I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. They are the copyright property of their owner(s).

Hello readers, after this chapter I'll be taking a big time jump to the fifth year because I haven't been progressing the story as I'd like to. Anyways, here's a take on a the world cup. Please review!


Chapter Eleven-The Quidditch World Cup

"So how does the World Cup work exactly, James?" Asked Remus, who was breaking into a hefty bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. The four boys were sitting in their favourite compartment on the Hogwarts Express, on the way back to London. Both Remus and Peter had been allowed to accept the tickets.

"Over the last two years, all the nations in FIQA-that's the Fédération Internationale de Quidditch Association-" James said in his best french accent "have gotten together into groups and played qualification matches. There's sixteen groups of seven teams, for the 112 FIQA nations, and the winners of each group get into the Quidditch World Cup."

"So who's qualified?" Asked Peter.

"England was right about to, but they choked in their final qualifying match against Syria, so they're going instead." Said James, as he reached into his bag, and pulled out a copy The Quaffle Times. "That was an embarrassing affair, that was; final score was five-hundred and ninety to a hundred and fifty. Peter Cooley caught the snitch for England just to make the scoring stop." He flipped it open and found what he was looking for a few pages in. "Ah, here we go. Syria's in, as well as Ireland, Canada, New Zealand, Switzerland, The Soviet Union, France and Brazil, those guys always make it though, so no surprises there. And the other eight are Chile, West Germany, Moldova, Scotland, Thailand, South Africa, Greece and Egypt."

"No America this year?" Asked Sirius.

"No, look here," Said James, reading an article. "The United States were this close to clinching a record-tying forty-third straight World Cup appearance," James began, "However, disaster struck when American captain Larry Larkin (who also captains the Craggleberg Banshees in the Eastern European Quidditch League), seven-time North-American Quidditcher of year and two-time World Quidditcher of the year, had become so frustrated with the referee after several calls he felt were unfair, that he transfigured the referee's broomstick into a fifteen-foot-long snake in the final qualifying match against Chile. Nobody knows whether it was nearly hundred-foot fall or the multiple venomous snake bites on the way down, but either way, French referee Francois Bourassa and one transfigured snake tragically lost their lives that day. FIQA elected to cancel the match and Chile won on their points, by a score of two hundred and twenty to one hundred and eighty. Mr. Larkin has been charged and awaits prosecution." He recited.

"Blimey, what a lunatic." Said Sirius.

"So how do they choose who plays who?" Asked Remus. "At the world cup, I mean?"

"A random selection." Said James. "The nations all put their flag into a great vat of potion, then the surface changes colour to display two countries at a time. Apparently, it's really cool to see."

"Who are you guys pulling for?" Asked Peter.

"I'll be rooting for Germany." Said Sirius. "Lars Muller is my favourite player!"

"Lars Muller is a nutcase." Said James, mocking his friend's selection. "Wasn't he the one who pulled out his wand and tripled the size of the other teams' hoops when his team was attacking?"

"Yep." Said Sirius, like he was proud of it. "He set Roger Lester's broom on fire when Lepstein United were playing the Hamburg Harpoons this season, and when Lepstein came over here for a friendly against Chudley, he conjured a decoy quaffle whenever he got the real one. I'm tellin' ya, the guy's got spunk."

"Wand-puller-Muller, they call him." Said James, laughing. "What about you guys?"

Remus and Peter laughed. "I might as well be pulling for Scotland." Said Remus. "I don't know much about Quidditch, but Hogwarts is in Scotland, and I live there ten months a year."

"Good on ya'." Said James. "They're my team. Rory McWully, the Bully of Bournemouth, Bully MacWully; he's the funnest player to watch there is best beater in the history of Quidditch."

"What about you, Pete?" Asked Sirius, hoping to recruit someone else to his side.

"New Zealand for me." He said, to Sirius's disappointment. "I support the Pride of Portree, and six of their players are Kiwis."

"Well not to worry, Remus, you're on the winning side." Said James. "And you'll be amongst Scotland fans as well. I think my dad's got us tickets to a Quarterfinal match, a Semi-final match, and finals, so hopefully we'll be able to see some good matches."


"James!" yelled a voice from behind him. "Over here!"

Remus and Peter were already standing together, with whom James assumed was Remus's father. He had the same scraggy robes and shabby hair, though this man's was grey, not brown like Remus's. James looked back at Sirius and his father, who were amongst the always thick crowd of Diagon Alley in the summer. "Dad! Sirius! I've found them!"

"John Lupin." Said the man, extending a hand out for James's father. "Thanks a lot for inviting Remus, he's quite looking forward to it."

"Cormian Potter." He said, grasping the hand. James's father was a good deal taller and about twenty years older than Remus's. "Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all. Would you care to join us for lunch?" He asked politely. "Just got to make a quick visit to Gringotts then we're off to the Cauldron."

"Oh no, I've got to get back to the wife." Said Mr. Lupin, before turning back on Remus. "Mum and I will see you at the train station before you head back to school. Be good, don't give the Potters too much trouble." He finished before leaving.

"Excellent to meet you, Remus, Peter." He said, looking to the two teenagers. "Come now, boys," Said Cormian, before turning briskly and beginning his speedy walk. "Plenty to do, yes, much to see..." His husky old voice trailed off as he pulled away from them.

"How did you get here, Pete?" Sirius asked.

"I flooed with my mum, but we ran into Remus and his father and she left me with him." He said. "Why does your dad walk so fast?"

Peter's short lugs made it very tricky for him to keep up with his friends, and much more so to keep up with James's hasty father. They had waited outside the bank for him, before he returned with a small sackful of gold. "Excellent." He said, looking rather happy with his withdrawal, as he always did. "Lunch is in order, then, I think."

They took their seats in the Leaky Cauldron and had been greeted profusely by Tom the Barman, who seemed to be a rather good friend of James's father's. "Morning, Corm! Dear Merlin, there's a whole pack of them today." He said, looking at the pack of children taking the seats around the circular table. "What'll it be?"

"Morning, Tom. Just a quick lunch, I think." He repeated. "I'll have the steak, yes, that sounds rather pleasant."

"Excellent, it's really good today, a fresh cut!"

"Perfect. We'll take five." Said Cormian, ordering for everyone. "And four butterbeers, I think. And I'll have a muggle beer, something Scottish, gotta show our support."

"You guys heading to the world cup, then?" He asked.

"Yes indeed, Gareth Pucklemere has managed to find us a grand box, halfway between center and the South hoops and sixty feet up."

"Oh good for you, I'm quite jealous." He said, before returning to the bar to fetch their drinks.

"So who will you fellows be supporting?" Cormian asked them.

They all told him.

"Good to hear!" He said. "Makes it rather more exciting to have someone to cheer for, but I don't much fancy, your choice, Sirius, not at all." He said, in bitter honesty. "Anyway, my friend Gareth's wife, you'll meet them when we head to our place, quite a charming couple, yes, will be flooing to us later on. We've got a three o'clock portkey to catch, so we best not dawdle." He said, looking rather happy as their steaks arrive.

When they finished eating, the four boys had to follow the man to many various stops. He first dropped off a rather large package at Ollivander's ("Morning, Garrick! Fresh from Gareth, asked me to drop it off for him, as he's dreadfully busy today."). He also dropped off a stack of papers at the head office of the Daily Prophet, and another large parcel at Slug & Jiggers apothecary. Once he had finished his errands, and left Remus, Sirius and particularly Peter thoroughly out of breath, they finally stepped into the fires at Gringotts and flooed to Crovie.

Remus and Peter were every bit as thrilled with the tiny village as Sirius had been the previous summer. They had all been given the tour, and met Elicia Potter as well.

"Your trunks are in James's room, boys." He said. "You'll all have to share for a week or two, as the guest room will be occupied, but once Gareth leaves, two of you will be able to move in there."

"That's okay," Said Remus, "we all share during the school year anyways."

"Ah, that is correct, I had forgotten." Said Cormian, only half-listening, before there was a large noise from the sitting room. "Corm!" Said a husky, older man, whose wrinkled face still sported a full head of jet-black hair, which was long and tied-back in a pony tail.

"Gareth!" Said Cormian, jumping up to embrace his friend. "And my dear Vivian," He said, kissing Gareth's wife's hand. She was short, blonde, assertive looking witch who looked like she couldn't be more than fifty, at least ten years younger than her husband. "You look, lovely, my dear, it has been far too long."

"Oh thank you, Cormian," Said the witch.

The man called Gareth turned to the boys. "And who might these young lads be?" He asked them.

"Gareth, you've met my son before, I think." Said Cormian, but James stood and shook the man's hand.

"James Potter." He said, voice brisk and powerful. "These are friends of mine."

"Peter Pettigrew!" Peter squeaked, shaking the man's hand also.

"Remus Lupin." He looked far less nervous than Peter had.

"Sirius Black."

But Sirius's name put a smile on the man's face. "A Black? You don't say! You must be related to Alphard, then!"

Sirius, who looked very nervous when Gareth first mentioned his name, looked very relieved when he hear the 'Alphard'. "Yes, he's my uncle! And by far my favourite relative, come to think of it."

"Ah, well, there's a few blades of Fairy Grass in every crop of Fluxweed, so they say, and you and Alphard are living proof!." The boys all noticed but were very careful not to catch each other's eye at the mention of Fluxweed. They took this shady metaphor to mean that this man knew the Blacks, and, like the Potters and Sirius, disapproved of their beliefs, which was quite relieving. "Gareth Pucklemere. And this is my wife, Vivian Pucklemere."

James's mother reentered the sitting room, from where she briefly disappeared. "Boys, go pack some clothes into your rucksacks, we're leaving in ten minutes. Gareth, Vivian, can I offer you anything?"

They had sped up the stairs before listening to their reply. "Just clothes?" Asked Remus.

"And wands." Said James.

"Come now, boys!' Cormian yelled up. "If we miss the portkey we'll miss the opening ceremony!"

They had scrambled down the stairs not thirty seconds later and were out the door.

"James!" Said his mother. "I'd like to hear about your final game this year!" She said. "My young boy, following in my footsteps."

And James, with the help of Sirius, had begun the thrilling (but very exaggerated) tale of the incredible talent of the Ravenclaw chasers, how Gryffindor received next to no help from the beaters or chasers, and how, thanks to Sirius's heroic efforts to keep Gryffindor in the game by scoring as many as thirty goals by himself, he managed to give James a fighting chance of what they called 'the bravest catch they ever saw, where he snatched the snitch from right under the other seeker's nose, broomless, and fell at least forty feet' .

"Everyone here?" Said Cormian, who'd marched ahead of the pack with Vivian Pucklemere. Gareth had been intently listening to James's and Sirius's story. They had come to a stop at a shabby-looking, brown, pointed wizard's hat. "Alright, everyone grab on." He said, after performing a quick head count.

The hat had started to glow slightly and shake. When James's watch hit three o'clock, he felt the familiar, uncomfortable feeling of having a fish-hook shoved into his brain and yank him across the country. Still not completely accustomed to travelling by portkey, he crashed down hard on the grass, along with the other four boys, but his parents along with the Pucklemeres gracefully descended and landed softly on their feet beside. Peter vomited.

"Ah yes, portkey sickness can be quite rough." Said Cormian.

Elicia Potter pulled out her wand, said, "Not to worry, darling, it took me five trips on a portkey to stop vomiting. Tergeo!" And the puddle of puke vanished.

"Gertrude, the three o'clock from Aberdeen hill has arrived." Said a wizard from behind a desk right in front of them. "Name?" He asked them.

"Pucklemere," Said Vivian. "I've booked a campsite for three small tents."

"Ah yes, pleased to meet you Mrs. Pucklemere." Said the wizard. "You've got a bit of a march from here, but you're quite close to the stadium. Or at least as close as we'll let the muggles get! About a mile through those trees over there, and the stadium is about a mile farther. Opening ceremony starts at five and the first match is at nine."

"Excellent, thank you." She said.

"Why are they all dressed so strangely?" Asked Remus, looking at some wizards as they passed.

"A lot of wizards have real trouble dressing as muggles." Said James. "Get a load of that bloke."

The bloke in question was a huge, bearded, hairy-chested wizard who was sporting a red and black sombrero on his head and was wearing a pink sundress with orange flowers. James was thankful his family knew how to dress properly. There were a great many witches and wizards dressed nearly as strangely as this man, many of whom were arguing with ministry watchers, insisting they purchased them in muggle shops, even little pieces of parchment that 'prooved' they paid for them there.

"Names?" Asked a muggle man, who addressed the crowd.

"Three tents for Pucklemere." Said Gareth.

"Pucklemere... Pucklemere... Ah yes." He said, scratching there names of a list. "That'll be forty-six pounds, then."

Gareth looked almost shocked that he had indeed asked to be paid. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a fat wad of bank notes, and examined them. "So here's a twenty I believe..." He said nervously, pulling one out.

Cormian took the cash from him, pulled out two twenties and a ten, and took the odd-looking change back, with a polite "Thank you, sir."

The man looked quite confused, but pointed them to the empty camp site where they would be staying. It was right under the cover of some thick trees. "Vivian, pass me the bag, love."' said Gareth, and as she did, James was amazed when Gareth pulled three larger bags out from her tiny black purse. "Undetectable extension charm, quite useful, laddie, as you'll see in a second." He added, seeing the amazement on the boys' faces. "Right then, someone make sure that muggle's back is turned..." he said, pulling out as wand, giving it a sharp, quick wave, and the three tents had set themselves up in a matter of moments.

"Careful, Gareth." Said Cormian. "We mustn't take too many risks around these muggles."

"Oh, bother, Corm, we'd be struggling with these all night if we had to do them by hand." He said, opening the door to the first tent. "Yours is the the blue, boys!" he added, before disappearing behind the flap.

They looked confused at the tiny little one-man tent, but James poked his head in. "Merlin... guys, come have a look at this!" He said, now climbing the rest of the way in.

It was the size of their dormitory, with two large bunk beds, a stove and oven, and even a bathroom. James settled into the first lower bunk on the left, while Peter took the one on top of him.

"Ah, I see you're all settled in, then." Said Cormian. "Quickly now, I'd like to get a good seat at the opening ceremony."

After a quick look-in at his parents tent, which was roughly the same size, but came stocked with a wine-cellar, a large king-sized bed and an ensuite Jacuzzi, they set off for the pitch.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Said a booming voice, American accented voice, coming from the side of the colossal stadium. There was a small person standing on what looked like a protruding shelf. The entire group of spectators were gathered on the outside of the pitch, watching him. "Foreign or not, welcome, welcome... I am Dan Desmond, head of FIQA and organizer of the four hundred and seventeenth Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators exploded with cheers. "How do they not attract the muggles' attention?" Remus asked.

"There's a whole slew of muggle repelling charms." Said Gareth. "When they get too close they forget something and turn around, and they can't hear anything from inside the campground if they're outside."

"I would now like to invite our sixteen captains up here with me, with their flags!" They had just tuned back in to what Desmond was saying.

"There he is, look!" James got excited as he saw him walk onto the platform. Even from this far away, you could tell exactly who James was talking about; Rory MacWully, was about a foot and half taller than Desmond, dark-skinned and long-haired. "We better get to see Scotland, I'll be furious if I miss him."

The other fifteen players, all like MacWully, came to the edge of the platform in their country's jumpers (not unlike the Gryffindor ones that James and Sirius were currently wearing). At the same time, they all dropped their flags into the enormous cauldron below them.

The side of the stadium was changing colours, bewitched the project whatever was on the surface. The eight of them had gotten there too late and couldn't see the actual liquid, so this helped. After a few brief moments, the the colour changing slowed and now displayed two flags.

"The first game of the tournament..." Desmond began... "Canada vs. The Soviet Union! Let the games begin!" And the crowd erupted again.

"Wow, two powerhouses right out of the gate." Said James's mother. "We should have gotten tickets to this one, darling."

"Ya, this'll be a good one." Said Cormian, now turning to leave. "Oh well."

"They're not gonna do the rest right now?" Asked Sirius.

"No, they don't tell the teams who their playing until the moment before, in the first round." Said Cormian. "The opening ceremony is over, so we might as well go back to the tent and fix some dinner."

"Well, Elicia, since you're our Quidditch expert," Said Gareth, "Who do you like for this one?"

"Hard to say, but I'm rooting for Canada, I've got a few ex-teammates playing for them." She said. "Clark Jeffrey won the rookie of the year in my last season, and now he's their captain."

"Woah," Said Peter, "you know Clark Jeffrey?"

"Yeah, I've got a couple of ex-teammates playing this week... Tim Cadwallader for Canada as well, and Kosta Piteros was the Wimbourne Keeper back in the day, but he's Greece's coach now... and then my captain for my whole career was Hayley Barclay, who's coaching Scotland now. Also Siobhan Moran is still playing for Ireland, she was with us for a couple of seasons. I believe she's the oldest player in the history of the tournament now."

Peter was chomping at the bit to hear more of Elicia's old Quidditch stories, when they got back to the tent. It was close to midnight now, but they were all starving, so Gareth lit a fire by magic and suspended a few sausages over the flames with his wand. "Oh, don't worry too much, Corm, all the muggles are asleep." He said.

"Oh, fine then." Said Cormian, smiling. Looking over his shoulder into the darkness, he pulled out his wand, gave it a flick, and four butterbeers sailed out of the tent and into the boys' laps, while a bottle of wine and four glasses followed them out. "Let's have a drink then, nothing to do tomorrow, we don't have tickets until Friday. Seen Garrick lately, Gareth?"

"Yes, I saw him today actually, right after you did apparently. I could have delivered the dragon hearts myself, eh?"

"Oh well, it was no trouble." Cormian replied. "Shame he couldn't get tickets, though, he enjoys Quidditch."

The boys were suddenly interested. "You mean Garrick Ollivander?" Asked Remus, wiping some foam off his mouth. "Are you a wandmaker also, then?"

"A long time ago, but I've a new profession now." He said. "I'm vice-head of Humane Wand Core Extraction Committee. We find recently deceased creatures to use for wand cores, to avoid killing them, or else creatures that will willingly part with hairs and such.

"Wow, that's cool. So you've seen Dragons and stuff, haven't you?" asked Sirius.

He chuckled. "Yes, my dear boy. At the start, we were only finding Dragons, Unicorns and Phoenixes, because those are the only ones that Garrick likes to use for wands. But since we've spread around Europe , we've seen all sorts of interesting beats. Veela, Chimaera, Manticores, Merpeople. It's easier with the one ones who speak english, who don't mind giving up a few hairs for us."

"That's a great job." Said Remus. "How do I get into something like that?" Care of Magical Creatures was Remus's favourite subject.

"Get good marks and I'll put in a good word!" He said. "What kind of classes are you taking this year?" He asked them.

"Defence, Potions, Herbology, Charms, Transfiguration, History of Magic, Astronomy, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes." Said Sirius.

"Same." Said James.

"I've got care of magical creatures as well." Said Remus.

"What are you hoping to do then, boys?" Asked Vivian.

"It's a little early for me to tell." Said Sirius.

James pondered the question. "I've always though Curse-Breaking looked cool."

"Curse Breaker, eh?" Said Gareth. "Seems exciting. You seem to have the mind for it. I'm sure Corm's got some long-fingered friends to introduce you to... might want to take a stab at learning Gobbledegook as well."

"I'd love to do what you're doing." Said Remus.

"Is that an Ollivander wand?" Said Gareth, now changing the subject when he saw Sirius's wand sticking out of his pocket. "It sure doesn't look like one, though I can't be sure."

"No, mine's not." He said, pulling it out. "Bought it from a wandmaker in Hungary on a family trip, my family don't much like Ollivander. Fourteen and a half inches, Blackthorn, Manticore venom core."

"Fascinating." He said.

"How could anyone not like Ollivander?" Asked Remus.

"They think he's betraying wizard-kind by selling wands to muggle-borns." Sirius said.

"Ah yes," Said Gareth, "your family don't much like muggle-borns, do they?"

"Not at all."


Canada had beaten The Soviet Union rather handily on the first day, to everyone's suprise. They had entered the tournament as two of the favourites to win the whole thing, and many people predicted them to meet in the final. James and his parents, as well as the Pucklemeres, had been disappointed to see that Scotland were facing Brazil in the first round, who, many people thought were the strongest side there, but were quite happy to see the Scottish side come out with an unlikely victory. In the rest of the first round games that took place over the first few days, Greece beat Thailand, Syria beat New Zealand, Ireland demolished Chile, West Germany just beat France, who had a one hundred and forty point lead before the German seeker caught the snitch, Egypt crushed Moldova, and South Africa beat Switzerland.

It wasn't until day four of the tournament that they actually got to see a match. The Quarterfinal matchup between Canada and Egypt went decidedly Canada's way, who were set to face Greece in the semifinal after their win over South Africa. West Germany managed to get by Ireland as well, and now they would be facing the winner of the Scotland vs. Syria match that their party of eight were just sitting down to see.

James had painted his face navy blue, and had changed his Gryffindor jumper for a white and navy one sporting a number three and the name 'MacWully'. "If Scotland win, it'll my team vs. your team." Said James. "I hope you're ready for the disappointment."

"If they manage to beat Syria." He replied. "Which I very much doubt."

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Said they magically amplified voice of Dan Desmond. "Welcome to our final quarterfinal match! May I present the Syrian side; Assad! Nazim! Mostafa! Al-Ezabi! Dakhil! Mahmoud! aaaaaannnnddd... Elara!"

Seven Syrian players had soared out of the gate down on the far side of the pitch, and through some enchanted red and black fireworks.

"And now," Desmond continued. "The Scottish side! I give you... Troy! O'Hara! Mare! Callahan! Ellis! Quigley! aaaaaaannnnddd... MacWully!"

The cheering at the last name was deafening. The crowd had bursted into a chant of "BULLY! BULLY! BULLY!" that caused James's ears to ring, though he was joining in. MacWully sailed out of the gate through his team, and was doing a lap on his Nimbus fifteen-hundred; as he sailed by their box, the boys got a better look at him.

There was no denying it - the man was huge, and scary looking. He was at least six-foot-five, had shoulders as broad as two of James, and had long dreadlocks that were tied back in a ponytail. His dark skin made it hard to tell, but he was covered in tattoos.

"And we're off!" Desmond yelled, as the referee tossed the quaffle into the air. "It's Syria first, Dakhil to Mahmoud, back to Dakhil, now gives to Mostafa, but stolen by Mare, Mare gives to Ellis... who scores!"

After the cheering stopped and the ball was black in play, Remus turned to the rest of them. "I can barely see her from here, but does Ellis not look familiar to you guys?"

"It's bloody impossible to see." Said Sirius. "But kinda."

"Oho, you just wait," Said Elicia. "you'll recognize her, I bet. Especially you two, James and Sirius."

But they couldn't figure it out.

"Ten aside, after a Dakhil goal." said Desmond. "And now here's Dakhil again, streaking down the left sideline, who gives it to Mostafa, closing in on O'Hara... Merlin's pants! Mostafa nearly gets his head taken off by a ferocious bludger from from MacWully, and now here's Troy, back to Mare, drops it back to Ellis... OI! Ref, make a call on that! Oh, my mistake folks, looks as though there is going to be a penalty for Ellis."

Ellis flew up to their seats height, and lined up for her penalty. "Merlin... Sirius, that's Rebecca Ellis! From Ravenclaw!"

They were all amazed. "Blimey, I thought she was good, but not this good. I mean, she just graduated... and I outscored her, too!"

"She was a last-second addition to the team, MacBoon went down right before the tournament." Said Elicia. "She's excellent, really excellent, real feat, beating a talent like hers."

But they were interrupted. "And look at this! Callahan is in a dive, Nazim in pursuit but it looks like it won't be enough.. and yes! Callahan has caught the snitch not ten minutes into the game! Scotland win, one hundred and seventy to ten" Desmond yelled.

"Well that was fast!" Said Cormian.


They were taken by a welcome surprise on the day of the semi-final match between Scotland and West Germany.

"Vivian, can you go tell them that there's gonna be another tent on our ground?" Said Gareth, feeding his great barn owl outside as the four boys walked out of their tent. "Albus has just written back, he's getting a six o'clock portkey and coming with us tonight."

"Ah, excellent!" Said Cormian. "It's been twenty years since I've seen that man."

"Albus?" Said Remus. "You don't mean Professor Dumbledore, do you, Mr Pucklemere?"

"Gareth, my boy, call me Gareth... And yes, he's coming here."

"Blimey, I've never seen Dumbledore away from Hogwarts." Said Sirius.

When he arrived just before dinner, the four boys were tossing a quaffle around just outside their tents and were discussing the upcoming match. They had just been informed that Canada had defeated Greece four hundred and sixty to three hundred and ten, so tonight's winner would be facing Canada. The match was set for ten.

"Good evening, boys." Said the mystical voice, as Albus Dumbledore had appeared in front of them. He was wearing a pair of baggy brown pants and black collared shirt, and his long, grey hair was littered with the remnants of what was once an auburn mane. "Enjoying the tournament so far?" He added with a smile.

"Oh, hey Professor!" Said James. "Yeah, loads! I didn't know you were a Quidditch fan."

"Alas, I have sometimes found it difficult to do so with the miserable attempts at sides that Britain has put up in the last few World cups, but have managed to remain a fan for tonight's spectacle. Of course, a recent Hogwarts graduate is playing in tonight's game, as I'm sure you know, so I thought I'd come show my support. Is Gareth around?"

"No, they've gone to get some water from the main camp a way's away." Said Sirius.

"Then I shall await them here." He said, moving towards their circle and taking a seat on the lawn chair that was occupied by James's father. "Quite lucky that the full moon fell a few days before the tournament, Remus."

"Yeah, that was a relief, I'm enjoying myself a lot."

"As most people would." He said, looking mystical.

"Albus!" Said Gareth's voice from behind them.

"Ah, Gareth, it's been much too long. Vivian, charmed as always." He said, embracing the two of them.

"Afternoon, Albus!" said Cormian. "Welcome to our charming abode."

"Quite charming indeed." Said Dumbledore. "Shall we have something to eat?"

"Yes, I do think so." Said Gareth, as he flicked his wand towards the tent, and said "Accio!". Six logs, a pan, a container of sausages, and bag of buns, a bottle of mead and five glasses flew out of the tent and arranged themselves neatly between them all. When the logs formed a firepit, he pointed his wand again into them, and said "Incendio!"

"OI! How in the blazes did you do that?" Said a muggle man from behind them, who had just walked into their midst at the wrong moment. Gareth pointed his wand at the man and said, "Merlin's beard, my mistake... Obliviate!"

"You really ought to be more careful, Gareth." Said Cormian. "You can't just go obliviating every muggle you see."

"I must agree, Gareth, but I appreciate the convenience." Said Dumbledore.

"Oh, bother, it's the Quidditch World Cup here," Said Gareth. "I'll be damned if a few muggles will stop me from doing magic. Can I tempt you, Albus?" He asked politely, pushing a glass into his hand. "Just got this as a gift, a great oak-muttered mead from Bavaria."

They spent most of the night talking, eating, and making predictions for the upcoming match, before it was finally time for the next game.

Desmond presented the same Scottish side as before, and this time, they hoped the game lasted a bit longer. He finally presented the German side.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you... Klassen! Muller! Stein! Klein! Klaus! Schweinsteiger! aaaannnnndddd... Zeidler!"

The first hour of the match was an absolute bloodbath. MacWully had broken two noses already, of the German chaser Helga Klaus and their keeper, Kirk Klassen, while trying to take his mind off defending the hoops. The German beaters, Stein and Klein, had switched their attention from the regular targets to going for MacWully, because he was causing their team such problems. However, a string of bad penalties from both sides had meant the game would be high-scoring, and these penalties had taken a particularly bad toll on Sirius's favourite player, Lars Muller, who was known for temper problems. Scotland were up three hundred and ninety to three hundred and sixty, and he became particularly irate when he was given his fifth penalty of the game.

"And the referee gets Muller for Blatching, so another penalty to Ellis, who puts it away, and," Desmond was saying, but his voice suddenly turned nervous, "oh my, looks as though Muller has pulled out his wand and is pointing it at Klassen, furious, I believe Muller reckons their losing because of him."

The four of them were roaring with laughter. The crowd was chanting, "wand-puller Muller!" tauntingly, which didn't seem to help.

Desmond piped up again. "Now the German captain and seeker, Helena Zeidler, is over having a word with her chaser. Muller turns his wand on her now, and the ref is here, but Muller sticks his wand at him, and, merlin, it looks as though Muller has stupefied the referee right off his broom! Luckily Zeidler acts quickly and uses her own wand to let him down gently, quick thinking on her part." Said Desmond.

"How incredibly uncivilized!" Said Vivian.

"Stunning a referee." Said Cormian. "Have you ever seen anything like it?"

"I cannot say that I have, no." Said Dumbledore.

The booming commentator voice had started again. "Muller is back on the ground, MacWully enervates the ref, who's now trying to talk to Muller, and Troy lands near them, it looks as though Muller and Troy are dueling..."

It took about half an hour to get them back in the sky, and Muller had been removed from the game. Stein was now both beating and chasing for the Germans, who forced to play six on seven, and as a result, had gone down nearly two hundred points very quickly after the game had resumed. Callahan caught the snitch in the end, to give Scotland a win of seven hundred and ten to three hundred and eighty.

"Ah well," said Sirius, "Muller couldn't even play if they had won, I expect there's been one too many incidents from him now. Dueling another player, stunning a ref, I'm telling you, this guys has guts."

James, Remus and Peter laughed as they walked back to the tent and fell promptly asleep.


James was awoken that night by wandlight peering into his tent. "They're all asleep." Said the voice of his father, leaving the tent. The voices became too muffled to hear from there, so James climbed quietly out of his bed and to the little hole in the tent near the bathroom.

"...could possibly be here, Albus, it's ridiculous to think." said Gareth.

"As to that, we cannot be sure." said Dumbledore. "But I'd be shocked if they weren't near by."

"The Quidditch world cup?" Said Cormian. "There's got to be a hundred thousand wizards and witches about, surely it's the last place he'd be trying to attack?"

"Attack? On the whole, I do not think that is his plan. But to make himself known to people wouldn't be outrageous. He's still recruiting. Which brings me to my next point, Mr. Potter. I have reason to believe he'll be attempting to recruit you."

"Me?" Said Cormian. "Why? How do you know?"

"I'd best keep the specific source a secret, but it's not hard to imagine. Exceptional wizard though you are, you come from a stock of great wizarding families, as does your wife. And your son, along with some of his friends, is the amongst the most brilliant students at Hogwarts, where he has been actively looking into getting his spies."

"Has he been recruiting school children, then?" Said Gareth.

"I believe so." Said Dumbledore. "It's hard to tell which ones, but I can safely say that Avery's son, as well as young Sirius's younger brother are, well, sympathetic to his cause, to say the least."

"And you believe he could be targeting James? To recruit as well?" Asked Cormian.

"He'll come for you first. I suggest you put some basic defensive charms around your house. In these trying times, all young, talented wizards will be targeted, and there are four with you right now." Said Dumbledore.

There was a silence. James decided he hadheard enough, and crept back into bed.


"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the finals of the four hundred a seventeenth Quidditch World Cup!" Said the thundering voice of Dan Desmond.

The screams erupted. Their party of nine sat down in their box and cheered their white and navy scotland flags, which were among many on this side of the stadium.

"Both teams' are coming out of the gate now." Said Cormian. "We should be seeing their mascots soon."

"Loyal Quidditch fans, I give you... Troy! O'Hara! Mare! Callahan! Ellis! Quigley! aaaaaaannnnddd... MacWully!"

All seven of them had their brooms over their shoulders. They exited their gate, brooms in tow, riding on the backs of unicorns.

"Impressive!" Said Gareth. "I never thought they'd be able to get them to trust the males."

"Their younger, look." Said Cormian. "The ones the men are riding are all slightly golden still."

"Wow, James, check out Rebecca!" Said Sirius. Rebecca Ellis was throwing a quaffle to Troy and Mare, her fellow chasers, and riding on the back of the brightest looking horse he had ever seen. It's white mane was glowing while it soared around the pitch.

The Scottish side finally led their Unicorns to ground and switched them for brooms. "And now, Ladies and Gents, the Canadian side! I give you... Cadwallader! Giroux! Perry! Thibault! MacArthur! Fabian! aaaannnndddd... Jeffrey!"

The Canadians flew out over the pitch, not from the gate, but from over the top of the stands in the pitch in their scarlet and white robes, and were followed in by the three biggest dragons that James had ever seen. The dragons were white as the unicorns, and all wore vermilion coloured battle helmets. One of them was about a fifth the length of the pitch.

"Rocky Mountain Snowbirds." Said Remus. "The biggest dragons in the world!"

"Very clever, Remus." Said Dumbledore, almost as though they were in school. Seeming as though to read his mind, Dumbledore added, "I almost gave you points."

The dragons, obviously well trained, completed their lap around the stadium surrounded by the players, and then vanished over the top of the stadium again.

"Ah, what an excellent display!" Said Desmond. "And now, Jeffrey and MacWully are shaking hands. Your referee tonight is Pedro Escobar, who steps in, throws the quaffle, and we're off! Scotland get the ball, and it's Mare, to Ellis, back to Mare, but stolen by Giroux, who's streaking by himself, but gets hit by an excellent bludger from Quigley, one of the rare ones not delivered by MacWully, and now Scotland take it back, it's Ellis, who gives it to Troy, who shoots!... but Jeffrey, the Canadian captain makes the save, he's got to be the best keeper in the world, he has."

It took Scotland ten attempts on goal to beat Jeffrey, but Rebecca finally did it. It looked as though neither Callahan nor Danielle Fabian, the Canadian seeker, had seen any sign of the snitch, but Fabian was trying lots of fakes and feigns as Eliza Orrel had done to him. The Scottish had the advantage in the beaters with Macwully, though MacArthur and Cadwallader were nonetheless quite good. Troy, Mare, and Ellis were clearly better than the Canadian chasing group of Perry, Giroux and Thibault, but were finding it very difficult to get it past Clark Jeffrey, Elicia's mum's former teammate. The Canadians also were outmatched in the seeking department, as Canada, with Fabian at the helm, had caught nineteen snitches in a row. The final, two hours in, had been a defense-dominated affair, with Scotland leading by only seventy points to fifty.

"Succesful penalty by Troy, and now Canada have the ball, its Thibault, to Perry, drops for Giroux, avoids a bludger and goes back to Perry, and now... what's that?"

His mind taken off the game, James peered around to try and find whatever it was Desmond was talking about, but Sirius found it first. "Up there!" He yelled, pointing into the sky near where the Canadian dragons had gone. There was a small spec of white that was growing larger by the moment.

"The dragons are back!" Yelled Peter.

"No.." Said Dumbledore, standing up.

Smoke was rising from whatever it was. It did sort of look like it could be a dragon but as the object grew closer, even the players on the field stopped playing to look at it.

James had never seen one before in real life, but as the great thing sailed down from the sky and towards the pitch, he was sure that was the thing he'd seen in pictures. It was a muggle aeroplane.

Dumbledore's eyes were ablaze. He raised his wand, and pointed it at the plane. Its course was delayed, until it slowed to a light midair stop about twenty feet away from the Scotland hoops, and was gently lowered to the ground, with a loud thud. Dumbledore stumbled back, looking to be exhausted. He dropped his wand the second the plane hit the ground, and he was panting heavily.

Muggles started pouring out of the plane and onto the field. "Get some obliviators down there, now!" Desmond cried, but before he had even got the last word out of his mouth, there were ministry witches and wizards running onto the field fromn all directions. The muggles on the plane started screaming, but it didn't matter, not one of them would remember this in the slightest. Flashes of blue were sailing everywhere on the pitch, most of the fifty-some muggles were unconscious.


PANIC AT THE WORLD CUP

In yesterday's World Cup Final, the game was interrupted about two hours in when a muggle aeroplane (a sort of metal broomstick that can carry large quantities of people) nearly crashed into the stadium during the game. A ministry spokewizard says that if it were not for what was likely hundreds of timely hovering charms, many people could have lost their lives.

Arthur Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, had this to say: "The cause of the Aeroplane's malfunction is as yet unknown. While the aeroplane is considered to be one of the pinnacles of muggle innovation, travel without magic can be quite dangerous and always poses various risks." Ministry wizards are evaluating the situation and will release a statement in due course.

In another disappointing British finish, Scotland would go onto lose the game, with Canadian seeker Danielle Fabian catching the snitch after the remnants of the planes accident had been cleared from the pitch and the obliviators had finished with the muggle survivors.