ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅʀᴀᴛᴛᴇᴅ ʟɪʟᴀ ʜᴏʟᴍᴇꜱ || ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏ ᴍᴀʟꜰᴏʏ x ᴏᴄ || ʏᴇᴀʀ 4

there she goes (again)

I turned to see two very disgruntled wizards behind us. Their Muggle outfits weren't nearly as incognito as Mr. Weasley's. I eyed the thigh-high galoshes on the one with the watch with alarm.

This was the one (Basil, apparently) that got us sorted out with our campsite. We followed him about twenty minutes to a stone cottage where a man was waiting in the doorway. I could tell that he was a real Muggle by how he was dressed so normally.

"Morning!" said Mr. Weasley.

"Morning," said the man blankly. He seemed a little out of it.

"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"

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

"Weasley — two tents, booked a couple days ago?" Mr. Weasley nodded, and Roberts gestured to the list that was tacked on the door.

"You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?" Mr. Roberts looked curiously at all of us behind Mr. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley nodded. "That's it!"

"You'll be paying now, then?" Mr. Roberts raised an eyebrow.

"Ah — right — certainly," Mr. Weasley backed up slightly and turned to face us. He beckoned Harry forward and pulled a roll of Muggle pounds from his pocket. "This one's a — a — a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now. . . So this is a five?"

"You foreign?" Mr. Roberts asked when Mr. Weasley finally handed him the notes.

"Foreign?" Mr. Weasley repeated.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts, looking at Mr. Weasley with increasing scrutiny. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley anxiously.

"Never been this crowded," Mr. Roberts began to pull change out from a tin, looking over the misty field of tents. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up. . ."

"Is that right?" Mr. Weasley swallowed.

"Aye," Mr. Roberts replied. "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."

At this, a wizard suddenly appeared from behind him in the doorway, hastily performing the memory charm.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said afterward, his suspicion dissipated. "And your change."

"Thank you very much," said Mr. Weasley, looking relieved.

The wizard who had performed the Memory Charm came with us to the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted.

"Been having a lot of trouble with him." He said tiredly. "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, leaving us together at the gate.

"I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports," piped up Ginny. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

"He should," Mr. Weasley smiled knowingly as we entered 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."

We continued to walk on the path between the rows of tents. While most of them looked ordinary, there were quite a few that were so extravagant it was really no wonder Mr. Roberts was suspicious. We had reached a blank stretch of field at the end. There was a small sign hammered into the ground that read "WEEZLY."