I do not own Harry Potter nor World of Darkness
Riddle House, Little Hangleton, 9th August 1994 (Saturday)
Pettigrew crawled his way toward the house, barely conscious in his animal form.
He was tired, hungry and exhausted, but he did not dare close his eyes. He did not dare fall asleep. Ever since that night in the Shrieking Shack, sleep only brought forward nightmares. James, Lily, Remus, Sirius… They were all there. They brandished their wands and chased him down the streets, and blasted him into a red mist, one limb at a time. Whenever he changed into a rat to escape his old friends, hordes of hungry cats led by that monstrous Crookshanks pounced after him, devouring him alive. If for some miracles he escaped the cats, his torment wasn't finished. That was when the Death Eaters joined the hunt. Malfoy, Nott, Avery, Dolohov, the Carrow twins… even the Dark lord himself, chasing him with dark curses, ripping him apart one spell at a time. The one time he managed to escape them, the one time he thought he was safe, the Weasley caught him, suffocating him as they threw themselves over him, body after body until his bones cracked.
The same nightmare, the same faces, the same curses, the same pain night after night after night.
So, he did what he had to: he fled.
He ran and ran and ran and ran.
He revisited old safehouses, both of the Order and the Death Eaters, old dilapidated buildings in the hope that one of their wards would keep the nightmares away.
Any hole in the wall, every sewer grate, every hollow trunk in the woods was one more obstacle between him and his pursuers, but none of them lasted for long. None kept the nightmares out.
With a few more skittering steps he found his way to the Riddle house. It wasn't a particularly well-known location, even among Death Eaters, for the Dark Lord had… issues with it. What those issues were was a well guarded secret among his most trusted followers, but because of it, many Death Eaters liked to keep their distance from the house.
And that was exactly the reason why Peter was here.
No one would look for him in this place. The Order didn't know about it and Death Eaters avoided it. That would keep his nightmares at bay.
All he had to do was to…
A hiss sent a chill down the rat's spine. He turned his head towards a snake staring right at him. Out of instincts, he transformed back into a human.
"Shoo!" He shouted, hoping the sudden increase in size would be enough to chase the snake away. He was about to shout again when he felt something poking at his back.
"Hello, Wormtail." growled a familiar voice.
Power Potter's, London, 17th August 1994 (Sunday)
The memories of that horrible week still haunted his nights, and even if potions had made his scars disappear, sometimes he could still feel the echoes of the lashes on his back. Harry had been doing his best to keep his mind occupied, studying to make up for his failed Potion class with loads of extra work, anything to keep his mind out of that horrid memory. And currently, the thing keeping his mind occupied was a letter from his godfather. He had received a total of six letters from Sirius during the summer, all of which had been delivered not by owls, but by large, brightly colored tropical birds. This had caused a bit of attention, but with the many requests Power Potter's was receiving as of late, everyone just assumed it was correspondence from a foreign or particularly eccentric wizard. Harry had honestly liked the birds more than the usual owls and he hoped that, wherever Sirius was, he was enjoying himself. Sirius's letters sounded cheerful, and in both of them he had reminded Harry to call on him if ever Harry needed to, even if the boy knew that without a way to circumvent his addiction to Vitae, there was absolutely nothing Sirius could do for him.
Lupin had also contacted Harry, this time with a large snowy owl, describing his new life in Agdleruussakasit. Harry had absolutely no idea how to pronounce the name, but the man seemed cheerful. Despite the cold, he seemed to have found his calling as a teacher for the small number of magically-gifted werewolves and, being the only one with the certifications to teach magical subjects, he was looking forward and dreading the start of the school year in equal measure. He was also getting to know a young Metamorphmagus working as a security guard, so overall his life was looking pretty good. Apparently, their enclave had some issues with wizards attacking their boat, but after Mr. Francesco had bought a couple of military attack helicopters, the problem seemed to have disappeared. Harry felt like two helicopters were a massive overkill and wondered how many wizards had been turned into red mist in order to make the problem 'disappear', but he had to agree that they made for an excellent deterrent, since they had no issues afterwards.
He had spent a good part of the summer with Daphne, Astoria and Rena Greengrass, their mother, who were trying their best to spend as little time in Greengrass manor as possible and had been on a small rotation between various family friends that hosted them. With Diagon Alley being the main shopping district for Britain, they often visited Harry's shop.
Power Potter's had increased in size, to the point they now had a grand total of fifty wizards working under them, most of which had been put hard at work on a Ministry project to offer live streaming for the Quidditch World cup. The logistics for the transmission had been nightmarish to say the least, but they had somehow managed to get everything moving on schedule. Sure, they had to reduce the streaming location from five to two, but since no one outside of Ludo Bagman, minister Fudge and Power Potter's workers even knew there were supposed to be five locations, the public was extremely happy.
On a more sour note, the news he had received from Theo were… concerning. He knew the boy was desperate to save his mother, but contacting Sir Zettler for help… News of Lavinia Nott's almost miraculous recovery had made the first page of the Daily Prophet, with many 'experts' trying to explain the miraculous cure with outrageous claims like Lavinia Nott had become a Phoenix animagus or that she had transferred her soul into a magically-grown body. If only they knew…
As expected, Lavinia had lost all of her magic, even if she seemed to be quite adept at Thaumaturgy, thanks to the few booklets that Sir Zettler had sent her for practice.
Her personality had, thankfully, not changed too much, even if she showed an almost fanatical devotion to Sir Zettler. Harry knew deep down that he should have been furious with Theo for going behind his back, but after seeing them walking around in the shop, smiling, he couldn't really find it in himself to blame him for his choice. In his situation, he'd probably do the same.
Once his rage disappeared, it was swiftly replaced with concern for Theo's family: with his mother blood bonded to Sir Zettler, the Metuselah's grasp on wizarding politics was more than enough to start pushing the legislations he wanted, and with how ruthless and sadistic the vampire had been to Fudge…
The worst part about it was that Lavinia was a sixteenth generation Thinblood. Her Vitae was so diluted that it wasn't even enough to sate Harry's addiction, cutting them off from a possible way out of Zettler's grasp.
He shook his head. A problem for another day.
For now, he just had to enjoy the opportunity to watch the 422nd Quidditch World Cup. Sure, he had to be there the day before the final, since both Barnaby and Zafrina were there to make sure their equipment was functioning properly, but that wasn't too bad. Ron's family would accompany Hermione's to the cup, while the Nott family would accompany Daphne, Astoria and Rena Greengrass. Unfortunately they were pretty much on the other side of the stadium than Harry and the Weasley, but they had already agreed to meet up backstage after the match. With a bit of luck, they might even get to meet the teams.
He walked around the stadium, walking past the multiple tents that housed the wizards that had decided to camp around the stadium, checking his watch as he finally reached the arrival spot for Portkey travel.
On the dot of five past seven, he heard a few thumps and looked up from his watch.
"First time using a Portkey?" He asked, helping Ron and Hermione disentangle themselves from the others and pulled them to their feet.
"Good morning, Mr. and Miss Weasley. Good morning, Mr. and Miss Granger."
"Good morning Harry, but please call me Arthur. Have you been here for long?"
"A day or two. We had some problems with a few cables being too short, but we found a way around it."
"Glad to hear it. Do you know where… - he pulled out a piece of parchment. - area 56 A is? Our tent is supposed to be there."
"Mr. Potter isn't part of the staff, Arthur." pointed out a grumpy-looking wizard with a golden watch and a few pages of parchments in hand.
"Good morning, Basil."
"Morning Arthur. Your spot is a quarter of a mile's walk over there. Ask for Mr. Payne."
The group thanked the man, who proceeded to offer directions to Amos and Cedric Diggory, who landed together with the Weasley and the Grangers.
The group walked across the field, through an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance; a tent with three floors and several turrets; another a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.
"Always the same. - said Mr. Weasley, smiling. - We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."
They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and there was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground.
"The field is just on the other side of the wood there." pointed out Harry.
"Right. - said an excited Arthur Weasley. - no magic allowed. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult… Muggles do it all the time."
Hermione barely held a chuck as she looked at her dad, while Arthur looked at the man hoping for instructions.
"Where do you reckon we should start?"
Hermione's mom worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, because he got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, they finally managed to erect a pair of two-man tents.
Molly looked at their handywork.
"We'll be a bit cramped, but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."
Harry bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt his jaw drop. He had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and a strong smell of cats.
"Do you think I could buy something like that once me and my wife retire?" whispered Mr. Granger to Arthur.
"Probably. - said Mr. Weasley, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. - I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago."
Once the tents were set, Harry lead the way towards the stadium, walking past the brightly green tents of the Irish supporters. They caught a glimpse of the Bulgarian fans, with the moving poster of a young man scowling
"Krum" said Ron quietly.
"What?" said Hermione.
"Krum! - said Ron. - Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"
"He looks really grumpy." said Hermione, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling.
"'Really grumpy'? - Ron raised his eyes. - Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius, you wait until tonight, you'll see."
There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field, but with Harry leading the group, they got to move through the staff area.
"Hello, Barnaby."
"Arthur! Nice ta see you again, you should come by teh shop more often!"
The man slammed his hand on Arthur's shoulder, causing the Weasley to wince under the Kerasi's enthusiastic greeting.
"Harry, can you take these up? We don't got enough lightbulbs for camera 6. - He said, handing a cardboard box to the boy. - How 'bout I show you some of our things here 'round? We got yer seats all the way up, but we need teh elevators for some last-minute reparations."
"You have working elevators?" Asked a surprised Mr. Granger.
"Something close ta it. Only takes ya either all the way up or all the way down, but we're working on that. If we get it working properly by December, Sir Zettler's adding it to the shop."
"Is Sir Zettler here? I haven't met him yet."
Barnaby nodded, while Harry felt cold sweat dripping on his back, tracing the invisible lines of his whip scars. "He'll show up before ta game with Mr. Fudge. He kind o' bought 'very field 'round the stadium…"
As Harry left for his delivery aboard the 'elevator', whose better description would be a 'wooden box being shot upwards with an impromptu trebuchet', he returned to find the group talking with a haggard-looking Ludo Bagman.
"Let's see… a Galleon on Ireland to win?"
"A Galleon? - Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed. - Very well, very well… any other takers?"
"They're a bit young to be gambling. - said Mr. Weasley. - Molly wouldn't like…"
"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts. - said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money. - that Ireland wins but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand."
"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that…" Percy hissed, but Bagman's boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter.
"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"
Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval.
"Boys. - said Mr. Weasley under his breath. - I don't want you betting all your savings… Your mother…"
"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur! - boomed Ludo Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. - They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance... I'll give you excellent odds on that one. We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we..."
Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.
"What about you, Mr. Potter? Any bets?"
Harry smirked "Ten thousand Galleons on our broadcast being a success."
Barnaby laughed.
"Lad's not fun, Bagman. Put me down for ten Galleons on Ireland getting a one-hundred point lead before game ends."
After a few more bets, including a rather pissed Molly Weasley betting fifty Galleon on the twins getting a good spanking, Bagman left the group.
They spotted a few other Hogwarts students, spending some time chatting with them and their families, got a handful of sandwiches delivered by Dobby and before they knew it, the sun had settled beyond the horizon and they were taking the 'elevator' to reach their assigned seats.
Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays full of extraordinary merchandise: Luminous rosettes, green for Ireland and red for Bulgaria; talking shirts squealing the names of the players; pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks; Bulgarian scarves adorned roaring lions; flags playing their national anthems as they were waved; tiny models of Firebolts shooting through the air; collectible figures of famous players that strolled across the palm of your hand…
"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this." Ron told as they strolled through the salesmen. Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, but also a small figure of Viktor Krum, walking back and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette.
"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials.
"Omnioculars. - said the saleswizard eagerly. - You can replay actions, slow everything down and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain: ten Galleons each."
"Three pairs." said Harry firmly to the wizard.
"No.. don't bother." said Ron, feeling uncomfortable about his lack of money.
"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his hands. "For about ten years, mind you."
"Fair enough." said Ron, grinning.
And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.
"It's time! I can see Fudge's about to say something."
As the group turned to see minister Fudge sitting only a few rows behind them, Harry visibly paled as he recognized the figure sitting right next to minister and the wizard that ought to be his Bulgarian counterpart, right behind Bagman. Between the three wizards stood the unmistakable figure of Sir Harold Zettler, politely engaging in small talk. As the vampire noticed Harry looking at them, he waved at him.
"Who's that guy?" Asked Ron.
"Sir Zettler."
The group looked at Harry, before once again turning to look at his guardian, then back at Harry.
"THAT is Sir Zettler? - asked Molly in disbelief. - but he looks so scrawny!"
"What's with the scar?"
"George! Don't be rude! - exclaimed Arthur, before turning to Harry. - Should we go and introduce ourselves?"
Harry shook his head, maybe a bit too fast to look like a simple dismissal. "He's talking with both the English and Bulgarian ministers, he's… probably busy."
Harry wasn't sure what to do. After that nightmarish week, he had been scared to even think about Sir Zettler, let alone approach him. He had been made to write a formal apology for his mistake, but writing was easy: so long as he stayed respectful and on point, there was no excuse for the man to order another whipping, but in person… How would he react if he knew Harry had seen him puppeteering Fudge and making the man into a murderer? Even before that week, when he tried to ask him about Sirius he didn't even remember how much time he had spent in front of a blank piece of parchment trying to find the words before discarding the idea entirely. There had to be a way to clear his godfather's name, but he didn't know how to approach the subject. Would Sir Zettler even agree to let him go? Sure, during his first year Harry had been an invaluable asset, being the only tie the man had with the wizarding world, but now he had built his own connections. He ghouled Fudge, for Merlin's sake, he didn't need Harry's help anymore… right? Would he agree to let him go? Use his influence to ensure Sirius's freedom?
A small cough brought his attention back to reality. Ludo Bagman had whipped out his wand, and casted a Sonorus charm on his own throat.
"Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message: Power Potter's, bringing the World Cup to you!
"And now, with thanks to Pentex Potter's for sponsoring the event, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian Mascots!"
A hundred of the most beautiful, almost ethereal women Harry had ever seen were gliding out onto the field, their skin shining like the moon. The creatures started to dance, and Harry's mind had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that he kept watching and… a hard pull knocked him out of his trance, Kaa's tail wrapped around his torso as the familiar all but slammed Harry back to his seat.
"What are you doing?" hissed the Amphiptere.
Harry blinked. Next to him, Ron was frozen, one of his legs was resting on the wall of the box, and many others around the stadium seemed equally mesmerized.
"I was… bewitched?"
Kaa wrapped himself around the boy, his giant body wrapped around his master.
"Not to worry, Harry. - he whispered in parseltongue. - I'll keep an eye on you."
"And now - roared Ludo's voice. - kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish Mascots!"
Next moment, a green-and-gold comet zoomed into the stadium, splitting in two. A rainbow arched across the field, as the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged into an explosion of gold coins that rained down on the spectators.
Bagman's voice once again boomed over the crowd.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome… the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand… Krum!"
Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows, looking like an overgrown bird of prey.
"And now, please greet… the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand… Lynch!"
The match was well fought, but ultimately Ireland won despite Krum getting the snitch. The twins immediately headed over to Bagman to get their winnings, the Weasley were shouting in celebration and even the Grangers were having fun. Before Harry could join them, he felt a shiver as a familiar hand grabbed his shoulder.
"Delightful seeing you here, Harry. Did you enjoy the match?"
Harry turned around and nodded, cold sweat forming on his forehead as he looked anywhere but at the vampire's blazing red eyes.
"It was, sir. I enjoyed it a lot."
The vampire smiled.
"Wunderbar. - He paused for a second. - Is there something troubling you? Anything you wish to share? What were you thinking about before the match started, Harry?"
Harry's mind froze, but his mouth seemed unable to stay still.
"It's… my godfather, sir. I was wondering… would it be possible to give him a re-trial?"
Zettler raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting a different answer.
"Interesting question, Harry. Say… If I were to offer you the best legal team money can buy… are you adamant the result of the trial would be different?"
Harry paused for a second.
"I see. I'm afraid the answer is no, my dear. If not even the best lawyers can ensure a different verdict we'll only be wasting time and money. - The vampire patted Harry's head. - No matter. Go and have fun now. I have business with the Bulgarian minister and if things go well, we'll open a Power Potter's shop in Sofia before the end of the year."
Harry nodded, relief setting over as he looked at his Domitor walking away.
He blinked. He didn't want to share any news about Sirius, why…
"He used a Discipline on you, master." hissed Kaa in parselmouth.
Harry nodded, a bit shaken by how effortlessly the vampire had exposed his secrets. He had to count on his good luck that the vampire's own wording forced him to talk about Sirius and not… anything else.
"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers: Bulgaria!" Bagman shouted.
Up the stairs came the defeated Bulgarian players. One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, Bagman calling the names as they shook hands with their own minister, then Fudge and lastly with Sir Zettler. Krum, the last in line, looked like a mess but still holding the Snitch. And then came the Irish team, with Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly after the second crash dazed him to the point his eyes looked strangely unfocused. At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform a lap of honor on their brooms, Harry's group started to walk towards the backstage where, after a long time spent trying to move across the labyrinthine network of cables, screens and the many, many wooden beams that supported the structure, they finally met with Theo, Daphne, Astoria, Gerard, Lavinia and Rena. While the Notts seemed determined to limit their conversations with the Grangers as much as humanly possible, they were still doing their best to appear courteous and avoided any overt sign of hostility to the muggle family.
As they finally stepped out in the fields, they could immediately tell that something was wrong: the singing had stopped, they could hear screams and the sound of people running.
"Get back in there." ordered Arthur, pointing at the wooden frame of the stadium.
Back in the relative safety of the backstage, the group had a full view of the chaos:
by the light of the few fires that were still burning, they could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter and drunken yells were drifting toward them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.
A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field, their heads hooded and their faces masked. More wizards were joining the marching group. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled.
"Death Eaters…" whispered Gerard under his breath.
What were they doing here? Had everyone just lost their minds? After all these years laying low… He mentally thanked Merlin that he was with the Weasley family and the muggles, knowing their mere presence would be the best alibi to deny his involvement. As it turned out, once every new moon muggles were useful for something, at least.
Several tents caught fire and the screaming grew louder.
Arthus, Bill, Charlie, and Percy pulled their wands out.
"We're going to help the Ministry! - Mr. Weasley declared, rolling up his sleeves. - You lot stay here, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"
"Well, we better…" started one of the twins, before being silenced by a simple gesture from Gerard Nott.
"You stay here. - His voice was firm, like a field commander ordering his troops. He turned to Arthur. - If you can, try sending people our way. We'll fortify this position and make sure it's well defended from those Death Eaters."
Arthur nodded. Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers as Mr. Weasley tore after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble.
Gerard, Molly and Rena started to wave their wand around, creating barriers in front of the stadium and reinforcing the wooden frame of the structure, as people started to reach in for their makeshift fortification, no doubt spurred by the older Weasley men.
The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the backstage, children were crying, anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air, looking for friends and family that got lost in the chaos. A girl with thick curly hair turned and said quickly, "Où est Madame
Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue…"
"Er… what?" said Ron.
"Oh…" The girl who had spoken turned her back on him, and as they walked on they distinctly heard her say, " 'Ogwarts."
"Beauxbatons," muttered Hermione.
"Sorry?" said Harry.
"They must go to Beauxbatons."
They passed a group of goblins who were cackling over a sack of gold that they had undoubtedly won betting on the match, and who seemed quite unperturbed by the trouble at the campsite.
Harry was listening for noise, and everything seemed to be finally calming down.
"I hope the others are okay." said Hermione after a while.
"They'll be fine." assured them Theo.
"Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight! - said Molly. - How do they expect to get away with it? Have they been drinking, or are they just…"
Gerard Nott was standing next to a shivering Lavinia. She was nervously biting her nails, trying to hold down her instinct to bite on her husband's hand to calm whatever type of vampiric thirst the chaos was awakening in her.
"It's ok, darling." said Gerard, summoning a glass bottle he had previously filled with his own blood and offered it to his wife.
After a few sips, Lavinia calmed down, thanking her husband.
Something vast, green, and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness at the edge of the campsite, flying up over the treetops and into the sky.
"What the… ?" gasped Ron as he sprang to his feet again, staring up at the green, colossal skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth that had just appeared in the sky, reawakening the panic and horrified screaming of the people around.
"What's the matter?" Harry said, puzzled.
"It's the Dark Mark, Harry! - Daphne almost shouted hysterically, clinging to Theo. - You-Know-Who's sign!"
After some tense minutes, a returning trio of Weasley found themselves cornered by the survivors who had taken refuge backstage.
"What's going on in there?"
"Who conjured it?"
"Dad, what's going on?"
"Arthur… it's not… Him?"
"Of course it's not Him. - said Mr. Weasley impatiently. - We don't know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. There's no trace of them left and the Aurors will soon organize a safe exit via portkey for everyone. Now that everything is ok, please, I want to get to my family."
Notes
Big-ass chapter this weak! I kinda wanted to go through the World cup in a single chapter because while it has some ideas and a bit of setup for the future, it's... not really that important to the main story
Wormtail is "vountarily" reunited with Nagini and... who am I kidding, you all know who it was. Main plot is following its course.
A bit of Harry's pondering about the future (which conveniently function as a recap), a bit of slice-of-life/banter with the families, Pentex's Potter growing to be an economic powerhouse and finally... the World Cup.
Harry has another meeting with Zettler, and it's only throught sheer, dumb luck that the vampire's Dominate didn't reveal any traitorous thought. Which means Zettler believes Harry to be docile and obedient... at least for now.
Befre you ask, Zettler onlly came out after dark. During the winter the sun goes down at like... 5 PM, moving the match so it starts after sundown, while maybe a bit unusual, is not really a problem for someone in his position as the main sponsor.
I hope you appreciate even these relatively slow chapters, I assure you big changes are on the horizon... after all, there's a reason a ton of fanfic starts with the Triwizard tournament (or in my case... the hexawizard tournament)