Chapter 150: A Journey for Three

The timing was perfect as the trio left the center of the campgrounds. Around them, tents were beginning to stir, shaking off the last traces of slumber. Most wizards were busy with breakfast preparations. Some furtively glanced around before lighting fires with their wands, while others struck matches with doubtful expressions, as if they expected them not to work.

As they followed a narrow path, two young witches flew low on toy broomsticks, their feet skimming the dew-laden grass. A Ministry wizard spotted them and muttered irritably as he hurried by, "Flying around in broad daylight! Their parents must be sleeping in—"

"These toy brooms are said to be modeled after the earliest Comet models. Long ago, before flying brooms were invented, wizards used flying carpets for transport," Malfoy remarked with a nostalgic glint in his eye, as if recalling fond memories of his childhood.

"Yes, but flying carpets have long been banned," Augustus said with a slight smile as he watched the young witches. "The Ministry's ban was unnecessary. Brooms naturally replaced carpets as the superior choice. Adding a prohibition was redundant."

As they strolled further, they passed three African wizards deep in serious discussion. Dressed in long white robes, they were roasting a rabbit-like creature over a purple flame. Nearby, a group of middle-aged American wizards sat laughing and chatting. A shiny banner reading Salem Witches' Institute hung high between their tents. Snatches of conversation drifted from the surrounding tents, spoken in strange languages, but the tones were universally animated.

"I've heard that the Salem Institute has an advanced curriculum," Lilian said, flicking her bangs in a bored gesture. Her voice was crisp and clear. "They manage their students with a free-range approach, but overall, they're still no match for Hogwarts. Historically, the Triwizard Tournament teams from America have rarely won the championship."

The mention of the Triwizard Tournament sparked interest in Augustus's silver eyes. "I heard Hogwarts will host the tournament this year. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will also participate. I wonder if their students have anyone remarkable."

"Well, if you were competing, Augustus, those two schools wouldn't stand a chance," Malfoy said with a haughty tilt of his head, clearly dismissive of the other European academies. "I heard when the Dark Lord was a student, contestants from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were utterly crushed."

"But if the tournament is held this year, Augustus might not qualify," Lilian interjected thoughtfully. "Isn't there an age restriction?"

Malfoy snorted. "Age restriction? Just a line on the ground. With Augustus's magical prowess, no arbitrary rule could possibly stop him."

As they continued their walk, they suddenly found themselves in a sea of green.

Lilian glanced around at the surrounding tents and said coolly, "Looks like we've entered the Ireland supporter zone."

The area they had entered was remarkable. Every tent was covered in a thick layer of shamrocks, making them look like peculiar green mounds sprouting from the ground. Laughter and cheerful voices spilled from the tents with open flaps. Just then, someone called out their names from behind.

"Mr. Augustus, Malfoy, Lilian!"

Pansy's pale blue eyes lit up with delight. Encountering familiar faces here gave her the air of meeting old friends in a foreign land. She sat outside a tent with a round, column-like roof, next to a golden-haired woman.

"This is my mother," Pansy introduced warmly. "Were you all coming from the center of the camp? The spots there seemed particularly in demand. We were just a little late, and they were all gone."

Mrs. Parkinson appeared quite young, so much so that without Pansy's introduction, one might have mistaken her for her sister. "You must be Mr. Augustus," she said gracefully. "I'm well acquainted with your mother. I heard she's traveling the globe? Such a pity. It's been so long since our last gathering." She smiled at Augustus with elegant charm.

"She often mentions you, Mrs. Parkinson," Augustus replied politely. After exchanging a few pleasantries, the trio bid farewell to Pansy and her mother and continued on their way.

Not far ahead, they arrived at the Bulgarian supporter zone. Bulgarian flags—white, green, and red—fluttered in the breeze. The tents here weren't adorned with plants, but each displayed the same poster: a somber face with thick, dark brows. The moving image occasionally blinked or furrowed its brow, but little else.

"Ah, isn't that Krum? His face is everywhere! These Bulgarian fanatics are hopeless," Malfoy sneered, clearly disapproving of such blatant hero worship.

Noticing Augustus's curious look, Lilian explained, "Victor Krum. Bulgaria's Seeker! Quite talented. He's only eighteen but has already competed in several World Cups."

Leaving the Bulgarian zone, they soon came upon a curious sight: two men in a heated argument. One was very old, wearing a long, printed nightgown. The other, clearly a Ministry wizard, held a pair of pinstriped trousers, looking so frustrated he was on the verge of tears.

"Please, Archie, put them on! You can't walk around dressed like that. The Muggle at the gate is already suspicious—"

"These trousers were bought from a Muggle shop," the old wizard retorted stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."

"Muggle women wear them, Archie! Men don't. They wear these!" the Ministry wizard exclaimed, waving the pinstriped trousers.

"I'm not wearing those," old Archie said indignantly. "I like the healthy breeze on my privates, thank you very much!"

Augustus chuckled, Lilian stifled her laughter with great effort, and Malfoy doubled over, laughing uncontrollably. Eccentrics popped up every year, but this one was truly a standout. Perhaps the old wizard simply enjoyed the refreshing feeling, Augustus mused. After all, he wasn't entirely wrong: whatever brings you joy is indeed the best choice.

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