These tents had long transcended the realm of re canvas shelters, becoming miniature exhibitions where wizards showcased their individuality and magical prowess.
So were unpretentious, standard army green, clearly bought from Muggle stores—though their interiors were likely expanded tenfold or more.
Others were utterly luxurious, like mobile palaces, complete with silk drapes, gold and silver trim, self-contained magical fountains, and exquisite gardens, where House-elves bustled to and fro.
Still others defied logic entirely. One tent resembled an inverted giant oak tree with smoke curling from its hollow; another was stacked with transparent magical bubbles, vague figures visible inside.
There was even one perfectly disguised with a Disillusionnt Charm; to Muggles, it would have looked like nothing more than an unremarkable little mound.
"Look at that," Sirius said, pointing to a tent in the distance made entirely of shadow, its outline only discernible upon close inspection. "That must be Durmstrang. Only they go for this kind of effect."
Harry nodded after a glance. "Those are indeed Durmstrang students. We saw a few of them last year."
The air was filled with a complex blend of aromas: the char of grilled at, the warmth of stew, the unique smoky scent of burning wand wood, exotic spices brought by wizards from various countries, and the damp sll of grass and earth trodden by countless feet.
Children on toy broomsticks chased each other, screaming, through the narrow spaces between tents, nearly knocking over a pot of bubbling purple magical concoction.
A little boy, about two years old, squatted outside a pyramid-shaped tent, gleefully wielding a wand and poking at a slug on the grass. With each poke, the slug swelled, gradually becoming as fat as a sausage.
As they passed, the boy's mother rushed out of the tent.
"How many tis have I told you, Kevin? Don't—touch—your—daddy's—wand—oh dear!"
She stepped on the overinflated slug with a loud splat. The slug exploded.
Long after Harry and his group had walked away, the mother's shouts could still be faintly heard, mixed with the little boy's persistent wails: "You squashed the slug! You squashed the slug!"
In the sky, owls and various strange magical creatures flew back and forth, busily delivering letters and parcels.
Colorful magical paper cranes gracefully flapped their wings, flying in formation. Buzzing toy golden beetles were not to be outdone, trailing tiny streaks of light as they weaved through the crowd.
It was in this chaotic yet vibrant campsite that Mr. Weasley finally led everyone to their pitch.
Here, they also encountered the Ministry of Magic official team.
Leading them was Ludo Bagman, wearing his yellow-and-black Wimbourne Wasps uniform. His big belly protruded, his face was flushed, and he looked exceptionally excited.
He constantly shook hands enthusiastically with everyone he passed, loudly predicting match results and accepting complints, like a moving, noisy festive decoration.
Mr. Weasley's family tickets had been arranged by him, and the box seats were excellent. Ludo Bagman was not only from the Departnt of Magical Gas and Sports but was also the host for this World Cup.
Accompanying him was Barty Crouch, Head of the Departnt of International Magical Cooperation.
He was a stark contrast to Bagman.
Mr. Crouch wore a crisp gray suit, ticulously neat, with a stern and rigid expression, as if he were there to preside over a military eting rather than attend a festive event.
As he walked, he rapidly issued instructions to Percy Weasley, who walked beside him holding a clipboard and looking particularly nervous.
"…Ensure the Bulgarian delegation's drinking water is chilled, but those 'specialty' yogurts they brought must be quarantined… The Irish Head of Magical Gas and Sports' welco speech needs to be re-checked for etiquette…"
Crouch spoke and walked very quickly.
"Yes, sir! I'll do it imdiately, sir!"
Percy straightened his back, his voice a little high-pitched from excitent and nerves. His quill scribbled rapidly across the clipboard, his eyes behind his glasses gleaming with earnestness.
He barely noticed his family nearby.
"Oh! Arthur!"
Bagman saw them and laughed, spreading his arms as he walked over. "And Black! What a spectacle, isn't it? Interested in placing a bet? This year's betting volu is a record high! Hahahaha!"
Arthur smiled and shook his hand, while Sirius rely gave a cool nod.
Crouch's gaze swept over them. He gave Arthur a slight nod in greeting, but at Sirius, a hint of almost imperceptible scrutiny flashed in his eyes before he quickly turned back to Percy.
"Weasley," Crouch said stiffly, "regarding the temporary monitoring points for the International Floo Network we just discussed, check the duty roster and ensure there are at least two people on duty at all tis tonight."
Of course, Mr. Crouch! I'll check it personally!"
Percy's cheeks flushed as if he had received a royal decree. He quickly glanced at his family, a look of "I am handling international affairs" superiority in his eyes, then scurried away.
"Dutiful young man."
Crouch comnted dispassionately, then turned to Bagman. "Bagman, we should go check the Veela's resting area. The Bulgarians are complaining that the space we provided isn't 'natural' enough."
There was a hint of impatience in his tone.
"Oh, of course, of course! Veela! Always particular, but always a pleasure to behold, eh?"
Bagman winked, exchanged a few more pleasantries with Arthur, then left with Crouch and the other officials, leaving the Weasley family and Harry to look at each other.
Ron made a face in the direction Percy had gone. "International Floo Network duty roster? He really thinks he's important."
"Percy takes his work seriously," Arthur said gently, though there was a hint of helplessness in his voice.
Fred and George, mimicking Percy's nervous deanor and high-pitched voice, passed nonexistent "important docunts" to each other, making Ginny and Hermione giggle.
"All right, children, we need to set up the tent first," Mr. Weasley said, setting the tent down and clapping his hands. "According to regulations, we can't use magic, but I think doing it the Muggle way should be quite interesting…"
While they were setting up the tent, Bill and Charlie arrived. Because they could Apparate, they hadn't had to get up early like Harry and the others.
With their help, the tent was quickly set up. However, because there were no instructions, they only realized after assembly that they had a few support poles left over.
"These are spares, right?" Mr. Weasley held the poles in his hand, examining them repeatedly.
"I guess not…" Hermione began tactfully.
"Oh, well," Mr. Weasley blinked at the tent. "I have to say, it's quite remarkable that Muggles can accomplish this without magic."
Finally, to prevent the tent from collapsing, Mr. Weasley quietly pulled out his wand and cast a reinforcing charm on the two shaky tents.
During the free ti that followed, Mr. Weasley happily led everyone in building a fire and cooking. He also exchanged matchboxes with an African wizard in a white robe who was curious about Muggle items.
As dusk settled, the noise in the campsite, far from subsiding, grew even more intense, like a brewing storm.
Thousands of wizards poured out of their tents like countless colorful streams. Harry and his group joined the great river of people flowing toward the main stadium.
"Hold on tight! Don't get separated!"
Mr. Weasley walked at the front, shouting loudly as he tried to keep the family together. Sirius brought up the rear, making sure none of the younger wizards got lost.
The crowd pushed them forward, surrounded by conversations in various languages, excited screams, and the shouts of vendors selling souvenirs.
The colossal Quidditch stadium stood majestically ahead, like a giant nest woven from magic in a jungle.
They walked up the passage illuminated by magical lanterns and finally reached the astonishingly luxurious private box at the top level.
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