The thunderous roar of one hundred thousand celebrating fans gradually faded to a distant rumble as witches and wizards dispersed from the stadium. The massive crowd moved with surprising order despite their excitement, guided by floating Ministry signs that glowed with gentle blue light in the deepening dusk.
Harry walked alongside his friends in the steady march, his mind still buzzing with the spectacular match they had just witnessed.
The cool night air carried the mingled scents of magical fires, exotic foods from vendor stalls, and the lingering traces of leprechaun gold that sparkled briefly before vanishing into nothingness.
"Did you see that final dive by the Bulgarian Seeker?" Harry gestured enthusiastically, his hands cutting through the air as he attempted to recreate Krum's breathtaking maneuver.
The green eyes behind his glasses gleamed with passion. "That was an incredibly high-difficulty move: the angle, the timing, the precision required. Maybe I could try something like that myself."
The words tumbled out faster than his thoughts could organize them, excitement overriding his usual modesty. Around them, other groups of fans engaged in similar active discussions, their voices creating a constant backdrop of Quidditch analysis and passionate debate.
"That was Viktor Krum," Ron replied, his own face flushed with the lingering thrill of witnessing world-class Quidditch. "He's a professional player, Harry, one of the best Seekers in the world. There's an entire universe of difference between his technique and anything we could manage at Hogwarts. You don't need to compare yourself to someone like that. Don't push yourself too hard trying to match impossible standards."
But Harry's competitive spirit refused to be dampened by practical concerns.
"Wood joined a professional team too," He said with a hint of defiance creeping into his voice. "He signed with Puddlemere United right after graduation. If he could make that transition..."
"Just as a reserve player," Ron interrupted gently, though not unkindly. He recognized the look in Harry's eyes, it was the same determined gleam that appeared whenever Harry spotted the Golden Snitch during a match.
Sensing that this particular conversation might lead Harry down a path of unrealistic expectations and potential disappointment, Ron smoothly changed the subject. "You wouldn't seriously want to play professional Quidditch in the future, would you? I mean, as a career?"
The question hung in the air between them like a Snitch hovering just out of reach.
'Professional Quidditch...'
Harry turned the concept over in his mind, examining it from every angle as they continued walking through the cooling night.
The idea wasn't entirely without merit. The rush of competition, the roar of the crowd, the pure joy of flying at speeds that made the ground blur beneath him.
His thoughts inevitably returned to Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker whose performance had been magical.
According to Ron's earlier commentary, Krum was still a student at Durmstrang Institute, probably not much older than Harry himself. The Bulgarian had managed to balance his education with a professional Quidditch career, proving that such a dual existence was possible.
Harry tried to imagine himself in Krum's position, facing the pressure of the World Cup Final, feeling the weight of an entire nation's expectations, needing to perform flawlessly while knowing that millions of people were watching his every move.
The mental exercise quickly humbled him. He couldn't honestly say he would have been able to catch the Golden Snitch under such intense circumstances, especially in a losing effort where personal glory came at the cost of team victory.
His current skill level, impressive as it might be at Hogwarts, was still leagues behind what professional competition needed.
By the early hours of the morning, their group had finally reached the Weasley family's tent. From the outside, the accommodation looked distinctly unremarkable, and an overall appearance that could generously be described as "well-used."
But the moment they stepped through the entrance flap, the magical nature of their lodging became gloriously apparent.
The interior space had been dramatically expanded through the application of Extension Charms, creating a comfortable multi-room living area that felt remarkably like the Burrow itself.
The walls were covered in the same cheerful wallpaper, mismatched furniture had been arranged with the same random charm that categorized the Weasley home, and even the familiar scent of Mrs. Weasley's cooking was in the air.
"Borrowed it from Perkins in the office," Mr. Weasley explained with obvious pride as he watched their guests take in the transformed interior. "He never uses the thing anymore, saying camping aggravates his lumbago. His loss is our gain, I'd say."
The warmth of the space immediately enveloped them which was in contrast to the cooling night air outside.
Comfortable armchairs appeared to have been transplanted directly from the Burrow's sitting room. A small kitchen area occupied one corner, while sleeping areas had been partitioned off with colorful curtains that provided privacy without completely isolating the residents.
The conversation naturally dropped back to the evening's spectacular match, with each person offering their own analysis of key plays and memorable moments.
Their voices blended with the continuing celebration outside, where groups of Irish supporters had formed spontaneous parties to commemorate their team's victory.
Singing, laughter, and the occasional burst of celebratory magic created a constant, joyful soundtrack to their post-match discussions.
The festivities weren't without their mishaps.
At one point, a clearly intoxicated leprechaun, apparently left behind when its fellows departed the stadium, came crashing directly into their tent with a sound like a small explosion. The creature bounced off the canvas wall and landed in a pile, muttering something in Irish that sounded distinctly derogatory.
Mrs. Weasley handled the situation with the same no-nonsense efficiency she applied to garden gnomes at the Burrow. A few sharp flicks of her wand sent the protesting leprechaun sailing through the night air, its indignant shouts fading as it disappeared into the darkness beyond the campsite.
"Shame it wasn't one of the Bulgarian team's mascots instead," Ron commented regretfully, earning a sharp look from his mother and snickers from his brothers.
While everyone was immersed in joy, Adrian remained alert, occasionally going outside to observe the surrounding situation.
According to his knowledge of the original timeline, Death Eaters should have launched their attack by now, terrorizing the campsite and sending thousands of innocent witches and wizards fleeing in panic.
But now the plot had been changed somewhat. Most obviously, Peter Pettigrew was still in Azkaban. According to Dumbledore, the Dementors had sucked out his soul, and he was now just a walking corpse.
He had originally thought that the Death Eater parade from the original story wouldn't happen.
But when watching the match, he had noticed Lucius Malfoy's abnormal state. So, nothing could be said for certain.
When Adrian returned to the tent again, Hermione carefully noticed something was wrong with him.
Whatever celebration had been continuing outside came to an abrupt halt, replaced by the much more ominous sounds of panic and confusion.
"We need to get outside and judge the situation," Adrian had a bad suspicion and walked toward the tent exit.
Outside.
Seeing the scene before his eyes, Adrian couldn't help but sigh. "As expected..."
When the others came out of the tent, they couldn't help but be stunned.
Not far away, Adrian's little wooden house was burning with roaring flames, the fire dancing wildly, illuminating the surrounding tents in blood red.
"Merlin's beard!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, immediately drawing his wand. "Aguamenti!"
A powerful stream of water erupted from his wand tip, arcing through the night air toward the blazing cottage. The others quickly followed his example, their combined efforts creating multiple jets of water that should have been more than sufficient to extinguish any normal fire.
Instead, the flames seemed to feed on their attempts at suppression, growing brighter and more aggressive with each splash of conjured water. The magical fire hissed and spat as the water struck it, but rather than diminishing, it appeared to draw strength from their efforts.
"This is dark magic," Charlie observed grimly. "It's not Fiendfyre, thank Merlin for small mercies but it's certainly a cursed flame of some variety. Standard extinguishing spells are going to be useless against something like this."
While the others continued their futile attempts to combat the blaze with conventional magic, Adrian remained perfectly calm at the center of the chaos. His hand moved as he withdrew his flame wood wand.
Adrian raised the flame wood wand toward the inferno. The wand's tip immediately burst into brilliant red light. Those raging flames seemed to be drawn by some mysterious force, transforming into fire serpents that spiraled toward the wand tip and finally disappeared into the wand.
Soon, the last wisp of flame was absorbed into the wand.
Unfortunately, it was too late as the wooden house had already been reduced to charred ruins, with the pungent smell of burning filling the air.
"Who the bloody hell would do something like this?" Mr. Weasley roared, his usual mild demeanor completely overwhelmed by fury. His face was flushed with anger and exertion, his hands shaking slightly as adrenaline coursed through his system.
But his question echoed unanswered into the night.
Whoever had orchestrated this attack had chosen their timing perfectly, striking when most of the campsite's occupants were either asleep or too intoxicated from their celebrations to serve as reliable witnesses.
Adrian approached the smoldering ruins, his expression thoughtful rather than devastated.
To be completely honest, he had been mentally preparing for some form of attack since the moment he'd sensed dark magic stirring during the match. The destruction of his temporary dwelling was inconvenient and certainly malicious, but it wasn't entirely unexpected.
What troubled him more deeply was the intensity of the cursed fire that had been used. Judging from the magical signatures he had absorbed through his wand, whoever had attacked his house hadn't been content with simple destruction.
The flames had been specifically designed to kill. If an ordinary wizard had been in that house, they would definitely have been reduced to charcoal by now.
Just then.
"They're not dead yet."
The words drifted out of the shadows like smoke. The hoarse, grating tone of the speaker's tone sent involuntary shivers down the spines of everyone present.
Everyone present looked in that direction and saw two people in black robes with hoods over their heads standing not far from them, holding wands.
"You are—" Mr. Weasley was about to question them.
"WATCH OUT!" Adrian's shouted with desperate urgency.
But his shouted alert came a split second too late to prevent what happened next.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The words were spoken in perfect unison by both Death Eaters. Two streams of sickening green light erupted from their wands simultaneously.
The Killing Curses split their targets with precision, one beam was aimed at Adrian's center mass, while the other streaked toward Harry with lethal intent.
Adrian's reflexes served him well in the crucial microsecond that followed. He threw himself sideways with explosive force, his body moving even before his conscious mind had fully processed the threat.
The Killing Curse passed so close to his torso that he could feel its malicious energy tugging at his robes, the cloth was actually smoking from the curse's nearness.
The deadly green beam continued past him and struck the ground where he had been standing, instantly creating a perfectly circular crater in the earth.
Even as he completed his evasive maneuver, Adrian's training kicked in with automatic precision. His right hand swept through the air in a fluid gesture.
"Protego!"
The Shield Charm materialized just in front of Harry, a shimmering barrier of pure magical energy that briefly lit up the night like a second moon.
For a moment, it seemed as though the defensive spell might hold but then the green light struck the barrier and met significant resistance, the two forces locked were in a brief but intense struggle.
But the Killing Curse was simply too powerful. The shield cracked like glass under pressure, fractures spreading across its surface in a web of failure, before finally shattering completely.
At that critical moment, with death bearing down on him in a stream of green light and his protective barrier failing,
Harry immediately dove forward, rolling to avoid the deadly green light. The Killing Curse brushed past his shoulder by mere inches and struck a large tree behind him.
"Harry!" Ron's voice cracked with terror and relief as he watched his best friend execute the life-saving maneuver.
But Harry's response to the assassination attempt was far from finished.
Even as he completed his evasive roll, his hand was already moving toward his wand holster.
"Stupefy!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Two voices rang out in perfect synchronization, their spells casting the immediate area in dazzling colors that provided a contrast to the Death Eaters' sickly green curses.
Adrian's Disarming Spell blazed red through the night, while Harry's Stunning Charm shot forward in a stream of scarlet light, both spells converging on their attackers with deadly accuracy.
The combined assault created a spectacular light show that briefly turned night into day, illuminating every detail of the confrontation with clarity.
Both Death Eaters were visibly stunned by the speed and coordination of the counterattack they faced. They had clearly expected their surprise assault to be decisive, two quick Killing Curses followed by a swift retreat, leaving only corpses as evidence of their presence.
Adrian's swift reaction was perhaps understandable. He was, after all, an adult wizard with obvious combat experience and magical training. Professional competence in the face of danger was something they might reasonably have anticipated from such an opponent.
But Harry Potter's response was something else.
The boy had not only evaded a perfectly cast Killing Curse, but had also drawn his wand and launched a counterattack while still completing his evasive maneuver.
This wasn't the kind of combat reflexes that any ordinary student should possess.
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