Disclaimer: The mathematics suggests that I should decline to offer odds that Harry Potter is not owned by JK Rowling.

A/N: Yes, I did do the maths on the betting.

Interestingly, the World Cup stadium as shown in the movie is exactly fifty stories high, by my count, and has roughly the right capacity.

Chapter 62

The Ministry officials moved the Portkeys through quickly and directed the group to their campsite in section 11B. Hermione made note of the number. She would need it to find the Vectors. Through the morning mist, she could see hundreds of tents set up on the moor, many of them with the assorted oddities she had come to associate with the magical world.

To her surprise, the manager and possibly owner of the campground, Mr. Roberts, was a muggle, and to her much greater surprise, he was a muggle who didn't know about the magical world, as evidenced by the fact that he didn't know what a galleon was. This was a bad combination since Mr. Weasley, for all his love of muggles, didn't have a clue how paper money worked. Hermione tried to help him, naturally, but the moment Mr. Roberts started acting suspicious about what was going on, a wizard appeared out of thin air, pointed his wand at him, and said, "Obliviate!"

"What?" Hermione squeaked, shocked at seeing an actual successful Obliviation performed in front of her. After Lockhart, she really didn't need to see that. But it didn't seem to have done him any real harm. He went right back to acting like a normal oblivious muggle.

"Far too curious, that one," the Obliviator said once they were out of earshot. "Needs ten Memory Charms a day to keep him happy."

"WHAT?!" Hermione shouted.

Everyone turned and stared at her. "Is there a problem, Miss?" the Obliviator said.

"You can't do that to someone's memory! This event's been going on for two months! He must've had hundreds of memory charms done on him by now!"

"Muggle-born?" he asked automatically.

"Yes, as if it should matter—"

"Well, I'm sorry, but it's got to be done. Statute of Secrecy and all that. It won't hurt him. He'll even still remember most of the past two months."

"It won't hurt him intentionally, you mean," Hermione ranted. "The more memory charms you perform on a person, the greater the risk that something will go wrong and do permanent damage. You could landed him in a mental ward doing that many on him."

"I assure you, I and my fellow Obliviators are highly professional. We haven't made a mistake in years. And anyway, we don't have a choice. The existence of magic must be kept a secret—"

"Are you daft? Look around you. A blind person could walk through here and tell there was magic going on!" She waved her arms wildly at the campsite. Even with most of the wizards trying to look muggle, many of them got it wrong and added things like chimneys and bellpulls to their tents, and some of them were so ostentatious that their owners obviously weren't trying at all. Hermione's friends backed a step away to give her space. They'd forgotten how much she hated Memory Charms.

"Miss Granger, that's quite enough," Percy said pompously, but she ignored him.

"Mr. Roberts lives out here anyway, doesn't he?" she said. "You control everything around him. Wouldn't it be safer to let him see it and just Obliviate him once after it's over?"

"Miss Granger," Percy repeated.

"Or better yet, convince him to take a long holiday and hire muggles who know about magic like my parents to man the campsite. Or try to find some land remote enough that you can rent it all at once and not have any muggles overseeing it. In fact, how did you build the stadium itself if you didn't do that?"

"Really, now!" Percy said.

The Obliviator stared at Hermione. He was not accustomed to a fourteen-year-old telling him how to do his job, muggle-born or otherwise. He was even less accustomed to the fourteen-year-old making some good points, albeit useless ones at this stage. "Those are some…interesting suggestions, Miss," he said, partly just to get her off his back. "I'll mention them to the Department for the next massive and enormously complicated event we hold here." The implication was clear. This was a once in a lifetime event, and her suggestions were largely moot at this point. "Now, if you don't mind, I must be on my way." He apparated away.

"Have I mentioned how much I despise Memory Charms?" Hermione grumbled. Only Sirius hadn't heard it before, though.

Well, a blind person may have been able to walk through the campsite and tell there was magic going on, but Mr. Weasley still wanted to go muggle for the day. Hermione didn't mind it so much. Her one complaint was that Dobby wouldn't be able to show his face outside the tents during daylight hours that way. The tents were very impressive, though—bigger on the inside thanks to some obvious Extension Charms. The Weasleys' main tent had room for eight inside and was furnished as a three room flat. On either side of it were two smaller tents. Sirius and Harry had brought one of their own for the other matches they had attended, and there was another for Hermione and Ginny.

The campground was fascinating to see as the other campers started to wake up. Tiny children were playing with toy wands and toy broomsticks. Adults were trying (and mostly failing) to cook breakfast without magic. Groups of wizards from many countries, including student groups from several schools, were all mashed up together. Hermione considered going off to try to find the Beauxbatons contingent, but she didn't have the time with everything else.

The World Cup Final had come down to Ireland versus Bulgaria, which wasn't too surprising by Hermione's maths, and the rivalry was fierce. The Irish fans had their tents decorated all over with shamrocks, while the Bulgarians plastered up photos of their star Seeker, a grumpy-looking young man named Viktor Krum who was, by all accounts, the best Seeker of his generation.

They were mostly through breakfast when one of the organisers of the whole event arrived, who was also the Weasleys' patron for tickets: Ludo Bagman.

Mr. Bagman reminded Hermione of her history teacher the one year she had spent in muggle secondary school—he had been a football player at university and was now a coach in addition to teaching. (What was it with history teachers and that career path? All of the history teachers at her secondary school had been like that.) Bagman had the same look about him—the look of a man who had been a very good athlete at twenty, and it was all downhill from there. It was true, he still had a boyish face and grin and bright yellow hair, but he was clearly trying in vain to relive the glory days, the way he was dressed in his old Quidditch uniform, which was faded and didn't fit him anymore.

Apparently, in addition to being head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and the organiser of the event, Mr. Bagman was also a bookie. Hermione felt like that might be some kind of conflict of interest, but she let it go because Mr. Weasley was okay with it and even put a galleon on Ireland.

"Very well, very well…any other takers?" Bagman asked.

"Hey, Hermione, this should be right up your alley." Fred said. "Make a good bet, and we could get some extra money for our you-know-what. Wha'd'you think?"

"I think that gambling is not a good investment strategy," she replied, giving the Twins a piercing look.

"C'mon, Hermione, this is what we do," George urged her. "We take risks, so when it pays off, it pays off big, and when it doesn't, we pick ourselves up and try again."

"But we figure you have been predicting the matches really well," Fred continued.

"So you can figure out the best bet."

Hermione rolled her eyes. There was definitely such a thing as too much risk, in her opinion, and this was one of those times. And yet…this was the biggest Quidditch game in the world, and after a year of predicting matches, mostly successfully, the idea of really playing the odds here intrigued her. And if these two clowns were so determined to take their risks, she might as well help them, though she would only countenance that because the rest of their operation looked sound enough.

"Very well," she said. "May I see your book, Mr. Bagman?"

"Hermione, I'm not sure your parents would approve of you gambling," Mr. Weasley said.

Probably not, she thought. "It's okay, Mr. Weasley. I have a little extra cash I can splurge from my patents."

Bagman chuckled at her. "There, you see, Arthur, it's all good fun. Alright, Miss, go ahead, and take a look," he said patronisingly.

Oh, that's it. With that tone, Hermione was determined to show him up. She was all over the book at once, flipping through it, calculating payouts from the offered odds and calculating her own estimates of win probabilities from her own methods for comparison with his. "Okay, it's pretty much undisputed that Ireland has the best Chaser squad in the Tournament," she muttered to herself. "They've been cleaning up at that all the way from the beginning. Their Keeper's a little weak, but they make up for it with overall Quaffle handling. For Seekers, Krum's good—definitely better than Lynch, but there's always an element of chance in where the Snitch will pop up first. On the other hand, a lot of it comes down to speed and reaction time. On brooms that fast, it's much more about who sees the Snitch and goes for it first than it used to be, so you can't trust traditional models of predictions for Seekers here. Now, given the Firebolt's acceleration, the length of the pitch, and the most common Seeker patterns, the odds that the Snitch will appear far enough away to give a strong distance advantage are…"

Harry, Sirius, and all of the Weasleys gathered around to watch. Bill and Charlie, who had never seen Hermione's feats of mental maths in person, were surprised at how deep she was getting into the statistics of the players and the mechanics of the sport itself, especially going this fast. Fred and George were shooting a wicked grin at Bagman, who wasn't smiling quite so broadly now upon realising how savvy Hermione was.

"…with a probability of zero point zero one five six two five. How's my Arithmancy, Harry?" she said with a smirk.

"Still way better than mine. I can barely keep up with what you're talking about," he said.

"Now, everyone says Bulgaria has a rock-solid defence," she continued, "but that's mostly based on how they played before they switched to Firebolts, which are much more of an offencive broom. Ever since they did, they've been letting more goals through and showing poorer Bludger handling, which means they're relying on Krum more. Sp if we consider the rate of injuries of Seekers at the World Cup level…"

"Er…is she always like that?" Bagman asked.

"Yes," most of the group replied.

Fred chuckled: "You're in for it now, Mr. Bagman. You're looking at the girl who tested the highest Arithmancy O.W.L. ever at age fourteen."

Bagman wasn't smiling at all, now.

"Ireland winning pays four to three, but if you add to that Troy being the top scorer…maybe…Odds on Krum getting the Snitch are obviously high, but on the details, you have to take into account what Krum'll do if it starts turning into a rout, which skews it ever higher, if the group phase is any indication…" Suddenly, she stopped cold. Almost like an adding machine coming to an answer, she froze and looked up. "Fred, George," she whispered. She motioned with her finger to come closer. They huddled together, and she told them, "Bagman's odds on Ireland winning with Krum getting the Snitch are way too long. He's offering fifteen to one, and I'd probably only pay five to one."

"That sounds like a good idea, then," Fred replied. "All in, George?"

"I think so, Fred," George said.

"Wait, what?" Hermione said.

"We'll bet thirty-seven galleons, fifteen sickles, three knuts that Ireland wins—" Fred started.

"Wait a minute!" Hermione said, grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him back. "Is that all of your savings?"

"Yes, it is," Mr. Weasley said sternly. "Boys, your mother will have all our heads—"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur," Bagman said, obviously enticed once again by the large bet. "Let the kids have their fun."

"Hermione, we told you we take the risks in this family," Fred told her.

"Yes, but even at five to one, you've still got an eighty percent chance of losing everything. That's no way to start a business." Honestly, they were about to sink the equivalent of almost two thousand quid into this mad scheme. She looked over the book again and quickly calculated some odds and payouts and formulated a plan. "Look, if you really want to do this, you should take a trixie bet with those two plus a safe bet like…like Ireland scoring first. He's got a relatively high payout on that, too, because of the Bulgarian defence issue." She whispered this last sentence. "If you do that, you'll get almost two thirds of the return if you win, and if you lose, you probably won't lose everything, and you'll have a good chance of keeping two thirds of your original stake, so you'll still have some seed capital to work with. That way, it'll probably turn out better than just holding back part of your money."

Fred and George were left with their mouths hanging open. Mr. Weasley looked amazed that Hermione had managed to give them such sensible advice—at least from a "bet all of their savings" standpoint.

"Is she…always like that?" Bill and Charlie both asked.

"Yes," her friends said.

"You know, she does have a point, Fred," George said. "It takes money to make money, so we'd be better off not starting from nothing."

Fred looked a little sour at that. "I don't know, George. We've always been all in before. It seems wrong not to do it."

"Well, we're still putting everything on the line, aren't we? We're just being a little smarter about it."

"True…And in business, you do need a hedge, I suppose. Alright, Hermione, I think we have a winner. Mr. Bagman, we'll take a trixie bet on Ireland winning, Victor Krum getting the Snitch, and Ireland scoring first, and we'll stake thirty-seven galleons, fifteen sickles, three knuts—oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand."

Bagman roared with laughter when the wand turned into a rubber chicken. "Brilliant, I'd pay five galleons for that!" he said. "But Ireland wins and Krum gets the Snitch? Not a chance, boys." The Twins smirked at each other. "And what about you, Miss?" he chuckled at Hermione, clearly thinking her Arithmancy skills had misfired. The Twins smirked even harder.

"I'll go easy on you, Mr. Bagman," she replied smugly. "Put me down for one galleon, three sickles on the same bet. If I'm lucky, I'll get some nice spending money out of it."

"You got it. Pleasure doing business with you."

Mr. Weasley looked very relieved. "Thank you, Hermione," he said. "At least the boys are only doing something halfway insane, now."

"No problem, Mr. Weasley. They've been a big help to me, and I thought I should return the favour," she answered. She just hoped those two were a little more sensible when they were actually running a business, like their numbers so far indicated, or she'd have to reevaluate her assessment of their career plans.

Mr. Weasley then changed the subject and asked Bagman about Bertha Jorkins, one of Bagman's employees who, so far as anyone could tell, had up and walked away from her job with no warning and vanished without a trace. No one had any idea where she could be, nor did Bagman have any clues.

And then, the other organiser of the event showed up, Percy's boss, Barty Crouch. Mr. Crouch (and he seemed to be the kind of man who required a Mr.) was a tall, austere man with perfectly parted hair, a toothbrush moustache, and an impeccably clean muggle suit. It was obvious why Percy liked him so much…although she would've thought being unable to remember Percy's name would've been a turn-off.

Unsurprisingly, Sirius stood up and came nose to nose with the man, glaring. Mr. Crouch stood his ground, however. "Mr. Black," he said evenly.

"Mr. Crouch," Sirius replied.

"I understand why you are upset," Mr. Crouch said.

"Oh, you do, do you?"

"I do hope you realise that what happened to you was a tragic misunderstanding. I have always striven to uphold justice and oppose the forces of darkness."

"Oh, really? And was it justice when you sent your son to Azkaban on circumstantial evidence? I heard him crying in his cell until the day he died."

This seemed to enrage Mr. Crouch. His eyes bulged out like a frog's and he shouted wildly, "My so-called son was caught red-handed with your cousin, Black!" He poked Sirius hard in the chest.

"Maybe he was, and maybe he was at the wrong place at the wrong time, like me, but it's too late to ask him now."

"Sirius," Mr. Weasley warned him back, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"That boy was a vile, pathetic excuse for a human being! You know what he did to the Longbottoms—"

"Mr. Crouch, this is not the time or place," Mr. Weasley pleaded with him. The taller man leaned back and seemed to collect himself because he quickly extricated himself from the group.

"Well, he seems pleasant, Weatherby," Fred mocked Percy to the older boy's annoyance.

"Sirius, what was that about?" Harry asked softly. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were also staring aghast at the argument—something about Sirius's cousin, Crouch's son, and (presumably) Neville's parents. They had no idea what it was.

"I'll tell you later, Pup," Sirius muttered. "It's an ugly story." Then, louder, "Sorry about that. I haven't had a chance to properly punch him in the face yet, and I got carried away. Let's just relax and enjoy the day, shall we?"

"Mr. Weasley, if you don't mind, I'd like to try to go and find Septima," Hermione said.

"Who?"

"Professor Vector."

"Oh, right, right," he said, not having heard her call her former professor by her first name before. "Of course, go ahead. Just be sure to be back before dark. I promised your parents I'd take care of you."

Hermione went out along the lanes of tents from Section 11B until she found Section 15F. There were a couple hundred tents in the section, so it took about half an hour of searching to find the right one, but she found it eventually. Septima was there, doing an admirable job of trying to cook over an open fire, accompanied by a younger couple and a little girl.

"Hello, Septima," she called.

The older woman looked up and smiled. "Hermione!" she called back, rising to her feet. "It's good to see you. I'm glad you could make it."

Hermione bounded forward and hugged her favourite teacher: "Me too, Septima. I really wanted to be able to see all my friends one more time."

"Well, I hope you're making the most of it—and my goodness, you finally did something about those teeth."

Hermione giggled: "That's what everyone's been saying."

"You look very nice. Come here, I'll introduce you to my family." She motioned to the dark-haired couple that sat with her. "This is my nephew, Gaius, and his wife, Pompeia. And of course, this is little Georgina. Everyone, this is the brightest student I've ever had the pleasure to teach, Hermione Granger."

Georgina Vector looked a lot like her grand-aunt: oval-shaped face, long tresses of thick, black hair, and pale blue eyes, though she had her mother's button nose. But there was one big difference between them: Septima rarely showed the unbridled exuberance of an eleven-year-old.

"Pleased to meet you, Hermione," Georgina said, enthusiastically shaking her hand. "Auntie Septima's told me all about you. Is it true you can do all kinds of maths in your head?"

Hermione chuckled at the girl. "Up to and including inventing spells," she said. "That's probably how I pulled off that O.W.L. mark."

"Wow! Can you make one now?"

"Georgina!" her mother scolded.

Oh no, this was going to become her new multiplying big numbers, wasn't it? Hermione didn't think she could make up that many new simple spells. "Well, I could, but we're not really supposed to be using wands here," she saved herself. It was a lame excuse, since hardly anyone was following that rule, but Georgina accepted it.

"Aunt Septima's told us about your exploits, Miss Granger," Gaius Vector said. "Is it true that you can cast a corporeal Patronus?"

"Not reliably, yet, but yes. It saved my life—or soul or whatever—last spring."

"And you and Auntie Septima fought a giant snake with—?" Georgina said.

"With blue-tinted glasses, yes. Actually, real cursebreakers are starting to use them now."

"Yes, her exploits have been very…unique," Septima agreed. "In fact, Hermione has started going into business. She patented a simple potions kit targeted at muggle-borns. I don't fully understand it myself, but apparently, they're selling well in the apothecary."

"Business and potions, really?" Pompeia said. "It sounds like you're a young woman of many talents."

"And you're really friends with Harry Potter?" Georgina asked.

"Georgina," her mother repeated.

"Yes, I'm friends with Harry Potter," Hermione replied. There was really no escaping his fame.

"But we hear you're transferring to Beauxbatons, now?" Gaius asked.

Hermione sighed: "Yes, that's right. It was my parents' idea, though."

"We were really surprised when Aunt Septima suggested we consider enrolling Georgina there. Especially since she teaches at Hogwarts, and considering the…special event going on there this year."

"What special event?" Hermione said. "The Weasleys keep talking about it, but no one will say what it is."

The adult Vectors looked at each other nervously. Finally, Septima said, "Hermione, will you keep this a secret, including from your friends? And you too, Georgina. It's not supposed to be publicly announced until the first day of school."

"Okay, I guess," Hermione said in confusion.

"Hogwarts will be hosting a revived Triwizard Tournament this year."

"Triwizard Tournament? I think I've heard of that. Wasn't it some old competition between schools? And didn't they stop holding it two hundred years ago because it was too dangerous or something?"

"They've revised the safety standards, of course, but yes. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will each be sending some of their equivalent of N.E.W.T. students to Hogwarts to enter. I wouldn't want Georgina to miss something like that, but after the things that have happened at Hogwarts over the past three years, I really thought Gaius and Pompeia should consider other options."

"So what have you decided?" Hermione asked.

"We decided to keep her at Hogwarts," Gaius replied. "Today's the deadline to change her enrolment, so we're sticking with it. May I ask why you were so concerned about it, Miss Granger?"

Hermione was uncomfortable. It wouldn't do to scare them now that they couldn't change it. "Well," she said, "I don't particularly want to leave Hogwarts myself. It's just that my parents are making me. I, um…I think that for most of the students, Hogwarts has been alright for the past three years. The thing is, every year, at least one really bad thing has happened that almost got me and my friends killed…and all of them had to do with…with You-Know-Who." The Vectors gasped. "Now, it's probably not that bad. Since Georgina is—I presume—pureblood, she'll probably be better off than I was, and even for me, a lot of my trouble's come from being friends with Harry Potter, to be honest."

"Merlin, Is all that true?" Gaius asked his aunt.

"I'm afraid so," Septima said. "But it is true that very few students have got in any real trouble, and even fewer purebloods."

"Well, I suppose that's good to hear," Pompeia said. "But do keep an eye on Georgina while she's there, Septima."

"Two eyes, Pompeia," she assured her. "As often as I can spare them."

Harry, having seen some of the matches already, grew more and more excited as the game approached. "I'm telling you, you've never seen Quidditch played like that at Hogwarts," he said as they came upon a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars. "Oh, and you've gotta check out these things," he added, pointing to the cart.

"What are they?" Ron asked.

"They're called Omnioculars. They can zoom way in, record, do a slow-motion replay and even display a play-by-play breakdown," he said excitedly.

"Yep, best in the business," the saleswizard agreed. There a bargain at ten galleons each.

"Ten galleons!" Hermione said. "I didn't bring that much." And Mum and Dad probably wouldn't approve if I did, even if they're probably cheaper than a muggle camera that can do all that.

"I've got you covered," Harry said. "Three pairs, please."

"No—don't bother," Ron said, turning red.

"Yes, Harry, this is too much," Hermione agreed.

"It's fine," Harry said. "I owe you three years' worth of birthday and Christmas presents. I've never been able to spend much money with the Dursleys around." He took the three pairs of Omnioculars and pressed them in Hermione's, Ron's, and Ginny's hands.

Ron started grinning. Ginny was speechless. Hermione sighed and smiled at her friend. "Well, thank you Harry," she said. Leave it to Harry to drop fifteen hundred pounds on his friends the first chance he gets. Well, if I win my bet, I can pay him back.

The hour was growing late. By now, the lanterns were burning, and Mr. Weasley announced that it was time to walk to the stadium.

"Dobby?" Hermione called.

Pop! The elf appeared: "Yes, Miss Hermione?"

"Come along, please. It's almost time for the match."

Dobby's eyes started popping out. "Miss Hermione is letting Dobby join her to see the match?"

"Of course. I'm sure they won't mind. You don't take up much space."

Suddenly, Dobby was hugging her legs for all he was worth. "Oh, Miss Hermione is so good to Dobby!" he squeaked. He broke off and bounced along eagerly beside the group.

The stadium for the World Cup was enormous. With seating for a hundred thousand, it was the equal of the largest muggle stadiums in the world, but the seats were built into high, golden walls instead of sprawled out, amphitheatre-style, so that everyone could sit close to the action. The way to the top box was the farthest Hermione had ever climbed stairs in her life at a stretch: fifty flights. Why they couldn't put a lift in, she couldn't fathom. They'd have been better off just flying brooms to get up that high. By the end of it, even the boys were panting, and Fred and George had to support Ginny and herself, respectively. Around the tenth flight, she told Dobby to wait and pop up to her when she called him. Elves didn't do human-sized stairs very well.

The stadium was somehow filled with a soft, golden light without the benefit of torches. A close inspection, by holding her hands up to them and shielding with her body, revealed that the walls themselves were glowing faintly. That was an interesting bit of charms work—very impressive on such a large scale. Hermione made a mental note to see if she could recreate the spell. Another interesting bit of magic was the huge enchanted blackboard that served as a "Jumbotron", with chalk dust dancing across it in ever-changing words and images.

The group of eleven seemed to be the first to reach the top box, which contained twenty-four odd purple-and-gilt chairs, all of which were empty except for one at the very end, in which sat a tiny, bat-eared creature who seemed to be crying.

"Oh dear," Hermione said when she saw it. Then she whispered, "Dobby." Dobby popped in beside her, and she filed down the row to see the other elf. "Hello," she said. "What's wrong?"

The elf looked up in surprise. It was a female elf, with scraggly brown hair, brown eyes, and a large, red nose like a tomato. Hermione would have worried it was infected if she hadn't seen other elves with noses like that at school. The elf spoke with a quivering squeak: "Hello? Who is you, Miss?"

"I'm Hermione, and this is Dobby."

The elf's eyes bulged out when she saw Dobby. "Dobby! I is knowing you! You is that strange elf who is…" She gulped and whispered, "being paid to work."

Hermione resisted the urge to say, Yes, and I'm the strange witch who's paying him, in deference to the other elf's distress. Instead, she asked, "What's your name?"

"I is Winky, Miss…" Suddenly, another flash of recognition hit her: "You! You is Miss Hermione Granger. All the elves talks about you. They said you is a friend to the Hogwarts elves, except…except you is the witch who got Dobby freed!" She cringed away from her.

"Winky, it's okay. I'm not trying to free any elves who don't want it," she said gently. "I don't want to cause you any trouble. Now what's wrong? Why were you crying up here? Maybe we can help."

"Oh, pardon Winky, Hermione Granger. I is not liking heights at all, but my Master asks me to save him a seat, miss."

"Oh, and who's he?"

"Master Barty Crouch, miss."

"Oh, him," Hermione said, trying to mask her disapproval. Privately, she thought maybe Winky would be better off somewhere else, but she held her tongue. She let Dobby try to comfort Winky while she tried out her new Omnioculars. They were an amazing piece of work, with variable zoom up to 20x, and instant replay that could be slowed down by a factor of ten and still stay smooth. She wondered if she took them apart, if she could make them function as a high speed camera. How was the video stored? Could it be transferred to another medium for more convenient playback? Could they be modified to work as night-vision goggles or some such? The possibilities were endless. She could spend all year studying them, and she thought she just might.

Cornelius Fudge came into the box about half an hour later. He seemed to be prepared to meet Sirius because he looked him in the eye and shook his hand while he introduced the Bulgarian Minister to him and Harry. But then, he said, "Ah, here's Lucius." The group whirled around, and three blond heads with noses upturned strode into the room. They recognised the long, white-blond hair of Lucius Malfoy at once. Draco stood beside him, a carbon copy, but with shorter hair, and a tall, thin woman with golden blond hair who Hermione supposed was pretty except for the vaguely disgusted look on her face. Mr. Malfoy introduced her as his wife, Narcissa. However, the three immediately got into a staring contest—Mr. Malfoy with Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Malfoy with Sirius, and Draco with Harry.

"Good Lord, Arthur," Mr. Malfoy said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

Mr. Weasley just stared him down and didn't give him the pleasure of a response.

"Hello, Cousin," Sirius told Mrs. Malfoy.

What? She couldn't be the same cousin Mr. Crouch had mentioned, could she?

Thankfully, Draco and Harry didn't cause any trouble in front of the adults, but Mr. Malfoy and Draco both sneered at Hermione when they spotted her, and then Draco's eyes fell on the elves.

"Dobby?" he said in disbelief.

"Dobby!" Mr. Malfoy hissed.

"Eep! Dobby's old masters," the elf whispered.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Draco demanded. "Granger tricked Father into freeing you. You should be dead by now."

Dead? Hermione thought. Dobby was only improved by being freed. The elf stood his ground defiantly and said, "Dobby is working for Miss Hermione, now."

"Working for you?" Mr. Malfoy demanded. "A mud—muggle-born? So you took our servant to keep him for yourself? I don't believe it. Even if you wanted to, how could you afford the Elf Transfer Tariff?"

"I didn't," she said smugly. "I'm paying him."

There were gasps from everyone in the box who didn't know of Hermione's and Dobby's arrangement. She even thought she heard Mrs. Malfoy mutter the word "perversion."

"Paying him?" Mr. Malfoy advanced towards her menacingly, his hand on his cane. "Of all the—"

"I would be careful to exercise restraint if I were you, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said calmly, giving him a harsh stare. "There are witnesses here…and a lot more stairs."

At that, Mr. Malfoy started to sweat a little and backed off. He clearly remembered Dobby blasting him down a flight of stairs when he'd tried to attack Hermione a year ago. "Pardon me, Minister," he said. "A bit of private business."

Harry and many of the Weasleys looked amazed that she had made Lucius Malfoy back down. Sirius looked like Christmas had come early. "Brilliant," he whispered to her. "Not many people can stand up to him."

Ludo Bagman bounded into the Top Box to start the match, beginning by introducing the team mascots. Bulgaria's offering, Mr. Weasley said, were Veela.

"Oh, boy," Harry said nervously. He covered his ears for some strange reason.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"I learnt my lesson at the last Bulgaria game."

"What are you talking about?" she said, but even as she spoke, she noticed something strange going on. The Bulgarian mascots took to the pitch. She wasn't sure what to expect, but they looked like a very large squad of cheerleaders—the traditional tall, blond, curvy, and scantily-clad types. And yet, there was something otherworldly about them—something that was making most of the boys start to drool and their eyes glaze over. Hermione looked at Ginny, who was looking around, equally bewildered, with a disdainful look on her face. As for the adults, Sirius and Bagman looked utterly captivated by the veela, while Mr. Crouch and Mr. Malfoy seemed unaffected, which put a smug grin on Mrs. Malfoy's face.

It was hard to see what was going on at this distance, so Hermione picked up her Omnioculars and zoomed in on the veela. They definitely weren't human—more like the nymphs or sirens of myth—inhumanly beautiful, with flawless alabaster skin that seemed to shine in the golden light of the stadium and white-gold hair that stereotypically billowed behind them even in the absence of wind. She thought she remembered reading the term veela somewhere, in some Eastern European folklore or other. She would have to look it up later.

In any case, the veela obvious had an incredibly powerful allure for men, which increased as their singing and dancing became more and more frenzied. Interestingly, Hermione felt no allure at all, nor did Ginny, only a mild annoyance, which suggested the allure worked strictly on biological gender, since you would think there would be some level of hormonal response for women. She wondered if there were male veela who just weren't in as high a demand.

Presently, there was a shimmering on the walls of the stadium. Panning her Omnioculars, Hermione was shocked when she saw the cause. A few of the men were so enticed that they were trying to dive from the stands down to the pitch to get closer to the veela, and they were thankfully being bounced back by the wards. That seemed to be the cue for them to vacate the pitch, as signalled, she noticed, by an all-female team of handlers. That was certainly an interesting performance. She looked up and saw that Ron already had a leg up trying to get over the railing. She rolled her eyes. Typical Ron. Ginny smacked him in the back of the head.

"Wow, you weren't kidding Harry," Hermione said.

"I know. It's nuts whenever they come out," he answered. "I almost went over the rail myself the first time."

The Irish mascots were, of course, leprechauns. Hermione had read that leprechauns had some degree of human intelligence, but not enough to form any real organised society. They could certainly fly in formation, though, and as they flew over, gold coins rained down on the stands.

"Yes! Excellent!" Ron yelled, laughing like a maniac. He scooped up a handful of coins and shoved them into Harry's hands. "Here, for the Omnioculars!" he said. "Now you owe me a Christmas present. Ha!"

"They can't just be giving away this much gold," Hermione said.

"They isn't, Miss Hermione," came a squeak from around her feet. Dobby and Winky had to duck and cover to protect their heads from the rain of coins.

"What is it, Dobby?"

"It is being Leprechaun Gold, Miss. It is being conjured and will vanish in a few hours."

"What? What a rip-off!" Ron yelled.

Hermione took a closer look at one of the fake galleons and saw that instead of the usual profile bust of Merlin that normally graced wizarding money, these coins had an image of a leprechaun facing out and laughing at the holder. So Ron was definitely out of luck, so to speak.

She wasn't sure if the match itself would live up to the impressive pregame show, but she was pleasantly surprised to see that it did. The players were lightning fast, pushing the limits of both the Firebolts and the human body, and Viktor Krum was a regular aerial acrobat, doing handstands on his broom during the opening lap. The Quaffle was constantly in motion, being passed from one player to another and occasionally intercepted. They were only a few plays in when Ireland scored the first goal.

"Yes!" Hermione cheered, as did Fred and George, not just because their preferred team had scored, but because they'd won their hedge bet. Her assessment of Bulgaria's defence soon proved to be correct, as Ireland got three goals in before Bulgaria got their first. At that point, the veela started dancing, throwing the stadium into confusion.

Krum and Lynch, the Seekers dove at a terrifying speed. Hermione screamed in fright as Lynch crashed, just as Krum had intended. Harry said that was something called the Wronski Feint, but she just thought it looked like a good way to get oneself killed. She was worried that's what had happened to Lynch, but to her surprise, he got up, climbed back on his broom, and kept flying. Wizards were built a little tougher than muggles, she reminded herself. She herself had benefited from that resilience when she got slammed into a wall by a giant basilisk and managed to walk away.

The Bulgarians played dirtier as the game went on, but the Irish still pulled further ahead. By the time they were up a hundred and thirty to ten (which made Hermione, Fred, and George happy because it was getting close to the range to win their bet), both the teams and the mascots were practically at each other's throats. The veela successfully distracted the referee, who tried to have them sent off the field in response. Then, when the referee kept fouling the Bulgarians, the leprechauns formed into a giant middle finger, and that really set off the veela.

They started flying.

The veela transformed into what seemed to be harpies, with huge scaly-wings bursting from their shoulders, sharp beaks growing on their heads, and shooting fireballs from their hands at the leprechauns, who scattered at once. However, the veela hit a ward that prevented them from flying more than about ten feet above the ground so they couldn't interfere with the play and were forced to stay on the grass.

Note to self: never cross a veela, Hermione thought.

"And that, boys, is why you should never go for looks alone!" Mr. Weasley yelled.

The play continued even as Ministry wizards tried to corral the veela. Ireland scored four more times, putting them up a hundred and sixty points. Now, Bulgaria would have to score a goal before Krum caught the Snitch to win. Hermione and the Twins were on the edges of their seats.

"Do you think Krum'll catch it?" Hermione yelled.

"As soon as he sees it," Harry said with no doubt in his voice. "He knows they can't win."

Hermione was thinking the same thing, but then, the one thing that could have derailed it happened: Krum took a Bludger full in the face. But even then, he kept flying. Suddenly, Lynch dove, Krum followed, Lynch crashed again and was trampled by veela—that looked painful—and when the dust cleared, Krum had the Snitch—but Ireland had won the game.

The crowd roared. The pitch was in complete chaos at the upset. The Bulgarian Minister revealed he could speak English and had just been letting Fudge make a fool of himself all day. ("Brilliant! We're totally stealing that one!" said Fred and George.) And everyone in the Top Box was briefly introduced to both teams. (Krum seemed less imposing in person—less coordinated on the ground and slumping slightly, although that could have been from getting hit in the face by a Bludger.)

Finally, the Top Box cleared out enough for Hermione and the Twins to approach Bagman for their winnings. "Well, that wasn't quite a twist, wasn't it?" he said hoarsely. He looked a little nervous. "I expect they'll be talking about this for years. Oh, yes, now…how much do I owe you?"

"Hermione?" the Twins said with matching grins.

Hermione smiled sweetly and said, "You owe me twelve galleons, four sickles, and twenty-five knuts, Mr. Bagman, and you owe them four hundred forty-seven galleons, sixteen sickles, and two knuts."

"Four hundred," Fred and George whispered to each other in awe.

"Right, of course," Bagman said. He made a show of checking his pockets. "Well, I don't carry that much on me, of course, but how about I pop by your tent tonight and bring it to you."

Hermione looked to the Twins questioningly, and looked at each other.

"Alright, then," said Fred.

"We'll hold you to that."