"If this continues, the British Magic World will become the laughing stock of the world!" George chimed in, delighting in the chaos.
Percy's face looked grim. He clearly saw himself as a senior official of the Ministry of Magic, with a strong sense of ownership.
"Don't talk nonsense!" he said, his face turning ashen: "This is just to confuse the Muggles—haven't you thought it through? How could the Ministry of Magic possibly use this barren land as a Quidditch field?"
"Indeed," Ron said with a typical sense of drama, "On this, I'm with Percy. I don't think Fudge could be that senile, or say Crouch could be that muddleheaded... Though, of course, it's inevitable, considering how old Mr. Crouch is. He might have dementia!"
Hearing Ron mock his idol, Percy was utterly furious.
"Shut up!" Percy shouted angrily, "I won't allow you to say such things about Mr. Crouch—do you have any idea how much effort he's put into organizing this Quidditch World Cup?"
"Mmm!" Ron and the twins nodded in agreement with Percy's words, "Yes, Mr. Crouch is the best, he's the greatest—Is that what you want us to say?"
Percy was so angry that his face alternated between shades of green and white, pointing at his three unlucky brothers, unable to utter a word for a long time.
"Alright." Mr. Weasley interjected at this timely moment, saying, "Stop with the pointless bickering. You're all grown-ups now. You shouldn't be doing such childish things—especially you two, Fred and George. You may have a point, but we should be leaving now."
"Leaving?" the twins turned their heads, searching around as they asked, "Leaving for what? Where are we going?"
"Of course, to the World Cup venue." Mr. Weasley chuckled, "You didn't really think the World Cup finals would be held on this wasteland, did you? That would be ridiculous—Even if Fudge wanted it that way, the wizards of all of Britain wouldn't agree, it would be far too damaging to our image."
Hearing his father say this, Percy defiantly raised his chin, proudly glancing at his three stupid brothers.
They followed Mr. Weasley, crossing the desolate marshland.
If not for their pathfinding magic, they might have gotten stuck in the mud.
"Why aren't we taking a carriage straight to the destination?" Ron asked breathlessly with a soulful question.
"Because riding a carriage would be too conspicuous, especially since there are Muggles around here." Mr. Weasley had to explain to the kids.
After about twenty minutes, a door gradually appeared ahead, and then a small stone house. Harry could barely make out hundreds of peculiar tents behind the stone house, stretching up a gentle slope and reaching a dark forest on the horizon.
As they reached the door, a Muggle stood there, gazing at the tents in the forest, apparently fascinated by the lively scene.
This Muggle stood out too much; no wizard would wear such authentic Muggle attire unless they had a Muggle in the family.
But clearly, if they were a wizard, they wouldn't be staring over there persistently.
Mr. Weasley didn't pay him any mind and continued walking until he reached a campsite of extravagant tents, where he began to chat with a wizard who seemed to be a staff member.
Harry and the others stood in the back, not moving to a particularly grand-looking tent until Mr. Weasley finished his greetings.
The tent was ready, and as box seat VIPs, there was no need to bring their own tent or set it up themselves; everything was prepared for them.
"This is our tent, kids," Mr. Weasley said happily, "We will spend two days here—of course, the World Cup match will be held the day after tomorrow, which means we can stay at least two nights. Anything you want to say?"
"Yes," Fred raised his hand, "Can we choose our own rooms?"
"Go ahead," Mr. Weasley waved his hand indifferently, "Find one for yourself, just remember to go out for dinner later—I mean go out to eat, no one here will cook for you!"
"Okay, Dad!" the kids said in unison, moving to Mr. Weasley's side and receiving a few Golden Galleons each.
"What's for dinner tonight?" Harry turned to ask Cassandra.
"Anything's fine," Cassandra nodded.
"Then we..."
Before he could finish, Harry was called over by Sirius and Mr. Weasley.
"Harry," the two walked over to Harry's side and said, "You need to come with us; this Quidditch World Cup is an international event, you know that—So many Ministry of Magic officials from various countries have come."
"Yes, I know." Harry was a bit confused about why they were bringing this up.
Could I really do something to them? What a joke, I'm Harry Potter, not Voldemort...
"Alright," Sirius patted Harry on the shoulder, "Just now some Ministry people came by and said they wanted you to come over; they said the Austrian Minister of Magic wants to see you."
Austrian Minister of Magic? Wants to see me?
Harry was puzzled; the Austrian Minister of Magic was always a mystery, everyone knew the person had changed, but nobody knew who it was.
Why does this person want to meet me? Do I know them?
Thinking this, Harry directly voiced his doubt.
"Austrian Minister of Magic? Do I know them?"
But Cassandra, beside him, became alert.
Austrian Minister of Magic?
Could it be... that bad woman Grindelwald?
Though the idea of a recent graduate becoming the Minister of Magic seemed far-fetched, if it were her, Cassandra wouldn't be surprised at all.
What if it is indeed her?
"What's wrong?" Harry noticed Cassandra's unusual demeanor and asked with concern.
"Nothing," Cassandra shook her head and said to Harry, "Maybe—umm, you probably do know this person."
"Really?" Sirius's eyes lit up, "Harry, I didn't know you had such connections—no wonder that person wants to meet you..."
"No, I think the Austrian Minister of Magic should be that guy Grindelwald!" Cassandra confidently stated, her expression clearly implying—there's only one truth.
Hearing Cassandra's guess, everyone was taken aback before erupting into laughter.
"Impossible." Harry was breathless, holding Cassandra's shoulder, "Vivi just graduated, how could she possibly be the Austrian Minister of Magic? It's impossible, absolutely impossible!"
Mr. Weasley didn't laugh aloud but merely smiled as he said, "You're mistaken, Miss Malfoy—The Austrian Minister of Magic is an esteemed old lady, at least that's what Old Batty told me—Now then, let's pack up and get ready to go."
They left the tent together, heading toward the center of the field.
The center was an extremely lavish tent, and Harry followed Mr. Weasley inside, with two wizards standing guard at the entrance.
After verifying their identity, Harry and the others followed a guiding wizard to a door inside.
The door bore the inscription "Austrian Ministry of Magic."
There was a knock, and someone inside invited them in.
Harry pushed the door open and glanced upward, recognizing the person sitting behind the desk immediately—it was a familiar face.
Wasn't that Lady Vida Rozier?
And behind her stood someone Harry was all too familiar with.
It was Vivi, her nose adorned with a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, holding a document in her arms. Upon noticing Harry's gaze, she discreetly waved at him.