71. This is a title

(A/N i have a bit I'd troubles with titles sometimes cause I often tend to wing it at first because technically I'm reading the book as I'm writing and copying and fixing things and I sometimes only have the title to go by as I often don't remember every little detail of the chapters this is a good book it's over double the size of the last two lots more plot and I can write a but more. I mostly am too lazy to change titles after I'm done I just dump things there and hope for the best lol.)

They had arrived on 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 galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.

"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Harry could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.

"Hello there, Amos," 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. . . . Diggory. . . Diggory. . . . " 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. "

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, Ryan could just make out 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 good-bye to the weasleys and approached the cottage door.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Ryan knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.

"Morning!" said Dad brightly.

"Morning," said the Muggle.

"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"

"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "And who're you?"

"Diggory – 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 Dad

"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.

"Ah – right – certainly -" said Dad. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Ryan toward him. "Help me, Ryan" 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? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now. . . So this is a five?"

"A twenty," Ryan corrected him in an undertone, uncomfortably aware of Mr. Roberts trying to catch every word. "Just let me handle it." he said and paid quickly

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

"Did They really?" said Dad 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?"

"It's like some sort of. . . I dunno. . . like some sort of rally," said Mr. Roberts. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party. "

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door.

"Obliviate!" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.

Instantly, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a took of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Ryan recognized the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said placidly. "And your change. "

"Thanks very much"

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied them toward the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted: His chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered, "Been having a lot of trouble with him. 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, Amos. "

He Disapparated.

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

"He should," said Dad, smiling, and leading them through the gates into 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, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had but might have taken one too many beaters to the head for comfort. "

They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Ryan could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain. Such fancy tents i wonder if I can put turrets on my trunk and tents. Ryan pondered on this seriously.