They had arrived in 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 goloshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.
(Y/n) offered a hand down to Hermione, trying not to laugh as she stared at the man. Hermione accepted her hand and got to her feet, brushing herself off, a smile on her face as she too tried not to laugh.
"Morning, Basil," said Arthur, 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 Arthur, 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 was 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 goodbye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door.
A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.
"Morning!" said Arthur 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 Arthur.
"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.
"Ah— right— certainly—" said Arthur. He retreated a short distance from teh cottage and beckoned (Y/n) toward him. "Help me, (Y/n)," 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? So this is a five?"
"Twenty," (Y/n) corrected him in an undertone. "See the little numbers?"
"He isn't stupid," Hermione's voice snapped in a mumble somewhere behind (Y/n).
"Ah yes, so it is," said Arthur, not hearing Hermione or choosing to ignore it. "I don't know, these little bits of paper..."
"You foreign?" said Mr. Roberts as Arthur returned with the correct notes.
"Foreign?" Arthur repeated, looking puzzled.
"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts, scrutinizing Arthur closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."
"Did you really?" Arthur said 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 Arthur, 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."
