The Portkey

Early in the second week of August, it was still dark when the Prince family trotted across the dark green lawns of Prince Manor. Loudly yawning Rowan and Severus each carried a small travel bag, while Aunt Georgine carried her larger one along with that of her brother, Reginald. On the other hand, Reginald carried a duffel-like bag slung over his shoulder that would expand into an enchanted white tent with dozens of well-furnished rooms inside. When the Prince's were forced to camp, they camped in style.

It was chilly and the moon hangs just over the horizon about to set; only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon suggested that daybreak was drawing near. Still sleepy, Severus almost trips forward and stumbles into Rowan who manages to steady him enough to gain his bearings. "Thanks," Severus mumbled trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

Glancing about Severus suppresses another yawn and tiredly asks, "So, how does one get to the Quidditch Cup without Muggles noticing?"

Rowan ignores the question too tired to reply, while Aunt Georgine drily explains, "Some travel by ship or steed others by apparition points, portkeys, or other muggle means."

"A portkey?" Severus echoed in bewilderment. It wasn't a topic that had ever been covered in class or in a conversation with classmates.

"A portkey is an object that is used to transport wizards from one specific destination to another at a certain set time," Reginald clearly answered, before his sister, Georgine snarked a reply.

"Is that why we're walking at this ungodly hour?" Severus asked.

"Of course, we have to walk to the portkey point," Georgine rolled her eyes in exasperation. "A portkey is set to a specific destination to travel to and from."

Severus tactfully falls silent for the rest of the trip as they make their way through the forest, down 7th Meadow Lane, and to the edge of the muggle town of Norton. Glancing down at his pocket watch, Reginald checks the time, before leading them to a nearby hill. The grass is covered in dew as they trudge through thick tuffets of grass.

With the bottom of their pants and shoes damp, they manage to climb to the top of the hill after some effort. Standing at the top of the hill, Reginald checks the time again, before putting his pocket watch away. "We are right on time. The portkey should trigger within the next five minutes. Let's make quick work of finding the portkey, shall we?"

Georgine instantly moves away as does Reginald, while Rowan glances around still half-asleep not much help really. Left standing with nothing to do, Severus blinks around before finally asking, "So, what exactly are we looking for?"

"Trash, probably," Rowan grumbled half-asleep blinking rapidly trying to spot anything inconspicuous in the dim light. "An object that a normal (muggle) person wouldn't likely go up and touch out of curiosity."

"Oh," Severus said not wanting to argue that were plenty of objects normal folks didn't want to touch. They made some effort to walk around, mostly Severus rather than Rowan as they peered into the tick tuffs of grass.

"Aha, got it!" Georgine cried out triumphantly as she held up a large broken clock.

"Quickly children, gather around!" Reginald swiftly instructed as they all gathered around in a circle holding their travel bags in one hand. Reginald and Georgine touched the portkey first with Severus and Rowan copying them in the same manner.

It is quiet and slightly awkward for all of them to be touching the wet, broken clock covered in morning dewdrops. Before Severus could ask for an opportunity to wipe the dew off of the broken clock, the portkey started up. All of sudden they are all brutally hooked forward. Suddenly their feet left the ground, and they were speeding forward, a mere howl in the wind full of sickly swirling colors. Just as abruptly it all ends as their feet slammed back into the ground.

Severus wobbles in place while Rowan looks ghastly pale. Releasing the portkey, it falls innocently back onto the ground. Severus wipes the cold sweat off his forehead while Rowan moves her limbs trying to get the blood flowing again. Unlike the two teens, the two adults looked perfectly alright. Georgine took the time to brush her hair back in place, while Reginald smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothes.

A male voice from behind them says, "Seven past five transported from Norton Hill."

Rowan and Severus glanced around to find that they were in a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired grumpy-looking wizard and witch, the wizard was holding a large golden watch to tell the time, while the witch held a thick roll of parchment and a quill. The two of them were dressed like hippies with flower bands in their hair. Both Rowan and Severus made a face trying to suppress the laughter welling up in their throats.

"Morning to you, sir and madam," Reginald politely greeted the two tired ministry employees, who flashed them weak smiles.

"And good morning to you too, sir," said the witch. "The Prince's correct?"

"Indeed madam," Reginald solemnly confirmed.

"They best be going," the wizard briskly interrupted. "The Black Forest party will be arriving in ten minutes. We need them to clear the area."

"Very well then," mumbled the witch leaning closer to peer at her long list of parchment rolls. After some time, she finally says, "Here we are. Field eleven, please ask for the Site Manager called Mr. Roberts."

"Thank you, Madam," Reginald sincerely said before beckoning everyone to follow him.

The four of them set off across the deserted moor through the mist. Some fifteen minutes later they arrived next to a small cottage with a small gate. Beyond the cottage, in the dim light, the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents rising up the gentle slope of a large field could be seen stretching into the dark woods and onto the horizon.

A young man with peach fuzz on his face was standing in the doorway looking at the tents. Rowan and Severus blinked at finding that it wasn't a wizard, but a normal person (aka a muggle). The young man turned to glance at them at hearing their footsteps.

"Good morning, sir," Reginald politely greeted the muggle man.

"Morning, sir," greeted back the young man.

"Would you happen to be a Mr. Roberts?"

"Aye, I would be, sir," Mr. Roberts promptly answered. "And you are?"

"The Prince family with a large single-family tent. It was booked over four months ago."

"Aye," said Mr. Roberts reaching over to consult a long list tacked to the door. "Yes, I have you down for a reserved spot up by the wood there. Just one night, correct?"

"That is indeed correct," Reginald swiftly replied.

"You'll be paying now, then sir?" asked Mr. Roberts, while reaching for the fanny pack at his waist.

"Here you are," Reginald politely handed over the money.

Mr. Roberts counted the money and zipped open his fanny pack and placed the money inside before zipping back up. He grabbed an old tin can from his side and pulled it open to count out the change. However, before Mr. Roberts could count the money, Reginald interrupted, "Please keep the change. I believe it is considered a donation for the park's upkeep. You are doing an excellent job, young man."

"Ah, thank you, sir," Mr. Roberts flushed and the praise and happily handed over the map of the campsite.

"A good day to you, Mr. Roberts," Reginald said, before leading them off towards the gate of the campsite.

"And a good day to you, sir!" Mr. Roberts called back out. He took a deep breath of the air. He loved nature and it did him right good to see so many folks out and about exploring and enjoying nature by camping. Sitting back down, Mr. Roberts waited for the next group that was sure to arrive very shortly.

Leaving Mr. Roberts behind, the Prince family trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary except that most tents didn't have chimneys, bell pulls, weathervanes, or other such contraptions. But worst of all, here and there were tents that were obviously magical, there was a tent with three floors and a balcony terrace or another with a front garden complete with a birdbath, sundial, and fountain. Even the thickest of muggles would find that suspicious….

Seeing the affronting tents, Georgine lets a loud tsk-tsk as she crisply comments, "Amateurs, at least try to read the proper guidelines before. Really, some people are incapable of comprehending the slightest of instructions!"

Reginald nodded his head in agreement with his sister, Georgine. Truly, some people were utter buffoons. There was no helping them.

Walking past the offending tents, they continued to wade through the tents. Tragically, that wasn't the last of unsubtle tents. Why there was even one with fire torches attached to look like a castle!

They passed another group of tents before they finally reached field eleven. The site was just perfect. Field eleven is on top of the hill with an overview of the tents below and near the tree line on their right. It was the perfect spot for a Prince as it allowed them to see their enemies coming in from all directions. And if need be, to swiftly attack or flee if necessary. Because one can try to take the Percussor out of the Prince family, but the Percussor's instincts simply won't leave them be.