常兴奋的。

　　“呃，是我眼睛的问题，还是有些东西变绿了？”罗恩问。

　　不仅仅是罗恩眼睛的问题。他们走进了一个帐篷的营地，那里所有的帐篷看起来都像用三叶草盖着，透过那些打开人口的帐篷可以看到一张张笑脸，忽然，在他们后面，他们听到了有人叫他们的名字。

　　“哈利！罗恩！荷米恩！”

　　是谢默斯。芬尼更——格林芬顿的队友。他正坐在他自己的有三叶草盖着的帐篷前，旁边有红发妇女，应该是他的妈妈，还有他的最好的朋友，迪恩，也是格林芬顿的队友。

　　“好像装饰品吧？”谢默斯嘴笑着问，笑着当哈利、罗恩和荷米思走过来打招呼时。“内阁不是很高兴。”

　　“啊，为什么我们不能用我们喜欢的颜色呢？”芬尼更太太问，“你们应当看一下保加利亚是拿什么来炫耀的。你们当真会支持爱尔兰？”她补充说，盯着哈利、罗恩和荷米恩。

　　当他们保证他们真的支持爱尔兰后，他们又重新出发了，不过，正如罗恩所说的：“在那种情况下，我们必须说些东西。”

　　“我对于保加利亚人放在他们帐篷上，拿来炫耀的东西很好奇。”荷米恩说。

　　“我们去看一下吧。”哈利说着，并指向前方那片大的营地，在那里，保加利亚的红、绿、白国旗，在风中飘扬。

　　帐篷不是用植物来装饰，而是每一个都帖着同样的海报。一张印有一个深黑色眉毛的傲慢的脸。这张画不断地移动，但画中的脸却是不断地眨眼和皱眉。

　　“克伦。”罗恩小声地说。

　　“什么？”荷米恩问。

　　“克伦！”罗恩说，“维特。克伦，保加利亚的搜索者！”

　　“他看起来真是很粗鲁。”荷米恩说，看着周围这么多克伦在向他们眨眼和皱眉。

　　“真的很粗鲁吗？”罗恩抬起头望着天空。“谁在乎他长得怎么样呢？他简直是不可思议，他也真的很年轻。只有十八岁左右，他是一个天才，到今天晚上，你就可以看到了。”

　　在田野角落的水龙头旁，早就已经有一小队人在等了。哈利、罗恩和荷米恩加入了他们，站在两个男人后面，他们正在激烈地争论著。

　　其中一个是个非常老的巫土，穿着一件花花的长睡衣，另一个是一个巫主官员，他拿着一件细条纹裤几乎要愤怒地哭了。

　　“穿上它，阿奇卡，你是一个好家伙，你不能这样到处走。在门口的马格人早就怀疑了。”

　　“我在马格人的店里买的，”老巫士顽固地说，“马格人也穿这些。”

　　“马格女人才穿这个，阿奇卡是男人，应该穿这些。”巫主官员挥动着细条纹长裤说。

　　“我不穿这些，”阿奇卡生气地说，“我喜欢感受凉爽的微风，谢谢！”

　　荷米恩对这种情形忍不住大笑起来，她赶紧从队伍中走出来。

　　直到阿奇卡装了水离开后才回来。

　　因为水的重量，他们现在走得更慢了。他们艰难地穿过营地往回走，并在周围看到更多熟悉的面孔——其他的霍格瓦彻的学生和他们的家人，奥立弗。伍德，哈利的快迪斯队的老队长，他刚刚离开霍格瓦彻队。他把哈利拉到他的父母的帐篷，把他介绍给大家，并兴奋地告诉哈利他刚刚和联合队签了约。接着，他们遇到到了埃尼。马米安，一个海夫巴夫的队员。接着，不远处，他们看到了卓，一个非常漂亮的女孩子，她在卫文卡罗队打搜索者的位置。她朝着哈利招手和微笑，而哈利向她抬手时，溅出了不少的水。罗恩不断的傻笑。哈利急忙指出一大组他从来没有见过的少年。

　　“你猜他们是谁？”他问，“他们不去霍格瓦彻，对吗？”

　　“他们去某个外国学校，”罗恩说，“我知道有些人，看到对方也不知道彼此认识。比尔有个笔友在巴西，这是很多年前的事了，他想去作一个交换旅行，但爸妈无法支付。当他说他不去并送给了对方一顶受诅咒的帽子，他的笔友觉得被冒犯了。那帽子使他的耳朵枯萎了。”

　　哈利笑了，但没有比当他听到其它巫士学校时感到很有趣。他想，他在营地看到那么多国家，到现在他才发现自己曾经多么愚蠢，竟然没有意识到霍格瓦彻并不是唯一的一个。他盯着荷米恩，她对这消息竟然一点也不惊讶。那不奇怪，她在书或其它地方已经看到过关于巫士学校的新闻。

　　当他们最后回到威斯里的帐篷时，乔治对他们说：“你们去了好久啊！”

　　“我们遇到了一些人，”罗恩说，并把水放好，“你们还没有点火呢？”

　　“爸爸正在玩火柴玩得高兴呢！”弗来德说。

　　威斯里先生怎样也无法把火点着，但并不是因为缺少尝试。他把火柴散在他的周围，但他看起来似乎已经试了一辈子的时间了。

　　“糟糕！”他说着，因为他终于擦着了一根火柴，并惊讶地把它扔到地上。

　　“来这里，威斯里先生。”荷米恩温柔地说，她把盒子拿过来，并开始教他应该怎样做才是正确的。

　　最后，他们终于把火点起来了，但如果要等到它热到可以煮东西，那将至少还要一个小时。当他们等待的时候，周围有很多东西可以观赏。因为，他们的帐篷看来是搭在合适的地方了，内阁的巫士们不断地急急忙忙地跑上跑下，当他们经过时，热情地同威斯里先生打招呼。因为哈利和荷米思的缘故，威斯里先生要不断的解释，而他自己的孩子已经太熟悉那个内阁了，并没有引起大家的很大兴趣。

　　“那个是凯斯伯。迈克居，妖精联络办公室的领导，这个是盖波。威伯，他是魔法实验委员会的委员，他有是角的，等一下，现在，你好，阿姆斯波斯顿，他是魔法意外修理队的成员……”

　　“他们是什么人？”

　　“来自机密部门，高度机密，没人知道他们要做什么。”

　　最后，火已经准备好了，当比尔、查理和伯希从森林走向他们时，他们刚刚开始煮鸡蛋和香肠。

　　“刚刚瞬间移动来到这，爸爸，”伯希大声地说，“啊，太好了，午餐！”

　　当他们吃香肠和鸡蛋吃到一半时，忽然威斯里先生跳了起来，朝着一个正在走向他们的人招手和微笑。“啊，”他说，“当今风流人物！露得！”

　　露得。巴格蒙很显然是到目前为止哈利所见到的人当中最引人注目的一个人，甚至包括穿着花长睡衣的老阿奇卡。他穿着一件快迪斯长袍，上面有一条条鲜艳的黄和黑的水平条纹。一个巨大的黄蜂的图案在他胸前。他拥有一个强壮的男子的体格。因为他的大肚脯，长袍显得有点紧，看来在他不再为英格兰打快迪斯后，他肯定已经没再穿了。他的鼻子弯弯的，哈利想它可能是被一个碟子打断的，但是他圆圆的蓝眼睛，短短的金发和红色的皮肤让他看起来像个成熟得过早的男孩。

　　“啊，那里！”巴格蒙十分高兴地喊着。他走起来像脚下有一个弹簧似的，非常的兴奋。

　　“亚瑟，老家伙，”当他到营火旁，便吹嘘，“多美妙的一天，呃？多美妙的一天！再也找不到比这更好的天气的。一个无云的夜晚正来临……整个组织一点障碍都没有，我都没什么事好干了！”

　　在他后面，一组憔悴的内阁巫士急急忙忙地经过，跑向着远方发着火光的、有二十英尺高的魔法营火。

　　伯希急忙跟着跑了过去。很显然，虽然他不赞成露得。巴格蒙管理他的部门的方式，但这并不阻止他想给他留下一个好印像。

　　“啊，是的，”威斯里先生笑着说，“这是我的儿子伯希，他刚刚开始在内阁工作，这是弗来德，比尔、查理、罗恩，这是金妮和罗恩的朋友荷米恩。格林佐和哈利·波特。”

　　当巴格蒙听到哈利的名字时，他有一点怀疑，而且他的眼睛也扫视了一下哈利额头的伤疤。

　　“孩子们，”威斯里先生继续说，“这是露得。巴格蒙，你们知道他是谁。真该感谢他让我们拿到那么好的票！”

　　巴格蒙高兴的笑着，挥着手，好像在说，这没什么。

　　“请一下比赛的结果吧，亚瑟！”他热切地说，身上发出叮叮当当的响，好像他的黄黑色的长袍口袋里有一大堆的金子。“我早就和露迪。旁特尼打赌，保加利亚会先得分，我给他漂亮的奇怪的东西，考虑到爱尔兰的前三号是我这么多年来看到的最优秀的。还有小阿哥西。厅西把她的鳗鱼池塘的一半的股份放在为期一个星期的比赛上。”

　　“噢，走着瞧，”威斯里先生说，“我赌一个帆船币，爱尔兰赢！”

　　“只一个帆船币？”露得。巴格蒙看起来有点失望，但是他很快恢复常态。“很好，很好……还有谁想参加？”

　　“他们太年轻了，不能赌钱，”威斯里先生说，“摩莉不会喜欢的……”

　　“我们将赌三十七帆船币，十五镰刀币，三克拉币，”弗来德说，他和乔治迅速清点他们的钱，“爱尔兰赢，但是维特。克伦获得史尼斯球。噢，我们将加上一个假魔杖。”

　　伯希不满地说：“你们不要把那种垃圾东西拿给巴格蒙先生看。”但巴格蒙得一点儿也不认为那个魔杖是垃圾，相反，当他从弗来德那里看到那个魔杖后，他孩子气的脸上因兴奋而发光，还有当魔杖叭叭响，并变成一个橡皮鸡后，巴格蒙高兴得呱呱叫。

　　“精彩极了！我多年来还从未看到过这样一种东西！我愿意出五个帆船币来买它！”

　　伯希看到这种情况，呆住了。

　　“孩子们，”威斯里先生小声地说，“我不想你们赌钱，那是你们所有的积蓄……你们的妈妈……”

　　“不要扫大家的兴了，亚瑟！“露得。巴格蒙抗议道，他兴奋地让他的口袋嘎嘎响，”他们已经长大了，知道又己需要什么！你们认为爱尔兰会赢但克伦将获得史尼斯球吗？没有机会的，孩子们，没有机会的……我将加五个帆船币买那个可爱的魔杖，我们可以……“

　　威斯里先生失望地看着露得。巴格蒙拿出一个笔记本和一支羽毛笔，匆匆记下了双胞胎的名字。

　　“加油！”乔治说着，拿着巴格蒙递给他的那卷羊皮纸，把它塞进他的长袍的前面。

　　巴格蒙非常兴奋地转向威斯里先生，“我想图谋不会成功的，我无法留意巴地。克劳斯的，我的保加利亚对手已在制造困难，我无法听懂他讲的一个字。巴地可以弄明白，他可以讲一百五十种语口0”克劳斯先生吗？“伯希问，突然，他放弃了异议，因为兴奋而非常苦恼。”他可以讲超过两百种！“

　　“有人可以说思洞语吗？”弗来德轻视地说。

　　伯希非常厌恶地看了弗来德一眼，往火里添柴，使火烧得更猛烈，水壶里的水又开了。

　　当巴格蒙坐到他们旁边的草地时，“有关于珀茜·佐金斯的消息吗，露得？”威斯里先生问道。

　　“一点也没有，”巴格蒙舒服地说，“但她将会出现。可怜的巴格蒙……忘记就像一个有漏洞的大汽锅，一点方向感也没有。她将在十月的某个时候游游荡荡地回办公室，还以为仍然是七月份。”

　　“你不认为是时候该派人去寻找她了吗？”威斯里先生试探着建议。伯希把茶递给了巴格蒙。

　　“巴地。克劳斯总是这样说，”巴格蒙说，睁大他的天真的圆眼睛，“但是在这个时候我们腾不出人来干这事。噢，不要那个可恶的家伙了！巴地！”

　　一个巫士刚刚瞬间转移来到他们的营火边，他与巴格蒙先生的印有黄蜂的旧长袍形成鲜明的对比。巴地。克劳斯是一个严厉的、正直的、年老的男人，他穿着没有瑕庇的外套，打着领带。他的短发直得非常的不自然，还有他那窄长的牙刷形的胡子看起来好像他用直尺修剪似的。他的鞋子被刷得光亮亮的。哈利马上就明白为什么伯希崇拜他了。伯希是一个崇信严格纪律的人，而克劳斯先生完全根据马格人编纂的纪律条规行事。他做得那么地认真全面，几乎可以做一个银行的经理。

　　哈利怀疑即使是维能姨丈是否也可以讲出他的真正身份。

　　“坐一下吧，巴地。”露得高兴地说，拍着他旁边的地面。

　　“不了，谢谢，露得。”克劳斯说，而且他的语气显得很不耐烦。“我到处找你，保加利亚人坚持要求我们增加十二个席位给他们。”

　　“噢，那就是他们追求的吗？”巴格蒙说，“我想那个家伙想借一把钳子。”

　　“克劳斯先生！”伯希气喘吁吁的叫着，他半鞠躬，那使他看起来很恶心，“您要杯茶吗？”

　　“噢，好的，谢谢你。”克劳斯先生说看，很惊讶地看了下伯希。

　　弗来德和乔治十分气愤，只是埋头喝茶。怕希忙着弄水壶。

　　“我，我一直想跟你谈一下，亚瑟！”克劳斯先生说，他锐利的注视着威斯里先生，“阿里。贝希尔正在出征的路上，他想跟你谈一下你禁止使用的飞毯。”

　　威斯里先生深深叹了口气，“我上个星期才刚刚送三个猫头鹰给他。我已经跟他讲过几百次了：飞毯被看成马格人的工艺品，这是由魔法禁止物品登记处决定的，但他会听吗？”

　　“我十分怀疑，”克劳斯先生说，接过伯希递过来的茶。“他非常希望从这里把它偷出去。”

　　“呃，在英国它们永远也无法取代扫帚，对吗？”巴格蒙问。

　　“阿里认为在市场上有一种壁灶，非常运会用于家庭交通工具，”克劳斯先生说，“我记得我的祖母有一种毛毯，可以坐十二个人——但那当然是在飞毯被禁用之前。”

　　他讲着，好像他想让每个人毫无疑问地清楚他的祖先是严守法律的。

　　“所以，巴地，你一直很忙？”巴格蒙笑着说。

　　“还可以啦，”克劳斯先生冷冰冰地回答，“组织波奇通过五大洲并不是一件什么大事，露得。”

　　露得。巴格蒙看起来像愣住了，“太好了！我再也找不到比这些更有趣的事了。还有，看起来好像我们可以找到任何事来做了。

　　呃？巴地？还有很多需要组织，对吗？“

　　克劳斯先生对巴格蒙扬了一下眉毛，“我们答应过直到细节弄好才公布的……”

　　“哦，细节！”巴格蒙先生喊道，“他们已经签了，对吗？我想这些孩子很快就会清楚地知道。我的意思是，这些发生在霍格瓦彻”露得，我们需要会见保利亚人，你知道的。“克劳斯先锐声说道。打断了巴格蒙的话，”谢谢你的茶，孩子。“

　　他把他未喝的茶递回给伯希，等待露得站起来。巴格蒙重新艰难地站起来，倒掉了他最后的茶，他口袋里的金子又在叮当叮当地n向。

　　“待会见！”他说，“你们将在头等厢见到我！我做评解！”他挥挥手，巴地。克劳斯有礼貌地点点头‘然后他们两人都消失了。

　　“霍格瓦彻发生什么事了，爸爸？”弗来德马上就问，“他们在讲什么？”

　　“你很快就可以清楚地知道了。”威斯里先生笑着说。

　　“这是机密消息，直到恰当时候，内阁才决定公开，”伯希严肃地说，“克劳斯先生没有说出来，做得很对。”“哦，闭嘴！”弗来德喊道。

　　在下午，营地中洋溢着一种兴奋的感觉。到了黄昏时分，静止的夏天空气好像也因为期待而颤抖。当黑夜像窗帘一样降到成千上万个期待着的巫士身上的时候，最后伪装的痕迹也消失了，禁止党相斗争炫耀魔法的标语相继被打破了。

　　销售员每几步地瞬间移动，拿着盘子，推着小车，里面装满特别的商品。有发亮的玫瑰花结——绿色代表爱尔兰，红色代表保加利亚——上面还有队员的名字。绿色的帽子用三叶草来装饰，保加利亚围巾则用在吼叫的狮子装饰，两个国家的国旗在不同的国歌声中挥动。还有小的燃烧的箭头模型，真的能飞；还有用于收集的著名队员的模型，可以在掌心走动，自己打扮自己。

　　“我存了整个夏天的钱就是为这个。”罗恩告诉哈利，当他们和荷米恩经过销售员时，他们停下来买纪念品。罗恩买了一个跳舞用的三叶草帽子和一个大的绿色的玫瑰花结，她也买了一个小的维特。克伦的模型。微型的克伦在罗恩的手中向前和向后走，对着他上面的绿色玫瑰花结皱眉。

　　“哇，看这些！”哈利兴奋地叫着，急忙冲向一个堆满了看起来像铜制的双筒望远镜的小车，上面盖着各式各样的奇异的抽屉辆和刻度盘。

　　“望远镜，”销售巫士热切地说，你可以设置焦距，还可以放慢一些镜头，如果你需要的话，十分便宜，每个才十个帆船币。“

　　“我现在希望我没有买这个。”罗恩指着他的跳舞三叶草帽子，渴望地望着那望远镜。

　　“三个。”哈利肯定地对巫士说。

　　“不，不要麻烦了。”罗恩红着脸说。他总是对哈利的钱比他多而神经过敏，因为哈利从他父母手中继承了一小笔的财产。

　　“你在圣诞节时就拿不到任何东西了，”哈利告诉他，并把望远镜塞到他和荷米恩的手中。“记住，大约十年。”

　　“十分公平。”罗恩笑道说。

　　他们的钱袋很明显地轻了很多后就回到帐篷。比尔、查理和金妮都买了绿色的玫瑰花结，而威斯里先生拿着一面爱尔兰旗。弗来德和乔治没有买纪念品，因为他们所有的金子都给了巴格蒙。

　　接着，在森林某处的上空响起一阵巨响，绿色的和红色灯笼在树丛中燃烧起来，照亮了一条到帐篷地区的路。

　　“时间到了，”威斯里先生喊着，看起来和其他人一样兴奋。

　　“来吧，我们走！”