Quidditch World Cup

So I have a theory that Lucius particaped in the riot at the Quidditch World Cup, but what about Draco? He wasn't a Death Eater yet, so any ideas on what happened to him during that?

This game is really good and a must play for any Quidditch fan.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585181

Chapter 2: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585386

Chapter 3: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589099

Chapter 4: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589999

Chapter 5: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003590737

Tags: @MeowTasticCat @Bellatrisblack @Diantha Angelina Black @CatsAndRoblox

Chapter Six: The Quidditch World Cup

Clutching their purchases, Sirius and Mr Weasley were in the lead, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Harry couldn’t stop grinning. They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though Harry could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

‘Seats a hundred thousand,’ said Mr Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on Harry’s face. ‘Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they’ve suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again...bless them,’ he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

‘Prime seats!’ said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. ‘Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go. Though Mr Black I’ll have to ask your family to step aside.’

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Sirius asked quite furious.

‘I know as much as you do sir,’ the woman explained, ‘an auror just came and told me to hold the Lupin-Black party.’

Arthur expressed that his family would not go with Harry’s, but they were holding up the line and eventually had to leave Harry and his family behind. They waited only about a minute more when a wizard about forty aparated in front of them.

The man had a confident demeanour about him, and along with his blue eyes he possessed shaggy dark brown hair. When Remus saw him an instant scowl crossed his face.

‘Dawlish,’ Remus said bitterly, ‘Why is my family being detained?’

‘Not detained Lupin, just excluded. This is nothing personal, we just can not allow a known werewolf into a crowded area the night of a full moon. The rest of your family can enter if they want.’

‘For one John, I am currently on the wolfsbane potion so even transformed I am no threat to this crowd,’ Remus was practically steaming at the ears. ‘And second, the moon won’t be rising for another three hours, and with professional Quidditch players a game rarely lasts more than two.’

‘I am sorry Remus, I just can’t risk it.’

‘What if we make a deal, I stay until six and then leave, giving plenty of time for me to go back and transform away from all these civilians.’

‘No, that’s final. I am not breaking the law, not even for an old college.’

Sirius, who up until a moment ago looked as though he was about to box Mr Dawlish to the death, broke a smug smile.

‘What if we make a deal,’ he said echoing Remus’ words, ‘Remus stays until six and then leaves, giving plenty of time for him to go back and transform away from all these civilians, and you get one hundred Galleons.’

John Dawlish seemed to only consider this for a second before holding out his hand and taking a heavy bag from Sirius, ‘Five Fifty you leave, and not a minute more.’

With that they were finally permitted to enter. Remus turned to Sirius in surprise and gratitude, ‘Pads, I don’t think I have every seen you act that much like a Black in my twenty-three years of knowing you.’

‘Well, it’ll probably be another twenty-three more before you see that again. Come on, let go watch this game like any other humanoid here.’

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. Their party kept climbing, and at last they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Harry’s eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant’s hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, Harry saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field.

The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family—safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer...Mrs Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!...Gladrags Wizardwear—London, Paris, Hogsmeade...Harry tore his eyes away from the sign and looked to Sirius.

‘Padfoot, how much did you spend on our tickets?’

He just smiled back, ‘Don’t you worry about that. All I’ll say that it made that one galleons back there look like a single Knut.’

Realizing just how expensive this box was, Harry looked over his shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with them. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them. The creature, whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, batlike ears were oddly familiar...

‘Dobby?’ said Harry incredulously.

The tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It wasn’t Dobby—it was, however, unmistakably a house-elf, as Harry’s friend Dobby. Harry had set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family.

‘Did sir just call me Dobby?’ squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Dobby’s had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and Harry suspected—though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf—that this one might just be female. Theodore and Terence spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, they had never actually met him. Even Ron and Hermione looked around in interest.

‘My bad,’ Harry told the elf, ‘I thought you were a friend of mine.’

‘But I knows Dobby too, sir!’ squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. ‘My name is Winky, sir—and you, sir—‘ Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry’s scar. ‘You is surely Harry Potter!’

‘Yeah, I am,’ said Harry.

‘But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!’ she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck.

‘How is he?’ said Harry curiously, he had not heard from Dobby since the end of his second year of Hogwarts. ‘How’s freedom suiting him?’

‘Ah, sir,’ said Winky, shaking her head, ‘ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free.’

‘Why?’ said Harry, taken aback and now quite concerned. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘Freedom is going to Dobby’s head, sir,’ said Winky sadly. ‘Ideas above his station, sir. Can’t get another position, sir.’

‘Why not?’ said Harry.

Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, ‘He is wanting paying for his work, sir.’

‘Paying?’ said Harry blankly. ‘Well—why shouldn’t he be paid?’

Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again.

‘House-elves is not paid, sir!’ she said in a muffled squeak. ‘No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you’s up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin.’

‘Well, it’s about time he had a bit of fun,’ said Harry.

‘House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter,’ said Winky firmly, from behind her hands. ‘House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter’—she glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped—‘but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir.’

‘Why’d he send you up here if he knows you are terrified of heights?’ said Harry, frowning.

‘Master—master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy,’ said Winky, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. ‘Winky is wishing she is back in master’s tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf.’

She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid her eyes completely again. Harry turned back to the others.

“So that is what a house-elf looks like?” Terence whispered so only Harry could hear. ‘They’re a little odd looking?’

‘Dobby was a little odd looking too,’ Harry admitted.

Allison then arrived and sat in the row directly behind Harry. ‘I found you. You didn’t tell me you would be in the highest of boxes. Hi Theo, hi Terence.’

‘My dad rarely touches his fortune, but for something like this he wanted us to have the best experience,’ Harry rotated and got Sirius’ attention. ‘Pads, Remus met her last year, but this is my friend Allison.’

Sirius put out his hand and Allison took it. ‘It is nice to finally meet you young lady. Harry has told me a lot about you over the years. You were the girl Harry met at the train storage compartment on your very first days?’

‘I almost didn’t remember that, but yes, that was me. It is good to meet you too Mr Black.’

They all got settled and started going over the program, which was made of velvet and was tasseled.

'There is going to be a performance from the teams mascots before the match begins,' Theodore read aloud.

'Oh that’s always worth watching,' said Mr Weasley. 'National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show.'

Sirius faced Terence, 'what creature is native to Ireland?'

Terence thought for a moment, 'Well, some of the main land or flying creatures are the Aethonan, Augurey, Banshees, and Porlocks, however they will probably go for the most reconisable. Leprechauns.'

More and more people started populating the box. Mr Weasley, Sirius, and Remus kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were a jack in the box. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge was over joyed to meet. They had technically met Fudge before, but Fudge had been unaware Harry was in the room. Fudge started introducing him to the other important people in the box.

‘Harry Potter, you know,’ he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn’t seem to understand a word of English. ‘Harry Potter...oh come on now, you know who he is...the boy who survived You-Know-Who...you do know who he is—‘

Harry for a moment wondered why Fudge wasn’t using a translation charm, but then remembered the man often didn’t think things through, and the stress from organizing the World Cup probably didn’t help.

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry’s scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it.

‘Knew we’d get there in the end,’ said Fudge wearily to Harry. ‘I’m not great at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf’s saving him a seat...Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places...ah, and here’s Lucius!’

Harry, Sirius, and the entire Weasley family Ron, turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr Weasley were none other than Dobby the house-elf’s former owners: Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco; and Draco’s mother whom Harry had only met once.

Harry and Draco Malfoy had a rocky relationship, they had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts, but had more or less stayed out of each other’s way ever since Harry punches him in the face a year prior. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. Narcissa was blonde too; tall and slim, she didn’t quite resemble her sister Andromeda, she would have been beautiful if she hadn’t had her nose scrunched up like she smelt something bad.

‘Ah, Fudge,’ said Mr Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. ‘How are you? I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?’

‘How do you do, how do you do?’ said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs Malfoy. ‘And allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblansk—Obalonsk—Mr—well, he’s the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can’t understand a word I’m saying anyway, so never mind. And let’s see who else—you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?’

It was a tense moment. Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy looked at each other and Harry vividly recalled the last time they had come face-to-face: It had been in Flourish and Blotts’ bookshop, and they had almost come to blows if Sirius hadn’t beat Arthur to it. Speaking of Sirius.

‘And obviously no introduction is necessary for between the Black cousin’s.’ Fudge said with a laugh, clearly not picking up on the razor sharp tension rising between the Malfoy’s and Sirius.

‘I see this box wasn’t worth the army of Galleons we paid for it, seeing that it is infested with blood traitors and peasants,’ Narcissa said just loud enough for Sirius and Mr Weasley to hear.

Mr Malfoy’s cold gray eyes swept over Mr Weasley, and then up and down the row.

‘Good lord, Arthur,’ he said softly. ‘What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn’t have fetched this much?’

Fudge, who wasn’t listening, said, ‘Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur, Mr Black. He’s here as my guest.’

‘How—how nice,’ said Mr Weasley, with a very strained smile, and Sirius kept his mouth shut because anything that came out of his mouth now might get them all thrown out.

Mr Malfoy’s eyes had now focused on Hermione and Terence, who looked as though they wanted to be anywhere else at that moment, but both stared determinedly back at him. Harry knew exactly what was making Mr Malfoy’s lip curl like that. The Malfoy’s prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione and Terence, second-class. Terence had done a good job pretending to be half-blood for the past five years, but ever since the muggle-born hating Basilisk had petrified in his third year rumours had spread about his true parentage. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr Malfoy didn’t dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr Weasley and Sirius, and continued down the line to his seats. Draco simply just stayed quiet, not standing for his father or against, then settled himself between his mother and father.

‘Stuck up purist,’ Harry heard Sirius mutter. Remus had taken Sirius’ hand.

‘You were the better man, you didn’t react like last time, you were a good example to the kids.’

‘That doesn’t stop the fact that I wanted to punch him in his stuck up face once more.’

Harry smiled, and with the others turned to face the field again. Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box.

‘Everyone ready?’ he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. ‘Minister—ready to go?’

‘Ready when you are, Ludo,’ said Fudge comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said ‘Sonorus!’ and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands.

‘Ladies and gentlemen...welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!’

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message

(Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans—A Risk With Every Mouthful!) and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

‘And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!’

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

‘I wonder what they’ve brought,’ said Mr Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. ‘Aaah!’ He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. ‘Veela!’

‘What are veel— ?’

But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry’s question was answered for him. Veela were women...the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen...except that they weren’t—they couldn’t be—human. This puzzled Harry for a moment while he tried to guess what exactly they could be; what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind...but then the music started, and Harry stopped worrying about them not being human—in fact, he stopped worrying about anything at all.

The veela had started to dance, and Harry’s mind had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that he kept watching the veela, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would happen his brain told him...And as the veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through Harry’s dazed mind. He wanted to do something very impressive, right now. Jumping from the box into the stadium seemed a good idea...but would it be good enough?

‘Oh my gosh! Harry, what are you doing?!’ said Canini’s voice from a long way off.

The music stopped. Harry blinked. He was standing up, and one of his legs was resting on the wall of the box. Next to him, Ron, and Terence both looked as though they had been preparing to dive off of the box, and Theodore looked like he was having an identity crisis.

Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn’t want the veela to go. Harry was with them; he would, of course, be supporting Bulgaria, and he wondered vaguely why he had a large green shamrock pinned to his chest. The only five people complete not effected by the veela were Sirius, Allison, Hermione, Ginny, and Canini, who were trying to stop those around them from ripping their Ireland merch off of them. Mr Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and stopped him from shredding his hat.

‘You’ll be wanting that,’ he said, ‘once Ireland have had their say.’

‘Huh?’ said Ron, staring openmouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field.

Hermione made a loud tutting noise. While Sirius reached up and pulled Harry back into his seat she huffed. ‘Honestly!’ she said.

‘And now,’ roared Ludo Bagman’s voice, ‘kindly put your wands in the air...for the Irish National Team Mascots!’

Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it—

‘Spectacular!” yelled Terence as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, Harry realized that it was actually comprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

‘Leprechauns!’ said Mr. Weasley over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.

“This is amazing,’ Ron yelled happily, with fists full of gold.

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome—the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you—Dimitrov!’

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

‘Ivanova!’

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

‘Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand—Krum!’

‘Harry it’s him, it’s him!” yelled Theodore, following Krum with his eyes as best he could. Harry quickly focused his Omnioculars.

Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large

curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen.

‘And now, please greet—the Irish National Quidditch Team!’ yelled Bagman. ‘Presenting—Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand—Lynch!’

Seven green blurs swept onto the field; Harry spun a small dial on the side of his Omnioculars and slowed the players down enough to read the word ‘Firebolt’ on each of their brooms and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs.

“And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!’

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a mustache to rival Uncle Vernon’s, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Harry spun the speed dial on his Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open—four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and (Harry saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

‘Theeeeeeeey’re OFF!’ screamed Bagman. ‘And it’s Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!’

It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose. The speed of the players was incredible—the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. Harry spun the slow dial on the right of his Omnioculars again, pressed the play-by-play button on the top, and he was immediately watching in slow motion, while glittering purple lettering flashed across the lenses and the noise of the crowd pounded against his eardrums.

HAWKSHEAD ATTACKING FORMATION, he read as he watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Troy in the center, slightly ahead of Mullet and Moran, bearing down upon the Bulgarians. PORSKOFF PLOY flashed up next, as Troy made as though to dart upward with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova and dropping the Quaffle to Moran. One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swung hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran’s path; Moran ducked to avoid the Bludger and dropped the Quaffle; and Levski, soaring beneath, caught it—

‘TROY SCORES!’ roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. ‘Ten zero to Ireland!’

‘What?’ Harry yelled, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. ‘But Levski’s got the Quaffle!’

“Harry mate, you’re still on slow-mo, you’re several seconds behind and missing things!’ shouted Terence, who was visibly shaking with joy and excitement while Troy did a lap of honor around the field.

Harry looked quickly over the top of his Omnioculars and saw that the leprechauns watching from the sidelines had all risen into the air again and formed the great, glittering shamrock. Across the field, the veela were watching them sulkily.

Furious with himself, Harry spun his speed dial back to normal as play resumed.

Harry knew enough about Quidditch to see that the Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another’s minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette on Harry’s chest kept squeaking their names: “Troy—Mullet—Moran!’ And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the green-clad supporters.

The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria’s first goal.

‘Cover your ears boys!’ bellowed Remus as the veela started to dance in celebration. Harry screwed up his eyes too; he wanted to keep his mind on the game. After a few seconds, he chanced a glance at the field. The veela had stopped dancing, and Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle.

‘Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova—oh I say!’ roared Bagman.

One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes. Harry followed their descent through his Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was—

‘They’re going to crash!’ screamed Hermione.

She was half right—at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

‘Fool!’ moaned Mr Weasley. ‘Krum was feinting!’

‘It’s time-out!’ yelled Bagman’s voice, ‘as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!’

‘That was a nasty trick,’ Terence said trying to sound disgusted but couldn’t hide how he was impressed, ‘Krum lead him right into a trap. I’m sure he’ll be alright though...’

Harry hastily pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on his Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to his eyes.

He watched as Krum and Lynch dived again in slow motion. WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT—DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION read the shining purple lettering across his lenses. He saw Krum’s face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lynch was flattened, and he understood—Krum hadn’t seen the Snitch at all, he was just making Lynch copy him. Harry had never seen anyone fly like that; Krum hardly looked as though he was using a broomstick at all; he moved so easily through the air that he looked unsupported and weightless. Harry turned his Omnioculars back to normal and focused them on Krum. He was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by mediwizards with cups of potion. Harry, focusing still more closely upon Krum’s face, saw his dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below. He was using the time while Lynch was revived to look for the Snitch without interference.

Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything Harry had seen so far.

After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier.

As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over so quickly Harry didn’t catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa’s long, shrill whistle blast, told him it had been a foul.

‘And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing—excessive use of elbows!’ Bagman informed the roaring spectators. ‘And—yes, it’s a penalty to Ireland!’

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words ‘HA, HA, HA!. The veela on the other side of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again.

As one, all the boys besides Sirius

stuffed their fingers into their ears, but Hermione, who hadn’t bothered, kept pointing at the field. He turned to look at her, and pulled his fingers out of his ears.

‘Look at the referee!’ she said, giggling.

Harry looked down at the field. Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.

‘Now, we can’t have that!’ said Ludo Bagman, though he sounded highly amused. ‘Somebody slap the referee!’

A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself; Harry, watching through the Omnioculars again, saw that he looked exceptionally embarrassed and had started shouting at the veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous.

‘And unless I’m much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!’ said Bagman’s voice. ‘Now there’s something we haven’t seen before...Oh this could turn nasty...’

It did: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words ‘HEE, HEE, HEE.’ Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarians’ arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle.

‘Two penalties for Ireland!’ shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. ‘And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms...yes...there they go...and Troy takes the Quaffle...’

Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air.

Remus and Canini stood, the night sky was getting quite dark above and the moon would rise soon after. Canini looked devastated that she would not get to see the end but Remus told her that Harry and the others would tell her all about it in the morning.

Just as they left the box, Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

‘Foul!’ roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.

‘Foul!’ echoed Ludo Bagman’s magically magnified voice. ‘Dimitrov skins Moran—deliberately flying to collide there—and it’s got to be another penalty—yes, there’s the whistle!’

The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through his Omnioculars, Harry saw that they didn’t look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders—

‘And that, boys,’ yelled Mr Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, ‘is why you should never go for looks alone!’

Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above. Harry turned this way and that, staring through his Omnioculars, as the Quaffle changed hands with the speed of a bullet.

‘Levski—Dimitrov—Moran—Troy—Mullet—Ivanova—Moran again—Moran—MORAN SCORES!’

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members’ wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians.

The game recommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov—The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum’s nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn’t blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Harry couldn’t blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.

Harry wanted someone to realize that Krum was injured; even though he was supporting Ireland, Krum was the most exciting player on the field. Theodore obviously felt the same.

“Time-out! Stop the play! Someone has to heal him, he can’t fly like that—‘

‘Look at Lynch!’ Harry yelled.

For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Harry was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing...

‘He’s seen the Snitch!’ Harry shouted. ‘He’s seen it! Look at him go!’

Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on...but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again—

‘They can’t pull up in time!’ shrieked Allison.

‘Krum won’t crash!’ roared Theodore.

‘Lynch is!’ yelled Harry.

And he was right—for the second time, Lynch hit the ground

with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.

‘The Snitch, where’s the Snitch?’ bellowed Charlie Weasley, along the row.

‘He’s got it—Krum’s got it—it’s all over!’ shouted Harry.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand. The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn’t seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great storm was brewing, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder

and erupted into screams of delight.

‘IRELAND WINS!’ Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. ‘KRUM GETS THE SNITCH—BUT IRELAND WINS—good lord, I don’t think any of us were expecting that!’

‘Why did he catch the Snitch?’ Theodore asked curiously, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. ‘There was no way to win!’

‘He knew they were never going to catch up!’ Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. ‘The Irish Chasers were too good...He wanted to end it on his terms, this way they finished very close...’

‘He was is a strategic genius!’ Terence said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. ‘Though he looks a wreck...’

Harry put his Omnioculars to his eyes again. It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but he could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

‘Vell, ve fought bravely,’ said a gloomy voice behind Harry. He looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

‘You can speak English!’ said Fudge, sounding outraged. ‘And you’ve been letting me mime everything all day!’

‘Vell, it vos very funny,’ said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging.

‘And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!’ roared Bagman.

Harry’s eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, he saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he’d been using sign language all day for nothing.

‘Let’s have a really loud hand for the gallant losers—Bulgaria!’ Bagman shouted.

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; Harry could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction.

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. Harry noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum’s name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval. Harry’s hands were numb with clapping.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly’s, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, ‘Quietus.’

‘They’ll be talking about this one for years,’ he said hoarsely, ‘a really unexpected twist, that...shame it couldn’t have lasted longer...Ah yes...yes, I owe you...how much?’

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585181

Chapter 2: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585386

Chapter 3: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589099

Chapter 4: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589999

Tags: @MeowTasticCat @Bellatrisblack @Diantha Angelina Black @CatsAndRoblox

Chapter Five: Bagman and Crouch

Harry disentangled himself from Ron and got to his feet. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.

‘Morning, Basil,’ said Mr Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Harry could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.

‘Hello there, Arthur,’ said Basil wearily. ‘Not on duty, eh? It’s all right for some...We’ve been here all night...You’d better get out of the way, we’ve got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at seven. Hang on, I’ll find your campsite...Weasley...Weasley...’

He consulted his parchment list. ‘About a quarter of a mile’s walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager’s called Mr Roberts. Diggory...second field...ask for Mr Payne. Lupin-Black...also first field, about a dozen tents further than the Weasley’s.’

‘Thanks, Basil,’ said Mr Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.

Sirius also stated his gratitude, ‘Good day Mr Basil.’

They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Harry could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. They said good-bye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Harry knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.

‘Morning!’ said Mr Weasley brightly.

‘Morning,’ said the Muggle.

‘Would you be Mr Roberts?’

‘Aye, I would,’ said Mr Roberts. ‘And who’re you?’

‘Weasley—two tents, booked a couple of days ago?’

‘And Lupin-Black-one tent, booked around the same time,’ said Remus.

‘Aye,’ said Mr Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door.

‘Weasley, you’ve got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?’

‘That’s it,’ said Mr Weasley.

‘And Lupin-Black, your close to their, just eleven spots further. You’ll both be paying now, then?’ said Mr Roberts.

Ah—right—certainly—‘ said Mr Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage while Remus handed Mr Roberts their fee.

While Remus paid, Mr Weasley beckoned Harry toward him. ‘Help me, Harry,’ he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. ‘This one’s a—a—a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now...So this is a five?’

‘A twenty,’ Harry corrected him in an undertone, uncomfortably aware of Mr Roberts trying to catch every word.

‘Ah yes, so it is...I don’t know, these little bits of paper...’

‘You foreign?’ said Mr Roberts as Mr Weasley returned with the correct notes.

‘Foreign?’ repeated Mr Weasley, puzzled.

‘You’re not the first one who’s had trouble with money,’ said Mr Roberts, scrutinizing Mr Weasley closely. ‘I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago.’

‘Did you really?’ said Mr Weasley nervously.

Mr Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.

‘Never been this crowded,’ he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. ‘Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up...’

‘Is that right?’ said Mr Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr Roberts didn’t give it to him.

‘Aye,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There’s a bloke walking ’round in a kilt and a poncho.’

‘Shouldn’t he?’ said Mr. Weasley anxiously.

‘It’s like some sort of...I dunno...like some sort of rally,’ said Mr Roberts. ‘They all seem to know each other. Like a big party.’

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr Roberts’s front door.

‘Obliviate!’ he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr Roberts. Instantly, Mr Roberts’s eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Harry recognized the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified.

‘A map of the campsite for you,’ Mr Roberts said placidly to Mr Weasley. ‘And your change.’

‘Thanks very much,’ said Mr Weasley.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied the eleven of them toward the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted: His chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr Roberts, he muttered to Mr Weasley, ‘Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman’s not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I’ll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur.’

The man then disapparated.

Mr Weasley looked disappointedly at Sirius and Remus.

‘Mr Bagman should know better than to be talking about wizarding matters in front of muggles at his high rank.'

Remus patted him on the back, 'It has been my experience that wizards that are at the very top enjoy enforcing rules onto everyone but themselves.'

'That sadly is often the case,' Mr Weasley agreed. 'And Ludo’s always been a bit...well...lax about security. You couldn’t wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had.'

They all trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Harry could hardly be surprised that Mr Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

'Always the same,' said Mr. Weasley, smiling. 'We can’t resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us.' They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read weezly.

'Couldn’t have a better spot!' said Mr Weasley happily. 'We'll start setting up our tent, we'll meet up with you all once we are all done pitching the tents.'

'Agreed, we'll see you in an hour or two, Arthur,' Sirius said with a smile.

They continued on just a bit further towards their site, unlike the Weasley's however they did not need a sign to know which spot was theirs. Surrounding the sign that said Lupin-Black was dozens of dog treats. Remus sighed and turned to Harry, 'Collect all the dog biscuits, you can give them to Fang when you return to Hogwarts.'

After being outed as a werewolf at the beginning of the summer, Remus decided there was no longer a reason to wait to publish his book "Where For The Werewolf". The was experiencing some positive outcomes which made it worth it, but the more common outcome was that anyone who didn't already know Remus was a werewolf in June did know now. They had received a lot of hate mail, almost no wizard had come to the cafe, and now their site was covered in dog treats.

Sirius tried to lighten the situation by changing the subject. 'Did you all know the game field is right on the other side of the wood there, we’re right next to where the game will take place.' He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. 'Well,' he said hesitantly, 'we best get to work, there is no magic allowed with muggles watching, so we’ll be putting the tent up by hand.' No one but Sirius had ever pitched a tent, so they all followed his lead. With Sirius' instruction, a bit of logic, and a great deal of hard work they got the poles and pegs where they should be, and raised a half decent tent.

All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at their tent would guess it belonged to wizards, Harry thought. Although another thought then occurred to him, there was five of them, and this tent looked as though it only had room to comfortably fit two people, and two of them would be transforming tonight.

'Um, Sirius, did we get the right size muggle tent?'

'Muggle? Oh, this is no muggle tent, its just meant to loo like that on the outside. Come see.'

Harry bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt his jaw drop. He had walked into what looked like an eighties, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Two of the bedrooms looked ordinary enough, while the third looked like it was more sturdy and had a small amount of sound proofing.

'This was originally my tent for when I go on adventures across the country side, but I altered the spell yesterday to fit all of us and give a safe space for Remus ad Canini tonight.'

Remus brought in the box containing their food. He pulled out a couple empty two litre water containers. 'I'll need you kids to go fetch some water.'

'Where do we get water?' Harry asked.

'I think I saw something on the map the muggle man gave us, not to long of a walk.' said Theodore.

'Then it is settled, you four will go fill up these containers while me and Remus start a fire,' said Sirius excitedly.

'Fire?' said Canini, 'Why do we need a fire, we have a stove right there.'

'When muggles camp they use out side fires to roast their food and that sounds really fun. Don't worry, anything that can't be cooked right with a fire we'll just sneak back inside and use the stove. Now off you all go.'

As they headed out they passed the Weasley's two tents, where Ron, Fred, and George were also sent out to fetch water. Canini decided to stay behind to hang out with the girls, leaving the six boys venturing out to find the spigot on the map.

Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on Harry how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; he had never been surrounded by so many magical folk, let along magical folk from so many different countries and cultures.

Their fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; Harry rarely got to see witches and wizards this young before. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As they drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.

'How many times, Kevin? You don’t—touch—Daddy’s—wand—yecchh!'

She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy’s yells—'You bust slug! You bust slug!'

A short way farther on, they saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls’ toes to skim the dewy grass, Harry vaguely remembered owning a similar one when he was little. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Harry, Ron, Theodore, Terence, and the Weasley’s he muttered distractedly, 'In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose—'

Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn’t work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents that read: the salem witches’ institute. Harry caught snatches of conversation in foreign languages from the inside of tents they passed, and though he couldn’t understand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited.

'Er—is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?' said Ron.

'Aye, your eyes do not deceive you, Weasley,' Terence said excitedly.

They had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, Harry heard someone call the Weasley's names.

'Ron! Fred! George!'

It was Seamus Finnigan, a fourth year Gryffindor. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.

'Like the decorations?' said Seamus, grinning. 'The Ministry’s not too happy.'

The mother looked like she was about to speak, but Terence beat her too it, 'Like it? These tents are incredibly quare! I have never seen so many fellow Irish wizards. Its practically lashing pride!'

'Aye, why shouldn’t we show our colours?' said Mrs Finnigan happily. 'You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You’ll be supporting Ireland, of course?' she added, eyeing Harry, Theodore, and the Weasleys beadily. When they had assured her that they were indeed supporting Ireland, they set off again, though, as Ron said, 'Like we’d say anything else surrounded by that lot.'

'We are going to win,' said Terence, 'The Irish are the best of the best this year.'

'Mrs Finnigan mentioned the Bulgarian tents were just as prideful.' said Theodore.

'Let’s go and have a look,' said Harry, they said goodbye to the Weasley's and made their way to a large patch of tents upheld, where the Bulgarian flag—white, green, and red—was fluttering in the breeze.

The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, of course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl.

'Viktor Krum,' said Theodore quietly.

'That's what he looks like?' said Terence.

'Yes,' said Harry, 'one of the youngest Seekers to ever play in the World Cup.' Krum!” said Ron.

“He doesn't look very happy,” said Terence, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at them.

'He is just stone faced' Theodore raised his eyes to the heavens. 'I sure he smiles when he catches the Snitch, which he has done dozens of times. You will see this afternoon.'

There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. Harry, Theodore, and Terence joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pin-striped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.

'Just put them on, Archie, there’s a good chap. You can’t walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate’s already getting suspicious—'

'I bought this in a Muggle shop,' said the old wizard stubbornly. 'Muggles wear them.'

'Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these,' said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.

'I’m not putting them on,' said old Archie in indignation. 'I like a healthy breeze ’round my privates, thanks.'

The conversation was getting awkward fast, Harry was trying to think of an excuse to run back to their tent when Archie had collected his water and moved away.

Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, they made their way back through the campsite. Here and there, they saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Lucian Bole, a Beater of Harry and Terence's Quidditch team, who was about to start his final year, dragged Harry over to his parents’ tent to introduce him, and told him about the summer he was having, he also mentioned he had seen Allison Runcorn about an hour earlier. Next they were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year Harry was friendly with, and a little farther on they saw Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back. More to stop Terence from smirking than anything, Harry hurriedly pointed out a large group of teenagers whom he had never seen before.

'Who d’you reckon they are?' he said. 'They don’t go to Hogwarts, do they?'

'They must be from different magic schools world wide,' said Theodore curiously. 'If I had to take a guess I would say they are from Durmstrang, but they could be from other schools as well.'

They finally arrived back at there camp, where they were greeted with a roaring fire. The three boys were heading towards the tent to drop off the containers, but Harry was so focused on the water that he tripped and the entire container spilled onto the fire. Harry was mortified, but Sirius assured him it was alright. Remus packed up their food and they made their way to the Weasley’s camp. Their fire wasn’t lit yet but it was at least dry.

‘Hello Arthur,’ said Sirius chipperly, ‘we had a bit of an indecent with our fire. May we share with you?’

‘Course,’ said Mr Weasley, ‘but I think I might need some help getting it started.’

Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but Mr Weasley looked as though he was having the time of his life.

‘Oops!’ he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise.

‘I can help, Arthur,’ said Remus kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly.

At last they got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while they waited, however. The Weasley’s tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for Harry’s family’s benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested.

‘That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office...Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he’s with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he’s had those horns for a while now...Hello, Arnie...Arnold Peasegood, he’s an Obliviator—member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know...and that’s Bode and Croaker...they’re Unspeakables...’

‘They’re what?’ asked Harry.

‘Unspeakable work in the Department of Mysteries,’ Remus explained. ‘Their work is strictly top secret, even during my time as an auror I never learned a single thing about their work.’

At last, the fire was ready, and they had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percy came strolling out of the woods toward them just before noon.

'Just Apparated, Dad,’ said Percy loudly. ‘Ah, excellent, lunch!’

They were halfway through their plates of eggs and sausages when Mr Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward them. 'Aha!' he said. 'The man of the moment! Ludo!'

Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person Harry had seen so far, even including old Archie in his flowered nightdress. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed (probably broken by a stray Bludger, Harry thought), but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy.

'Ahoy there!' Bagman called happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet and was plainly in a state of wild excitement.

'Arthur, old man,' he puffed as he reached the campfire, 'what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless day...and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements...Not much for me to do!'

Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting to make a good impression.

'Ah—yes,' said Mr Weasley, grinning, 'this is my son Percy. He’s just started at the Ministry—and this is Fred—no, George, sorry—that’s Fred—Bill, Charlie, Ron—my daughter, Ginny—and these are some friends of mine, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin and their kids Canini Howling, Theodore Nott, Harry Potter, and Harry's friend Terence Higgs.'

Bagman did the smallest of double takes when he heard Harry’s name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward to the scar on Harry’s forehead.

'Everyone,' Mr Weasley continued, 'this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it’s thanks to him we’ve got such good tickets—' Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing.

'Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?' he said eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes. 'I’ve already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first—I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland’s front three are the strongest I’ve seen in years—and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match.'

'Oh...go on then,' said Mr Weasley. 'Let’s see...a Galleon on Ireland to win?'

'A Galleon?' Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. 'Very well, very well...any other takers?'

'They’re a bit young to be gambling,' said Mr. Weasley. ;Molly wouldn’t like—'

'We’ll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts,' said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money, 'that Ireland wins—but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we’ll throw in a fake wand.'

'You don’t want to go showing Mr Bagman rubbish like that—' Percy hissed, but Bagman didn’t seem to think the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter.

'Excellent! I haven’t seen one that convincing in years! I’d pay five Galleons for that!'

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval.

'Boys,' said Mr Weasley under his breath, 'I don’t want you betting...That’s all your savings...Your mother—'

'Don’t be a spoilsport, Arthur!' boomed Ludo Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. 'They’re old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum’ll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance...I’ll give you excellent odds on that one...We’ll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we...'

Mr Weasley looked on helpless as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins’ names.

'Cheers,' said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away carefully.

'And I will take that Ireland will win for two Galleon,' Terence called out.

'Who might you be young man?' Bagman asked, seemingly interested in making two more Galleons in profit.

'Terence Higgs sir, Bertie Higgs nephew.'

'Alright, Two Galleons that Ireland wins for Mr Higgs.' Bagman then turned most cheerfully back to Mr Weasley.

'Couldn’t do me a brew, I suppose? I’m keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number’s making difficulties, and I can’t understand a word he’s saying. Barty’ll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages.'

'Mr Crouch? said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. 'He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll...'

'Anyone can speak Troll,' said Fred dismissively. 'All you have to do is point and grunt.'

Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil.

'Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?' Mr Weasley asked as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside them all.

'Not a dicky bird,' said Bagman comfortably. 'But she’ll turn up. Poor old Bertha...memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She’ll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it’s still July.'

Sirius turned to the kids, 'We should probably get going, only a few hours until the game starts. Finish your eggs.'

Mr Weasley continued as Percy handed Bagman his tea, 'You don’t think it might be time to send someone?'

'Barty Crouch keeps saying that,' said Bagman, his round eyes widening innocently, 'but we really can’t spare anyone at the moment. Oh—talk of the devil! Barty!'

A wizard had just Apparated at their fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled on the grass in his old Wasp robes. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short gray hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished. Harry could see at once why Percy idolized him. Percy was a great believer in rigidly following rules, and Mr Crouch had complied with the rule about Muggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed for a bank manager; Harry doubted even Uncle Vernon would have spotted him for what he really was.

'Pull up a bit of grass, Barty,' said Ludo brightly, patting the ground beside him.

No thank you, Ludo,' said Crouch, and there was a bite of impatience in his voice. 'I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box.'

'Oh is that what they’re after?' said Bagman. 'I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent.'

'Mr Crouch!' said Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half-bow that made him look like a hunchback.

'Would you like a cup of tea?'

'Oh,' said Mr Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. 'Yes—thank you, Weatherby.'

Fred and George choked into their own cups. Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle.

'Oh and I’ve been wanting a word with you too, Arthur,' said Mr Crouch, his sharp eyes falling upon Mr Weasley. 'Ali Bashir’s on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets.'

Mr. Weasley heaved a deep sigh.

'I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I’ve told him once I’ve told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?'

'I doubt it,' said Mr. Crouch, accepting a cup from Percy. 'He’s desperate to export here.'

'Well, they’ll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?' said Bagman.

Remus had risen, as if to say it was time for them to leave, but Sirius grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down.

'Ali thinks there’s a niche in the market for a family vehicle,' said Mr Crouch. 'I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve—but that was before carpets were banned, of course.'

He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law.

'So, been keeping busy, Barty?' said Bagman breezily.

'Fairly,' said Mr Crouch dryly. 'Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo.'

'I expect you’ll both be glad when this is over?' said Mr Weasley.

Ludo Bagman looked shocked.

'Glad! Don’t know when I’ve had more fun...Still, it’s not as though we haven’t got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?'

Mr Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman.

'We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details—'

'Oh details!' said Bagman, waving the word away like a cloud of midges. 'They’ve signed, haven’t they? They’ve agreed, haven’t they? I bet you anything these kids’ll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it’s happening at Hogwarts—'

'Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know,' said Mr. Crouch sharply, cutting Bagman’s remarks short. 'Thank you for the tea, Weatherby.'

He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily.

'See you all later!' he said. 'You’ll be up in the Top Box with me—I’m commentating!' He waved, Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated.

'What’s happening at Hogwarts, Dad?' said Fred at once. 'What were they talking about?'

'You’ll find out soon enough,' said Mr Weasley, smiling.

'Well,' said Remus, 'it is past time we get back to our own tent. Much we have to do before the game starts. Thank you Arthur for letting us share your fire.'

As all five of them headed back, Remus elbowed Sirius, 'What was that all about, we should have left over half an hour ago.'

Sirius, rubbing his ribs, had a mischievous smile, 'Sorry Moons, the drama was getting to good, I had to see where it leaded. Speaking of Moons we should probably get you and Canini your potions before we head to the game.'

Harry was still thinking about one of the last things Bagman had said, 'Sirius, what is happening at Hogwarts this year?'

'I am not actually sure Harry, must be very big if both Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman are involved. You will probably learn once you are back at school.'

A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By two the days heat was at its peak, however the angle of the sun was allowing some shade. For the thousands of waiting wizards, the last of their restraint had depleted: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.

Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes—green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria—which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

'This is absolutely the best day of my life,' Terence told Harry as they all strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Terence bought as many Irish souvenirs as his pocket money would allow, Harry and the others each bought a dancing shamrock hat, while Theodore also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Theodore’s hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him.

'Wow, look at those omnioculars!' said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked somewhat like muggle binoculars, except that they were covered with brass and all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

'Ever use omnioculars before?' asked the saleswizard eagerly. 'You can replay action...slow everything down...and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain—ten Galleons each.'

'I'll take one,' said a familiar voice.

Harry turned around to see his good friend Allison Runcorn. 'Allison, I had heard you were here, but couldn't find the Runcorn tent.'

'That is because my father is actually working, our tent is with the rest of the people who put this event together.

Harry picked up and paid for his own omnioculars. 'Where are you sitting?'

'I was going to sit close to wherever my father is stationed to guard, but now I will just come and find you. Being the daughter of a high ranking auror has its advantages.'

'Ok then. I got to go, but I'll see you soon.'

His money bag considerably lighter, he went back to meet up with his family and the Weasleys. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes, both Mr Weasley and Terence were carrying an Irish flag, and Remus had his cookies and fresh bread ready. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path through the brief woods.

'It’s time!' said Mr Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. 'Come on, let’s go!'

'Everyone better have everything,' said Sirius, 'because it is game time and there is no going back!'

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585181

Chapter 2: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585386

Chapter 3: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589099

Tags: @MeowTasticCat @Bellatrisblack @Diantha Angelina Black @CatsAndRoblox

Chapter Four: The Portkey

(I made some errors, I said in a previous chapter that both the day Harry gets picked up and the day they will leave for the Cup is Sunday, which obviously both can not be true. So the day Harry gets picked up is Sunday and the day they leave is Monday, and although in the real world the full moon in August 1994 was the Sunday, I will have it be the Monday, and for Canini and Remus I was tweaked canon slightly for the game to happen late afternoon instead of night.)

Harry felt as though he had barely lain his head down to sleep when he was being shaken awake by Sirius.

‘Wake up everyone,’ he said calmly but firm enough for everyone to hear, ‘it is time to go.’

Harry felt around for his glasses, put them on, and sat up. It was still dark outside. Canini moaned as Sirius attempted to stir her. As he sat up he saw two large, disheveled shapes emerging from tangles of blankets.

‘What time is it?” Theodore asked groggily.

‘Early,’ Sirius responded, ‘Now you all get dressed or we will be late.’

Canini left to go to her room and the rest of them dressed in silence, too sleepy to talk, then, yawning and stretching, the three of them headed downstairs into the kitchen, Canini followed soon after.

Remus was stirring up some porridge for them all to eat, while Sirius was doing final checks to make sure they had everything sitting at the table, including making sure all the tickets were accounted for. He looked up as they entered and gave them a warm smile, he was wearing his favourite muggle outfit, black jeans and a leather jacket. Although instead of a shirt with a muggle band on it, the shirt he wore was green with a shamrock on it that said “Kiss Me, I’m Irish”. Terence looked as though he was suppressing a laugh and Canini just looked at him in embarrassment, Sirius seemed to take no more however.

‘Sleep well everyone?’

Still sounding half asleep, Harry responded, ‘Slept fine, just not for nearly enough...’

‘Well you can catch up after the Cup. Trust me, you won't be tired during it.'

'And why are we up before dawn again?' Theodore said, sitting down at the table, he wasn't much of a morning person.

'We have to hike to the-' said Sirius.

'Hike?' said Harry. 'What, are we walking to the World Cup?'

'What? No, that is across the Irish Sea,” said Sirius, almost laughing. 'We are just flooing to the Burrow then walking a kilometer or two. We just have to be careful how we travel because with so many witchs and wizards it is hard for Muggles not to notice. Now finish up.'

They all finished their breakfast, grabbed their bags and supplies, and one by one all six of them flooed to the Weasley's residence where they were just about to venture out themselves.

'Aw, good, you are all here,' Mrs Weasley said as Remus emerged in the fire place. She then turned to everyone as a whole. 'Well, have a lovely time, and behave yourselves. I’ll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday.'

As they set off across the dark yard, Harry was pleasantly surprised to see that besides Mr Weasley, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny, that they were joined with Hermione Granger. It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. The three girls instantly huddled together to talk about there summer and talk about that nights game, while Harry walked closer to Ron to ask a question.

'Why are Bill, Charlie, and Percy going later instead of with us now?'

'We had just finished discussing that when Sirius arrived,' Ron started, some frustration left over in his voice. 'They can all Apparate so they get to sleep in while we are marching through the drew before half past six.'

Harry sped up so that he was now walking next to Sirius, he had been thinking about thousands of wizards speeding toward the Quidditch World Cup.

'So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing? he asked.

'I think Mr Weasley is more qualified to answer that question. How is the Ministry doing it again, Arthur?'

'It’s been a massive organizational problem,' sighed Mr Weasley. 'The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up at the World Cup, and of course, we just haven’t got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can’t penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters. So we had to find a nice deserted moor, and set up as many anti-Muggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry’s been working on it for months. First, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand. A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can’t have too many clogging up their buses and trains—remember, wizards are coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, of course, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, well away from Muggles. I believe there’s a handy wood they’re using as the Apparition point. For those who don’t want to Apparate, or can’t, we use Portkeys. I don't know if they have taught you about Portkey's yet in school, they’re objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up at the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that’s where we’re headed.'

Mr Weasley pointed ahead of them, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

'What sort of objects are Portkeys?' said Harry curiously.

'Well, they can be anything,' said Mr Weasley. 'Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don’t go picking them up and playing with them...stuff they’ll just think is litter...'

'An old truck tire Portkey saved my life once during the war,' Sirius said proudly.

They trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. Harry’s hands and feet were freezing. Mr Weasley kept checking his watch.

They didn’t have breath to spare for talking as they began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath Harry took was sharp in his chest and his legs were starting to seize up when, at last, his feet found level ground.

'Whew,' panted Mr Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. 'Well, we’ve made good time—we’ve got ten minutes...'

'I am clearly not as in shape as I used to be, that climb took it out of me,' said Sirius.

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side.

'Now we just need the Portkey,' said Mr Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. 'It won’t be big...Come on...'

They spread out, searching. They had only been at it for a minute or two, however, when a shout went through the still air.

'Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we’ve got it!'

Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

'Amos!' said Mr Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed.

Mr Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand.

'Sirius, Remus, this is Amos Diggory,' said Mr Weasley. 'He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.'

Just the mention of that department made Remus look uncomfortable, Sirius squeezed his hand for support, Mr Weasley continued.

'And I think you know his son, Cedric?'

Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts, as well as a Prefect.

'Hi,' said Cedric, looking around at them all.

Harry and Canini were the first to say hi back, quickly followed by everyone else except Fred and George, who merely nodded. They clearly held some kind of grudge against him.

'Long walk, Arthur?' Cedric’s father asked.

'Not too bad,' said Mr Weasley. 'We live just on the other side of the village there. You?'

'Had to get up at two, didn’t we, Ced? I tell you, I’ll be glad when he’s got his Apparition test. Still...not complaining...Quidditch World Cup, wouldn’t miss it for a sackful of Galleons—and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy...' Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Ginny, Harry, Canini, Theodore, Terence, and Hermione. “Which of these are yours, Arthur, and which belong to your friends here?'

'Only the four redheads are mine,' said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. 'This is Hermione, friend of Ron and Ginny’s—and then Terence is with Remus and Sirius, along with their kids Canini, Theodore, and Harry—'

'Merlin’s beard,' said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. 'Harry? Harry Potter?'

'Er—yeah,' said Harry.

Harry was used to people looking curiously at him when they met him, used to the way their eyes moved at once to the lightning scar on his forehead, but it always made him feel uncomfortable.

'Ced’s talked about you, of course,' said Amos Diggory. 'Told us all about playing against you last year...I said to him, I said—Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will...You played against Harry Potter!'

Harry couldn’t think of any reply to this, so he remained silent. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed.

'Dad, I have been playing against Harry for years,' he muttered. 'I told you that it is no big deal...'

“Yes, but if you were born a couple years later you would not be able to regale about the times you went head to head with the Boy Who Lived!'

'Must be nearly time,' said Mr Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. 'Do you know whether we’re waiting for any more, Amos?'

'No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn’t get tickets,' said Mr Diggory. 'There aren’t any more of us in this area, are there?'

'Not that I know of,' said Mr Weasley. 'Yes, it’s a minute off...We’d better get ready...'

He looked around at Harry and the others who had never done this before.

'You just need to touch the Portkey, that’s all, a finger will do—' With difficulty, owing to their bulky backpacks, the Thirteen of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. They all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to Harry how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now...thirteen people, four of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semidarkness, waiting...

'Three...' muttered Mr Weasley, one eye still on his watch, 'two...one...'

It happened immediately: Harry felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. His feet left the ground; he could feel Canini and Theodore on either side of him, their shoulders banging into his; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; his forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling him magnetically onward and then—

His feet slammed into the ground; Ron staggered into him and he fell over; the Portkey hit the ground near his head with a heavy thud.

Harry looked up. Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory, Remus, Sirius, and Cedric were still standing, though looking very windswept; everybody else was on the ground.

'Twenty to seven from Stoatshead Hill,' said a voice.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585181

Chapter 2: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585386

Tags: @MeowTasticCat @Bellatrisblack @Diantha Angelina Black

Chapter Three: Mould-on-the-Wold Cottage

By seven o’clock the next morning, Harry’s travel bag was packed with everything he could possibly need for the next couple of days—wizarding robes that matched the colours of the Irish team, pyjamas, his wand (just in case), the last of his cookies and chocolate frogs, and his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages in case he gets the chance of having one of the athletes sign it. Last minute he also found himself packing his Invisibility Cloak, he wasn’t sure why but he couldn’t shake the dream from the previous night and decided having the Cloak he inherited from his father James couldn’t hurt.

The atmosphere inside number four Privet Drive, as Harry waited to be picked up, was a happy one, any day where Harry won't be around tended to lift their spirits quite high. Since it was daytime Harry had to make his way to a nearby rarely used underpass so no muggles would see what was about to happen. As he arrived the sound of a motorcycle approaching could be heard, but both ways he looked there was nothing coming. Then rumbling sound of the engine stopped and Harry now found himself staring at a late seventies motorcycle with a side car, in the main seat was a man in his mid-thirties with shoulder length black hair, a well kept beard and moustache, and grey eyes.

'Let's get you too Mould-on-the-Wold, we have a very busy day ahead of us,' His godfather Sirius called out to him. 'And I believe we have a nightmare to discuss on the way.'

Realizing Sirius had now read his letter Harry felt a bit nervous. He hopped into the sidecar and placed his packed bag onto his lap.

‘Are you sure you got absolutely everything, you double checked.’ Sirius asked somewhat jokingly.

‘I am all set. Can I hit the invisibility switch?’ Harry asked, in the past Sirius had said he couldn’t hit the switch until he could reach it from the cockpit, and Harry recently had a really big growth spurt.

‘Go right ahead,’ Sirius took his hands off and Harry reached over and flicked the switch Arthur Weasley had installed almost five years ago. There was a slight shake that let them know the enchantment had been activated.

Sirius then pressed down on the gas pedal and pulled up on the handlebars. The next moment they weren’t just moving forward, but they were gaining altitude as well. Soon Privet Drive was out of site and it was just Harry, his godfather, and the clouds.

‘So, has your scar hurt anymore since you woke up from that nightmare?’ Sirius asked in a calm but interrogative way.

‘No, but it took a while for it to stop hurting completely, I could still feel it almost an hour later.’

‘Ok,’ Sirius started, ‘You wouldn’t tell me in the letter, but what was in your dream, because from the secrecy I feel that was what worried you the most and not the pain itself.’

‘Well...’ Harry started, ‘I can’t quite remember everything anymore, but I think I was seeing through someone or something else’s eyes. I was in this run down mansion and Voldemort was there, and I think he was plotting something but I couldn’t figure out exactly what became his snake then attack a random old man and that was when I woke up.’

Sirius looked very grim, ‘That is very worrying, I am sure that everything will be ok though...’

‘No, you don’t fully understand,’ Harry interrupted, ‘it wasn’t seeing Voldemort or watching a person get attacked that frightened me the most. What scared me was in normal dreams things may feel real but once you wake up you realize how odd or ridiculous parts of it was, but the dream I had felt like it actually happened in both while I was asleep and once I had woken up. I think Voldemort somehow was actually at an old mansion and was plotting something dark.’

Sirius slowed down the motorcycles speed so he could focus more on Harry. ‘Ok, I believe you Harry. There is nothing I can currently do, but if this ever happens again what I want you to do is immediately write down what you saw and then tell me or Sirius, you understand. You either use the mirror or send an owl.’

Harry nodded in agreement. He then asked something he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind since the dream. ‘Sirius...Do you think Voldemort is back?’

Sirius did not answer right away, he instead focused his energy on his flying. Only after several minutes did he finally give a partial response. ‘I think we have to be careful Harry, you especially. Times are once again getting darker and if we ignore that it could result in tragedy. I know you are still so young, but I must ask that you start keeping your guard up Harry when you aren’t at the Dursley’s, promise me that.’

‘I promise Sirius.’

Sirius then forced a smile, ‘Good, now wipe that frown off your face, these next few days may be a once in a lifetime experience. I what you to have a good time.’

Soon they were descending upon the countryside Harry was so familiar with, the modest cottage he had grown up in coming into view. They landed and Sirius hit the switch so that they were now visible.

Harry had just gotten out of the side car and was picking up his bag when the front door flew open and his little sister came running. Canini joyfully gave him a big hug.

‘I missed you, I can not believe this is actually happening. Tomorrow he are going to see the World Cup! Come in, come in, your friend is already here.’

She pulled him by the arm back through the front door. There was so much excitement in the air as Harry entered, along with the smell of freshly baked goods including bread and chocolate chip cookies.

Terence Higgs was sitting in the living room, next to the entrance, having tea with Theodore and Remus. When they all saw Harry enter, all three stood up and gave Harry a hug.

‘Missed you my growing fawn.’ Remus said.

‘It’s good to see you.’ Theodore added.

‘Harry, thank you so so much for inviting me to the game! This is the absolute best week of my life and I haven’t even gone yet!’ Terence said gratefully.

‘Hey, don’t I get a welcome back,’ Sirius asked humorously as he entered the door.

‘Of course,’ Remus said, walking over and giving Sirius a welcome home kiss, ‘Hope you had an enjoyable flight, love. Now, we still have a lot of preparation to do so let’s let the kids hang out for now. Oh and children...’

‘Yes,’ all four answered.

‘The bread and sweets are for tomorrow, if I see even a single one missing you won’t be going to the game.’ He was kidding, but his point was made.

To hyped up to think about anything else, the four of them found themselves grabbing brooms from the closet and making their way to a clearing in the trees on his parents property. From the outside it looked like a think orchard, but just past a couple trees it was a big open field where they could fly around as long as they didn't go higher then the tree line.

They decided to play a smaller version of Quidditch, Harry and Terence being far more skilled then the others, split up. Harry was teamed up with Theodore, who wasn’t the best flyer but is an excellent strategist, and Terence partnered up with Canini, who although often got motion sick she had quick reflexes.

They all played for the remainder of the morning and into the early afternoon. Harry’s team had won fifteen games, but Terence’s had won twenty-one. Harry and Theodore were just about to lose another game when Sirius called them inside for lunch.

Along with some lemonade Harry and his friends just had some sandwiches, there was butter and cheddar, as well as smoked salmon with cream cheese. As they ate they regaled Sirius and Remus of the matches they had played with more drama than had actually occurred.

After eating however their collective adrenaline rushes all crashed, and so instead of finishing Quidditch match number thirty-seven they decided to do a marathon of indoor games. This included Exploding Snap, Runok Ko, Wizard Skittles, as well as some logic and thinking games such as Pygmy Puff Pelmanism and Rune Riddles. These games were almost more fun as the playing fields were more even.

Supper wasn’t anything special as Remus was still very busy preparing for the next days adventure. They had spaghetti with tomato sauce, fresh spinach, and mozzarella. They were going to go back to playing immediately after they finished eating, but Sirius stopped them.

‘Oh no you don’t, you are all going to triple check you have everything, and then you will help me and Remus finish preparing everything else.’

They groaned but did as they were told. Terence went to immediately help Remus, Canini went to her room, while Harry and Theodore went to their shared room to get any last minute things into their bags. It was a nice sized room with a decent sized bunkbed. The room used to be Harry’s alone but once Theodore started living with them Harry got a roommate, and he didn’t mind this because he was often either at Hogwarts or the Dursley’s anyway.

Theodore had forgotten to pack socks, and Harry embarrassingly realized their was only a single shirt in his bag instead of enough to last the whole trip. So they quickly grabbed what they needed and stuffed it into their bags, then went downstairs to help.

The four of them spent a better part of an hour helping getting the last of everything ready. Packing the tent, putting food in an enchanted cold box, and collecting any other supplies they would be needing.

When it was all done Remus suggested that instead of Terence sleeping in the guest room and everyone else in their own rooms, that they get out the sleeping bags and have all four of them sleep in Harry’s room. Harry thought this was a great idea and soon they were all in their pyjamas and wrapped in the cozy sleeping bags. They were joking and telling stories, and eventually started playing Truth or Dare, and when Harry’s turn came around he picked date and Canini looked at him with a scheming expression.

‘I dare you to sneak downstairs and steal four of Remus’ cookies for us to share.’

‘But they are probably still down their, I haven’t heard them come upstairs.’ Harry protested.

Terence gave him a little nudge, ‘A dare is a dare.’

So reluctantly Harry got out of his sleeping bag, quietly opened the door, and started slowly making his was towards the stairs. The kitchen was right next to the bottom of the stairs so all he had to do was quickly sneak in, and sneak out. When he reached the bottom of the stair he listened to see if Sirius and Remus were in their but didn’t hear anything at first. He was just about to leave the stairs and enter the room when he heard Remus sigh.

‘Pads, you aren’t understanding what today’s paper means.’

‘I guess I don’t, Bertha Jorkins is missing, but I remember a paper every few years saying the same thing. She seems to go on adventures without telling anyone and stays longer then she meant to, but I don’t see why this has you so worried, love.’

‘It’s not that she is missing, it is where she went missing. Her last known location was in Albania, Sirius.’

Harry didn’t understand the significance of this location, but Sirius obviously did as his tone instantly matched Remus’ in level of concern.

‘Dumbledore, he had said that was the last known location of Voldemort. This isn’t good. First Harry’s nightmare and now this-‘

‘What nightmare?’ Remus interrupted with a great deal of panic and apprehension.

‘Oh, it was probably simply that, a scary but harmless dream, but it dealt with You-Know-Who. It might just be a coincidence, but we must be cautious incase it isn’t.’

‘Are you suggesting we not go tomorrow, I doubt we could come up with an excuse that would satisfy the kids.’

‘No, we shouldn’t miss a one in a lifetime opportunity solely based on a bad dream and a missing woman who is often missing. What I just meant was keep Harry and the others close to us the entire time.’

This was a lot to process. Remus and Sirius were becoming worried that Voldemort may return, and that they are even hesitant to go to a tournament that would have close to a hundred aurors and guards for safety. What should he tell the others, if something bad is about to happen they deserve to know, but on the other hand he didn’t want to worry them if it really was just a coincidence.

As he reached his bedroom once more he decided that he would keep it a secret for now, but if anything happened he’d tell them right away. He entered with no cookies.

‘Sorry everyone, they were in the kitchen, I couldn’t get the cookies.’

Terence let out a sigh, ‘Dang, I was really looking forward to those cookies.’

Harry smiled a bit and went to his bag, he pulled out the tin holding the remainder of his own cookies.

‘They might be a couple days old, but I have some of my aunt Andromeda’s cookies here if you all still want cookies.’

Everyone’s faces lit up like a light and they all got to fill their cookie cravings. The topic of discussion as they started winding down changed to who they think would win the World Cup.

‘Sorry mates, but it is going to be Ireland, hands down,’ said Terence proudly, face covered in crumbs. ‘We absolutely devastated Peru in the semifinals this year.’

‘I think you are a little biased,’ Theodore teased, while using a fake Irish accent. ‘Besides, Viktor Krum is on the Bulgarian team.’

‘No offence to you Quidditch nerds,’ said Canini in an intro to her question, ‘But who is Viktor Krum?’

‘He is a young skilled Seeker, but Ireland is full of talent!’ Terence said with passion, ‘I don’t see anymore of this “United Kingdom” playing, only Ireland came out on top!’

It was true. England was humiliated in their match against Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten. Wales did decently but still lost to Uganda, and Scotland was just devastated by Luxembourg.

They all kept chatting, bragging about which player on which team was better. Theodore though eventually turned to Harry, ‘Haven’t had the chance to ask yet, anything interesting happening at Privet Drive this summer, something that shakes up the norm?’

“Yeah,” said Harry, suddenly reminded of the nightmare and the pain that had accompanied it, and for a moment was on the verge of telling Theodore, Terence, and Canini about his scar hurting again, and about the dream that had awoken him...but at that moment Remus knocked and entered with a tray carrying glasses of warm milk.

‘Thought you all could use some before going to sleep. Once you are done with them you should really try setting down, it is an early and long day tomorrow. Have a good night everyone.’

‘Goodnight Remus,’ Harry and Canini said in unison, followed by Theodore, then Terence said, ‘Goodnight Professor Lupin,’ which put a smile on Remus’ face.

Previous Chapter:

Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585181

Tags: @Diantha Angelina Black @MeowTasticCat @Bellatrisblack

Chapter Two: The Invitation

By the time Harry arrived in the kitchen, the three Dursleys were already seated around the table. None of them looked up as he entered or sat down. Uncle Vernon’s large red face was hidden behind the morning’s Daily Mail, and Aunt Petunia was cutting a grapefruit into quarters, her lips pursed over her horselike teeth.

Dudley looked furious and sulky, and somehow seemed to be taking up even more space than usual. This was saying something, as he always took up an entire side of the square table by himself. When Aunt Petunia put a quarter of unsweetened grapefruit onto Dudley’s plate with a tremulous ‘There you are, Diddy darling,’ Dudley glowered at her. His life had taken a most unpleasant turn since he had come home for the summer with his end-of-year report.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had managed to find excuses for his bad marks as usual: Aunt Petunia always insisted that Dudley was a very gifted boy whose teachers didn’t understand him, while Uncle Vernon maintained that ‘he didn’t want some swotty little nancy boy for a son anyway.’ They also skated over the accusations of bullying in the report—‘He’s a boisterous little boy, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly!’ Aunt Petunia had said tearfully.

However, at the bottom of the report there were a few well chosen comments from the school nurse that not even Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia could explain away. No matter how much Aunt Petunia wailed that Dudley was big-boned, and that his poundage was really puppy fat, and that he was a growing boy who needed plenty of food, the fact remained that the school outfitters didn’t stock knickerbockers big enough for him anymore. The school nurse had seen what Aunt Petunia’s eyes—so sharp when it came to spotting fingerprints on her gleaming walls, and in observing the comings and goings of the neighbors—simply refused to see: that far from needing extra nourishment, Dudley had reached roughly the size and weight of a young killer whale.

So—after many tantrums, after arguments that shook Harry’s bedroom floor, and many tears from Aunt Petunia—the new regime had begun. The diet sheet that had been sent by the Smeltings school nurse had been taped to the fridge, which had been emptied of all Dudley’s favorite things—fizzy drinks and cakes, chocolate bars and burgers—and filled instead with fruit and vegetables and the sorts of things that Uncle Vernon called “rabbit food.” To make Dudley feel better about it all, Aunt Petunia had insisted that the whole family follow the diet too. She now passed a grapefruit quarter to Harry. He noticed that it was a lot smaller than Dudley’s. Aunt Petunia seemed to feel that the best way to keep up Dudley’s morale was to make sure that he did, at least, get more to eat than Harry.

But Aunt Petunia didn’t know what was hidden under the loose floorboard upstairs. She had no idea that Harry was not following the diet at all. The moment he had got wind of the fact that he was expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry had sent Hedwig to his family with pleas for help, and they had risen to the occasion magnificently. Hedwig had returned from Mould-on-the-Wold cottage with a large box stuffed full of non-perishable food such as granola bars, beef jerky, dried fruits, and crackers with little jars of peanut butter, jam, and honey. Harry’s Aunt Andromeda and Uncle Ted had sent a tin of homemade cookies of different varieties plus some different flavour juice boxes. Finally his beloved cousin Nymphadora had sent him a handful boxes of chocolate frogs and a bag of assorted soft drinks. Of course for his birthday and any other time he was home in Cotswolds Harry was treated to a proper meal. So Harry, looking forward to a real breakfast when he got back upstairs, he ate his grapefruit without complaint.

Uncle Vernon laid aside his paper with a deep sniff of disapproval and looked down at his own grapefruit quarter.

‘Is this it?’ he said grumpily to Aunt Petunia.

Aunt Petunia gave him a severe look, and then nodded pointedly at Dudley, who had already finished his own grapefruit quarter and was eyeing Harry’s with a very sour look in his piggy little eyes. Uncle Vernon gave a great sigh, which ruffled his large, bushy mustache, and picked up his spoon.

The telephone rang. Uncle Vernon heaved himself out of his chair and set off towards the landline. Quick as a flash, while his mother was occupied with the kettle, Dudley stole the rest of Uncle Vernon’s grapefruit.

Harry heard Uncle Vernon answering the telephone, then to Harry's surprise he called out for him, though his voice was full of disgust.

'You,' he barked at Harry. 'In the living room. Now.'

Aunt Petunia set the teapot down on the table and looked curiously around to see what was going on. Bewildered, wondering what on earth he was supposed to have done this time, Harry got up and followed Uncle Vernon out of the kitchen and into the next room. Uncle Vernon closed the door sharply behind both of them. Uncle Vernon looked livid.

'It's your freakish little brother, tell him you have two minutes.' He handed Harry the receiver, Harry had long since given up trying to explain to his muggle family that he had no little brother but they remained purposefully ignorant, instead he put the receiver to his ear.

'Hi Canini, my uncle is only giving me two minutes so be quick.'

Her voice was full of excitement, 'Harry go to the mirror right away, there is something incredible I want to tell you and I couldn't wait for you to go back to your room!'

'Ok, ok, ok. I will be right there.' Harry told her, then hung up the receiver and made his way towards the stairs. In the back ground he could hear Uncle Vernon getting upset over his missing Grapefruit. Outside in the hall he nearly ran into Dudley, who had been lurking behind the door, clearly hoping to overhear Harry being told off. He looked shocked to see the cheeky grin on Harry’s face.

'Great breakfast,' said Harry. 'really filling, no?'

Laughing at the astonished look on Dudley’s face, Harry took the stairs three at a time, and headed towards his bedroom where even from the other side of the door he could hear Canini's excited voice.

The first thing he saw when he entered was that Hedwig was back. She was sitting in her cage, having a short rest after her night hunting. Harry gave her a treat and his letter for Sirius. He then turned his attention to the books on his desk. Hidden between two of his school textbooks was a magical two-way mirror that had once belonged to his father, that Sirius had gifted him when he first started staying the summers with the Dursleys. When he held it up to his face it wasn't his own staring back.

His adopted little sister Canini Howling was staring back at him with her shoulder length blackish brown hair, and light hazel eyes. She had an olive skin tone and a round cute face that was starting to mature as she approached being twelve. Her face was still healing from the werewolf claw marks she had gotten protecting Harry and his friends a couple month back, Harry was still getting used to this change but he still knew his caring little sister was underneath them.

'Ok, what was so exciting that it could not wait,' Harry asked.

‘Paddy got tickets to the Quidditch World Cup! He bought the best money can buy!’

Harry’s jaw dropped. He known that the match between Ireland and Bulgaria was coming up, but it was near impossible to get tickets and Remus had told him not to get his hopes up.

‘I can’t believe it. This isn’t a practice right. Please tell me you are telling the truth!’ Harry was now just as excited as his sister.

‘She is telling the truth.’ Theodore had come into view, his blueish-grey eyes were shining with eagerness. ‘We are all going. We leave for the game on Sunday.’

Canini couldn’t contain her joy anymore, ‘And Mr Weasley got his hands on some good tickets too so we’ll be going with them! Ginny must be so excited!’

Harry soon learned all the details. Their family, plus the Weasley’s, and some friends of the Weasley’s would all be traveling to the World Cup together on the coming Sunday. Remus had even secured some wolfsbane potion so that him and Canini could still go and just would transform peacefully in private. Sirius had also bought an extra ticket so that Harry could bring his friend Terence who would not have had the ability to go otherwise.

After hours of talking they all said their goodbyes and Harry put the mirror back between his books. It was only then that he realized that Hedwig hadn’t left yet with his letter for Sirius. She must have realized Harry was in a call with his home and that he might tell Sirius what happened personally without her needing to fly there. He hadn’t told Sirius though, so with a soft swooshing noise, she spread her enormous wings and soared out of the open window.

Harry watched her out of sight, then crawled under his bed, wrenched up the loose floorboard, and pulled out some cookies and a chocolate frog. He sat there on the floor eating it, savoring the happiness that was flooding through him. He had sweets, and Dudley had nothing but grapefruit; it was a bright summer’s day, he would be leaving Privet Drive on Sunday, his scar felt perfectly normal again, and he was going to watch the Quidditch World Cup. It was hard, just now, to feel worried about anything—even Lord Voldemort.

So in GoF, Bagman made loads of bets. This person (I don't remember the name of the person) bet half the shares on their eel farm that it would be a week-long match (i think it was that), and they lost to him. So why did Bagman not sell his shares and at least tried to pay back the goblins and other people by himself, instead of betting that Harry would win the cup? or maybe he would breed the eels and sell them or something? I'm probably not making much sense, and maybe this question is stupid but has always irked me.

I was reading quidditch through the ages and I had a suden inspiration I would like to host the quidditch World Cup on fandom I’m not sure if anyone has done this but this will be a popularity contest where I’ll put up country with there teams on it who ever wins will go to the qualifying matches in till we get the amount we need to start the World Cup then the winner will be granted the cup should I do it yes or no

So what happens when a team catches the snitch when the other one is 150 points ahead of them? It’s obviously a tie, but how would they resolve it? For example, if it were a World Cup, nobody would only leave it at 150-150: so what would they do?

Put together the words to get the pronunciation of the final word!

Today's Topic: QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP 2014

1. The contraction of I have

2. A tall, slender-leaved plant that typically grows in marshes (minus the d)

3. The place where the sand meets the sea

Inspired by I am the Half blood Prince