"Bulgaria wins!"
Ludo Bagman announced solemnly with a tense face: "Krum has caught the Golden Snitch... His final maneuver was unimaginably brilliant. This first-time World Cup Seeker displayed astounding talent…"
His tone didn't quite match the cheering and applause in the stadium, but no one paid attention to that—except Bagman himself, who was heartbreakingly distressed while announcing the end of the semi-final through the voice amplification magic.
Before the match, he had loudly touted Bulgaria's chances of winning, even though he privately believed the opposite.
Bagman had once been a professional player for the Wimbourne Wasps. Even now, he still liked wearing the Wasps' uniform and took the most pride in being a Quidditch player—more than in his current role as Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry of Magic.
All in all, Bagman had great confidence in his judgment. He thought someone as young as Krum—just eighteen—would surely lack the mental toughness to handle a major game like this, and that his chances in the semi-final were slim.
And yet, Bulgaria actually won.
Bagman calculated his losses from the bets and felt a buzzing in his head. He nearly stumbled on the stairs as he descended.
Some rejoice while others despair. In a VIP box several floors away, Professor Trelawney was beaming so widely she could barely close her mouth as she counted the winnings from her bet.
She pulled up her wide, colorful scarf to cover her mouth and silently laughed to herself for a moment before controlling her expression. Then, with dreamy eyes and a floating tone, she said:
"This was the guidance of fate. My Inner Eye foresaw this moment long ago… Ah, let me see, let me see the shadow beneath the moon…"
Everyone in the box gazed reverently at the "great" Seer. Only one or two people glanced at the sun peeking over the clouds and looked slightly puzzled.
Trelawney said whatever popped into her head, regardless of whether it fit the occasion. She already had the outcome in her mind—now she just had to make up the rest.
"I see… a shattered tower. Great turmoil is approaching… I hear the cry of ravens and the roar of a black dog…"
Trelawney trembled all over, stretching out her thin arms as if trying to touch some unseen presence in the air.
The women around her widened their eyes and held their breath, not daring to interrupt the divination.
Suddenly, Trelawney trembled violently and collapsed into her armchair, and covered her eyes with both hands as if she had seen something unspeakable.
It was quite a while before a round-faced witch timidly asked, "What happened, Professor Trelawney? Is it…"
—Is Grindelwald going to attack Britain?
That's what she meant to ask, but before she could finish, Trelawney lowered her hands and swept a pitying gaze across everyone in the room.
"Poor souls… One day, you'll understand… fate never lies…"
"What did you see, Professor?" another older witch asked with a trembling voice.
Trelawney gave a mysterious smile and said, "I saw the end… and I saw the result of the final match…"
The room fell silent for a moment.
She spoke so gravely, as if the end of the world was near—and it turned out to be about the final match's outcome?
They were all a little speechless. But then again, some people had doubted Trelawney before and missed out on the chance to make a fortune. Remembering that, they started to feel that maybe Trelawney's cryptic style had its own merit after all.
"Still want to place your bets with me?" Trelawney gazed into the distance with an ethereal look and said, "You are free to doubt, but fate only favors its true believers..."
The group no longer hesitated. One by one, they pulled out their money pouches, and soon the table was piled high with Galleons.
...
The crowd surged out of the stadium like a tidal wave. The match had lasted nearly fifteen hours, leaving most of the spectators who stayed until the end completely exhausted.
As a result, many simply Apparated away from the stands.
Wade and the others, having eaten a hot breakfast and feeling relatively better, stayed in the VIP box for a while longer. They waited until the peak congestion passed before starting their return to the campsite.
As they walked down the stairs, they happened to see the Bulgarian team ahead. The once-mighty Viktor Krum was now trailing at the back, and was walking stiffly with a noticeable outward splay in his feet and a slumped shoulder; his entire demeanor was gloomy.
He didn't look mighty at all anymore—rather, he seemed a bit miserable, walking sluggishly with little energy.
But to Harry, who saw his idol through a ten-level fan filter, he couldn't care less. Excited, he waved and called out loudly: "Wade… look, it's Krum!"
Krum… Krum… Krum…
The boy's excited voice echoed through the corridor. All the team members stopped and instinctively turned to look.
Apparently, they had just taken a cold remedy potion—their faces, once pale and frozen, were now flushed, with long wisps of steam curling from their ears. Their expressions and eyes had a goofy daze to them.
Harry: "..."
Krum gave a nod to his young fan but said nothing. Another player, however, smiled and waved before the group continued walking together.
"Come on," said Sirius, giving Harry a pat on the shoulder.
Harry walked in silence for a bit. Once they exited the stadium, he seemed to snap out of his daze. He moved closer to Wade and said somewhat regretfully:
"I can't believe I forgot to bring a quill… Do you think if I see him again, he'll give me an autograph?"
"Who?" Wade, slightly distracted, asked without thinking.
"Who else? Of course Viktor Krum!" Harry emphasized. "One of the best Seekers in the world!"
"You could offer him your autograph in exchange," Wade suggested offhandedly. "You are Harry Potter, after all! Who knows, maybe he'd like yours too."
"Really?" Harry said uncertainly. "But I'm not like him—he's the real deal… And just now, he didn't even say a word before walking off…"
"Maybe he was in a hurry to rest and didn't get a good look at your face," Wade said. "Be confident. When you're his age, maybe you'll be on the national team too."
Harry immediately sank into a new round of deep thought, muttering words like "Seeker," "Auror," and "World Cup," clearly torn over his future career choices.
Wade, meanwhile, glanced instinctively toward a fur-covered tent. In front of it, a tall, wild-man-like figure had just emerged, holding a small tin can in his hand.
Over a fire pit sat a large cauldron of boiling hot water. The man pinched some dark, unidentifiable substance from the can and sprinkled it into the cauldron, seemingly focused on his cooking.
Wade smiled and stepped aside to pass him.
In the distance, the trees of the forest swayed, and the leaves whispered softly—like murmurs in the wind.
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