"Reckon they shared a glass or two?"

"Of tea from the looks of it. Kettle's sat cold on the firedogs."

I further cushion myself into the couch, not wanting to be bothered by the blaring conversation occurring mere inches away.

"How long shall we give 'em? An hour?"

"It's nearly lunch! They'll want to eat before the match, won't they?"

Realizing there's no point in trying to sleep, I force my eyes awake and blink a few times to adjust to the broad daylight seeping through the windows.

"Rise and shine, Della." Bill smirks down at me. "Thought you were upstairs with the girls."

"I came down for tea and. . .what sort of lump is sprawled across my lap?" I fidget under the weight of whatever has claimed my lap.

"Take a look for yourself."

I tilt my head down, and the puzzle pieces fall into place when my gaze meets the tuft of ginger hair snoring away innocently.

The incredulous expression ceases to grow on the eldest Weasley's face. "If I'd known you were. . .celebrating the reunion, I would have slept in Percy's room."

"Like we would do anything when I'm still mad at him."

I nudge the burly man off, causing him to fumble onto the ground. A giggle escapes my lips when Charlie awakens from the stumble.

"Which one of you ate my pudding?"

Bill and I share an amused look before bursting into a fit of laughter at how ridiculous and unfocused Charlie is.

"What are you laughing at? I had this massive bowl of pudding, and now it's gone."

"You were dreaming, Charles."

". . .I was?"

"Drooled all over Della's lap, too."

I join Charlie with the tinted red cheeks in response to his comment.

"Oh, good! You lot are awake." Molly wipes her palms down with a towel. "Your father and the kids have already taken the Portkey. You best apparate in time for lunch."

Charlie dots his fingers over his sleep-filled eyes. "Thought you'd be spoiling us with a home-cooked meal, Mum. It's not every day your kids are under one roof."

"He's planned a meal for you kids." Molly returns to the kitchen. "Something about cooking on fires like real Muggles. . ."

Percy finally makes his gradual way downstairs, quill and parchment in hand in case he's needed by his new boss, Barty Crouch.

"Alright, ready?"

"As we'll ever be."

With a pop, the inside of the Burrow morphs into the outskirts of the woods sat just outside of the camping grounds.

Mr. Weasley and the rest of them surround a miniscule fire in front of the tent we'll be residing in for the night.

"Just apparated, Dad." Percy calls out loudly.

I fetch a few plates atop the wooden log. "Fire didn't give you much trouble, did it, Mr. Weasley?"

"None at all." He shovels large amounts of eggs and sausages onto the platters. "Well, not until Hermione showed me how to light the match."

As we sit and talk amongst each other, Mr. Weasley jumps to his feet, waving and grinning at a man striding towards us.

"The man of the moment! Ludo Bagman!"

"Ahoy there!" Ludo greets happily. "Arthur, old man. What a day, eh? Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming. . .and hardly a hiccup in arrangements!"

Percy's the first to shake hands with the Ministry official.

"Ah, yes, this is my son Percy. He's just started at the Ministry. And this is Fred — no, George, sorry — that's Fred. Bill, Charlie, Ron, my daughter Ginny, Charlie's friend Delphina Tonks, and Ron's friends Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."

At the mention of the last name, Ludo does the smallest of double takes. His eyes flicker to the scar of Harry's forehead.

Unbothered, Mr. Weasley continues with the introductions. "Everyone, this is Ludo Bagman. You know who he is. It's thanks to him we've got such good tickets."

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" He eagerly suggests, jingling a large amount of gold in the pocket of his robes and muttering the current bets of the game.

"Let's see. . .a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon? Very well, very well. . .any other takers?"

"They're a bit young to be gambling. Molly wouldn't like —"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, and three Knuts," Fred and George pool all their money together, "that Ireland wins, but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch."

"Boys, I don't want you betting." Mr. Weasley says under his breath.

Ludo rattles his pockets in a booming voice. "Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur! They're old enough to know what they want."

"Add another thirty Galleons to that." I drop the pouch of gold coins into Ludo's open palm.

"What?" The twins stare in mid-gasp.

"I trust you boys to do well with the money." I clap both hands against their shoulders. "Think of it as an investment."

"Can't believe she was a prefect in her days."

"Think we should let her in on the business transaction?"

"No need. Owning the title of Legilmen comes with its perks."

Charlie appears behind us, a faint smile on his lips having overheard me encourage the twins in gambling and pursuing their business venture.

". . .talk of the devil! Barty!"

Barty Crouch of the Ministry apparates at the fireside in his impeccably crisp suit, fixed bowtie, and unnaturally straight gray hair.

"Ludo, I've been looking for you everywhere." Crouch speaks in an impatient tone. "The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."

"Oh, is that what they're after? I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent." Ludo replies with a hefty laugh.

"Mr. Crouch!"

Percy calls breathlessly, his back caved into a half-bow that makes him look like a hunchback.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Oh. Yes, thank you, Weatherby."

Fred and George choke into their own teacups at Crouch's nickname for the third-oldest Weasley child. I clear my throat louder than normal so as to cover the sound from the twins.

Growing pink around the ears, Percy busies himself with the kettle.

"Percy doesn't seem to appreciate the unique nickname." I mutter to Charlie.

The ginger frowns in pity. "Would you appreciate it if you were called Weatherby?"