Perhaps it was the infectious enthusiasm and celebratory mood of the Irish after their very close victory over Bulgaria, but Dean now found himself in the midst of a party hosted by the winning team and their countrymen. He felt bad but, as he was repeatedly told, he was a guest referee in name alone and he hadn't made any officiating decisions during the match so he couldn't really be accused of favoritism. "And hell, those Bludgers were a right mess aye?" Quigley was saying, shaking his head as he sipped at a glass of magical whiskey. "Came after you and the other ref a time or two."

"Yeah they did," Dean said, admiring the glass of alcohol in his hand. He had not drank nearly as much as the others gallivanting around had, but he still felt the effects. The interesting thing about the Irish's drink of choice was that it was enchanted so that the slurring of one's words due to inebriation was entirely negated, in fact it seemed to increase one's ability to get across their message in an eloquent manner. "It was a good game, you should be proud."

"Aye, that we are," Lynch said, beaming at Dean across the room. He had been chatting animatedly with what Dean assumed was his wife or girlfriend. "The Bulgarians really showed us their mettle, and what a worthy match it was for the World Cup!"

"That they did," Dean laughed. He then paused and scooted his seat a bit closer to Lynch. "Hey, man, you mind if I talk to you real quick?"

"Of course, Winchester," Lynch smiled at him, curiosity clear in his eyes. "What is on your mind?"

"Well, you know how I teach at Hogwarts right?"

"Of course, of course," Lynch nodded, leaning towards Dean and wincing slightly. He had taken more than one bludger during the match, and he was clearly still sore.

"Well, one of my students there, a kid named Oliver Wood, he's got more talent than almost anyone I've ever seen," Dean said, a guilty feeling of favoritism gnawing at him. He shrugged it off, vowing to help the others on the team when they graduated. "He's the sort of Keeper who would take a Bludger to the skull rather than let the quaffle through one of his rings."

"That's a rare sort these days," Lynch nodded. "A lot of the younger ones get scared of the bludgers, can't blame them though. Vicious little bastards, aye?"

"You're right about that," Dean nodded. "Anyways I was wondering-."

Whatever Dean was about to say was lost on Lynch as a massive crashing sound interrupted the festivities. "The hell was that?" Lynch demanded, springing to his feet and wobbling unsteadily.

Dean followed suit, his wand already in his hand as he looked towards the direction of the noise. Large green flames were leaping into the sky and he looked in question to Lynch. "Is that one of your celebrations?"

"Not us mate," Lynch said, staring at the flames in utter confusion.

"I was afraid you'd say that," Dean said. He leveled his wand at his temple and muttered a spell under his breath. Instantly the effects of the alcohol were removed from his system and he was completely sober. "Alright, you guys get out of sight and stay there I'm going to go see what is happening."

"Don't get hurt mate," Lynch said, not willing to argue. His girlfriend led him away and the other Irish Quidditch Team members quickly followed suit.

Dean sprinted off in the direction of the flames and, before he had even made it halfway there, he was intercepted by a jet of green light that barely missed his chest. He skidded to a stop, turning to face the direction which the spell had come from. It was not hard to identify his attacker or, in this case, attackers. A line of people in black cloaks and off-white masks were approaching him with their wands extended. Behind them, Dean saw several dark shapes on the ground he knew to be bodies.

"Who the hell are you guys?" he demanded, switching his wand from target to target as they continued to move forward.

"The Dark Lord has given us a sign," one of them intoned, the voice sounding familiar. "This is the long overdue reckoning that your kind have had coming. Consider this as an act of war, if you will, it matters little. When the Dark Lord returns to power all the unworthy will die."

"Yeah, well, I've stopped the world from ending before," Dean raised his chin in defiance. "Different dimension, same outcome though."

"Your arrogance is what has led to your doom, know this," one of them said. The others began to fan out so that a loose semicircle of the black robed figures was now encircling Dean.

"Don't think so," Dean said. He aimed his wand at the figure at the farthest right and barked, "Confringo!"

The ground beneath the Death Eater exploded in a mighty dirt geyser and sent the three figures on the end flying backwards. The others, to their credit, did not waste a single breath. They sent various curses, hexes, and spells that had Dean dropping to the ground with a muffled thud. But his troubles did not end there as they did not stop their advantage. They continued to send light after light at him, even as Dean ducked and weaved through them with adrenaline pounding through his veins. He hadn't really been in a duel prior to this, not beyond a practice bout with Charlie Weasley. But he had studied offensive and defensive magic at every given chance, and Dean Winchester was never without his tricks.

He managed to get back to a line of abandoned tents and ducked behind them, narrowly avoiding a Killing Curse. The Death Eaters, intent as they were on their prey, paused when they lost sight of him. "He's a Hogwarts Teacher," one of them growled, "Cost me some work he did. We still have time before the Ministry sends the Aurors. Let's kill him and send Dumbledore a message."

"I would rather not be caught in a duel against the Aurors," the center Death Eater sneered. "But I do understand your desire for blood, Rookwood. For now, however, we must withdraw. Crouch, set the Mark."

"I do not need your permission," a younger voice snarled. He raised his wand to the sky and said, almost reverently, "Mordsmore!"

Dean watched the spell travel into the sky and turn itself into a large green skull with a snake wrapped around it. He knew what it was instantly, many of the books he had read spoke of it with fear. The Dark Mark. The sign over which the victims of Voldemort of his followers would lie. That meant that those bastards had killed someone. The thought brought Dean to a rage and he leapt out from behind the tent he had been hiding.

The Death Eaters began to Disapparate away just as he revealed himself. Dean sent a curse at the last, before he had a chance to disappear, but it was casually deflected with impetuous ease. "Ah, so the little mouse shows himself," the voice, belonging to the one called Crouch, mocked. "I was wondering if you had crawled back into your hole."

"Those people back there," Dean said, gesturing to the bodies that the Death Eaters had left behind. "Why did you kill them?"

Crouch laughed, a horrible and manic sound, and spread his arms wide. "Why not?" he retorted simply.

Dean's anger boiled over and, before he knew it, the two were dueling. But it was almost immediately apparent to Dean that he was outmatched by his opponent. Incredibly so.

Sorry for the short chapter, my dear readers, I was somewhat busy. I hope your New Year has been wonderful thus far. I will make up for it in the next chapter, I swear.

Hallowed