Ichigo took all the sights and sounds of the dingy little bar in with a practiced eye and a blank face. The Leaky Cauldron had to be the dirtiest pub he had ever seen. Then again, he hadn't seen many pubs, at least in the human world, in his life. He walked up to the bartender, who was busy wiping out the inside of a glass with a dirty rag. Ichigo shuddered. He didn't think he was going to buy a drink here.

"Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron, sir," the bartender said. "My name's Tom" He tried not to gawk at this newcomer's choice of clothing. The man was tall, garbed in total black. He took in the man's long wool overcoat, shiny black boots, and, strangely enough, the muggle firearm holstered at the man's waist. "Care for a drink?" Tom offered, indicating the array of bottles behind him.

"No, thanks," Ichigo said. "I'm Kurosaki Ichigo. I'm here as a representative of the magical government of Japan." He noted the bartender's start at his words. Magical Japan was known for its policy of isolationism from the rest of the magical world. That there was an envoy from Japan in England could only mean that magical Japan was finally coming out of that state of isolation.

"It's an honor, Mr. Kurosaki," the bartender said. "How can I help you today?"

Ichigo motioned upstairs, where he knew the bedrooms were located. "I was hoping to find lodging for a few days, at least until September 1."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "September? That's when Hogwarts begins." Suddenly, realization dawned. "Ah," he said, nodding knowingly. "You're here for that. Your government wants to see what the tournament's like, eh?" he asked.

Ichigo nodded. "That's right," he responded smoothly. "If magical Japan wants to join the rest of the magical world, we would like to know what the magical progress is with the various countries, as well as how the, ah, politics work." Ichigo grimaced. He hated politics. "So I will be watching the Tri-wizard Tournament as a representative of the magical government of Japan, as well as added security. I do have quite an… unusual skillset," he said discreetly.

"I see," Tom said. "You would like a room until the school year begins? That's three weeks then. Including meals, the total would be two galleons and four sickles. You do know how British wizarding money works, yes?"

Ichigo nodded, handing over the required coins. "I also heard that the Quidditch World Cup is being held in England this year. Could you perhaps give me directions to the event?"

Tom nodded. "Certainly. Although I doubt that there is any room in the campgrounds left. They're booked full," he said. "You're room will be room 15. Do you need help carrying your things up?"

"Ah, no, I can find my room myself, thanks. And no, I have all my belongings here with me," Ichigo said. He would prefer that none of these British wizards observe the workings of his pocket dimension bag. It was, after all, top secret. He headed up the stairs, ignoring the glances the other occupants of the pub threw at his clothing, his hair, and the customized black M1911 kidou gun holstered at his hip. He had decided not to carry his zanpakutou around openly. After all, a handgun could be easily concealed by his overcoat, and he didn't think that the wizards would take kindly to him carrying a katana sheathed on his back.

Ichigo twitched a bit as he went up the stairs. The gigai he was wearing was only a prototype, something he and Urahara had been working on to allow the shinigami wearing it more access to their reiatsu. The current model allowed for flash-step and limited use of kidou. However, the modifications made the syncing process with the shinigami a tad more difficult than usual. He would have to send a Hell Butterfly to Urahara letting him know about the problem, so that hopefully the next batch would be better than the one he was wearing.

Ichigo shut the door behind him, locking it and blocking the entrance with a strong kidou shield. It was probably unnecessary, but he never took any chances. He plopped the bag down on the bed and opened it. Plunging a hand inside up to his shoulder, he rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. He withdrew his arm, clutching an ornately carved piece of wood. It wasn't technically a wand. Ichigo had discovered in his study of wizards' use of magic that the wands served as a conduit for them to use their reiatsu, and the core of the wands allowed for manipulation of their reiatsu as 'spells'. This one was merely a shell with no core inside, which simply meant that Ichigo could perform kidou, as well as channel his zanpakutou's powers, without arousing suspicion. Wandless magic was unheard of, but the kidou spells would merely be mistaken for Japanese magic. After all, he doubted that any of the British wizards had ever seen Japanese magic in action.

He thought of his cover story and smirked a bit. It had only taken a bit of manipulation and sweet-talking for him to convince the magical government of Japan to accept him into their ranks, and to send him as an ambassador to Britain. As a matter of fact, Japan had already been considering coming out of isolation. It only needed a push in the right direction, and Ichigo had provided that. However, none of the mortals knew that it was all orchestrated by a shinigami in order to access the big prize: Lord Voldemort.

#

Ichigo looked down at the massive stadium from his perch high in the air. He was in his gigai but was standing on a platform of solidified reishi. He had cast a kidou to make himself invisible, although the all-black outfit he wore also helped conceal him from sight against the night sky, and was watching the Quidditch World Cup game with interest. He was impressed. That the wizards were able to conceal such a large event from the non-magical humans, the 'muggles' as the wizards called them, was quite the feat, especially with their levels of reiatsu, which was even less than the average shinigami, although it was still higher than a normal human's. He wondered idly if that meant that wizards could see shinigami. He would have to conduct a test to find out.

Ichigo could tell despite knowing next to nothing about the sport that the wizards on brooms whizzing about below him were world-class. Both opposing teams worked seamlessly together, and he couldn't help but think that if they were shinigami, whichever division they were assigned to would be extremely lucky. He nodded in approval as the Bulgarian seeker, his scarlet robes billowing, managed to catch the tiny golden Snitch. Of course, Ichigo had known exactly where the small golden ball had been the entire game, but the human wizards didn't have the advantage that he had with superhuman eyesight, reiatsu sensing, and decades of experience. Ichigo clapped along with the crowd, although none could see him. He was interested in the wizarding world. The reports from the Onmitsukidou were not nearly detailed enough.

#

A few hours later, Ichigo was strolling through the rows of tents as the merry revelers celebrated the victory of the Irish over the Bulgarians. He could hear loud shouting and several bangs from the other side of the campground and assumed that it was merely some people who had perhaps a little too much to drink. The wizarding security would surely take care of it. He had been authorized by Yamamoto to intervene if there was a Death Eater attack, but he doubted that this was the case. There was always the minute possibility, however, and so he stuck around just in case.

His keen hearing picked up the sound of laughter. It wasn't the laughter of celebration, however. No, this was a different kind of laughter, a kind of laughter that he was very familiar with. This was the laughter of people who enjoyed harming others. There was a scream, piercing the air. "Death Eaters!"

The reaction to this cry was immediate. He saw tent flaps peel aside as the wizards peered out at the screamer, then immediately recoil in horror as they caught sight of the group of wizards, a hundred or so, tightly packed and wearing black robes and bone-like masks, marching through the campgrounds, blasting aside tents and trampling them underfoot. Ichigo felt anger surge through him as he saw the objects of the Death Eaters' laughter, the four figures hovering high above the crowd, struggling to keep their decency as they were flipped end over end by the Death Eaters below them. He recognized the campground manager and his family, and his blood boiled at the sight of the two children being tossed around like ragdolls.

Ichigo looked around at the fleeing wizards and decided that if they weren't going to do anything, he would. He was not going to allow these Death Eaters to do whatever they wanted with the innocent humans. He had to act.

#

"Hermione's a witch," Harry snarled, resisting the urge to punch the blonde Slytherin who stood before them, taunting them.

"Have it your way, Potter," said Malfoy, sporting a malicious grin. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."

Harry was about to retort, as was Ron, when suddenly the shouts from the crowd increased. There was a sudden glow of sickly green as dozens of spells were thrown from the group of Death Eaters. The trio whirled around to see what had caused the reaction from the Death Eaters.

Harry's jaw dropped as he saw a single figure, visible only due to the light of the burning tents around him, standing defiantly against the crowd of Death Eaters. Hermione gasped from beside him, clapping a hand to her mouth in horror. "He'll be killed!" she whispered. Harry couldn't help but agree. To stand against so many of them, well, it was suicide. Even if the figure weren't killed by a stray spell, he would no doubt be trampled underneath the feet of the relentlessly marching horde.

"You need to let them down," a voice called out, carrying over the sounds of chaos, directed towards the Death Eaters. It must have been amplified somehow, there was no other way Harry could hear him over the cacophony of sound.

A chorus of laughs arose from the crowd. "What are you going to do about it?" someone called mockingly. More laughs. Harry also silently wondered. What could the man possibly do to help the muggles?

He gaped as the man disappeared in a billow of black robes, reappearing a moment later in his original position facing the crowd of Death Eaters, the Roberts family safely deposited on the grass behind him. They were quickly whisked away by Ministry wizards, while an uproar arose, both from the Death Eaters and the fleeing people, who had stopped to watch the confrontation, their curiosity overwhelming their fear.

"That's impossible!" said Ron. "Nobody can apparate into mid-air!" Harry nodded. It was the only way the man could possibly have rescued the muggles so quickly. How he had done it was a mystery.

"Now that that's out of the way, why don't you all just go back to where you came from?" said the figure, which Harry now saw had bright orange hair, brighter and more vivid than any of the Weasleys.

An enraged voice called from the mob of Death Eaters. "Get him!" Instantly, a dozen or more spells were thrown straight at the man. Hermione looked away, unable to watch as the man was surely about to be killed. There was no way he could dodge so many spells at once.

Harry stared at the scene, unable to look away, his eyes glued in horror to the figure clothed in black, standing defiantly before the glowing spells that threatened his life. He watched as the man extended a hand, palm facing the mob, and said something which Harry didn't understand. An instant later, the spells impacted.

"Impossible…" Harry whispered as each and every spell ricocheted off a glowing, semi-transparent wall that had appeared before the man an instant before the spells hit him.

"What happened?" asked Hermione, who had uncovered her eyes just in time to see the man unscathed.

"He used some sort of shield," said Ron. "He blocked every one of the spells!"

"That's not possible," she said, echoing Harry's exclamation. "There isn't a shield spell strong enough to repel so many powerful spells at once!"

The entire campground had grown silent when they saw this. The Death Eaters were shocked that their attack had been so easily deflected, and the fleeing crowd were silently hoping that this man would protect them from the threat.

"You know," said the man conversationally, and Harry shuddered at the sight of his eyes, which glowed a bloodthirsty golden in the firelight, "I was going to let you go peacefully as long as you released the family, but now…" He laughed, and the sound sent shivers down Harry's spine. Hermione and Ron shuddered at the sound, both also shaken at the pure killing intent behind it. "Now, you've managed to piss me off."

The man had shifted into a fighting stance, his body tensed as he prepared to spring. Harry recognized the position vaguely as a martial arts stance, something he had seen once on the television when his uncle had been watching some show or another. "And let me tell you something," the man continued. "Pissing me off? Not a good idea."

Harry blinked, and suddenly the man was in the middle of the mob, hands and feet lashing out at the startled Death Eaters. They dropped like flies beneath the onslaught, and Harry wondered how it was humanly possible for the man to punch and kick as quickly as he did. The trio jumped back as a Death Eater flew from the mob, landing a few feet in front of them, his body propelled by the force of the kick that the man had delivered to his chest.

In an instant, a dozen Death Eaters were felled, knocked unconscious by the mysterious stranger. More would have fallen had a shout not come from somewhere behind the trio, the shouter hidden by the trees. "Morsmordre!"

There were screams and shouts of horror as a giant green figure appeared in the sky, the image of a snake emerging from a skulls mouth. Panicked shouts could be heard from the crowd of Death Eaters, and the conscious ones disapparated with a loud crack, leaving their unconscious fellows at the mercy of the Ministry security personnel, who now came forward to take them into custody.

"Where did he go?" wondered Ron, and Harry realized that the mysterious figure who had faced down a hundred Death Eaters and singlehandedly taken out a dozen of them in mere seconds had vanished, most likely lost among the crowd who were now fleeing again, running from the glowing green figure in the air. He had no time to wonder who the man was, however, as the trio now had to duck a dozen stunning spells as Ministry officials appeared around them, looking for the caster of the spell that had so many people panicking.

#

Ichigo dusted off his hands as he walked calmly away from the scene. "Well, that was fun," he remarked to himself. "It's been a while since I had a good, hand-to-hand spar. Although that really couldn't be counted as a spar," he muttered in disdain. "These wizards are so physically weak. Their dependence on magic has made them soft." He shook his head and disappeared in a flurry of black, heading back to London. He had made quite the entrance, and he didn't want to be caught up by the media ruckus that was sure to follow. There would be enough of that when he appeared as a representative of the Japanese government at Hogwarts.

#

IMPORTANT NOTE: I guess I didn't make it clear enough, but the events in chapter one happen much later than those in chapter two. If this chapter didn't make it clear, chapter one was a time-skip to the end of the year, during the Third Task. The rest of this story will follow a linear timeline, starting here at the Quidditch World Cup and proceeding through the rest of the school year.

Daily updates? Eh, why not? At least until school starts, that is. This one is a bit longer than the first two, but don't expect daily updates to be as long as the chapters in When Genius Meets Death. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and that nobody's confused anymore in regard to the time difference between chapters one and two. Reviews would be greatly appreciated!

~fokker333