Match day.
Harry felt he'd barely lain down when Mrs Weasley shook him awake.
"Time to go, Harry. Quick breakfast, then we're off."
Bleary-eyed, Harry put on his glasses, left Ron's bedroom and staggered downstairs to wash.
Not just him – the twins and Ginny, also roused by Mrs Weasley, looked equally sleep-deprived. Fred even dozed off briefly while brushing his teeth.
Outside, the sky remained pitch black. Harry opened a window, the cool breeze instantly refreshing him.
"What time is it?" he couldn't help asking.
"Half past three," Fred grumbled. "Do we really have to go this early? Where are Bill and the others?"
"They can Disapparate, so they get more sleep," Mrs Weasley said, placing breakfast before each of them.
"Damn it," George muttered. "Why can't we Disapparate? Just because of this bloody age restriction?"
"Yes, all because of this blasted age restriction."
Mrs Weasley placed another slice of bread on his plate. "Eat up, dear, it's still ages until lunchtime."
George responded with a weak murmur, but Harry noticed something odd.
"Was that magic Wayne used yesterday called Disapparating?"
"Exactly," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of egg he'd shoved in whole.
"Then why didn't Wayne need to take the test?"
Sirius, who'd been checking tickets with Mr Weasley, paused.
"Harry, you need to understand something – people are different," Sirius said, repacking the tickets into his pocket. "You can't judge Wayne by the same standards as your peers. He's probably the freest person in our world."
He continued, "You know the consequences of underage magic outside school, don't you?"
Harry nodded with a shudder, remembering how the Ministry of Magic had sent an immediate letter when Dobby made objects float during his first summer. Last year, Fudge had only let him off because of the delicate situation with Sirius's recent escape from Azkaban.
"But no one would dare enforce those rules on Wayne," Mr Weasley added. "He's got many friends at the Ministry, and apparently holds some special status in your Muggle society too. Fudge would have to be mad to try sending him to Azkaban."
Though not highly ranked, Mr Weasley held a mid-level position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and had good connections, hearing many inside stories. Scrimgeour's downfall, he knew, was closely tied to that seemingly mild-mannered young man.
"Madame Greengrass from the Department of Magical Transportation is his mother-in-law," Sirius shrugged helplessly. "Who'd check whether he passed his Disapparating test?"
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, mutual envy clear in their eyes, before returning to their breakfast in resigned silence.
Some things just couldn't be copied.
...
After breakfast, Mr Weasley and Sirius led Harry's group away from The Burrow towards distant hills.
"Are we walking there?" Harry asked.
"Of course not," Mr Weasley chuckled. "It's too far from the village. We're using a Portkey – convenient and quick, though rather uncomfortable."
"You must have prepared loads of Portkeys then," Sirius remarked.
This touched a nerve, prompting Mr Weasley's complaints: "About a hundred thousand spectators are coming! Finding a suitable venue alone took us a month, then installing every known Muggle-repelling charm became another massive project."
"The real challenge was transporting all those spectators without Muggles noticing. Just Britain alone has hundreds of Portkey points, let alone other continents... Merlin's beard, some colleagues haven't been home in six months – didn't even know their wives were pregnant!"
"Just when we thought it was over, then..."
Mr Weasley abruptly stopped speaking.
"Then what?" George asked curiously.
"You'll find out about these things later," said Mr Weasley with a cheerful grin. "Trust me, it'll be tremendously interesting."
His evasiveness only fuelled everyone's curiosity, but Mr Weasley refused to elaborate further, instead urging the group to hurry up.
Panting heavily, they finally reached the hilltop as the sun began rising. Golden light edged the surrounding clouds, and the moist air shimmered – though no one had breath to spare for admiring the view after such exertion.
Sirius handed Harry a handkerchief, gesturing for him to wipe the sweat from his face.
"Over here, Arthur! Come along, son, we've arrived!"
A voice called from the opposite side of the summit where two tall figures stood. One wizard with a brown beard waved at them while clutching a mouldy old boot.
"Amos!" Mr Weasley greeted him warmly as he approached, the others following behind.
"Perfect timing – I've just located the Portkey," announced Amos Diggory, holding up the boot. Beside him, Cedric was exchanging meaningful looks with the twins.
"Brought the stuff?"
"Obviously."
"Where's Wayne?"
"Not coming with us."
Their silent conversation continued through exaggerated facial expressions, regardless of whether anyone understood.
After the adults finished exchanging pleasantries, Mr Diggory seemed particularly interested in Sirius, engaging him in extended conversation until Mr Weasley reminded them they were nearly out of time.
For organisational purposes, each Portkey had been assigned specific departure and arrival slots to prevent overcrowding.
They formed a circle, hands gripping the boot. As Mr Weasley's countdown concluded, Harry felt a hook jerk behind his navel before his feet left the ground. They hurtled forward like rushing wind before landing with a thud.
Ron stumbled onto him while everyone's hair stood wildly askew. Fred and George howled with laughter at each other's dishevelled appearances.
"Five-oh-seven, from Stoatshead Hill," droned a weary voice. Two exhausted-looking wizards stood before them, faces grim.
"Good morning, Mr Chang," said Mr Weasley, returning the boot before introducing everyone: "This is Mr Chang from the Department of International Magical Cooperation's Office of International Magical Connectivity – one of the tournament organisers."
"Oh, he's also got a daughter at Hogwarts."
"Cho?" Ginny immediately guessed, recognising both the uncommon surname and Mr Chang's East Asian features.
Hearing his daughter's name, Mr Chang, who'd been working since the previous night, finally smiled. "You must be Ginny. Cho mentioned you."
"Your campsite's just ahead – about a quarter mile. The site manager is Mr Roberts."
After thanking him, the group followed Mr Chang's directions. Twenty minutes of trekking across deserted marshland brought them to the aforementioned Mr Roberts – to Harry's astonishment, the man was clearly a Muggle.
"Why doesn't the Ministry of Magic get a wizard to manage the campsite?" George asked in astonishment as he watched a wizard descend gracefully from the sky to obliviate Roberts' memory.
"Because this is technically his jurisdiction."
Mr Weasley cast a pitying glance at Mr Roberts. "Crouch originally wanted to have this Muggle evicted, but Fudge thought that was too tyrannical and insisted on keeping him here."
"Would've been better if they'd just kicked him out," Harry couldn't help muttering.
Mr Weasley smiled but said nothing more. The political infighting behind this wasn't suitable for outsiders' ears.
...
After paying their fees, the group ventured deeper into the campsite where numerous tents were already pitched in roughly two rows.
Though the wizards had tried their best to appear normal, some still made mistakes - chimneys protruding from tent roofs, extra ceilings added, and Harry even spotted several snakes kept outside an extravagant tent whose owner was likely a Slytherin.
"Ah, here we are! This is ours!"
They reached a clearing by the woods at the field's edge, marked by a small sign reading 'Weasley'. Opposite stood a larger plot with a sign saying 'Lawrence'.
"Couldn't ask for better," Mr Weasley said cheerfully. "The stadium's just through those woods - couldn't be closer."
He shrugged off his backpack and eagerly produced the tent materials. "No magic allowed here, so we'll do this the Muggle way. Trust me, I've done plenty of research!"
"Me too, I've read the instructions," Sirius chimed in with equal enthusiasm.
It seemed men never outgrew their passion for assembly.
Harry watched helplessly as they constructed a square-shaped tent, leaving a small mountain of unused parts on the ground.
"Must've gone wrong somewhere," Mr Weasley said awkwardly. "Don't worry, kids, let me figure this out..."
"Dad!" George suddenly called. "We want to go look at the other tents."
"Go on then. Remember - no magic, and don't wander too far." Mr Weasley waved them off, his attention already fully reclaimed by the puzzle before him.
George and Fred exchanged a grin before dashing to the fork in the road where they'd just parted ways with the Diggorys. Cedric was already waiting there.
"What took you so long?" young Cedric complained.
"Dad set up the tent like a Rubik's cube – couldn't resist watching a bit longer," George explained.
This only piqued Cedric's curiosity, making him want to see for himself, but they stopped him. Money came first.
Fred produced a dragonhide pouch and tipped out the sales cart inside, displaying samples of various souvenirs.
"What was that slogan Wayne taught us yesterday?" Fred scratched his head, momentarily forgetting the lines.
George rolled his eyes. "How can you forget two simple lines? Watch and learn."
Clearing his throat, he bellowed:
"Step right up! World Cup's finest souvenirs! Whether you support Bulgaria or Ireland, we've got what you desire!"
"One Galleon won't buy regrets! One Galleon won't buy deceit! But it will purchase precious memories!"
Soon, interested wizards gathered, pointing at the four-leaf clover badges:
"How much for the badges?"
"What about the flags?"
Fred smirked as he watched George surrounded by customers.
Had he really forgotten?
He just found it too embarrassing!
...
Meanwhile, Sirius and Mr Weasley were sweating profusely.
The instructions seemed simple, but reality proved otherwise...
The increasingly spherical object before them bore no resemblance to a tent.
Suddenly.
Whoosh!
A golden-red blaze erupted on the empty ground opposite them.
The flames spiralled outward, forming a fiery vortex so dramatic that nearby spectators turned to look.
Mr Weasley and Sirius paused their work.
At the vortex's centre, several figures materialised abruptly. Wayne waved his hand, and the fiery whirlpool condensed before dissipating completely.
Harry and the others wore peculiar expressions at the unexpected entourage.
Surrounding Wayne were exclusively beautiful young women – some familiar, others not.
"Sirius, Mr Weasley, planning a ball game first?" Wayne greeted them, eyeing their creation curiously.
"Indeed," Mr Weasley forced a smile. "Heard Muggles have this fascinating sport called basketball."
"Absolutely," Sirius nodded vigorously before shifting focus to Sakura and Tomoyo. "Are these friends of yours?"
Wayne made introductions all around for basic acquaintance.
"We'll leave you to it then – off to pitch our tent."
Mr Weasley offered warmly, "Do ask if you need any help."
The corner of Wayne's mouth twitched.
He'd only phrased it that way to spare their dignity – surely Mr Weasley didn't actually think himself competent?
Returning to their plot, Wayne unpacked the tent materials from his trunk.
He'd intended magical assembly, but Hermione, Astoria and the others insisted on hands-on experience for "authentic fun" – so he humoured them.
The campsite buzzed with activity until nearly noon, when both sides finished pitching their tents almost simultaneously.
Though Wayne's side was considerably more elaborate and luxurious.
Harry's group had only two ordinary, shabby tents, while Wayne's not only appeared larger but also boasted a fountain, water tap, and an unfolded barbecue grill by the entrance.
They planned to barbecue for lunch.
Ginny glanced over and defected without hesitation, going to help prepare the ingredients.
Wayne simply invited everyone to pitch in.
Charlie, Bill, and Percy Disapparated to the scene, where they were immediately assigned to chop wood and light the fire.
Percy was still dressed in a suit – one might have mistaken him for heading to the office – and looked rather reluctant.
But seeing himself as the only idle one, he had no choice but to steel himself and assist Charlie.
Charlie's well-built muscles, honed in the dragon reserve, finally found purpose as he effortlessly split thick logs with each swing.
Suddenly, Percy spotted a figure and leapt up excitedly, rushing to greet them by the roadside.
"Mr Crouch!"