Bill slept all the way until evening before someone woke him up.
The process was a bit… complicated.
Fred and George came up with the plan, Ron fetched the water, Ginny handed over the bucket, and finally Charlie dumped the whole thing of cold water right on Bill's face.
Even if Bill wanted to get mad, he had no idea who he should punch.
Bill and Charlie rarely came home together, and since it was Kael's birthday too, Mrs. Weasley had been busy in the kitchen since noon, cooking up a lavish dinner.
Just as Kael predicted, Chris showed up with his bottle of 150-year-old aged Flaming Whiskey.
Mr. Weasley's eyes lit up at the big number printed on the bottle.
Bill couldn't resist and asked for another small glass, but he learned from last time, sipping it slowly just like Mr. Weasley.
So this time he didn't pass out on the spot—instead, he slumped over the dinner table only after everyone finished eating.
The soup splashed all over Percy, who was pretty annoyed and insisted that it was the outfit he needed for work tomorrow.
Even though Mrs. Weasley cleaned up the mess with Magic, he still muttered under his breath as he headed back to his room.
"If you're so worried about getting dirty, you shouldn't wear it to dinner," Fred couldn't help but say.
"Maybe he thought Mr. Crouch would randomly drop by for a visit," George chuckled.
Mrs. Weasley slapped them both, and only then did they shut up.
But that little hiccup didn't affect anyone's good mood.
After dinner, the kids who hadn't been drinking had to drag the passed-out Bill upstairs to his room.
As for Charlie, he was laid out across the table too, cheek-to-cheek with Bill.
Ron and Ginny huffed and puffed, trying to haul him up for ages, but he wouldn't budge, so they just managed to get him from the chair to the floor.
A bunch of gnomes crowded in curiously, poking at his face with their skinny fingers.
"Shoo!" Ron waved them off, then he and Ginny each grabbed one of Charlie's arms and dragged him back to the Shabby Residence, inch by inch.
That's why, when Charlie woke up the next day, he felt achy all over—like he'd been stepped on by a Fire Dragon.
And so, another two weeks passed.
One evening in mid-August, Mr. Weasley came home from the Ministry of Magic, and suddenly called everyone over, super excited.
"Did you get the tickets, Dad?" Fred asked, full of anticipation.
"Oh, I wanted to surprise you all," Mr. Weasley said, pretending to be disappointed, but the grin on his face wouldn't leave for anything.
"BIG surprise!"
He pulled out a stack of colorful tickets, "Thirteen in total, all in the best seats."
Fred whispered, "By 'best seats', you mean…"
"Top-tier box," Mr. Weasley said, "We'll be right in front of the Minister of Magic."
"Whoa! Amazing!"
Fred and George blushed with excitement, slapping each other's shoulders.
They always figured Mr. Weasley would only get regular stand tickets, but never dreamed it'd be a top-tier box.
That's basically the spot with the best view, so you can see the whole stadium clearly.
"Dad, how did you manage that?" Ron asked, totally starstruck.
"Well, due to some special circumstances, most people in the Ministry can't make the match, so the Department of Magical Games and Sports handed the tickets to Chris and me, so that the top-tier box wouldn't look too empty."
"Talk about lucky…" Ron couldn't help but say.
"But thirteen tickets isn't enough…"
After the excitement wore down a bit, Fred quickly realized something else and frowned:
"Our family has nine people, then Kael's family, Harry, Hermione, Cho, Conna, Cedric… That's still not enough."
"Don't worry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling. "I don't like those crowded events anyway, so I can let Harry and Hermione have my tickets."
"Us too," Chris said, grinning, "Compared to the World Cup, we have more important things to take care of—another reason why the box is so empty.
Plus, Digory already has his own ticket. We bumped into him on the Department of Magical Games and Sports' floor as we left."
"So… eleven tickets is enough," Fred calculated. "The last two can go to Cho and Conna."
"Awesome!" Fred and George high-fived again.
Then everyone headed over to the Shabby Residence.
Mrs. Weasley started writing letters to Harry and Hermione.
Hermione's was easy: write it and send it off with the owl. But when it came to Harry, Mrs. Weasley was stumped.
She remembered that Harry's uncle and aunt totally hated wizards—sending an owl would definitely annoy them.
"Leave it to me, Molly," Mr. Weasley stepped up, full of confidence. "I know ALL about Muggle mail… you need these."
He fished a handful of colorful stamps out of his pocket.
"Just stick these on the envelope, throw it in a post box, and you're all set. There's a post box right at the entrance to the Ministry—I've always wanted to try it."
"Are you sure, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "You just toss it in that thing and it'll work?"
"Trust me… I'm an expert."
"Alright then…" Mrs. Weasley picked up the stamps. "How many should I use?"
Mr. Weasley froze for a second, thought it over, then gritted his teeth: "Cover the envelope—if there aren't enough stamps, the letter will get sent back."
"Okay!"
Then Kael watched as Mrs. Weasley stuck all the stamps across the envelope, leaving only a tiny square, about an inch wide, to write the Dursley address.
"Actually…" Kael couldn't help speaking up, "One stamp is enough. If you use too many, it'll make people suspicious."
"Oh, really? Just one?" Mr. Weasley said, surprised.
"Yep." Kael nodded and picked out a ten-pence stamp. "This one'll do. Take the rest off."
Mr. Weasley moved like lightning, peeling off all the extra stamps in a flash.
They were his precious collection—he felt bad giving them up. Now he got them back again.
With the letter sorted, Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands.
"Alright, the match is on the weekend. We just have to pick up Harry on Friday, should be plenty of time."
"But what if his uncle and aunt refuse?" Ron asked. "He can't miss this game."
"He absolutely can't miss it."
Mrs. Weasley said, "Whether his family agrees or not, we're picking him up. But for the sake of politeness, we should pretend to ask for their permission first."