Even as they were about to leave the stadium, the crowd lingered, still buzzing with excitement.

Cassandra and Lucius departed the venue after the award ceremony, returning to Malfoy Manor. Cassandra had matters she wished to discuss with Septimus.

Charlie and Bill were animatedly dissecting the thrilling match they’d just witnessed, convinced it would be talked about for decades. Even the Quidditch House Cup rarely saw a team catch the Golden Snitch yet lose the game—let alone in a Quidditch World Cup final like this one.

As they made their way out, Mr. Weasley repeatedly warned the twins not to mention their betting to Mrs. Weasley. "Your mother will have my hide, then stuff every single one of your Galleons down your throats," he threatened.

The twins chose to believe their father, especially since Mr. Weasley had cleverly sent Mrs. Weasley off early. Mr. Bagman, meanwhile, was practically giddy. Once Mrs. Weasley was gone, he waved his arms enthusiastically and said to the Weasley twins, "A glorious victory, wasn’t it? For us, I mean!" He pulled out a bulging pouch of Galleons—hundreds, by the look of it—and handed the twins their share. Turning to Veratia with a broad smile, he added, "And my thanks to you, Miss Grindelwald. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have had the nerve to stand with these two Weasley lads. Without that, I’d probably be bankrupt by now."

"All’s well that ends well," Veratia replied with a faint smile, accepting the Galleons from Bagman. She counted each coin carefully in his presence, ensuring accuracy before tucking them into her money pouch. She knew Bagman now owed her a favor. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve gone bankrupt from this World Cup and spiraled down a dark path. Clearly, Bagman was all too aware of how close he’d come to ruin.

Soon, the tide of people leaving the stadium for the campsite engulfed them. As they walked along the lantern-lit path, raucous singing filled the night air. Leprechauns zipped overhead, waving their tiny lanterns and cackling gleefully, celebrating Ireland’s victory. When the group finally reached their tents, no one felt like sleeping. The surrounding noise was too chaotic, so Mr. Weasley agreed they could have a cup of cocoa before turning in.

Almost immediately, arguments about the match broke out. Mr. Weasley and Charlie went at it over a foul involving a collision, neither willing to back down. It wasn’t until Ginny fell asleep at the table, spilling her hot chocolate across the floor, that Mr. Weasley ordered everyone to stop bickering and go to bed. Hermione and Ginny slipped into the neighboring tent, while the Weasley boys changed into pajamas and retreated to their respective compartments.

Even then, the distant sounds of singing and odd crashing noises echoed through the night. "Thank Merlin I’m not on duty," Mr. Weasley mumbled sleepily. "Can you imagine me trying to get the Irish to stop celebrating? Unthinkable."

Harry entered his compartment to find Veratia already reclining on the bed, waiting for him. "Still caught up in the excitement?" she asked softly.

"It’s alright," Harry said, sitting naturally beside her. "Honestly, the match isn’t worth dwelling on. I’m more curious about what reward you’ve got planned for tonight." He paused, suddenly wary. "It’s not going to be another punishment like last time, is it?"

Veratia chuckled, slipping her slender arms around his neck. "Of course not." The thin blanket slid from her shoulders, revealing skin as smooth as alabaster. She wore only a purple camisole, and the sight left little to Harry’s imagination. His mouth went dry.

"What’s wrong?" Veratia asked with a teasing smile.

"N-nothing," Harry stammered, swallowing hard. His hands itched to move, but before he could act, Veratia’s arms pulled him closer. Soft, fragrant, sweet—she pressed herself against him, fitting perfectly into his hands. For a moment, Harry felt like Sir Edmund Hillary scaling Everest, measuring the peaks. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

He thought they’d continue, but Veratia gently pushed him back. Their lips parted. Confused, Harry looked into her eyes, which sparkled like stars.

"What’s up?" he asked.

Veratia leaned close, whispering in his ear, "Your big sister’s going to show you something even more fun."

More fun? Harry’s curiosity piqued. What could be more thrilling than a kiss? "What do you mean?" he asked, his hands still lingering where his conscience told him they shouldn’t.

"Guess," Veratia teased, pushing him down onto the bed and straddling him. They locked eyes, Harry’s breath quickening. Moonlight streamed through the window, bathing Veratia’s flawless skin in a divine glow. From this angle, she looked like a goddess of the moon. Instinctively, his hands found her thighs, soft yet firm with youthful elasticity.

Just as Veratia began to lift his shirt, a shout broke the moment. "Harry! Harry!"

In a flash, Veratia slid off him and, within the blink of an eye, was dressed in the formal attire she’d worn earlier. The curtain flew open—it was Hermione. She froze, taking in Harry’s disheveled state and Veratia lounging beside him. For a split second, she felt she’d caught something significant, but urgency overrode her thoughts. "Get up!" she shouted, panicked. "Something’s happened—something big! You and Veratia need to come with us now. It’s dangerous here!"

With that, she bolted out. Dangerous? Harry scratched his head, glancing at Veratia. Her smile was serene, but he knew that look. The biggest danger is right here, he thought. That expression meant Veratia was furious—beyond furious. The mood had been perfect, Cassandra was gone, and a rare opportunity had been ruined. Veratia was itching to hex something.

As they stepped out of the tent, they saw crowds fleeing toward the edge of the campsite. "Stick close," Sirius instructed the children. "It’s tense out there. Stay together, and we’ll head out as a group. It’s safer that way."

"Do we need to do anything?" Bill asked.

"No, just stay with us," Mrs. Weasley said firmly. "The Aurors will handle things. Our job is to avoid trouble and get home."

Following her orders, they hurried out of the tent. By the light of scattered fires, they could see people running toward the woods, as if fleeing something advancing across the campsite. Whatever it was glimmered strangely and made noises like gunfire. Loud jeers, wild laughter, and drunken shouts grew closer. Then, a cold, piercing cry rang out across the camp: "Morsmordre!"

It was followed by an absurd, comical "quack quack!" The scene turned painfully awkward. The Weasley twins burst out laughing. "Is that your wand?" Ron asked, spotting the obvious.

"Oh, Ronnie, dear," Fred said, glancing at their mother to ensure she wasn’t listening. "If Mum doesn’t know, we’ll let you in on it—it’s ours."

"But how did your wands end up with—" Ron paused, checking Mrs. Weasley wasn’t looking, "—with them? They don’t exactly sound like good people."

"Thanks to Harry," Fred said with a grin. "Without him, these wands would’ve been dead stock."

"Dead stock, help us out!" George added, winking.

"Atkins!" Another roar echoed through the camp, accompanied by more quacking. "Looks like they’ve stirred up a nest of wild ducks," Sirius quipped. "These Death Eaters are getting sloppier by the day. Then again, their master’s been hiding on someone’s scalp, pretending to be a woman to trick naive boys."

A rustling in the bushes startled them. Veratia cast a spell, and a shrill cry came from the shrubbery. A female house-elf emerged, struggling as if an invisible force was pulling her back. "Bad wizards everywhere!" she shrieked, frantically trying to escape. "High up—high up in the sky! Winky must flee!"

She gasped and fought against the unseen restraint, finally disappearing into the bushes on the other side of the path. "That’s Winky, I presume," Veratia said calmly, scanning the area. "She’s defying her master’s orders. What’s driving her, I wonder? Harry, any thoughts?"

"Me?" Harry pointed to himself. "What, do I know her master or something?"

"Maybe not," Veratia said with a sly smile. "But perhaps we’ve met them before."

"We should find out who she belongs to," Sirius said, catching her drift. "Winky... House-elves aren’t common in Britain. We can narrow it down."

Veratia glanced at Hermione, who stayed silent—no trace of misplaced compassion. Clearly, Kreacher’s lessons had stuck. "We need to get back," Mr. Weasley urged, clearly unwilling to linger with his entire family at risk. It was understandable—no one with a shred of responsibility would gamble their loved ones’ safety.

They reached the edge of the woods. "Wait here," Sirius said. "No need to panic. I’ve called for a carriage—it’ll be here soon."

As Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to speak, a rustling came from the forest, like someone struggling to break free. "Who’s there?" Mr. Weasley demanded, raising his wand toward the dark trees. No answer. Sirius raised his wand too, pointing cautiously into the shadows. Beyond a few feet, the darkness was impenetrable, but he sensed someone just out of sight.

"Who’s there?" he called again.

Without warning, a voice shattered the silence—not a panicked shout, but a spell: "Morsmordre!"

From the darkness, a massive, glittering green shape erupted, soaring above the treetops into the sky. "What’s that?" Ron stammered, jumping up and staring at the thing overhead. It was an enormous skull, formed of countless emerald-green stars, with a giant python slithering from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher, glowing brilliantly in a cloud of green smoke, a new constellation against the black sky.

"The Dark Mark," Harry said, frowning. He’d seen it before, in his first year, when a certain androgynous Voldemort had secretly branded Draco with it.

"You know it?" Sirius asked, his voice tight with concern.

"Yeah," Harry said with a shrug. "During the summer after first year, I saw it on Draco’s arm. I got rid of it."

"What is that thing?" Ron asked, gaping. "I’ve never seen it before."

"It’s You-Know-Who’s mark," Mr. Weasley said, staring skyward with a sigh. "He brands his most loyal followers with it. Now I understand why Lucius was so desperate to stay on your good side, Harry—you saved his son.

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