The match descended into chaos far quicker than anyone had anticipated. Ireland found themselves on the receiving end of not one, but two penalties after the Bulgarian Keeper, in a fit of frustration, fouled one of the Irish Chasers. It wasn't long before the Beaters on both sides began to show no mercy, launching Bludgers at anything that moved. The game was turning ugly fast, and the penalties piled up one after another.
One of the most thrilling moments came when Quigley launched a Bludger straight at Krum, who failed to duck in time. The ball struck him square on the face with a sickening thud.
Eleanor winced, her stomach turning at the sight. Though Krum wasn't exactly her type, there was no denying his skill. He was one of the few keeping the match exciting, especially when she recalled his daring Wronski Feint earlier. But this... this was different.
Blood splattered across the pitch, dark and sticky, but Hassan Mostafa, the referee, didn't blow his whistle. He simply watched. Eleanor groaned.
"Blimey, ref! He can't play like that!" Adrian muttered, his voice full of disbelief.
"Wait, just watch!" Berenice cried, gripping Adrian's arm with a sudden burst of excitement. Her eyes were locked on the Seeker, Aidan Lynch. "He's seen it! He's seen the Snitch!" she yelled, bouncing up and down in her seat.
The Irish supporters were on their feet, roaring in anticipation, but Eleanor saw Krum already closing in on Lynch's tail. Flecks of blood flung through the air, painting the ground as the two Seekers hurtled towards the earth.
"Oh no!" Eleanor screamed, leaping to her feet. The crowd around her gasped, some screaming in horror.
"They're going to crash!" Isabeau gasped beside her, clutching her arm tightly.
"No, they won't!" Adrian shouted, gripping Berenice's hand with fervour. "Lynch!" he yelled, as if willing the Seeker to find his balance.
But it was too late. For the second time that evening, Lynch hit the ground with a bone-crushing thud, sending up a cloud of dust. Mediwizards rushed onto the field, pushing back a swarm of angry Veela who had been circling around the fallen Irish Seeker. The crowd's tension was palpable.
"Where's the Snitch?" Mister Yaxley bellowed, his voice full of frantic desperation. He wasn't the only one asking.
"Krum's got it!" Eleanor shouted, barely believing it. "The game's over!"
And indeed, as Krum rose into the air, his fist aloft with a glint of gold clutched tightly in his hand, the scoreboard flickered to life, flashing the results for all to see: BULGARIA 160, IRELAND 170. The crowd slowly began to realise what had just happened.
"Ireland wins!" Bagman's voice rang out, thick with surprise and disbelief. "Krum catches the Snitch, but it's Ireland who takes the Cup!"
"Well, that wasn't expected," Adrian's mother murmured, staring wide-eyed at her husband, who was still processing the sudden turn of events. "Why on earth did he catch the Snitch? If he'd waited for another goal from the Chasers, Bulgaria would've won."
Mr Yaxley shook his head, clapping along with the crowd. "The Irish Chasers were too good. Krum knew they'd never catch up."
"He wanted to end it on his terms," Adrian observed, his gaze still fixed on Krum, who was now being swarmed by a gaggle of mediwizards.
"Proud fool," Mr. Pucey muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
"A real shame," Mr. Yaxley added, glancing at the field where the players were beginning to regroup.
The two teams were led into the Top Box to take their bows, and Castor immediately leapt into Eleanor's lap to get a better view. But Eleanor wasn't focused on the Quidditch players or their well-deserved accolades. Her eyes were trained on George Weasley's face, his wide grin lighting up the box as Troy and Quigley lifted the Quidditch Cup above their heads.
A smile tugged at Eleanor's lips, unbidden, as she watched him.
By the time the Yaxleys and Puceys were making their way down the purple-carpeted stairs, Eleanor's thoughts were still caught up in the whirlwind of the match. Berenice, her sharp mind already back to the tactics of the Irish Chasers, was chatting animatedly with Adrian about their strategic brilliance.
Next to her, Castor was yawning widely, trying to stifle the sound with his hand. Eleanor squeezed his small hand gently.
"Are you tired?" she asked softly.
"A bit," Castor replied, his eyelids drooping. "Who was your favourite player tonight?"
Eleanor furrowed her brow in thought. "I think Troy, the Irish Chaser. He was excellent. Who was yours?"
"Lynch," Castor said with a beaming smile, his eyes practically twinkling. "I'm glad he won."
Eleanor didn't have the heart to remind Castor that Lynch had fallen off his broom not once, but twice. She decided it was better to let it go.
"Fancy one last cup of cocoa?" Isabeau Yaxley asked as they all made their way back to the tent.
Mister Yaxley, ever the efficient planner, turned to his wife with a look of quiet resolve. "Why don't you take the children back to Falestone Manor? I've arranged a Portkey for you, and I'll have Polly, our house-elf, send our belongings along once I'm finished here. Keep an eye on our guest, will you?"
The tension in his voice didn't go unnoticed. Eleanor exchanged a glance with Berenice, the unease mounting between them.
"Of course, mon chèri," Isabeau said, her voice light, though her eyes flicked to her husband with concern. She grabbed Castor's hand, and with a firm nod, she led the children away.
"What's going on?" Eleanor murmured, her voice low, as they followed.
"I have no idea," Berenice replied, her voice equally hushed. "But it sounds serious."
Eleanor nodded. There was something in the air—something tense, something that didn't quite add up.
As they made their way across the campsite, they were joined by Madam Malfoy, who wore a travel robe over her Muggle clothing, her hair tightly pulled into a bun. Narcissa Malfoy didn't spare a glance at either Eleanor or Berenice as she engaged in a hushed conversation with Isabeau. Their heads leaned close, speaking in murmurs too quiet for Eleanor to catch.
"Good evening, Madam Malfoy, Madam Yaxley," greeted Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, his tone polite but with a touch of nervousness as he handed them a shabby old teddy bear with a missing eye.
"Thank you, Basil," Isabeau said, her voice calm but strained. She ushered everyone around the bear and pulled Castor in close, her arm around him protectively.
In a flash, they were whisked away, and before Eleanor knew it, they were standing in the grand hall of Falestone Manor. The familiar warmth of the place embraced her as she stepped in.
"Dippy?" Isabeau called, and the old house-elf appeared, wearing a makeshift tablecloth as a tunic. His wide, glassy eyes looked up at her.
"Yes, mistress?" he squeaked.
"Please prepare some hot cocoa, Dippy. And see to it that a room is ready for Madam Malfoy," Isabeau instructed.
"Of course, mistress," the elf croaked before vanishing.
The living room was already toasty, the fire crackling away merrily. Eleanor, grateful for the warmth, collapsed beside Berenice on the dark red chaise longue while the older women settled into the armchairs.
The conversation soon turned, and Narcissa Malfoy, with a flicker of distaste, began to speak.
"I cannot believe Arthur Weasley used that Potter boy to get his family into the Top Box for free," she huffed, her voice icy. "All that talk about honour and Gryffindor bravery—how dare he use that boy like that?"
"Are you certain?" Isabeau asked, her tone cool and measured as Dippy presented them with steaming mugs of cocoa.
"Absolutely," Narcissa spat, her face flushed. "As soon as Fudge learned the Weasleys were bringing the Potter boy, he presented them with the tickets—free, no less! For every single member of his family! And Lucius spent a fortune on those tickets! And yet—" She broke off with a sharp intake of breath, her face redder than before. "And yet thatblood traitorgets them for free!"
Isabeau shook her head, clearly appalled. "I never would have thought Arthur Weasley would stoop so low."
Eleanor, trying to make sense of it all, took a sip of her cocoa. The warmth of it did little to soothe the chill creeping up her spine. There was something very wrong tonight. It wasn't just the conversation—it was the strange tension in the air, the hushed whispers, and the unsettling behaviour of Mister Yaxley earlier.
And then, just as the last echoes of the match faded, something else happened.
Dippy reappeared to lead Castor off to bed, and as he did, a silvery Patronus in the shape of a large dog appeared in the room. It ran straight to Isabeau, who placed her cup down with a delicate clink.
"Good evening, Madam Yaxley. I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I've heard the news regarding the incident at the World Cup campsite. I'd feel safer if my daughter returned home tonight. Thank you," the Patronus spoke, its voice that of Astraea Fawley, before it dissolved into nothingness.
Eleanor felt her heart skip a beat.
"What incident?" she asked, her voice tremulous with unease. Isabeau immediately stood.
"You've heard your mother, Miss Eleanor," she said briskly, her tone filled with forced calm. "I'm afraid some drunken fools made a scene, cursing a Muggle family—the campsite manager's, to be exact. The crowd was getting out of hand, and we felt it best to get you away from there."
Eleanor felt her stomach drop. The air felt suddenly too thin to breathe.
"Of course," she said, her voice flat. "May I use your Floo to return home, Madam Yaxley?"
"Of course, darling," Isabeau said, pulling her into a tight hug. "We only want you safe. Dippy will pack your things and send them after you, don't worry about that."
As she was led to the Floo, Eleanor gave a final farewell to Berenice, who gave her a small, sad smile.
"Don't miss me too much, Bunny," Eleanor teased softly.
With a last glance at the Yaxleys and a whisper of gratitude to Narcissa Malfoy, Eleanor stepped into the Floo, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken fears.
"Arundel Castle," she said, her voice echoing in the swirling green flames.
The moment she stepped out, her mother's arms were around her.
"Are you alright? Did someone attack you?" Astraea's voice was thick with concern.
"I'm fine, Mother," Eleanor muttered, her voice numb. "What's going on?"
Her mother, still in her nightdress, looked at her as if she hadn't yet fully woken up from some unpleasant dream.
"You weren't at the campsite tonight, dear?" Astraea asked, still confused.
"No. Mister Yaxley insisted we return to Falestone Manor after Krum caught the Snitch," Eleanor said, shivering slightly.
Her mother sat down heavily, her face drawn. "Something happened after the match, dear."
Eleanor's heart skipped a beat.
"What?" she asked, her voice low.
Astraea hesitated, then took a deep breath.
"Apparently, some Purebloods—drunk, foolish men—decided to make sport of the Muggle campsite manager and his family," Astraea whispered, her eyes dark with disgust. "The youngest child was barely five."
Eleanor felt bile rise in her throat.
"And then... it gets worse," her mother whispered. "When they finished, some of those men... they summoned the Dark Mark."
Eleanor's mug dropped from her hands, shattering on the floor.
"Death Eaters," Astraea whispered.
Eleanor's blood ran cold.