act two: little dark age
chapter twenty-three

Daphne had felt riled up ever since the conversation between her and her brother had happened. She wished that he had waited till after she had fun to ruin her mood, but it seemed as though he had other plans. It seemed he wanted to ruin her emotions before she even had the chance to have fun. Not that she could entirely blame it all on him, as there were other factors involved.

Awaiting her brother to leave and her father to call her down, she sat at her vanity. Looking in the mirror as she grabbed letters down and began to scan over them. Trying her best to work herself back up into being in a good mood rather than wanting to go off and down a bottle of fire whiskey and hope for the best.

This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, the World Cup was one thing that Daphne loved more than anything. It rarely happened where she could go, or anyone for that matter but it was a huge deal and this year it was finally close and it was Ireland vs Bulgaria.

Daphne rose from her seat, following her dad out the door before long once her brother had left. Deciding against painting her face yet, she was probably going to get one of the twins to do it for her. They would. After all, they were Irish fans and Daphne was sure that they were painting their faces as well.

The two arrived at the port key. Keeping in a calm silence as they both took a hold of it, before the world around them began spinning out of control. Daphne was thankful that this wasn't her first ride with port keys, because if it was, she probably would've been sick as most people were.

Hitting the ground was hard, unlike her father. Lucerys had many interactions with port keys and knew how to land gracefully by walking through the air until he reached the ground while Daphne had yet to learn that and simply hit the ground with a harsh thud after flying out of the sky like a maniac.

Now, it was time for them to find the rest of their friends. Daphne knew that they were meeting up with the Weasley's who had arrived with the Diggory's. Cedric Diggory was in the same year as the twins, a nice and calm Hufflepuff known to many.

"Do you know where they might be?" Lucerys questioned as he offered his daughter a hand, looking at her as she laid down on the ground.

Daphne took her father's hand as he jerked her off of the grass, "Probably near the port key guy, if I'm correct. Don't these types of things usually have one?"

"I believe so," Lucerys kept his daughter close as he eyed the world around them before he began to take long strides.

Lucerys' was dressed a bit nicer than his daughter. In a pair of more casual slacks while wearing an Ireland shirt, at Daphne's request, while his hands remained in his pockets. A pair of thick framed glasses residing on his nose while his hair was not held down for once. Falling freely in a way that framed his face.

The two walked through a fog like no other. Daphne had tripped a few times which caused Lucerys' to stop and ask if she was okay before they continued to trudge on. It got to the point where Lucerys' put an arm around his daughter and walked with her close so he knew that he could keep an eye on her.

Once they reached the port key, they noticed the Weasley's standing there in a pile. Their red-hair wasn't hard to miss as they all stood in a clumped circle. Surrounding one another as they muttered and chattered.

"Daphne!" Ron cheered as he was the first to notice the girl before looking at her father, "Mr. Black."

Lucerys gave the boy a smile, "Now you know better than to call me that, Ron. I'm not that old."

Daphne let out a small laugh before greeting all of her friends, "Ron, Harry, Hermione - the rest of you lot!" She laughed as the twins faked hurt, "There's too many names for me to utter my perfect breaths out for!"

"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; which Daphne could see consisted of a wide variety of everyday items.

"Hello there, Arthur," Basil spoke 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. . . . Weasley . . . Weasley . . ." 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. Diggory . . . second field . . . ask for Mr. Payne."

"Thanks, Basil," appreciated Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.

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, they 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. Daphne looked at Harry in confusion as her eyebrows knitted together.

They said good-bye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door. Lucerys standing beside Arthur, ready to pitch in. A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Daphne figured at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres.

"Morning!" Mr. Weasley cheered brightly.

"Morning," greeted the muggle, "Would you be Mr. Roberts?"

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

"Weasley — two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," Mr. Roberts nodded, consulting a list tacked to the door.

"You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," Mr. Weasley hummed while Lucerys nodded simply.

"You'll be paying now, then?" Mr. Roberts looked with an eyebrow raised.

"Ah — right — certainly —" Mr. Weasley agreed, he retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him.

"Help me, Harry," 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," Harry corrected him in an undertone, uncomfortably aware of Mr. Roberts trying to catch every word.

"So, nice day?" Daphne made a face as she tried to tune him out of the conversation.

"Ah yes, so it is. . . . I don't know, these little bits of paper . . ."

"You foreign?" questioned Mr. Roberts as Mr. Weasley returned with the correct notes.

"Foreign?" repeated Mr. Weasley, puzzled.

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

"Did you really?" Mr. Weasley questioned nervously.

Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change, "Never been this crowded," he muttered suddenly, looking out over the misty field again, "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually

just turn up. . . ."

"Is that right?" Mr. Weasley asked, his hand held out for his change, but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to him.

"Aye," he said thoughtfully, "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking 'round in a kilt and a poncho."

"Shouldn't he?" Mr. Weasley asked anxiously.

"It's like some sort of . . . I dunno . . . like some sort of rally," Mr. Roberts tried to explain, "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 shouted sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.

Instantly, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Daphne rocked on her feet uncomfortably.

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

"Thanks very much," Lucerys spoke this time as he gave a sharp and curt nod.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied them toward the gate to the campsite. The man appeared to be madly tired. Wobbling on his feet as his eyes were gray and his eyes were pale blue. Harry noticed Daphne looking and grabbed her hand out of instinct.

Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered to Mr. Weasley, "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, Arthur." He disapparated.

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

"He should," Mr. Weasley cheered, 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." 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. Daphne continued to hold onto Harry's hand, not minding it while they walked. The girl looked around at the tents that surrounded the campsite.

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," sighed Mr. Weasley while 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 weezly. Well, clearly they butchered your name.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" Mr. Weasley smiled 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.

"How should we do this?" Lucerys asked as he looked at Arthur, ignoring the fact his daughter was holding hands with a boy.

"Right," he went 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, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"

Harry and Hermione somehow worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, because he got thoroughly over excited when it came to using the mallet; they finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents. Though, Daphne had fought the man for a mallet and beat down the pegs to the point everyone was scared of her.

All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards, but the trouble was that once Bill, Charlie, and Percy arrived, they would be a party of more than ten. Daphne wasn't sure that all of them could fit in this tent without sleeping on one another like bodies in a morgue.

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

"Only a wee bit," Daphne made a face as she entered second.

They walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Daphne looked around as Lucerys and the others began to walk in. Harry looked at the girl as if asking her what to do.

"Well, it's not for long," Mr. Weasley sighed, 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."

"Girl's, you are altogether. Boys, you're with each other. No funny business," Lucerys muttered as he ran a hand through his hair, clearly stressed.

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," Ron jumped up as he spoke, who had followed Harry inside the tent and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions, "It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, 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," Ron moped, "Why can't we just —"

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

After everyone seemed to settle down their belongings, they began to get ready to go on their own ways. Daphne looked over at Ron who grabbed the map to get ready to leave for the moment with Harry and Hermione. She wouldn't lie, she felt a little left out but after all, she had Fred and George.

"We'll see you soon, Irish fan," Harry couldn't help but tease his best friend who ignored the fact her cheeks burned more than they had previously, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Daphne rolled her eyes as she flicked Harry's glasses out of place on his face with a smirk, "Go on, chosen one."

Harry practically cringed upon hearing the nickname from her lips, "Never call me that again."

"Never annoy me again," Daphne joked before nudging him off, "Be safe."

She always felt as if she had to remind him of that whenever he ventured off. Feeling as if he never took the internal initiative to stay safe and not wander into any danger that happened to be passing by.

"Sweetheart, care to give me a hand?" George called out to Daphne as he held firewood in his arms, "Instead of standing there, looking all beautiful, of course," He grinned.

Daphne rolled her eyes as she moved from her spot and walked over towards the twin, "Of course, dear," Daphne smiled softly as she took a few logs at a time from the boy as she placed them down.

"The Irish are going to win tonight, I'm sure of it," George began talking about Quidditch, a topic that the two often argued on.

"Oh, definitely," Daphne agreed as she rose to her feet, placing her hands on her hips, "We're going to kick Bulgaria arse."

George tilted his head down as he looked at her, as if trying to inspect something about the girl, "Are you alright, Daph?" He questioned before narrowing his eyes.

Daphne made a face, "Am I fine? I think I should ask you that with the giant shamrock on your face!"

"It's for Ireland! Ireland forever!" George began to yell before he grabbed a hold of Daphne and spun her around before placing her down once again, "I should give you one."

"That sounds... lovely," She made a face before shaking her head, "But you know I hate sitting still."

"We'll make it work," Fred piped up as he grinned while looking at his twin brother with paints in his hands, "We've got you covered."

"We do," George mimicked his brother's expression which caused Daphne to worry about what they were truly going to paint on her face.

Daphne made a look of disgust before trying to run off, cutting through the tent and ducking under a few boxes that had managed to get in her way. That was until she completely missed a bag and fell flat on her face and in return, the twins grabbed her by her feet and dragged her.

"THIS IS ATTEMPTED MURDER!" Daphne yelled as she tried to grab ahold of the ground.

"Not bloody likely," The twins spoke in unison as they smirked, grabbing her by either arm and sitting her upright, "Hold her Georgie."

"Got it, Freddie," George let Daphne sit on her own but sat by her, staring at her dramatically, trying his best to keep her still or get a reaction out of her.

Daphne tried her best to relax her face. Wondering if the paint would look right with all of the scars that covered her face down to her lips. She didn't think that it would. What if it looked messed up? Daphne didn't want to look bad at the Quidditch World Cup. She already looked pretty bad, and she knew it.

"Stop that," Fred had his tongue slightly poked out as he focused on her paint, "Don't think about the scars, darling."

"It's hard not too, what if it looks worse?" Daphne couldn't help but ask as she tried her best not to shift in her seat.

"Bad? You look badass," George rolled his eyes at her, "Wicked even. Anyone who would have the balls to say something to you would stay quiet. You're a scary hot lady."

"Don't call me a lady, that makes me sound old," Daphne scrunched up her face which caused Fred to tut and she relaxed.

She was in for a long one with the twins. As they were really deep in some sort of plan. She hadn't seen Fred this dedicated to something that wasn't a prank or his brother since she had cried on their shoulders. That was an embarrassing night. '

"Stop making faces!" Fred screeched like an insane mom.

"Bloody hell, banshee!" Daphne covered her ears while resisting the urge to flinch, she was trying to be better.