Hogwarts: I will not become the Dark Lord

Jerry carefully supported Hermione, making sure she stood firm. His gaze quickly swept around, only to find that they were in what seemed like a vast, misty, desolate swamp. In the hazy distance, two haggard-looking wizards stood, their faces gaunt and gloomy. One clutched a gold watch, while the other carried a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both appeared utterly exhausted.

The wizard with the gold watch was dressed rather oddly: a rough tweed suit on his upper body, unexpectedly paired with thigh-high rubber boots. His companion, on the other hand, wore a traditional Scottish kilt, topped with a South American-style poncho.

"Morning, Basil," Mr. Weasley greeted politely, bending down to pick up the boot Portkey. He then handed it to the kilted wizard, who expertly tossed it into a large box beside him, filled with various disguised Portkeys—yellowed newspapers, empty soda cans, and a dirty, hole-ridden soccer ball.

"Morning, Arthur," Basil replied, his voice weary. He sighed, "You're a lucky one, not having to stand guard during this sleepless night. We haven't been so fortunate, having to watch over this place all night."

"You should get out of here quickly. I heard a large group will be arriving from the Black Forest around 5:15. Let me check your campsite location… Arthur Weasley…" Basil said, searching the parchment list, "Found it. Head straight down this path for about four hundred meters, and the first clearing is your campsite. Remember, Mr. Roberts is in charge of the campsite. As for the Diggorys, you'll need to find Mr. Payne in the second field."

"Thanks, Basil."

The group traversed the empty, desolate swamp. The dense fog acted as a heavy veil, obscuring everything around them. After about ten minutes of walking, a weathered door suddenly appeared, followed by an ancient little stone cottage standing quietly ahead.

Behind the cottage, hundreds upon hundreds of tents of all shapes and sizes spread across the vast field like a colorful mushroom colony. They rose and fell with the terrain, eventually disappearing into the distant horizon.

After saying goodbye to Cedric and his father, the group quickened their pace towards the cottage door.

A Muggle man stood at the door, curiously gazing at the bizarre wizarding tents. Jerry couldn't help but feel a sense of bewilderment. The campsite manager for a large-scale wizarding event was a Muggle!

As their footsteps drew closer, the Muggle man turned around at the sound, looking at them.

"Are you Mr. Roberts?" Mr. Weasley asked, approaching him.

"I am," Roberts nodded. "Who are you?"

"Good morning, Mr. Roberts. I'm Arthur Weasley, and I booked two tents two days ago."

"Hold on, let me check," Mr. Roberts turned and started searching through the forms attached to the door. "Your locations are near the woods at the front."

"You're only staying for one night, correct?" Mr. Roberts asked, pointing to the map beside the forms.

Mr. Weasley nodded.

"Then, would it be convenient to settle the payment now?" Mr. Roberts asked directly.

"Oh, of course," Mr. Weasley responded quickly, pulling out a wad of British pounds from his pocket, peeling them off one by one. "This one is… uh, ten pounds, this one is… five pounds…"

"You’re… not local, are you? Foreign?" Mr. Roberts frowned slightly, watching Mr. Weasley's somewhat clumsy movements.

"Foreign?" Mr. Weasley repeated, slightly bewildered.

"You're not the only one who's not familiar with pounds," Mr. Roberts said, eyeing Jerry and the others suspiciously. "Just now, two people even tried to pay with gold coins!"

"Really?" Mr. Weasley said, feigning composure.

At the same time, Mr. Roberts was rummaging through an iron can, carefully searching for change.

"We've never had so many people camping here before," Mr. Roberts suddenly said, his gaze again passing through the mist towards the increasingly lively campsite. "Hundreds of tents have been booked, and the flow of people is constant. It's really strange!"

"Is there a problem?" Mr. Weasley reached out to take the change, but Mr. Roberts seemed lost in his own thoughts.

"It's odd," Mr. Roberts mused for a moment, continuing, "We've never had so many people gathered here. Foreign faces are everywhere, and there's no shortage of people in strange and unique attire. Did you know? One fellow was walking around the campsite wearing a Scottish kilt with a South American poncho."

"Is there something wrong with that?"

With a gentle flick of the wand tip, Mr. Roberts' eyes instantly became empty and vacant. His furrowed brow slowly relaxed, and a detached expression appeared on his face, as if he no longer cared about anything around him, as if everything that had just happened had been completely forgotten.

"Here's the campsite map, please keep it safe," Mr. Roberts said calmly, as if the little episode had never happened. He handed the map and change to Mr. Weasley with a blank expression. "I hope this helps you."

At this moment, the wizard in harem pants silently followed behind them, walking towards the campsite entrance together. His face revealed deep fatigue, stubble covered his chin, and the purplish-blue shadows under his eyes deepened his weariness.

As Mr. Roberts' figure gradually disappeared, and ensuring he couldn't hear their conversation, the wizard in harem pants lowered his voice and complained softly to Mr. Weasley: "That guy is really giving me a headache. To prevent him from discovering our secret, I have to cast the Memory Charm repeatedly every day, at least a dozen times. And then there's Ludo Bagman; that guy is just here to cause trouble. He's wandering around, talking loudly about Quaffles and Bludgers, completely disregarding the Muggle problem. Honestly, Arthur, I really hope all this ends soon so I can catch my breath. See you later, Arthur."

With that, he flickered and instantly Disapparated, disappearing from their sight.

Jerry was speechless, thinking to himself, why not just use the Imperius Curse to control that Muggle!

Of course, Jerry only thought about it in his mind. After all, ordinary Dark Magic made most wizards feel extreme, and Jerry opening his mouth with the three Unforgivable Curses was simply heretical!

"I originally thought that Mr. Bagman, as the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports," Ginny said with some surprise, "would be more cautious and wouldn't casually mention sensitive topics like Quaffles within Muggle activity areas…"

“Indeed,” Mr. Weasley interjected with a smile, interrupting Ginny while leading them through the campsite entrance. “Ludo has a rather… ‘unique’ understanding of safety issues. But having said that, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who loves Quidditch more or is more enthusiastic about leading sports. He used to represent England, and he was one of the most brilliant Beaters in the history of the Wimbourne Wasps.”

They entered the campsite, shrouded in a light mist, the ground uneven beneath their feet. On either side stretched orderly rows of tents. Most of the tents looked quite ordinary, their owners clearly trying to imitate the Muggle world in an effort to blend in. However, there were also a few tents with many unnecessary decorations, such as chimneys, bell pulls, or weather vanes.

A few steps further, and you could even find tents with elaborate gardens, birdbaths glistening, sundials marking the passage of time, and fountains spraying clear droplets of water…

“That’s perfectly normal,” Mr. Weasley said with a smile and a nod, his gaze also falling on the elaborately decorated tents. “When people get together, there’s always a bit of showing off.”

Then, they continued onward until they reached a clearing at the edge of the grounds, bordering the woods. A small sign stood quietly there, clearly marked with the word “Weasley.”

“This is perfect!” Mr. Weasley said, unable to hide his joy, excitedly. “Look, the Quidditch pitch is just behind those trees, as close as can be.” As he spoke, he gently took off the backpack from his shoulder.

“Remember,” Mr. Weasley cautioned, “even though we’re wizards, we have to follow the rules on Muggle territory and not use magic. We’ll have to put up the tent with our own hands.”

“Well, I don’t think it should be too complicated,” Mr. Weasley said hopefully, looking at Jerry for his opinion. “Jerry, Harry, where do you think we should start?”

However, Jerry frankly admitted that he had never had any experience setting up a tent, and Harry was even less experienced. Whenever the holidays came, the Dursleys always isolated him, preferring to entrust him to their neighbor, Mrs. Figg, rather than take him on trips.

Fortunately, Hermione was in the group. She understood the structure of the tent and quickly guided everyone on how to correctly connect the poles and screws. Mr. Weasley, though full of enthusiasm, often created more chaos than order in practice, especially when he needed to swing the mallet, at which point he became uncontrollably excited.

After much effort and laughter-filled activity, they finally managed to erect two tents, not perfect, but sufficient to provide shelter from the wind and rain – one for the boys and one for the girls.

They instinctively took a few steps back, admiring and savoring the fruits of their labor with a sense of pride and satisfaction.

But immediately, a practical problem arose—if Bill, Charlie, and Percy joined them, the number would reach eleven. How could these two small tents accommodate so many people? Hermione obviously realized this as well. She frowned slightly, a hint of doubt in her eyes, and turned to Jerry, asking, “Will you all be able to sleep so many people in there tonight?”

Just as everyone was lost in thought, Mr. Weasley, in an almost childlike manner, crawled into the first tent on all fours. His excited voice came from inside the tent: “Hey, everyone, come and see! It might be a little cramped, though.”

Out of curiosity and anticipation, they all bent down and filed in through the low-hanging tent flap. However, the scene before them was far beyond their expectations—the inside of the tent was not the cramped space they had imagined, but a cleverly arranged old-fashioned three-bedroom apartment, even equipped with a bathroom and kitchen, all so cozy and practical.

Jerry looked around and had to admit that having magic was great!

Mr. Weasley gently shook the empty water bottle, peering inside. “We need to fetch some water.”

“This Muggle map will come in handy,” Ron said upon hearing this, immediately pulling out the map that the Muggle attendant had just given him from his pocket and examining it closely. “The map shows a tap at the other end of the grounds. There should be a clean water source there.”

“In that case, I’ll entrust the task of fetching water to you two, Jerry, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, handing them the water bottle and two cooking pots he had brought. “You two should know more about the Muggle world than we do, so you should be able to find the place faster. The rest of us will go gather some firewood and prepare to start a fire and cook, okay?”

Jerry and Harry gladly accepted the task, nodded, picked up the water bottle, and prepared to set off. They had only taken a few steps out of the tent when they met Hermione at the entrance. She seemed to be coming to find them. Jerry readily accepted Hermione’s invitation to visit the girls’ tent. Since only Hermione and Ginny lived there, their tent was more compact than the boys’ tent.

Subsequently, the group of four—Jerry, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny, who had come along—set off with water bottles and cooking pots to find the water source.

At that moment, the dawn was breaking, and a gentle golden light appeared on the horizon. The mist retreated slowly, like a shy maiden, revealing a vast ocean of tents, a kaleidoscope of colors and fantastical shapes as far as the eye could see.

“It’s hard to imagine,” Harry said, his thoughts seemingly taking flight, soaring into the distance. He had never truly considered what the lives of wizards from other countries might be like.

In the campsite, adult wizards were starting to emerge from their tents, greeting the morning light and beginning to prepare their breakfasts. Some wizards furtively looked around before secretly using their wands to light the campsite’s bonfire; others were struggling to strike matches in the Muggle way, with expressions of half-doubt on their faces, as if wondering, ‘Can this thing really light a fire?’

Just then, they heard a familiar voice behind them—it was Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor student.

Seamus was sitting in front of his tent, decorated with clover patterns, his mother beside him, her pale yellow hair glowing softly in the morning light. Also present was Seamus’s friend, Dean Thomas, who also came from Gryffindor.

After waving goodbye to them, Jerry arrived at the tap at the edge of the grounds, where a neat queue had already formed. Jerry and Harry, one carrying the water bottle and the other carrying the cooking pot, quickly joined the line.

Hermione quietly moved next to Jerry, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly, but she tried to restrain herself from laughing. She gently patted Jerry’s arm, pointing to two men arguing in front of them.

One of them, obviously well into his eighties, was wearing a strikingly conspicuous women’s pink floral nightgown, making him particularly noticeable.

Standing opposite him was a wizard who appeared to work for the Ministry of Magic, clutching a pair of pinstripe trousers in his hand, his expression anxious, almost desperate.

“Archie, please, put these trousers on. If you walk around the campsite like that, the Muggle at the gate is going to get suspicious!” he urged anxiously.

The old wizard Archie was unusually stubborn. He argued, “I bought this nightgown fair and square in a Muggle shop! Muggles wear them themselves!”

“But that’s what Muggle women wear, Archie, not men. You should wear this instead,” the Ministry wizard explained patiently, waving the pinstripe trousers in his hand as an example.

“I don’t want to!” Archie retorted indignantly. “I’ll wear what I want, let the breeze cool my bum!”

Jerry and Hermione, hearing this, lowered their heads and leaned against each other, trying hard not to laugh.