Halfway through the banquet at the temporary command center, Bagman, who had received a message from the twins, quietly came outside.
The attack happened so suddenly, but the situation at the camp is gradually improving, and it's time to claim the prize.
Bagman readily handed them a money bag.
George opened it and clicked on it briefly.
150 Gold Galleons?
He counted it again, and was even more surprised after confirming that he hadn't made a mistake. "Mr. Bagman, you didn't miscalculate, did you? We placed our bets at odds of 1 to 1.3, and there are a full 7 Galleon, 8 Sickle, and 15 Knut extra here."
Bagman shook his head sadly, "I didn't miscalculate. The attack caused the World Cup to be suspended, and we still don't know if the tournament will resume, so I prepared more prize money."
The twins suddenly realized.
George clutched the money bag tightly to his chest. "Thank you, Mr. Bagman, you're such a kind person."
If it were any other bookmaker, they might have already run away in the chaos after losing so much money.
Not only did Bagman not run away, but he even gave out more bonuses because of the suspension of the event, so it was definitely the right decision to place bets with him.
"Fred? George?"
Vincent, who had left early, happened to pass by and asked, "What are you doing here?"
He noticed that George was clutching the money bag in his arms tighter and tighter, while Fred looked terrified.
He glanced at Bagman, who looked somewhat flustered, and then looked back at the twins who were exchanging glances.
"You guys aren't betting on football, are you?"
"Cough cough..." George coughed violently. "Dude, what are we... what are we..."
Fred hastily made up an excuse, "Take the money!"
"Yes!" George quickly winked at Bagman. "Mr. Bagman borrowed money from us before, and we're here today to ask him to pay it back."
Vincent squinted at the two of them. "Really? Actually, there's nothing wrong with betting on football, as long as you don't get addicted."
The twins smiled awkwardly, looking somewhat guilty.
"Betting on football is really not a big deal."
"That's right, we don't gamble every day. We just play occasionally to pass the time."
Fred, who had let the cat out of the bag, quickly covered his mouth.
Vincent shook his head with a wry smile. "Never mind, you didn't lose much, did you?"
George raised his proud little face, "Lose? Dude, we've already won two games in a row. If the competition had continued, we would have won five games in a row by now."
Bagman's face immediately darkened.
"The three of you, I should head back now."
He turned and strode quickly toward the temporary command center.
Vincent watched his retreating figure thoughtfully.
All the wizards in Britain knew that the Director of the Department of Magical Games and Sports was a seasoned gambler, and he was very interested in all activities related to gambling.
It's said that he made a fortune recently, not only paying back all the money he owed his colleagues, but also running a World Cup betting scheme.
It seems like my luck with gambling has been bad for half my life, but it's finally going to improve recently.
Vincent didn't think much of it and turned his gaze back to the twins.
"Don't worry, I won't tell Aunt Molly."
The twins beamed with joy, "My good buddy, I knew you wouldn't tell."
The three of them walked together toward the tent.
"By the way, how much did you guys win?"
"50 Gold Galleons, isn't that amazing?"
"It's almost equivalent to two months' salary for some people."
Bagman was really lucky. If the game had continued instead of being paused, he probably would have lost all the money he made by now.
However, his good luck is about to end.
Based on the current situation at the camp, the competition should continue in the near future.
Unless he is determined to change his ways, he will repeat his mistakes and become the same indebted gambler he once was.
Back in the tent, there was another banquet.
Vincent preferred the atmosphere here.
No need to wear a mask, no need for hypocrisy or formality.
It feels so good to be free and unrestrained.
On the morning of August 23,
Following thorough discussions among the International Confederation of Wizards, the International Quidditch Association, and the British Ministry of Magic, the 422nd Quidditch World Cup will continue tomorrow night, the 24th.
As soon as the news broke, fans around the world cheered with joy.
The restrictions on entry and exit to the arena camp have long been lifted, leaving nearly 230,000 wizards behind, which undoubtedly greatly reduces the pressure on the Special Squad.
In the afternoon, at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Vincent walked into the hospital carrying flowers and a fruit basket.
He was recognized as soon as he went in.
"Mr. Wayne, your speech at the award ceremony the day before yesterday was absolutely fantastic!"
"For the happiness of future generations, we must overcome all obstacles!"
Vincent chatted with them briefly, then went to the third floor alone in the elevator.
The corridor was deserted and there was a particularly unpleasant smell in the air.
It smells like a mixture of Dittany sage and heather, which can be combined to create a special healing potion.
Vincent stopped in front of ward 303 and gently knocked on the door.
"Come in."
He pushed open the door, and Wales inside looked as if he had seen a ghost.
"Wayne!?"
"What, you don't welcome me?" Vincent nodded to the other patients in the ward.
He then went to Wales's bedside and placed the fruit basket on the table beside the bed.
Wales shook his head with a complicated expression. "No, I just didn't expect you to come and visit me."
Vincent picked up an empty vase from the corner of the table. "Looks like you're not very popular."
He placed the flowers in the vase and said, "Don't be too touched, I just came to take a look because I was bored."
Wales smirked. "What am I moved about? Once you've finished watching, hurry up and leave. Don't disturb other people's rest."
Vincent smiled, pulled up a chair, and sat down. "Since you're here, sit for a while before you leave."
"Whatever." Wales looked particularly impatient, but the slight upturn of his lips betrayed his true thoughts.
The conflict between the two was neither a major issue nor a minor one.
Vincent moved his fingers, causing an apple in the fruit basket to float.
The red peel peels off piece by piece, as if countless invisible, transparent blades are slicing through the air.
The peeled apple floated to Wales, who reluctantly remarked, "That was quite a good acrobatic performance."
Vincent flicked his finger, and the apple appeared before him. "Thank you for the compliment."
Wales stared blankly as he devoured the sweet and juicy apple in a few bites.
"Wayne, you..."
Vincent pointed to the fruit basket on the table. "Want some? Help yourself."
Wales angrily picked up an orange and stuffed it into his mouth, peel and all.
Vincent shifted his chair with a look of disgust.
Not only do they eat it with the skin on, but they also eat it with their mouths full of juice.
After finishing his meal, Wales picked up a banana and this time peeled it.
"Is the World Cup going to continue?"
"Tomorrow morning, the Scottish Team will play against Luxembourg."
Vincent stood up. "If you're bored, go downstairs for a stroll. I'll install a Magical Projection in the common area."
Wales did not get up to see him off, but his expression softened. "Then I thank you on behalf of everyone."
Vincent waved to him without turning his head, "I'm leaving. I'll come see you again when I'm bored next time."
"Okay," Wales said, then lay back down on the bed.
After waiting for a while, he looked up and found that Vincent had already left.
The conflicts still exist, but they are clearly much fewer now.