The Iron Sole Alchemist Goes to Hogwarts (Chapter 34) The Quidditch World Cup
by Howlin
(Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to any of the universes, places, or characters, and only claim the protagonist, Sloth, and Loki as my own creation. This is fan fiction, and I don't profit from it. Please don't sue me.)
Some time later, Harry awoke in the middle of the night. Sloth and I were jolted awake ourselves by the beeping of the motion detectors in Harry's room. Due to the fact that the restless shade of Lord Voldemort kept trying to kill Harry, we'd installed one of the best muggle security systems money could buy. A bank of monitors showed every room in the house, and allowed us to verify at a glance that Harry'd set them off when he got out of bed, and that there were no intruders.
Harry was staring at the lightning bolt scar on his fore head in the bathroom mirror. Sloth and I got up and went upstairs to check on him.
"Is everything okay, Harry?" asked Sloth.
"My scar hurts," he said. "I had a dream about Wormtail and Voldemort. They'd killed someone and they were planning to kill me. I woke up and my scar was burning just like it did in first year when he was nearby."
Sloth and I glanced at one another, then I said, "You can tell us all the details once we're safely next door."
"Next door?" asked Harry.
"Behind the blood wards," I insisted. "That's half the reason we're living next door. If Voldemort's close, we don't have any time to lose."
We soundlessly slipped into the Dursleys' living room together. I manned the windows, watching next door to see if there was any sign of an intruder that our alarms and cameras had missed. Meanwhile, Sloth encouraged Harry to recount his dream as best he could recall it.
Harry was plainly embarrassed that we'd fled the house over him having a bad dream, but Sloth pointed out that Harry was plainly connected to Voldemort through that scar. He'd gained the power to speak parseltongue through it, and it had detected Voldemort's presence before. Even Dumbledore could only speculate on the nature of that connection, but its presence was undeniable. Maybe the dream was nothing, or maybe it contained an important clue.
So, Harry recounted. Voldemort and Peter Petigrew had been in an old house. They were talking about having killed someone. Petirew was apparently nursing Voldemort, involving regular feedings derived form milking a snake. Voldemort was plotting to kill Harry, while Petigrew suggested a different target. Voldemort had insisted it be Harry and cowed Petigrew. They mentioned their plan would have to wait until after the Quidditch World Cup, since the additional security would be a problem for them. They were about to speak about a third conspirator, when an old man dressed like a muggle was detected eavesdropping by Voldemort's snake. Harry woke up just as Voldemort turned around and couldn't recall what Voldemort looked like.
"Okay," said Sloth. "Hopefully that means he's miles away plotting. We'll stay here until daybreak just in case. The you should send Hedwig out with a letter to Dumbledore. He has more resources than we do to investigate this."
"I feel stupid writing Dumbledore every time I get a headache," complained Harry.
"He'd want you to," countered Sloth. "You remember how fast he found you when you moved in with us."
At that moment, Vernon Dursley came down the stairs and saw Harry, Sloth, Loki, Hedwig, and I gathered in his living room. His face turned purple with fury and a vein was visible throbbing at his temple.
"What are you doing back here?!" shouted Vernon. Dudley and Petunia came down the stairs to see what the shouting was about.
"You agreed to this," Sloth pointed out. "We take Harry in and in return, he stays here one night a year, plus we can retreat here if there's danger."
Vernon's mustache bristled as his temper rose higher. "I won't be lectured about my own agreement by a child!"
Loki positioned himself protectively between Vernon and Sloth and growled low. Blue light poured from beneath the dog's fur as his body grew. Green scales armored his thickly muscled form. Claws sharp enough to gouge stone dug into the Dursleys' floor, and his club like, reptilian tail swung in anticipation, smashing a coffee table. I placed a hand on his golden mane when his transformation completed.
"You should really watch your tone," I told Vernon evenly. "You and I know you're all bluster, but Loki here just sees someone yelling at his girl and he gets protective. You know how dogs are."
My touch kept Loki from crushing Vernon's skull with his powerful jaws, but the chimera's eyes never stopped tracking Vernon. Loki's tail continued to slowly drift from side to side so he'd be ready to pounce should the need arise.
"What's happened?" asked Petunia, far more politely.
"I think it was a false alarm," said Harry, his gaze shifting between the morning sunlight pouring through the window and the small glass top, his pocket sneakoscope, sitting quiet and still in his hand.
"We'll be back if there's more trouble," said Sloth over her shoulder as our party headed back next door.
Hedwig departed that afternoon, carrying letters to Dumbledore and Sirius. Harry'd been corresponding regularly with Sirius all summer, keeping him up to date about his life and wishing his godfather well. I'd sent Sirius one of my patronus pins with the first letter for some extra protection from the dementors who were still hunting him.
The Weasleys arrived to pick us up for the Quidditch World Cup the next day. Sloth and I adopted the appearance of fourteen year olds we planned to use at Hogwarts that year a few hours before they came. Shockingly, Arthur Weasley arrived by floo powder, despite me previously confirming that the fireplace at this house wasn't connected to the floo network. It turned out a friend of his at the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Transportation arranged to have our house temporarily hooked up to the floo network just for this trip.
"I was hoping I'd be able to meet your father before I left," said Arthur Weasley, looking around while Ron, Fred, and George helped get our trunks to the fireplace. "Minister Fudge mentioned running into him last year."
I couldn't tell him the three of us were living here on our own and that I'd been the one to talk to the Minister in my adult form. I shot a pleading look toward Sloth and Harry while I tried to come up with a story.
"Well,... you see,... he wanted to be here,... but something came up at work," I said vaguely. While I squirmed, Harry, Sloth, and Ron quickly consulted with Fred and George.
"Oh, I see," said Arthur, giving no sign he'd noticed my hesitation. "What is it he does? Do you live alone with him, or is there-"
Mr. Weasley's attention was drawn suddenly by a loud gagging noise. Sloth was holding her throat, and something that looked remarkably like a large tongue was sticking out of her mouth. I could see a wrapper of some sort clutched between her fingers.
"Not to worry!" exclaimed Mr. Weasley, rushing to Sloth's side. "I can sort this out!" He pulled out his wand and spoke an incantation as Sloth's tongue began to shrink back down to its previous size. Once Sloth was sorted out, he rounded on the twins. "That wasn't funny!"
"Actually, it kinda was," said Sloth, laughing now that she was no longer choking. "Don't be mad. I asked them what they'd been doing all summer, and they gave me that candy. What was that?"
"Ton Tongue Toffee," said Fred brightly. "George and I invented them, and we've been looking for someone to test them on all summer."
"Well, there seems to be no harm done," said Arthur, calming down. "Don't let your mother catch you with those. You know how she feels about this Weasleys Wizard Wheezzes stuff."
"Your formula needs a little more work," said Sloth. "At least if you want a bit of harmless fun instead of someone choking to death."
"We tested them out on ourselves first," said George. "Didn't notice the initial swelling as being that bad. Shouldn't be too hard to tweak now that we know the problem."
"Enough of that," said Arthur, tossing a pinch of floo powder in the fire. "We need to get moving."
One trip through the floo network later, and we arrived in the Weasley kitchen. The older Weasley siblings, Bill and Charlie, whom I hadn't met but had heard plenty about, were seated at the kitchen table. They offered friendly greetings before Hermione, Ginny, and Neville came in. We got straight to taking our trunks upstairs. I wold be sleeping in Ron's room with him, Harry, Neville, and the twins. Hammocks had been strung up to make use of the cramped space.
nce we were safely away from adult ears, Fred put a hand around my shoulder and asked, "So, do you mind telling me why I had to cause that distraction back there?"
"We were lucky dad didn't say anything to mum about it," added George, putting his arm around me from the other side.
"It'd be bad for Harry if anyone else finds out," I said. "Not great for me and Sloth, but really bad for Harry."
"Your secret's safe with us," said Fred.
"Or it will be once we know what it is," added George.
I nodded. "Neither Sloth, nor I have any parents. We've been living on our own together since coming to England. Before that, even. The Minister of Magic never met my father. He met me in disguise when I went to reverse some accidental magic on one of Harry's relatives."
"You Ravenclaws are smart," said Fred, amused. "I can't believe we never thought of faking our ages to sort out those Ministry notices."
"Wouldn't have worked," said George. "They know what dad looks like. And polyjuice would be a bit far to go to sort those out. Greed didn't need any more than an ageing potion."
"You won't say anything, will you?" asked Sloth.
"And have Harry go back to those muggles? Fat chance of that," said George.
Ratcatcher, the winged serpent Ron had made at the end of last year was sunning himself in the window sill. The cauldron Ron had been using in his Daily Prophet photo was sitting in a corner filled with gold coins. A notebook in with his schoolbooks had some text encoded with an alchemic cypher visible. He'd done some reviewing over the summer.
We learned that Percy had entered the Ministry of Magic and was very impressed by his boss, Barty Crouch, the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Fred and George, unsurprisingly, had no interest in following in Percy's footsteps. Instead, they wanted to open a joke shop. Mrs. Weasley didn't approve. She was also upset with them for their poor performance on the OWLs.
Once the twins left, the conversation shifted over to parseltongue, and Harry filled the others in on Sirius' correspondences, and explained about our trip to Australia with Lupin. Hermione was torn about me using my time turner to retrieve a potential cure for lycanthropy. Her opinion on Harry learning to be an animagus was less conflicted.
"That's really advanced transfiguration, isn't it?" said Hermione. "I wish I'd been able to learn it."
Harry took out his notes and the recorder, saying, "We thought you'd say that. All the instructions are in here. We're done with parseltongue and occlumency after all."
"Have you registered with the Ministry yet?" asked Hermione.
"Why would Harry want to do that?" asked Ron. "Sirius only got out of Azkaban and managed to go into hiding because he wasn't registered."
"It's the law,Ron," said Hermione. "If Harry gets caught, it won't be a detention. They'll send him to Azkaban."
"Tom's going to come after Harry again sooner or later," said Neville quietly. "When he does, Harry could do with having a trick no one knows about to fall back on."
"If that dream means anything, he might need that trick sooner rather than later," I said, considering.
"You're not going to tell anyone, are you, Hermione?" asked Harry.
"Of course not," she replied quickly. "I still think you should want to register."
"If you hide it, that does mean you can't use it nearly as often," noted Ginny. "No turning into a bird for a quick flight around the castle to clear your head."
"And it does grate, not being able to use your powers casually," said Sloth. "I can't count the number of times I've had to deliberately let myself get bumped into in the hall between classes."
"That's a good point," said Harry, "but I think I'm still with Ron and Neville on this one."
"Well, I'm going to register," said Hermione.
"Won't that make it pretty obvious the rest of us are too?" asked Ron.
"No," said Harry. "Hermione's way smarter than us and everyone knows it. Once she registers, everyone'll assume we would have registered too if we could do it."
That settled, we went downstairs to see if Mrs. Weasley needed any help getting dinner ready. She quickly set us to work setting the tables out in the garden, which went quickly once Bill and Charlie stopped hovering the and smashing them into one another.
At dinner, Percy talked everyone's ear off about his work with the Ministry. Apparently, everyone was putting in overtime arranging the World Cup. I glanced meaningfully at the others when he mentioned a member of the Department of Magical Games and Sports going missing on holiday in Albania. Dumbledore had mentioned sources indicating that was where Voldemort's shade was hiding. The Ministry was also organizing another event after the World Cup, but apparently Percy couldn't talk about it except to repeatedly remind us that he knew but couldn't talk about it.
I sent Loki to sleep with Sloth in Ginny's room that night to help with the crowding situation in Ron's room. It was collectively agreed that Neville was to sleep at ground level so we could avoid trouble with him trying to climb in or out of a hammock.
The next morning was surprisingly less hectic than I was expecting. Everyone was roused before sunrise, though Charlie, Bill and Percy were left to sleep in. Apparently, the three of them would be joining us by apparition later in the day. Mrs. Weasley, who wasn't planning to attend the game, offered to keep an eye on all the pets while we were away.
Mr. Weasley had us all change into muggle clothes, since the World Cup was technically happening in a moor that wasn't magically concealed like Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley were. Once we were appropriately attired, he led us in a long hike that left the humans winded and sweating. Sloth and I faked fatigue for the benefit of the twins and Mr. Weasley, who didn't know we weren't human.
Mr. Weasley explained as we went that we would be traveling by portkey. Portkeys were apparently random objects, usually bits of litter to make them inconspicuous, that had been enchanted to magically transport as many people as could touch it at once to a predetermined location. The Ministry of Magic had prepared a large number of portkeys to get people from all across magical Britain to the site of the World Cup.
On arrival, Mr. Weasley started to get us spread out and searching for the portkey when a voice called out, "Over here, Arthur! Over here, son! We've got it!"
We approached the figures, and Mr. Weasley greeted the man who'd called. "Amos! This is Amos Diggory, everyone. He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son Cedric."
"He's the Hufflepuff seeker," said Sloth, greeting the seventh year happily.
"Long walk, Arthur?" asked Amos.
"Not too bad," said Arthur. "We live just in the village there. You?"
"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced?" replied Amos. "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 sack full of galleons, and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, it looks like your lucky you've got an alchemist for a son. Those all yours?"
"Oh, no. Only the redheads," explained Mr. Weasley, who proceeded to introduce the rest of us.
"Merlin's beard," exclaimed Mr. Diggory. "Harry? Harry Potter?"
"Er, yeah," said Harry, uncomfortably.
"Ced's talked about laying against you last year. I said to him, I said, 'Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will. You beat Harry Potter.'"
"Harry fell off his broom, dad," said Cedric, looking almost as uncomfortable as Harry was. "I told you. It was an accident."
"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" insisted Mr. Diggory, giving his son a pat on the back.
"It wasn't an accident," I said darkly. "Harry was attacked and nearly killed by dementors."
"Mr. Diggory," interjected Sloth, "did your department get our house elf petition?"
"Indeed we did," said Amos genially accepting the change of subject. "If things at the Ministry weren't so all hands on deck, I imagine I'd hear about little else at the office. We usually don't get much attention in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Then we get your petition with enough gold on offer to fund six full time house elf investigators. Expensive and time consuming work, you know, on account of the fact that abusive owners can just order them not to talk. Looked like the biggest windfall our department would ever see. Then, very next day, the Minister comes in with a counter offer from Lucius Malfoy. Double the additional funding, and no strings attached on how we use it."
"He's trying to outbid me?" declared Ron incredulously. "We can match any counteroffer Lucius Malfoy wants to make. We'll offer every knut of funding he offered you in addition to the six fully funded house elf investigators, and if you get another counteroffer, send me an owl and I'll match that too."
"We're a minute off," said Mr. Weasley. "We'd better get ready. You just need to touch the portkey, that's all. A finger will do."
We crowded around, jostling one another, until we were all touching the old boot that Mr. Diggory was holding. Mr. Weasley stared at his watch and provided a countdown. Then, a sensation of being pulled forward suddenly by my guts came, accompanied by a rush of wind and color. Any fear I had of losing contact with the portkey midfight was assuaged by the fact that my fingertip felt as though it were glued to the boot. Then, a moment later, just long enough to process the motion, our party was dumped on the ground in an unfamiliar location, and a wizard called out, "Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill."
As our party got to our feet, Arthur Weasley chatted with the wizards. They explained where to find our campsite, and sent the Diggories off toward theirs. The manager of our campsite was named Mr. Roberts. On arriving, Mr. Weasley turned to Harry for help with the muggle money.
"You foreign?" asked Mr. Roberts.
"Foreign?" asked Mr. Weasley.
"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," Roberts added. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."
"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley, twisting his hands together.
"Never been this crowded," said Roberts. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up."
"Is that right?" said Mr. Weasley.
"Aye," said Roberts, suspiciously. "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking around in a kilt and a poncho."
"Shouldn't he?" asked Arthur, growing more nervous.
"It's like some sort of, I don't know, like some sort of rally," continued Roberts. "They all seem to know each other, like a big party."
Without warning, a wizard appeared out of thin air and barked, "Obliviate!" with his wand pointed at Roberts. Harry and Ron gripped my shoulders, while Hermione and Neville did hte same to Sloth. The two of us allowed ourselves to be restrained.
Roberts handed Mr. Weasley his change. The wizard walked with us away from Roberts, and when we were out of earshot said, "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." Then the wizard disapparated with a pop.
"Why don't they just tell Roberts what's going on and ask him to keep it secret?" I asked, drawing on my occlumency training to keep the anger out of my voice.
"That would make things simpler on the oblivators," said Mr. Weasley, "but monitoring him to make sure he kept that promise would be a job."
"It's just hard to take," I said. "He's getting his mind wiped over and over again because he's smart enough to notice something's strange."
"Well, he wouldn't need to be that smart," said Harry dryly as we crested a hill and got a look at the campsite. The tents the wizards had laid out were plainly impossible without magic. The least suspicious ones had chimneys. On the other end of the spectrum was a three story monstrosity with turrets.
"Always the same," said Arthur Weasley, smiling and shaking his head. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are. Look, this is us. Couldn't have a better spot. The field is just on the other side of the wood, there. We're as close as we could be."
Mr. Weasley pulled a disassembled tent out of his backpack and said, "Right. No magic allowed, strictly speaking. Not when we're out in these numbers on muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand. Shouldn't be too difficult. Muggles do it all the time. Here, Harry. Where do you reckon we should start?"
As it turned out, I had the most camping experience among our party, and ended up directing the erection of the pair of tents Mr. Weasley had brought. While we worked, I talked with Mr. Weasley about memory charms. He explained there were rules about what you could and couldn't erase. His recently passed muggle protection act ensured that you couldn't obliviate away enough of their memory to leave them a different person, or cover up crimes using memory charms. In fact, the only legal use of memory charms on muggles was to conceal the existence of magic from them. I still wasn't particularly happy about it, but I was sufficiently placated to avoid letting it ruin my trip.
My mind off memory charms, I noticed that we were somehow supposed to fit over a dozen people into two small tents without magic. It turned out there was a bit of a cheat in that regard. The inside of the tents were bigger than the outside. Each tent contained a three room apartment with a bathroom and kitchen. The bedrooms contained four sets of bunk beds. It would be mildly cramped, but not literally stacked to the top like firewood that it would have been without the undetectable extension charms.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sent off to fetch water while the rest of us gathered firewood from the nearby forest. Despite the thousands of campers from hundreds of countries, the easy to collect deadwood wasn't picked clean. Apparently, the rest of them were less inclined to inconvenience themselves for the sake of the international statute of secrecy. Once we retrieved the wood, I helped Mr. Weasley get the camp fire going.
While we sat around the fire, Mr. Weasley pointed out the Ministry witches and wizards who were passing by. A man who Arthur identified as an unspeakable did a double take after glancing at our party. For comfort, I'd reverted to my standard homunculus outfit with the black half-vest that showed off the oroboros mark in the center of my chest. The unspeakable was staring right at my mark. It took me a long moment before I recognized him as one of the men I'd gotten into a fight with shortly after arriving in this world.
His eyes flitted between me and Sloth, narrowing as he convinced himself we were the same people he discovered in the deepest, most top secret level of the Ministry of Magic. I moved to stand, but just as suddenly, he turned and hurried away.
"What was that about?" asked Fred.
"No idea," said Arthur.
"Explain later?" hissed Neville quickly in parseltongue, concealing the sound amid the crackling of the fire. I nodded imperceptibly in response.
Harry and the others arrived back, and Bill, Charlie, and Percy apparated in to join us. Sausage and eggs had been cooked up over the fire. As we ate, a wizard in yellow and black Quidditch robes wandered near our camp, and Arthur Weasley greeted him.
"Aha! The man of the moment! Ludo!"
"Ahoy there!" called Ludo in response. "Arthur, old boy, what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming, and hardly a hiccup in the arrangements! Not much for me to do!"
Percy extended a hand in greeting. Arthur introduced us all, then said, "Everyone, this is Ludo Bagman. You know who he is. It's thanks to him we've got such good tickets."
Bagman smiled and waved off Arthur's gratitude, and said, "Fancy a flitter on the match, Arthur? 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?" asked Bagman, unsure he'd heard right. Ron's alchemy training had improved the family's financial situation, but the habits of their previous poverty died hard. Bagman shrugged. "Very well. Very well. Any other takers?"
"They're a bit young to be gambling," said Arthur. "A bit pointless in "Ron's case. And besides, Molly wouldn't like-"
"We'll bet thirty seven galleons, fifteen sickles, three knuts 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-" started Percy.
"Excellent," interrupted Bagman. "I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five galleons for it!" He jovially waved around the rubber chicken the wand had turned into.
"Boys," said Arthur, "I don't want you betting. That's all your savings. Your mother-"
"Don't be a spoilsport!" declared Bagman as he rushed to take down the bet. "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."
"They probably expect me to reimburse them if they lose," noted Ron.
"You've got it backward, baby brother," said Fred cheerfully. "We're on our way to making our own fortune."
"We can't just coast by on the family money forever," added George.
Bagman turned back to Mr. Weasley and asked, "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. "He speaks over two hundred. Mermish, and Gobblegook, and Troll-"
"Anyone can speak troll," said Fred. "All you have to do is pint and grunt."
"Probably parseltongue too," hissed Harry quietly.
"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" asked Arthur while Percy put some water on to boil.
"Not a dicky bird," said Bagman unconcernedly, "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."
"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" asked Arthur.
Bagman accepted his tea from Percy and said, "Barty Crouch keeps saying that, but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh, talk of the devil! Barty! Pull up a bit of grass, Barty."
Barty Crouch had short grey hair and a mustache that must take considerable effort to trim as straight as it was. He wore a tailored business suit with shined black shoes. While most of the wizards here displayed only a passing familiarity with muggle dress, this outfit was right out of my muggle studies textbook. And still absolutely wrong, since no one dresses like that for camping.
"No thank you, Ludo," said Crouch stiffly. "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?" asked Bagman. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."
"Mr. Crouch, would you like a cup of tea?" offered Percy.
"Oh, yes, thank you Weatherby," said Mr. Crouch.
"Weasley," I said.
"What?" asked Crouch. Percy stared horrified that I'd corrected his boss.
"Percy's name," I said, pressing on. "It's Weasley, not Weatherby."
"Really?" asked Crouch, looking to Percy for confirmation.
"It's fine," said Percy placatingly. "With everything else you have to do, it really isn't important."
"Oh, that reminds me, I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," said Crouch. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."
Arthur Weasley and Barty Crouch discussed the flying carpet embargo for a while. Eventually, Ludo Bagman entered the conversation and attempted to change the subject to the event being planned at Hogwarts this year. Crouch prevented any actual information from being revealed and dragged Bagman off to sort things out with the Bulgarians.
As the day wore on, the displays of magic from the gathered wizards grew more and more obvious. Souvenir vendors apparated in and out of clusters of people. Most of what was on offer were cheep novelty items, but Harry managed ot zero in on a vendor selling pairs of brass binoculars covered in dials, knobs, and controls. They were called Omnioculars, and not only allowed you to zoom in and out, but offered record, playback, slow motion, and even play-by-play breakdowns of the action. Each member of our party went to the stadium with a pair around our necks.
The stadium was massive. With seating for a hundred thousand, I doubted it was actually made of gold, but it was a convincing illusion. Deep purple carpeting was laid out on the floors. Our tickets were for the top box, right at the stadium's center line. In the box, we had a terrific view, and individual gold chairs with purple upholstery. When we arrived, the only person present was a house elf.
"Dobby?" asked Harry.
The elf turned and moved its hands away from its face, revealing that it wasn't the Malfoys' former house elf. "Did sir just call me Dobby?" it asked in a high voice that we'd verified last year was an indication of gender. This one was female while Dobby had been male.
"Sorry," said Harry. "I just thought you were someone I knew."
"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" she said excitedly. "My name is Winky, sir. And you sir, you is surely Harry Potter!"
"Yeah, I am," said Harry.
"But Dobby talks about you all the time, sir!" said Winky.
"So, do you work at Hogwarts with him?" he asked.
Winky shook her head so her ears flapped and said, "Dobby is seeing Winky, sir... He is visiting on his..." she lowered her voice scandalously, "days off, sir."
"Good," said Harry. "I'm glad he's getting out and having some fun on his time off."
"House elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter," said Winky. "House elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter, but my master sends me to the top box and I comes, sir."
"Why's he sent you up here if he knows you don't like heights?" asked Harry.
"Master," began Winky, "master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy. 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 hid her face in her hands once more so she wouldn't have to look out over the ledge. I took a scrap of parchment from my pocket and set it on the floor in front of Winky, then turned it into a short, opaque screen to keep her from seeing the edge if she peeked.
"That's a willful violation on the restriction on underage wizardry!" blustered Percy. "Just because there's so much magic going on the trace won't know it was you doesn't give you free license to break the rules!"
"You could've done it," I shot back. The truth was, I'd forgotten all about that rule, but it wouldn't do any good admitting it. Nor would it help anything to explain my powers didn't set off the trace normally. "She's terrified. You expect me to ignore that when I can help?"
"That's not the point," said Percy imperiously. "Important members of the Ministry will be up here, and if you pull something like that in front of them, you'll be in real trouble! You'll be lucky if all you get is expelled and your wand snapped!"
"Don't worry Percy," said Fred. "We can give him one of our old warning letters when we get home."
"I'm sure we've got them in a box somewhere," added George.
"That was a kind thing to do," said Arthur, mediating, "but Percy's right. Underage magic is underage magic. Next time, just ask one of us to do it, okay?"
I nodded.
"A display from the team mascots will precede the match," read Hermione loudly from her program to change the subject.
"Oh, that's always worth watching," said Arthur, happily, his mind now back on the festivities. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."
Over the next half hour, people filled the box. Minister Fudge introduced the Bulgarian Minister and his entourage. Lucius Malfoy, his wife Narcissa, and their son Draco were also in the box with us. There was some posturing, but it was cut short with the arrival of Ludo Bagman. After checking in quickly with Fudge, Bagman pointed his wand at his throat, cast, "Sonorus!" and welcomed everyone to the world cup in a voice that thundered across the stadium.
The first event was the performance by the Bulgarian team mascots. They were blond, pale skinned women which Mr. Weasley identified as Veela. Their flawless features gave them an unnatural look, though obviously, I had no room to talk. The veela began to dance, and I instantly felt a mental intrusion. Observing the layer of my mind that was being effected, isolated from the rest through occlumency, I was able to determine the intent. The veela were magically enhancing their attractiveness. I was amused to note that their spell wouldn't have effected me anyway. They weren't my type.
Looking around, those of us who'd studied occlumency with Snape last year were the only ones in the top box unaffected. The males were staring wide-eyed, and often with their jaws hanging slack, while the females had their eyes narrowed in irritation. Well, Winky still had her face covered, so it was questionable if she'd even noticed the veela one way or the other. Narcissa and Lucius were restraining Draco who seemed inclined to jump out of his chair.
Once the veela took their seats, over the protests of the crowd who wanted more, Ireland's mascots appeared. Thousands of leprechauns did some formation flying, carrying colored lamps that made them look like a living fireworks display. As they flew by, they rained gold coins down on the crowd.
Finally, it was time for the game. I put my omniocculars to my face, switched on the play-by-play option, and watched the players take to the field. The match was fast paced, but hilariously one sided. Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian seeker made his Irish counterpart look like an amateur, but Ireland's team of chasers was so fast and so well coordinated, it was all the Bulgarian beaters could do slowing them down as they racked up goals.
Fouls started coming in for Bulgaria as they desperately tried to stay in the game by any means necessary. At one point, the veela mascots attempted to work their charms on the referee, but he was brought to his senses by a swift kick in the shins.
Ireland's leprechauns formed taunting words and pictures in the sky that eventually managed to provoke the veela to violence. They conjured handfulls of fire and started hurling them at the leprechauns. Their appearance shifted dramatically, each veela growing a sharp beak and scaly wings.
Wizards tried to intercede in the battle between the mascots as the game continued overhead. Viktor Krum took a bludger to the face, breaking his nose, just before his Irish counterpart went into a hard dive in pursuit of the game ending golden snitch. Even injured, Krum was the better flyer. He gained on the Irish seeker, grabbed the snitch, and pulled out of the dive that left his counterpart colliding with the ground. Ireland won 170:160, but Krum had go the Snitch. I glanced at Fred and George who'd just bet their life savings on precisely this outcome.
The celebrations went long into the night, and our arty was happily up discussing the match for hours. We passed around pairs of omniocculars, replaying bits of the match for one another to bolster our good natured arguments. At length, Ginny passed out from exhaustion at the table, and Mr. Weasley sent everyone off to bed.
I'd only just properly settled when the cheers and noises of celebration outside turned to screams of panic. I hopped up as Mr. Weasley quickly roused the others. It took a moment after exiting the tent before I identified what it was people were fleeing.
There was a cluster of wizards wearing masks and hoods. They marched as a unit with their wands pointed skyward. In the air above them, were four humanoid figures, difficult to make out int he darkness. Random wizards joined the marchers, and someone blasted a tent in their path with his wand, setting several nearby tents on fire in the process. Amid the flames, I recognized Mr. Roberts, the muggle campground manager. A woman and two children, presumably his family, were suspended up there with him. They were terrified.
The muggles were being contorted painfully by the wizards below. One of the children was sent spinning, and the woman was turned upside down so her dress would fall down and show off her underwear.
"Fuck underage magic restrictions," I said, seething with outrage. I took a step toward the crowd of wizards, stomping my foot hard. When it came down, I used the transmutation circle on the sole of my boot to cause the ground to swell up like a wave on water, which zoomed toward the sadistic crowd accompanied by blue sparks of alchemic light.
I could hear Mr. Weasley sending the other underage students off into the woods for protection as my wave of earth hit and knocked the crowd off their feet. Sloth's wand put up a blue disk of transmuted air to catch the Roberts family and prevent them from falling when the puppeteers below were no longer holding them up.
Bill, Charlie, Percy, and Arthur charged at the crowd as they got to their feet. Harry, Neville, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George had heeded Mr. Weasley's instructions and fled to the safety of the forest.
"I've got the muggles," declared Sloth. "Help the others!"
I held up my left hand and a transmutation circle drew itself on my wrist. I activated it, and a disk of blue alchemic light appeared in front of me to shield from the hexes, curses, and jinxes the crowd was hurling in my general direction as I charged in.
With each step, I transmuted the ground, causing stone arms to reach up and grab one of the hostile wizards, pinning his arms to his sides. A flurry of red stunning hexes launched from the Weasleys' wands, knocking some of the crowd unconscious. Enemy wizards revived their stunned companions, blasted away my stone hands, and still had enough numbers to throw attack spells. The Weasleys were no slouches, and put up shielding spells to block the hostile magic.
Sloth, meanwhile, was moving the Roberts family out of harm's way and down to the ground near her. No spells were getting through me or the Weasleys, so she was able to focus and bring them down safely.
Deciding that killing them would probably only escalate an already nasty situation, but determined that we needed to thin their numbers, I took aim with my wand and blasted one of the enemy wands to splinters with a simple deconstruction. That got their attention. The now unarmed wizard apparated away.
By the time the rest of the Ministry wizards arrived on the scene, Sloth had joined me in deconstructing wands, while the Weasleys were alternating between defending with shield charms and throwing stunning hexes, disarming spells, and full body binds at the enemy wizards.
The Ministry wizards decisively turned the tide. No longer outnumbering us, it was all the marchers could do to shield themselves, let alone revive their stunned colleges. Suddenly, the entire crowd decided discretion was the better part of valor and app apparated away simultaneously.
People were pointing at the sky. I looked up to see a skull with a snake emerging from its mouth, made of green points of light, hovering over the forest Harry and the others had fled into. Screams of terror were coming from every direction as people caught sight of the image in the sky.
"The Dark Mark," breathed Bill. "They haven't... You don't think..."
"All of you, stay here," demanded Arthur with a tone of authority. "I'm going to get the kids. I need everyone else to stay right here while I do. He strode out into the forest.
"The stunned ones'll turn out to be just a bunch of random drunks. All the actual masked Death Eaters apparated away," said Charlie.
"Those were Death Eaters?" I asked.
He nodded. "I'm pretty sure."
"What's that mark?" asked Sloth, pointing up.
"It's a sign the Death Eaters used to use," said Bill. "Back when You-Know-Who was active, they used to send it into the air whenever they killed someone."
We all fell silent contemplating who might have died and hoping our friends and family were safe.
"You won't be in trouble," said Percy after a long moment. "There are provisions in the restriction on underage magic to cover emergencies."
Sloth and I nodded our thanks. That would be a relief to know once we no longer had to worry about what may have happened in the forest. I considered my time turner, but the dark mark itself would mean saving anyone through time travel was likely to cause paradox. That was probably part of the reason they used it in the first place. Thoughts of bringing one of the Weasleys and having them cast the spell after we saved the victim were quashed upon learning that how to cast the specific spell to conjure the Dark Mark was successfully kept secret and known only to Death Eaters.
Fred and George emerged from the forest with Ginny and Neville in tow. They'd been separated from Harry, Ron, and Hermione in their escape from the crowd. It was another ten minutes before Arthur returned with the remaining members of our party, and explanations of what happened in the woods were provided.
No one had died. After getting separated from the others, Harry had noticed his wand was missing. They heard the incantation when the Dark Mark went up. Ministry wizards apparated in and cast stunning spells, which Harry, Ron, and Hermione avoided getting hit by ducking. They did end up stunning Winky, who turned out to be Barty Crouch's house elf. Winky was found with Harry's wand. Crouch sacked Winky on the spot for fleeing the tent during the riot. It had been generally agreed that whoever cast the Dark Mark used Harry's wand and dropped it when he apparated away.
We caught an early portkey and returned to the Burrow the next morning, much to Mrs. Weasley's relief. Once there, Harry took Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Sloth, and I upstairs to talk privately. Harry shared his suspicions that the Death Eater attack and the Dark Mark were related to his dream. Harry also related a prophecy he'd heard from Trelawney last year, that the Dark Lord's servant would return to him and that he would rise again, "greater and more terrible than ever before." Petigrew had escaped shortly after.
To get our minds off that worrying subject, I turned to Neville and said, "I still owe you an explanation about the unspeakable, don't I?"
"I did ask that, didn't I," said Neville, thinking back. It had obviously skipped his mind in the excitement.
"You guys know me and Sloth are from another world," I said. "We entered this world through a portal hidden away at the bottom of the Ministry of Magic. The unspeakables caught us there and thought we broke in. Dumbledore convinced them to let us go."
That distraction hadn't lasted nearly as long as I'd hoped. Fortunately, Ron came to the rescue, suggesting a game of Quidditch. We spent a good deal fo the remaining week before school on broomsticks. Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George happily joined in and helped distract us from our troubles, and offered some good flying tips.
Percy and Arthur were at the office almost constantly, trying to calm people down after the attack on the World Cup. The day we were to depart for Hogwarts, Mr. Weasley was called in by Amos Diggory to help sort out a problem. A paranoid ex-Auror (dark wizard catcher) named Mad-Eye Moody claimed to have heard an intruder. His dustbins had been animated and managed to ambush and drive off the intruder.
The message had been delivered by Amos Diggory's disembodied head, which was sticking out of the fireplace. Apparently it was possible to floo just your head for the purpose of communication. It seemed like an option that was probably more trouble than it was worth with how the floo network functioned. Still, it was a step up in the communication infrastructure from letters delivered by owls.
Author's comments:
Some long standing tensions about the way the wizarding world does business are starting to come back to the surface for our interdimensional travelers.