It was bright and early in the second week of August when the Prince's trotted across the dark green lawns. Yawning Rowan and Severus carried their travel bags, while Aunt Georgine carried her own and Reginald's. Reginald, on the other hand, carried a duffel bag that would expand into a white tent with dozens of well-furnished rooms inside. When the Prince's were forced to camp, they camped in style.
It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon suggested that daybreak was drawing closer. Still sleepy, Severus almost trips except that Rowan easily catches him and pulls him up. "Thanks," Severus rather muffled said as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
Glancing about Severus asks, "So, how does everyone get to the Quidditch cup without Muggles noticing?"
Rowan rolls her eyes as Aunt Georgine drily says, "Some by foot other's by apparition points, portkey's, or other muggle means."
"A portkey?" Severus said in bewilderment.
"An object that is used to transport wizards from one specific destination to another at a certain time," Reginald answered before his sister snarked something back.
"Is that why we're walking there?" Severus asked.
"Only to the portkey point," Georgine rolled her eyes in exasperation.
Severus mercifully falls silent as they make their way to the edge of Norton. Glancing at his watch, Reginald leads them to a nearby hill they walk across thick tuffets of grass. Standing on the hill, Reginald says, "It looks like we're right on time. The portkey should trigger in five minutes. Let's make quick work of finding the portkey, shall we?"
Rowan and Georgine instantly move away as does Reginald. Severus blinks and finally says, "So, what exactly are we looking for?"
"Trash, Sev," Rowan grumbled. "Anything that a normal person wouldn't want to touch."
"Oh," Severus said not wanting to argue that were plenty of objects normal people didn't want to touch. They quickly searched as their few remaining minutes quickly trickled by.
"Aha, got it!" Georgine cried out as she held a large broken clock.
"Quickly children, gather around!" Reginald said as they all reached to touch the portkey. Before Severus can ask how long it will take for the portkey to start, they were hooked forward. Suddenly their feet left the ground as they were speeding forward a howl in the wind and swirling color. Magnetically onward they went until their feet slammed into the ground.
Severus was a bit wobbly that Rowan reached out to steady him as the portkey hit the ground at their feet. Georgine merely patted her hair, while Reginald smoothed out his clothes. A voice says, "Seven past five from Norton Hill."
Rowan and Severus glanced around to find that they were in a deserted stretch of the misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired grumpy-looking wizard and witch, the wizard was holding a large gold watch to tell the time. While the witch held a thick roll of parchment and a quill. The two of them were dressed like hippies including the flower bands in their hair. And Rowan wasn't about to correct them as she choked back the urge to laugh.
"Morning to you, sir and madam," Reginald politely said as the two tired ministry employees flashed them weak smiles.
"And good morning to you too, sir," said the witch. "The Prince's correct?"
"Indeed madam," Reginald solemnly answered.
"They best be going," the wizard interjected. "The Black Forest party will be arriving in ten minutes."
"Very well then," mumbled the witch. "Here we are. Field eleven, please ask for the Site Manager called Mr. Roberts."
"Thank you, Madam," Reginald said before beckoning everyone to follow him.
The four of them set off across the deserted moor through the mist. Some fifteen minutes later they arrived next to a small cottage next to a gate. Beyond it, the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents rising up the gentle slope of a large field could be seen stretching into the dark woods into the horizon.
A young man with a bit of peach fuzz was standing in the doorway looking at the tents. Rowan and Severus blinked at finding that it wasn't a wizard, but a normal person aka a muggle. The young man turned to glance at them at hearing their footsteps.
"Good morning, sir," Reginald politely said.
"Morning," said the man.
"Would you happen to be Mr. Roberts?"
"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "And who're you?"
"The Prince's one single-family, large tent. It was booked over four months ago."
"Aye," said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got the space up by the wood there. Just one night?"
"That is indeed correct," Reginald replied.
"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.
"Here you are," Reginald politely handed over the money. But before Mr. Roberts could grab the change from the tin, Reginald says, "Please keep the change. I do believe it is considered a donation for the upkeep of the park. You are doing an excellent job, young man."
"Ah, thank you, sir," Mr. Roberts beamed as he handed over the map of the campsite.
"A good day to you, Mr. Roberts," Reginald said, before leading them off towards the gate of the campsite.
They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary except that most tents didn't have a chimney, bell pulls, weathervanes and other such contraptions. But worst of all, here and there were tents that were obviously magical like the one with three floors and a terrace. Another with a front garden complete with a birdbath, sundial, and fountain.
Georgine let a loud tsk-tsk as she says, "Amateurs. At least read the proper guidelines." They wandered past a few more tents that even Rowan paused to stare at a few. Why there was one even with fire torches attached to look like a castle!
At last, they reached field eleven, which was just perfect. On top of the hill with an overview of the tents below and with the tree line to their right. It was the perfect spot for a Prince as it allowed them to see their enemies coming in from all directions. And which direction if need be to flee towards or flee away from. Because one can try to take the Percussor out of the Prince family, but the Percussor instincts simply won't leave.