After a brief chat with two wizards dressed very much like street artists, Mr. Weasley headed for their reserved campsite, following the information on the parchment in Basil's hand.
"About a quarter of a mile, this way... the campsite manager is Mr. Roberts. As for you, Diggory, you're at..."
Mr. Weasley thanked him and beckoned everyone to follow.
They crossed a deserted stretch of marshland, thick fog obscuring their view so completely that they could not see anything ahead.
Su Er held Hermione's small hand, and Hermione held Ginny's. They walked for about twenty minutes before the fog gradually thinned a little and the view ahead became somewhat clearer.
A gate appeared before them, with a small stone cottage behind it. Beyond the cottage, they could just make out hundreds upon thousands of strange tents, stretching in an unbroken mass up the gentle slope of the grounds.
Here, they parted ways with the Diggory family and continued forward.
A man stood at the gate, gazing out at the tents. Hearing footsteps, he turned to look at them. He was a middle-aged man with deep weariness in his eyes, sagging cheeks, and unshaven stubble.
"Good morning. Are you Mr. Roberts?"
"Ah, yes," Mr. Roberts said. "Who are you?"
"Weasley. Reserved two tents two days ago. Have you got them?"
Roberts turned to check the list posted by the entrance, then turned back and pointed toward a spot behind the cottage. "Yes, Mr. Weasley. Your tents are over there by the woods. Just staying one night, right?"
"Yes." Mr. Weasley nodded.
According to the plan, the Ministry of Magic had set aside a full day and night for the Quidditch World Cup final. In theory, that was enough time, but there had also been matches that went on for days and nights