World Cup and Omens

Sal never thought he'd say it, but he actually missed the summers when his only concern was whether Tonks would prank him or if Tulip would drag him off to explore some forgotten part of the tower. Instead, this summer had been consumed with research—specifically his basilisk armor. Unlike traditional wizard armor, it wasn't heavy or cumbersome. Instead, it was sleek, form-fitting, and infused with the rare properties of basilisk hide. Smooth, dark green with subtle, glowing runework woven through the scales, it felt more like slipping into a second skin than heavy armor. The closest comparison Sal could think of was the old Muggle shows his mother liked to reference—something about a green ranger and zords.

By the time he finally set the armor on its stand for the last time, summer had all but vanished, and Hogwarts was looming on the horizon.

"You know," Julius remarked as Sal pushed his trunk toward the door, "this might be the first time I've seen you not eager to go back to Hogwarts."

Sal sighed. "Can you blame me? I've fought a basilisk, dueled a shade of Voldemort, been nearly eaten by dementors… My track record of peaceful school years is nonexistent."

"I could pull you out," Lindsey offered casually, though there was an amused glint in her eyes.

Sal chuckled. "No, I'm good. Besides, I'm curious what this 'surprise' of yours is."

Lindsey smirked, her usual politician's poker face slipping just enough to show how pleased she was with herself. "It wouldn't be much of a surprise if I told you, now would it? But I promise, it'll make this year memorable in the best way. Something fitting to end your time as a student."

That piqued Sal's interest enough to shake off some of his nerves. "Now I really can't wait to find out."

"Oh, and one more thing," Lindsey added, already flipping through some parchment. "We're getting up early for the Quidditch World Cup."

Sal groaned. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. As the Minister of Magic, I can't have my son skipping the biggest event of the year. Besides, the Weasleys won tickets, and Harry and Hermione will be there."

"Fine," Sal muttered. "I suppose I might as well put those tickets Viktor gave me to use. I only took them to be polite… I'll see if Tonks and Tulip want to come."

Much to Tonks' absolute misery, that meant dragging herself out of bed at an hour most people considered criminal.

"Sal… How are you this awake?" Tonks groaned as she stumbled into the kitchen of the tower, her hair a sleepy shade of dull purple. "The sun's not even up yet. Normal people are still sleeping. I feel like my soul hasn't fully loaded."

Sal smirked, sipping his tea. "Early morning training. Helps build discipline."

"Helps build bags under my eyes," Tonks muttered, rubbing her face. "Where are my clothes?"

"On your dresser. House elves put them there last night."

"Bless them."

Tulip was only slightly better off, managing to drag herself in with her hair tied in a hasty bun, mumbling something about the injustice of sunrises. "I swear, Sal, if this Quidditch match isn't the greatest thing I've ever seen, I'm hexing you."

"I'll take that risk."

They were among the first to arrive at the site, long before the chaos of the crowds. The massive, sprawling fields were dotted with freshly set-up tents, and the gentle hum of wards being cast filled the morning air. Smoke from breakfast fires drifted lazily above the treetops.

"I'll find a good spot for our tent," Lindsey announced as they disapparated into the site. "We'll be staying overnight, so make yourselves comfortable."

"We're going to check out the stadium before it gets too crowded," Sal said, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Better seats and all that."

Tonks yawned dramatically. "Wake me up when the game starts."

"You'll thank me when the crowd triples and we're not stuck behind someone wearing a flag for a hat," Sal replied.

And as they set off toward the stadium, Sal felt the first real flutter of excitement in weeks. Maybe, just maybe, this year would finally start with something normal.

But deep down, he knew better.

A variety of businesses from across the magical world had set up colorful concession stands around the World Cup campsite. Flags from every nation fluttered in the breeze, the air rich with the aroma of international dishes and magical sweets. Sal and his friends were lingering by a food stand, sampling a plate of something that suspiciously resembled enchanted curry, when Tulip pointed across the way.

"Hey, there's Fred and George," she said, nodding toward the twins, who were halfway through assembling a rather lopsided tent with the rest of the Weasley family. "Come on. I need to talk to them."

Sal and Tonks followed as Tulip led the way.

"Oi! Fred! George!" Tulip called.

The twins looked up in perfect unison. "Tulip!" they greeted together, dropping their tent poles.

"Do you remember what we talked about when we first started our little business arrangement?" Tulip asked, a sly grin on her face.

Fred smirked. "Hard to forget."

George nodded. "Our grand plan for a joke shop."

"Good. Because it just got very real." Tulip handed over a neatly folded parchment.

Fred opened it, eyes widening. "Is this—"

"A deed?" George finished.

Tulip beamed. "To a building in Hogsmeade. It's all yours."

Fred and George stared at her, then at each other, mouths agape.

"It's a bit of a fixer-upper," Tonks added with a grin, "but it's in prime real estate. Hogwarts students pass through every Hogsmeade weekend. You'll have no shortage of customers."

Fred frowned thoughtfully. "Isn't there already a joke shop there?"

"There was," Sal answered, hands in his pockets. "Let's just say I made them an offer generous enough to encourage a 'fresh start' somewhere else. Trust me, they're not exactly hurting for Galleons these days."

"This is brilliant," George said, clutching the deed like it was treasure. "We even have the perfect name ready."

"Oh?" Tonks asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do tell."

Fred and George grinned. "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

Tonks laughed. "Perfect. And if you're looking for another investor—besides us—try Sirius. He was one of the Marauders, you know."

"Padfoot?" Fred gasped.

"The Padfoot?" George echoed.

Tonks nodded. "The one and only."

"Well, George," Fred said, slipping the deed carefully into his jacket. "I think we have a meeting to arrange."

"Absolutely, Fred," George agreed.

They hurried off toward the Weasley tent, already whispering excitedly to each other.

As they disappeared, Tulip turned to Sal. "So… how much did it take to convince the previous owner to relocate?"

Sal smirked. "Let's just say it bordered on the obscene."

Tonks snorted. "And here I thought I was the reckless one."

"Please," Sal said, waving them toward the next stall. "If I'm going to fund an empire of pranks, I'm at least getting a discount on products."

"Deal," Tulip laughed.

The match between Bulgaria and Ireland had been incredible. The stadium was still buzzing with leftover excitement as fans waved flags and cheered long after the final whistle. The Irish team took the win, but Viktor Krum's masterful capture of the Snitch had kept the Bulgarians from being humiliated on the scoreboard.

As the crowd began to thin, Sal made his way down to the pitch, weaving between reporters and eager fans. He found Viktor speaking with his team near the locker rooms.

"Hey, Viktor," Sal called, offering him a nod. "That was some excellent flying out there. You even managed to catch the Snitch. Impressive as always."

Viktor turned, his usual stoic expression easing slightly into a rare smile. "Thanks, Sal. It was a tough match. Ireland plays… very fast." He gestured to the group behind him. "Everyone, this is my friend Sal. I think you have heard of him, da?"

A few of the Bulgarian players exchanged knowing looks, recognizing Salazar Cross by reputation if not by face. Sal greeted them with a polite nod.

"I just wanted to congratulate you all on a great game," Sal said. "You made it worth watching."

Before Viktor could rope him into more introductions—or worse, interviews—Sal quietly excused himself. With the press lurking nearby, he knew it was better to disappear before his name ended up in tomorrow's papers.

By the time Sal returned to their tent, dinner was already underway. The warm glow of lanterns lit the space, and the table was filled with food. Everyone was laughing and talking over each other as Sal stepped inside.

"So, how'd it go?" Lindsey asked from her spot at the table, sipping tea.

"Fine," Sal replied, dropping into a chair beside her. "Left before anyone else could corner me. I think Viktor's handling the spotlight well enough without me getting dragged into it."

"I thought it was a good game," Tulip added between bites.

"Of course you did," Tonks teased. "You bet Krum would catch the Snitch."

Tulip smirked. "And I was right. A win's a win."

Sal chuckled. "How were the Weasleys? Did they find their seats all right?"

"They were good," Lindsey answered. "Arthur was very thankful for the tickets, and I think Harry had the time of his life. Hermione… not so much. I don't think Quidditch is really her thing."

"Not surprising," Sal said with a small grin. "But I'm glad they enjoyed it."

He stretched, feeling the long day catching up to him. "Well, since we're probably leaving early, I'm going to call it a night."

"Sleep well, your majesty," Tonks teased.

"Ha ha," Sal muttered as he made his way to his cot. "I'll remember that."

And with that, the tent settled into a quiet hum, the distant sounds of celebration carrying on into the night as Sal drifted off to sleep.

It was the dead of night when Sal woke to the unmistakable scent of smoke. Thick and acrid, it burned at his throat as he sat up, his instincts already on high alert. Then came the distant sound of screaming, shattering the night like a dagger through silence.

"Tonks!" Sal hissed, shaking her awake. "Tonks, up! We've got a problem."

She groaned, rubbing her eyes groggily. "Sal… what—"

"Now!"

That did the trick. She shot upright, grabbing her wand as Tulip scrambled from her cot beside them.

Outside, the campsite was chaos. Tents burned in bursts of orange flame. People were running in every direction, families clutching children as they fled, and spells zipped through the air like fireworks gone horribly wrong.

"Sal…" Tulip breathed, eyes wide.

"I know." He pointed toward the rising plumes of smoke. "Tulip, you're with me. We need to start getting those fires under control. Tonks, stay with my mother and help clear people out safely."

Lindsey appeared at Tonks' side, wand already drawn, her expression unreadable. "Go. We'll hold the line here."

Sal nodded sharply. "Let's move."

Together with Tulip, Sal sprinted toward the worst of the fires, casting streams of water from his wand. "Aguamenti!" The flames hissed and sputtered, retreating beneath the torrent.

But that's when Sal saw them. Dark figures emerging from the shadows, faces hidden behind silver masks. They moved with practiced ease, casting curses at terrified campers.

"Death Eaters…" Tulip whispered, her voice tight with fear.

Sal's face hardened. "Just focus on the fires. I'll deal with them."

He turned to face the masked figures, stepping between them and the fleeing families. "Oi!" Sal called out, his voice carrying over the roar of the flames. "Haven't you lot heard? You lost the war!"

One of the Death Eaters turned toward him, mask glinting in the firelight. "We shall see," the figure sneered, their voice distorted by the metal.

Sal raised his wand. "Protego Maxima!"

The first curse bounced harmlessly off his shield, but before he could launch a counterattack, there came a rapid series of pops. Reinforcements—Aurors arriving at last, appearing like shadows out of thin air, wands raised and spells at the ready.

For a moment, Sal thought the fight might truly begin. But the Death Eaters hesitated. One of them fired a last curse into the sky, and the air rippled as a green skull with a serpent tongue blazed into existence above the campsite—the Dark Mark.

Sal watched them vanish with sharp cracks of Apparition, leaving behind only smoke, panic, and the chilling reminder that Voldemort's followers were not as scattered as they'd hoped.

Sal exhaled slowly, lowering his wand as Tulip jogged back to him, soot staining her cheeks.

"They're gone," she said.

"For now," Sal replied darkly. "But this… this isn't over."

Behind them, the Dark Mark loomed over the ruins of the camp, casting a sickly green glow over the night.