Setting Camp

In a deserted stretch of misty moor, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, 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.

A group of people walked across the moor and made their way to the cottage, after saying farewells to another group.

They opened the door and a man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. When the man heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.

"Morning!" said a red haired adult from the group.

"Morning," Replied the Man.

"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 Mr. Weasley.

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

"Ah — right — certainly —" said Mr. Weasley.

As if sensing the hesitation in Mr. Weasley's voice, Mr. Roberts sighed before calling out to the back of the Cottage.

"Oi, Kiddo!"

From somewhere within the cottage a voice replied.

"Do you need something Mr. Roberts?"

"Another group of people who seem like they aren't familiar with the British pound! I might need your help!"

There was a moment of silence before the voice replied, "I'm coming."

A few seconds later, a handsome black haired boy of about 14 came out of one of the rooms.

When the black haired boy and Mr. Weasley's group saw each other, they let out shouts of recognition.

"Mr. Weasley?"

"Arth!"

A brown haired girl burst from the group and gave Arth a big hug.

"Er- Hermione- you're choking me-"

". . . . Sorry."

Reluctantly, Hermione let go of Arth.

Mr. Roberts raised an eyebrow.

"I'm guessing that you know these people Kiddo?"

Arth gave a bright smile.

"Yep, they are my friends and their family."

"I see. . . . Well tell them that we don't take gold coins. Only British pounds."

"Sir, yes sir."

After Arth, Harry, and Hermione helped Mr. Weasley pay Mr. Roberts- Mr. Weasley was very fixated on paying himself- they proceeded to leave.

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

"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley.

"See you Arth!"

"Later."

Seeing this, Mr Roberts gave Arth a shove on the shoulder.

"Go to your friends. I can handle it from here"

Arth gave Mr. Roberts a big thumbs up before heading out of the cottage to join the Weasleys.

When Arth had shut the door behind him, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door.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.

"Is everything going well with Mr. Roberts, Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley made a confused face.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh not you Weasley, I mean the boy."

"Everything is all right, sir."

"Thanks for the help, my boy."

"No Problem."

The wizard muttered to Mr. Weasley, "Been having a lot of trouble with Mr. Roberts. Needed a Memory Charm ten times a day before Arth here started helping out. 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.

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

"He should," said Mr. Weasley, 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. Since when were you working for the ministry Arth?"

Arth made a face.

"I wouldn't call it working for. . . maybe a side for extra cash."

Ron put his hand on Arth's shoulder and made a face.

"What are you planning to do with all this money? Become the world's richest kid?"

"Nope, I'm settling for richest wizard in the world."

Everyone let out a lighthearted giggle before moving along.

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. Some tents did not even try to hide the magic stored within. 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.

"Always the same," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."

They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read WEASLEY.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr. Weasley happily. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult.... Muggles do it all the time.... Here, Arth, where do you reckon we should start?"

Arth finished setting up the tents in no time by himself, seeing that the Weasleys were completely clueless on how to set a tent and Harry never went camping before.

Mr. Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent.

"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

Arth bent down, ducked under the tent flap. He had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and a strong smell of cats.

"Well, it's not for long," said Mr. Weasley, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago."

He picked up the dusty kettle and peered inside it. "We'll need water...."

"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron, who had followed Arth inside the tent. "It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, Arth, Harry, and Hermione go and get us some water then" - Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans - "and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?"

"But we've got an oven," said Ron. "Why can't we just -"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" said Mr. Weasley, his face shining with anticipation. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!"

After a quick tour of the girls' tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys', though without the smell of cats, Arth, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.