To Hermione's great surprise, Ginny hadn't needed to make use of the ticket that had been procured for her by the ministry. Somehow, her father had managed to obtain top box seats for the whole Weasley family. That didn't mean, however, that Ginny was going to get up at an obnoxious hour to find the port key with them. Instead, she joined Hermione's party as they flooed directly into the VIP lounge, a mere hour before the event was due to begin, cackling all the while about how miserable her brothers had been at the prospect of having to trek up a hill with backpacks full of camping equipment.

'Oh good, you're here. The team want to see you.' Anneken descended on them, her family badge proudly displayed over her Bulgarian themed robes.

'Traitor.' Sirius jibed good naturedly, pushing Hermione over to Anneken. He was still more than a little annoyed that she'd snuck off to spend the night of the ball flying with the Bulgarian Quidditch team when he'd been forced to attend the whole evening.

'Don't be ridiculous, Black.' Lord Nott huffed, straightening his own Bulgarian coloured shirt beneath his black robes. It was the only outward sign of his support that he'd chosen, unlike Sirius who'd chosen a green and white scarf, a large coloured hat and had streaked green and white paint over his cheekbones. Ginny was supporting Ireland too, although her green robes were a more flattering emerald than the lurid colour of the hat.

'It's perfectly respectable to wish to be neutral.' Lady Longbottom sniffed, dressed in her usual dress. Daphne hovered next to her, dressed to the nines and also conspicuously bare of any blatant affiliation.

'Come on!' Anneken urged. Hermione shrugged and followed the elderly fashion designer out of the room, leaving her friends and allies bickering over their clothing choices. The VIP lounge was very close to the changing rooms, so they only had to travel down two gloomy, industrial corridors before the emerged into the crowded Bulgarian locker room. The team were running through stretches when they spotted Hermione and Anneken and stopped, crowding around the two witches.

'Ah! The wind sprite!' Vulchanov crowed. Ivan clapped her on the back, then laughed as Clara caught her.

'Wind demon more like.' The Bulgarian chaser grumbled. They'd played at a manoeuvre the quidditch players called the Wronski Feint, taking it in turns to see how low they dared to go before pulling out and how fast they dared to dive. Hermione had won by a healthy margin when she and Katana had pulled out of one dive with wingtips skimming the water and then she'd shown them all how she lay flat against Katana's back to increase the speed of his dive.

'You're not wearing our colours.' Vulchanov pouted, which was an unusual expression on the fearsomely massive man. The impression was made worse as he hefted his beater's bat over his shoulder and performed a couple of practice swings.

'Now she is.' Viktor had appeared behind her, and he draped a light but very warm cloak around her shoulders. A pleased grin spread across Clara's face, matching the one that Anneken wore. Hermione glanced down, recognising that it was unmistakably team uniform.

'Why do you get to have her wear yours? Maybe I want a lucky charm.' Ivan sulked, then he broke out into a grin again. 'But you look much better, Hermione.'

'Because he's the seeker.' Clara countered. 'Here you go, you can use my scarf. Now I'll be lucky and get the first goal.'

'Won't you need this?' Hermione asked the seeker, plucking at the cloak as she glanced at Viktor.

'No. I will be lucky now. I'll catch the snitch before they call a respite.' Krum grinned and Hermione shook her head.

'Thank you.' She said sincerely, 'but we'll let you get back to your warm up. Good luck.'

There was a chorus of good byes from the team as Anneken bid them all good luck as well, then the two witches departed.

Back in the VIP lounge, Sirius found Hermione's new attire hilarious. Draco Malfoy, who was sulking in the corner with Pansy Parkinson and wearing an obnoxious Bulgaria hat, looked livid.

The game, unfortunately, did not go in Bulgaria's favour.

They all had pairs of fancy binoculars that allowed them to see descriptive commentary and slow down what they were watching, which seemed to be a rather pointless feature because one then missed whatever happened afterwards. However, the view from the minister's box was so excellent that Hermione found she barely needed to use them, particularly when she had Bagman commentating within clearly audible distance.

Clara's superstition must have paid off a little bit, because she scored the first goal for Bulgaria and then Krum truly was an incredibly flier. Hermione had observed him briefly when they'd all flown together over the ball and had noticed at the time that he was good, but freed of his restrictive dress robes, it was like he wasn't even riding a broom, or perhaps his broom was as sentient as Katana. Every turn and dive was effortless, then he pulled off a spectacular dive that had Hermione wondering if he'd been holding back when they'd competed together.

There was one terrible moment when Krum took a bludger to the face, and to the outrage of all the Bulgarians, the referee was too busy putting out the fire that the fighting mascots had caused in his broomstick to call it. But there was no time, barely a moment later the two seekers were diving again and Hermione found herself screaming herself hoarse along with everyone else as Krum unhooked his feet from the stirrups of his broom and flattened himself against the stick exactly as Hermione did on Katana. The sudden reduction of drag on the broom gave him just enough speed to pull forwards, blood streaming out behind him, and catch the snitch just before the Irish.

The stands around her erupted into cheers. On the pitch, Krum was congratulated by his dejected team as the Irish team celebrated. They all traipsed off, blood still streaming from Krum's nose to the blaring Irish anthem. With the exception of Anneken, most of their party wasn't particularly devoted to either team, so the celebrations in appreciation of a universally well played game.

'Ah, it was a well played game.' The Bulgarian minister mourned from behind her. Hermione, who had entirely missed his approach, spun on her heel. 'I am glad you chose to support Bulgaria, in the end.'

'I didn't have much of a chose in the matter.' Hermione admitted. 'It seemed rather rude to refuse when the seeker himself gave me his cloak.'

'Ah, excellent! You have a language in common!' Minister Fudge appeared, looking rather flustered. 'I've been trying to find Crouch all day, I'm not great shakes at languages. Is there any chance you could congratulate him, thank him for coming, all that?'

'Dank you.' The Bulgarian Minister of Magic replied, without needing Hermione to translate. 'Ve fought bravely.'

'You speak English?' Fudge spluttered, 'And you've been letting me sign everything all day?'

'Veil, it vos very funny.' The Bulgarian minister nudged Hermione, who found herself smiling. German was the teaching language at Durmstrang, even after the collapse of the coven political system that unified most of Europe under the Grindelwald banner, so a large percentage of the wizarding population still spoke it.

Any response from the disgruntled Minister Fudge was prevented by the sudden appearance of the trophy in the top box and the dazzling brightness of every spotlight focusing on them. The crowd seemed to glitter as every set of omnioculars focused on them.

'Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers - Bulgaria!' The commentator cried, as the defeated team traipsed into the box.

'The wind spirit!' Vulchanov cried, spotting her next to his Minister of Magic. 'You should have worn my cloak, then I might have been able to knock one of their chasers off.'

Distinctively, Hermione heard Draco Malfoy cry out that he knew she wasn't fully human, but it was lost to the applause of the audience as the rest of the team filed past and shook both minister's hands.

'Perhaps we should all be taking lessons from you.' Ivan agreed, enveloping her small hand in his massive ones and shaking it, even though she wasn't a part of the line. 'It would have been even worse if you hadn't taught Viktor how to dive like that.'

'It would be a pleasure to fly with you all again.' She replied. 'You're always welcome in Avalon.'

'Ah, international cooperation!' Fudge interrupted, steering Ivan away from her to keep the ceremony moving.

Then Viktor himself was there, right at the end of the line, looking terrible. He had two black eyes blooming and blood still speckled his robes, although the medics had managed to set the nose.

'Do you want your cloak back?' Hermione offered. The rest of the team were wearing theirs; warming them up despite the sweaty-damp quidditch uniforms.

'No. You keep it. I wouldn't have caught the snitch today if you hadn't shown me that thing with the dive.'

'Oh, don't be silly.' Hermione blushed. 'You're an excellent flier. I'm sure you could have caught it. We will have to race again when you're not holding back because of a World Cup.'

'Good. I will win this time.' Krum bowed to her and Hermione curtsied back, then the seeker shook the two minister's hands and followed the rest of the team back down to the VIP lounge where the after party would take place.

Hermione drifted away when the Irish appeared, not particularly interested in the jubilant strangers, although she applauded politely with everyone else when they received their trophy and took off on a victory lap.

'I can't believe you got to go and fly with them.' Ginny moaned enviously as the High Priestess returned to the group. 'Did you see that Wronski Feint?'

'We were practicing them together.' Hermione admitted. 'Although that one was very close to the ground. Perhaps you can fly with us next time?'

'There'll be a next time?' Harry asked, eyes wide with awe.

'I hope so. They're very fun. They've all had their firebolts modified to fit them perfectly - handle length, tail length, weight... all that. It's rather complex.'

'Oh.' Ginny blushed scarlet. 'I don't think my broom could keep up.'

'You borrow mine.' Hermione said dismissively.

'Hermione, you don't have a broom.' Harry pointed out. Theo elbowed him sharply in the side.

'Of course I do... it's whatever the best broomstick out there is.'

'A firebolt, or perhaps a thunderbolt V.' Theo supplied.

'Yes, one of those.' Hermione waved her hand casually.

'Did I hear that you were after a broomstick, Miss Gorlois?' A man popped up next to them, as if summoned by her words. 'An avid quidditch players, perhaps? Nimbus are offering limited edition World Cup broomsticks...'

'We're fine, thank you.' Hermione informed him cooly, after a moment of stunned silence at the man's audacity. Theo glared until the man faded into the background again, disappearing to spruik his brooms elsewhere.

'Come on, let's go.' Harry urged, glancing after the salesman. 'Let's go and find our tent. I've had enough officials this summer.'

'Agreed.' Neville nodded. They spent a couple of seconds making their excuses; Lord Nott, Lady Longbottom, Daphne and Anneken chose to remain behind to celebrate at the official after party with the rest of British wizarding elite, whilst the rest traipsed out of the box.

The halls were packed with witches and wizards, many of whom were singing some kind of chant as they flooded back to the campsite. They linked hands so that they weren't separated and allowed the flow to carry them along the winding path out of the woods, emerging a moment later into a massive field of tents.

Whilst some had clearly made the attempt to appear muggle, others hadn't even bothered to try and as the celebrating wixen dispersed into the camp, even that meagre attempt was forgotten. Leprechauns soared overhead and gigantic clovers had sprouted every couple of meters. As she watched, a wizard with vibrant green and white face paint tossed a little, bright creep foil cube into the ground. There was a flash of green light, and another clover sprouted up out of the earth, large leaved unfolding just above head height and forcing everyone to duck beneath them.

'How the hell did you end up with that?' Ron demanded and Hermione quickly zeroed in on him, accompanied by a number of other redheads that she assumed were his father and brothers. Harry and Theo slipped slightly in front of her, subtly preparing to defend her if necessary. Hermione rolled her eyes but let them. 'How did you end up with Viktor Krum's quidditch cloak?'

'She flew with them, two days ago.' Theo bragged for her and Hermione sighed.

'He's a family friend.' She answered, talking over the spluttering Weasley. 'Ginny, are these your brothers?'

'Oh.' Ginny pushed between Neville and Harry. 'Hermione, you've heard of Fred and George, Percy and you know Ron. This is Charlie, he trains dragons in Romania and Bill, who is a curse breaker for Gringotts.'

'Lady Gorlois!' Bill said enthusiastically, stepping forwards to shake her hand. 'Such a privilege.'

Everyone stared at him in shock.

'Someone's traded him for Percy.' One of the twins muttered, loud enough to be heard over the celebrating crowd around them.

'Don't be ridiculous, Fred.' Bill hissed. 'Lady Gorlois is the only witch in living memory to be considered a Goblin ally and she's the sister of Gellert Grindelwald, the greatest curse breaker in history.'

Hermione was grateful that the darkness hid her furious blush. Everyone was looking at her like she'd grown a second head.

'Was it you that sent those decorative ward scrolls?'

'Yes, yes.' Bill looked pleased.

'They were beautiful. So you're stationed in Egypt? I was lucky enough to spend a little time in Egypt several years ago, but I'm more talented with ward building than ward breaking.'

'Really, which tombs did you go to?'

'Akhenkamun, I believe. Would you and your family like to join us in our tent? I would love to talk more, but I think we're getting in the way?' It was true; the two congregated large groups were an island in the middle of a river, forcing everyone else to part around them in a messy wave.

'Akhenkamun? I've never been into that one. Come on dad, I bet her tent is way closer.'

Reluctantly, the rest of the Weasley family fell in behind Hermione and Bill. It took a moment to find the tent - technically it was Sirius' tent. He'd sent his crotchety old elf digging through the collection of tents owned by the black family and he and Harry had pitched them all, selecting the best one.

Apparently, neither boy had been concerned with trying to blend in with the muggles, although considering the tent a little way down the road had a water feature on the roof and the one a little further down had a turret, the medieval style pavilion with it's ornate metalwork wasn't too bad. Sirius must have also made an effort to transfigured it to better suit her family too; the blue and white was a perfect match to her crest and she was sure the Black family wouldn't have chosen wolves as decorations.

The redecoration continued into the interior; a large main room that was obviously designed for entertaining with a massive fireplace and chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

'Kitchen and laundry for the elves. Drawing room, ladies room, library. Bedrooms and bathroom is just through there. Mind the taps, I think the heating charm has broken and it's coming out too hot.' Sirius pointed at the three doorways that led out of the main room, then headed over to the gramophone in the corner and set it to play.

Perhaps summoned by the music, his elf sulked out of the kitchen and began taking all of their cloaks.

'Kreacher, could you please let the elves at Avalon know that we'll be feeding...' Hermione hesitated, counting the Weasleys. 'Eight more than anticipated.'

'The Lady Grindelwald be making requests of Kreacher. Kreacher asks what his Mistress would think if she saw the House of Black taking orders from a European.'

'For the last time, you measly maggot, your mistress is dead, and Hermione isn't European.' Sirius barked. 'Do as she says.'

'Kreacher must.' The elf disappeared with a crack and was replaced a moment later by one of Hermione far more personable elves.

'Biddy be bringing dinner. Biddy be sorry that guests had to be meeting Kreacher. He is a bad elf.'

Biddy snapped her fingers and suddenly the large table was groaning with food. A second snap had a fire roaring in the grate and chasing away any hint of cold.

'Do we need to save some for the others?' Ginny asked, taking a seat.

'The elves can make them more if they're hungry.' Hermione said dismissively, dropping into the seat at the head. 'Is Mordred here, Biddy?'

'Biddy is thinking he is in the bedrooms. Should Biddy be bringing him?'

'Please.'

Biddy disappeared, then emerged a moment later, trailing after the dark knight and lugging the sword, which was almost as tall as she was. The knight asked how the match had gone and the awkward tension in the room finally broke as he was given a blow by blow account, everyone chiming in with bits that they felt had been missed of not described in adequate detail. After dinner, when they'd finally finished telling Mordred about the way that Krum had caught the snitch, they rounded off the evening with a game of exploding snap that took up the whole table and involved several teams.

Mordred won, of course; his reaction time had been honed by a lifetime of training and combat, but when they finally finished, the explosions didn't stop.

'I wouldn't fancy being on duty.' Mr Weasley admitted good naturedly. 'It would be one hell of a job getting those Irish to stop celebrating.'

Hermione's eyes met Mordred's over the heads of the others. She'd been in enough large celebrations to know that something was off - there were too many people rushing past, and the screams were of the wrong pitch. It sounded more like a battle.

'Something's wrong.' She announced, getting up and heading for the door to look outside. Just as she was about to reach it, the flap suddenly flew open and Lord Nott barged through, wide eyes and out of breath. He must have run all the way to the tent.

'Death eaters.' He wheezed. 'The death eaters are marching.'

'What?' Hermione demanded. Mordred was at her shoulder in moments, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Lord Nott's wide eyes darted across the room, taking in the abundance of Weasleys who'd all gone pale at his declaration. He straightened, forcing some composure as he stepped in close to talk without being overheard.

'They approached me at the party, said they were going to remind everyone not to sleight the sacred 28.'

'Get out of here.' She instructed quickly. 'You need to not pit yourself openly against them, or we might not receive this information in the future.'

'You're going to fight them.' Lord Nott realised, his mouth falling open.

'It is her duty.' Mordred informed him. 'Black, take the children to safety-'

'No way.' Harry argued immediately, pushing his chair back and drawing his wand. 'I swore to fight for her too.'

'I'm not running away.' Ginny agreed.

'Ginny! You will not be...' Arthur Weasley went to argue.

'You've been teaching us to duel, Hermione. Even if we just hold a shield charm over everyone, let us help.' Neville spoke over Arthur Weasley.

'I'm not passing up a chance to curse death eaters.' Sirius announced, rolling up his sleeves. 'And the kids are right; I've seen you all going at it, and they're more than capable of shielding you.'

Hermione bit back a smile, pride glowing in her chest with enough heat to banish the nerves that always simmer before a battle. This was her coven; the younger generation taking up the mantle of protecting the people just as Gellert's had in the 1890's.

'Okay. Let's go.'

'You can ride Morvarc'h. He'll clear a path through the crowd and I would be more comfortable to know that you were mounted.' Mordred conceded that everyone was going to fight easily, and Hermione was convinced that there was a sparkle of pride in his eyes too. As if summoned by his name, which realistically wasn't unlikely, Hermione heard the distinctive sound of equine hooves and the jangle of harness outside the tent.

'Oh, your mother is going to murder me.' Mr. Weasley sighed, rolling up his sleeves. 'Fred, George, Ron...'

'Ginny gets to go!' Ron whined.

Hermione left, finding Mordred's nightmarish unseelie horse standing outside as she'd expected. He snorted a gout of flame, but stood as steady as a rock as she mounted. He was a very different beast to Katana; shorter at the shoulder but much wider and more solid. He was muscular, built to carry a fully armed knight complete with chain mail, armour and provisions. However he had been trained by the same people, so he responded to her commands with eerie similarity to her own mount.

Her allies filed in behind her, following in the path that Morvarc'h forged with his powerful shoulders and glowing eyes. She didn't know what kind of image she presented, her hair still mussed from their energetic game of snap and draped in Viktor Krum's quidditch cloak, astride a demon horse and surrounded by her mismatched friends, but there must have been something in there that the fleeing wizards found inspiring. Many paused to observe, some even rolled up their sleeves and drew their wands, falling in behind Hermione's party.

It was easy to find the death eaters; they had their own crowd of followers clumped around them and they were floating four figures in the air above them like marionettes without gravity. It almost gave her pause; Hermione had fought in wars, but nothing had ever been violence for the sake of violence. Then her resolve strengthened; she could understand revolution because however misguided she thought the other side were, they believed that the violence was necessary. What was being done to the four figures in the air was for the sheer joy of power and it was sick.

The ministry was already making a futile attempt to regain control, but in the face of the terrified crowd that fled from the marching mob and the tangle of burning tents, their inexperience was showing. In Hermione's party, Mordred waved his hand and his inky dark magic wrapped around a tent, quenching the fire instantly before flinging the charred wreck aside. Suddenly, Hermione was face to face with the marching mob, and nothing stood between them but a hundred meters of open ground.

'They're here because they want to feel powerful. They're not looking for a fair fight; if they think you might provide one, they'll flee.' Mordred suggested.

'He's right.' Sirius Black agreed, hefting his wand.

And so Hermione halted and Morvarc'h stood solid and square as the rest of those who followed her fanned out around her. There were hundreds; all different nationalities, all in different states of preparedness and all holding their wands, ready to follow her lead. It was an inspiring feeling.

'Shield charm first.' She decided, spotting a heavily pregnant witch and realising that there was a very real chance that most of these wixen were not trained in combat. Without any further prompting, she raised her wand. 'Protego maxima.'

Her enunciation was clear, and white light erupted from her wand. All along the line, witches and wizards took up the chant, contributing their own jets of white light to the shimmering barrier which formed in front of the death eaters. The violent crowd halted abruptly, and Hermione noticed the stirrings of panic among them with smug satisfaction. The ministry wizards, seeming relieved that someone had finally taken control of the situation, flooded back to add to the ward.

Confident that the shield would be maintained without her input, she raised her free hand to the sky, throwing out her magic and summoning a storm. At first, she planned to settle for something easy like a temperature drop, but Neville grabbed her hand and added his own strength, followed quickly by Ginny, then Theo and Harry on her other side. After a moment, even the uncertain purple flames joined in, allowing themselves to be spun up under the confident guidance of Mordred.

Above them, thunder rumbled and clouds seemed to form out of nowhere.

'Sonorous.' Sirius offered, and when Hermione spoke, her voice carried easily across the field and towards the death eaters.

'Stop this senseless violence, return the muggles unharmed and to safety, go home and we shall be merciful.'

Unfortunately, the voice amplification charm did nothing to make her sound older and the masked figures focused on her mounted form. That was the reason why she'd agreed to mount; to make up for her diminutive size and to be clearly distinguishable as the leader. She also trusted the Gorlois trained steed to be able to carry her safely out of the way of any curses that she couldn't shield from.

She could see the death eaters laughing and the youngest figure in the sky began to spin like a pinwheel, as if to spite her.

But Hermione meant business. She slashed downwards with her wand, drawing the power form those around her to forge a bolt of lightning in the tumultuous storm that they'd conjured and sending it striking down only inches from the toes of the closest death eater. There were several alarmed squarks and several people disapparated. The cloaked and masked death eaters pushed forwards until they were right at the front of the crowd.

Hermione's first thought was that there were a lot of them; more than she'd anticipated. Her second was they the masks they were wearing were very similar to the iron one that the Samhain channel always wore. Shaped like a human skull, they gleamed dully in the light of the burning tents and they black robes were a very over dramatic rendition of battle dress. She scoffed in derision.

'Leave.' She commanded, riding forwards and raising her wand. Around them, the conjured wind howled and electricity sparked in her hand, ready to be drawn down from the sky again.

But she didn't get the opportunity to cast. Someone else did - from the woods, like rocket, a traile of glittering emerald stars which shot up into the tumultuous sky, then exploded outwards into a sign she'd seen before, branded onto the arm of one of her closest allies.

People screamed, the shield broke as everyone's concentration was shattered and the sharp cracks of disapparition tore holes in their line. But the panic among the death eaters was worse - they didn't even move to take advantage of the faltering defence. It was all Hermione could do to conjure something vaguely soft, like a miss formed bouncy castle, to catch the muggles as the death eaters disapparated. Several ministry wizards also disappeared, expressions of grim determination on their faces and Hermione suspected that that were going to find whoever had cast the mark. She rode forwards, dismounting and helping the terrified muggles off the hastily conjured bouncy castle.

The heavily pregnant witch was surprisingly one of the ones who had remained and she hobbled over, assisted by her husband, and declared that she was a healer. Hermione stepped back and allowed her to work, then turned to see a flustered looking Minister. He was surrounded by grim looking aurors and was very pale.

'Oh, Lady Grindelwald.' He went even paler if possible. 'You shouldn't put yourself at such risk... Gellert Grindelwald-'

'Understands my duty to keep the people safe. He knows better than to say a word against it, after what he's done.' She cut the minister off. 'I shall write to him at once to reassure him of my safety never the less, and shall owl it to your office to be sent through as a priority. In the meantime, I would very much like to return to Avalon and my bed.'

'Of course, of course.' The minister looked considerably happier and allowed her to head back over to her huddled friends. It didn't take long to negotiate a return to Avalon. Nobody was particularly tired, despite what she'd told the minister, but the powerfully warded castle and the protected space of Morgana's tower sounded wonderful to all of them. Mordred insisted that she ride on Morvarc'h until they were at the stadium and even then he didn't leave her side until she was safely ensconced in the tower.