When they reappeared, they found themselves in the middle of a forest.
"To avoid panic, the Ministry deliberately designated this forest as the Apparition landing point," Cynthia explained.
"The campsite itself is actually 'borrowed' from Muggles. There's even a Muggle caretaker family living there."
"Of course, plenty of people don't take it seriously anyway."
Tver nodded in understanding.
With the occasional crack of Apparition sounding around them, he gradually made his way out of the forest, already able to sense the lively atmosphere ahead. Before they had even fully emerged from the trees, a massive stadium loomed into view, casting an enormous shadow over them.
"It was designed like this to accommodate a hundred thousand spectators and make sure everyone gets a decent view."
Seeing the odd look on Tver's face, Cynthia immediately offered an explanation.
To be honest, the stadium looked like a gigantic oval cylinder, completely devoid of any aesthetic appeal. Compared to large Muggle stadiums, it was so ugly that Tver briefly regretted coming at all.
He wasn't particularly interested in Quidditch anyway. He was here entirely for what was going to happen later that night.
Suppressing his resignation, Tver walked past a small stone hut and entered the campsite.
There were plenty of tents, though not nearly as many as he had imagined.
"Only this many tents for a hundred thousand spectators?" Marvolio asked, pointing toward the roughly thousand tents ahead.
"There are quite a few people packed into each tent," Cynthia replied. "Most of them leave after the match. Unlike us, they're not staying to watch the excitement afterward."
Tver slapped Marvolio's arm away and continued straight through the rows of tents.
Most of them looked completely ordinary on the outside, indistinguishable from standard camping tents. As for the interiors, one glance at five or six people emerging from a tent that looked barely big enough for two told him everything he needed to know.
That said, some tents were impossible to ignore.
One was extravagantly draped in layers of striped silk, looking absurdly luxurious, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. Another had been constructed into a bizarre four-story structure, complete with small corner towers. Nearby, there was even a tent with a garden out front, complete with a sundial, fountains, and all manner of decorations.
Those were still acceptable. Over-the-top, yes, but at least they could still be called tents.
But the one in front of Tver now, blazing red like a miniature sun… looked more like an egg.
"Professor?" Harry called out happily from the entrance, with Ron and Hermione behind him, both grinning from ear to ear.
Behind Tver, Marvolio and Cynthia quietly peeled away, each heading off to handle their own responsibilities.
That didn't surprise him.
Marvolio was acting as Fudge's bodyguard, and being seen around Tver too often wouldn't do either of them any favors. As for Cynthia, the World Cup itself fell under the jurisdiction of the International Magical Cooperation Department. She had already carved out this daytime window with difficulty.
"What are you all standing around for?" Tver asked. "And this tent… are you sure it's actually livable?"
He reached out and gave the strange red sphere a tentative pat. The material wasn't just sturdy, it was surprisingly soft to the touch.
It seemed Sirius really had been itching to enjoy himself.
Harry scratched his head awkwardly.
"Well, Sirius only bought the tent and forgot the instruction manual, so he ended up teaming up with Mr. Weasley and enthusiastically insisting on putting it together the Muggle way."
"After several attempts, we barely managed to get it to this state…"
"This is the best shape we could manage. The inside is arranged pretty well, at least it looks much better than it does from the outside."
He couldn't help but chuckle. Ugly as the egg looked now, during the first few attempts they hadn't even managed to get an egg at all…
"All right, then what about you?" Tver withdrew his hand with an amused smile.
"We're going to buy souvenirs!" Harry said excitedly, watching the vendors who kept descending from the sky.
Their carts were filled with all kinds of strange merchandise, all more or less related to the match. Tver even spotted a Viktor Krum–shaped cupcake.
That sight made the cupcake-loving Tver fall silent. He had absolutely no interest in sampling a goblin's culinary creation, nor any desire to wander around.
"Then I'll go into the tent and wait for you. Remember to be back before it gets dark."
Harry and the others were already itching to go. They waved goodbye and ran off.
There would be plenty of chances to chat with the professor back at Hogwarts, but an event like this was rare.
Tver chuckled and shrugged, pushing open the tent flap. The moment he stepped inside, he finally understood what Sirius meant by a palace-like tent.
The interior was arranged entirely in a classical palace style, though this particular version of "classical" was… rather mixed.
In the two-story interior, Tver saw ancient Greek Doric columns, Gothic pointed arches, and even distinctly Chinese upturned eaves perched along the edge of the second-floor floorboards.
"Well?" Sirius came over, his face flushed with excitement. "The merchant said it combines the most beautiful features of architecture from all over the world."
"It's certainly… beautiful." Tver withdrew his gaze with mixed feelings and followed Sirius toward the sitting area.
There stood Chinese-style wooden tables and chairs, complete with a tea table. All that was missing was an actual teapot.
There weren't many people in the tent. Mr. Weasley sat together with his three sons, Bill, Charlie, and Percy, chatting with a middle-aged man with a prominent belly seated opposite them.
The man wore a long Quidditch robe with thick yellow-and-black horizontal stripes, and a giant wasp splashed across the chest as if painted on.
Naturally, he looked rather wasp-like himself.
"Tver Fawley?" the man recognized him at once.
Tver had already realized who he was.
Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and Bertha Jorkins's superior.
Bertha was still officially "on holiday," undergoing secret treatment, leaving him without his forgetful yet capable assistant.
"Hello, Mr. Bagman." Tver shook his large hand politely and then sat down beside Percy.
Percy, still not fully accustomed to his role at the Ministry, retained a hint of student-like restraint. Seeing Tver sit down, he murmured "Professor" and then fell quiet.
"I hear you've been working at the Ministry recently, under Barty Crouch. How is it? Are he and Minister Fudge still getting along?" Tver asked casually.
"Getting along?" Mr. Weasley blinked. "Since when did those two have anything like that?"
When the conversation turned serious, Percy immediately straightened up.
"Mr. Crouch is dissatisfied with the Anti-Werewolf Law and has had several brief disagreements with Mr. Fudge."
"Mr. Fudge has also come to me a few times to probe Mr. Crouch's movements, seemingly wanting to… push back."
Mindful of who was present, Percy didn't go into detail, but Tver began to think it over.
Mr. Weasley also caught on. This was currently one of the biggest internal issues within the already overworked Ministry.
"But isn't that supposed to be the Wizengamot wrestling with Umbridge? How did it get tangled up with these two?" he asked.
"Arthur, things at the Ministry are never that simple," Bagman said with a hearty laugh. "Everyone's choosing sides."
His rough demeanor didn't quite hide the subtlety in his words.
"Ever since that incident, Barty's been content to muddle along. Why would he suddenly be unhappy with Fudge's arrangements?"
"If you ask me, he's probably developed a bit of ambition, trying to show that he still has a presence in the Ministry."
"Otherwise, that Cynthia under him would end up more impressive than he is as a department head."
If Bagman had a subordinate that capable, he certainly wouldn't mind being outshone.
Thinking of this, he sighed regretfully.
Whoever said Ministry work was easy clearly had no idea. He was so busy he was practically swelling from it.