Neither the early start, nor the light morning mist could put a damper on the Potter family's spirits. By the time they found their seats, the sun was beginning to peek through the clouds, promising excellent weather for the match.
"It's not the top box," said Joe Potter, "but they're decent seats."
"They're very good," his wife agreed. "Here, Jamie, you've got a smudge on your nose."
"Thanks for the ticket, Sir," said Ambrose Brown. "It was good of you to invite me."
"Nonsense, lad," Joe waved away his thanks. "Consider it my congratulations on your qualification. You're an Auror now. And it's 'Joe', not 'Sir'. We're partners, aren't we?"
"Yes, Sir - Joe." The young man grinned. "My little cousin Gertie was so jealous when she heard I was coming to the World Cup. She's wild about Quidditch."
"Will it start soon, Papa?" asked four-year-old James, peering over the railing at the pitch far below for any sign of activity.
"In a few minutes," said Joe, ruffling his son's cloud of black hair. "Has your mother explained the rules yet?"
James nodded vigorously. "Mama plays Quidditch," he told Ambrose.
"Mama played Quidditch," Ellie Potter corrected with a smile. "I was Seeker for Gryffindor at school," she explained to the young Auror.
"Papa, do you play Quidditch?" James asked.
Joe laughed. "Not me, Son. I prefer to keep my feet on the ground."
"Welcome to the 1964 Quidditch World Cup!" an amplified voice rang out over the stadium. "England is proud to host finalists Morocco and Lithuania in this year's competition. And now, without further ado ..."
James squealed and clapped as the players zoomed onto the pitch, leaning halfway over the railing. Joe smiled indulgently, keeping a firm grip on the back of his son's robes. The little boy had no understanding of competitive sports yet, but he watched with round-eyed delight as the players looped and raced through the air on their broomsticks, shrieking and cheering whenever either team scored a goal.
Periodically, his wife leapt to her feet, screaming her lungs out for Morocco, while Brown gave a shout every time one of Lithuania's Chasers put the Quaffle through a hoop.
Joe enjoyed Quidditch, too, but the only team he cared about was the Falmouth Falcons. Today, he was happy just to share in his family's joy, and the pleasure of seeing a match well played by some of the finest athletes in the Wizarding world. As he looked from his small son, to his bright-eyed wife, to the partner he had trained for the last three years, and who had become like another son to him, Joe Potter felt truly blessed.
The match was spectacular. Morocco took the Cup in a breathless capture of the Snitch from under the nose of Lithuania's Seeker, scraping them a bare ten point win that brought the screaming crowds to their feet.
"I wanna play Quidditch!" James declared, skipping around his parents. "Summa them were brown like me an' Mama an' Ambrose! Can I havva broom?"
Joe laughed. "Changed your mind about being an Auror, have you?" He did not mind. Grindelwald's uprising was almost twenty years past, and the Auror Office had little to do these days, beyond investigating a recent uptick in Britain's werewolf population.
"I wanna be a Quidditch Auror!" shouted James.
"You can be whatever you want, Son," Joe told him. "With any luck, by the time you're grown, we won't even need Aurors anymore, and everyone will just play Quidditch all the time."