Before the Match

"So, who do you think will win?" Rowle tugged on Clara's sleeve. "I think it has to be Bulgaria! They've got Krum!"

Clara looked at Rowle. She was a die-hard Krum fan. Other people might not know it, but Clara knew perfectly well that she had at least three photos of Krum stuck inside her suitcase.

Cedric smiled, looking very confident. "Ireland, but Bulgaria will catch the Golden Snitch."

"How is that possible? That's Krum! You mean Ireland will score more than 150 points over Bulgaria on goals alone? That's unbelievable! Lyla, what about you?"

Clara looked away from the betting stall. She had been studying the odds and silently working through a few sets of numbers in her head.

Although she wasn't good at playing Quidditch, she knew a little about calculating probabilities, thanks to watching Mr Alport's football matches so often. Besides, she had a strange intuition.

Rowle's question brought her back. She glanced at Cedric—he was looking at her too, apparently interested in how she would answer. Clara instinctively avoided his gaze and looked at Rowle.

"...I think the same as him," she said softly.

Rowle drew in a sharp breath and clutched her chest, looking as though her closest comrade had betrayed her. "Even you?!"

"Ireland's Chasers are too strong," Clara tried to explain. "Their average scoring rate per match is nearly twenty percent higher than Bulgaria's Chasers. Apart from Zograf, Bulgaria's defense isn't much good. Once Ireland pulls more than one hundred and fifty points ahead, even if Krum catches the Golden Snitch-"

"Stop, stop, stop." Rowle made a timeout gesture with both hands in front of her chest. "I don't care. Krum will win anyway. I'm betting on Bulgaria to win and Bulgaria to catch the Golden Snitch." She pulled a few Silver Sickles from her pocket and marched proudly toward the betting counter.

See? To a fan that devoted, statistics were just a pile of wastepaper.

Clara shrugged, walked over to the other side, and pushed the four Galleons from her pocket across the counter. Cedric followed close behind and put down ten, clearly very confident in his conclusion.

"Oh! What a wager! Two youngsters have chosen the Ireland Team to win, but Bulgaria to catch the Golden Snitch." As soon as they paid, the loudspeaker over the betting-stall owner's head began to crackle, its voice loud enough to be heard throughout the betting area. "Looks like they have a lot of faith in both the Ireland Team and Krum!"

At once, Ireland supporters in green team jerseys beside the stall swarmed over and began banging gongs and drums around them. If underage wizards weren't forbidden from using magic outside school, Clara would have loved to cast a Nonverbal Spell on them.

Cedric took it a little better than she did. Telling the owner, "We'll wait for tonight's result," he made a path through the crowd and motioned for her to follow.

After twisting and turning their way through, the two finally escaped the ring of Ireland fans.

"Four Galleons. Quite a wager," Cedric teased with a smile.

"You too, and you bet even more than I did." Clara pursed her lips. "Ten Galleons. You'd better really be counting on Krum to come through, or we'll both lose badly."

Cedric was a little surprised. In his memory, Clara before fifth year hadn't been the type to talk back. Talking like this, she was more like the person she became later.

"You still haven't said why you placed that bet." Clara found a place to sit near the exit of the betting area. Rowle was still inside, arguing with a group of Ireland fans, so Clara went to the refreshment cart and bought three Butterbeers, pushing one over to Cedric.

"More or less the same reasons as you," Cedric said with a smile. "Plus a little intuition."

Well, actually, that was what had happened in the previous life he remembered. If it happened the same way again, not only could he make a tidy profit, but he could also confirm that those memories were real, not an illusory dream. In that case, he really would have to think about how to tell the headmaster.

He took a sip of Butterbeer and suddenly remembered that, in Clara's memories, he seemed to have said many times that he would treat her to Butterbeer after the Third Task.

But now it seemed to be the other way around. She was treating him.

Clearly, Clara hadn't noticed his mind wandering. She believed what he had said completely. It was perfectly normal for Hufflepuff's best Seeker to have a little intuition.

"Then how sure are you?" she asked, lifting her Butterbeer for a sip, her gaze still on Rowle.

Cedric tilted his head and thought for a moment.

"Ninety percent," he said. The remaining ten percent was the chance that it had been a dream.

Clara turned back to look at him, raising one eyebrow, her expression saying, "You're a bit too confident, aren't you?" But on Cedric Diggory, that confidence somehow didn't seem out of place at all.

"All right," she said, lifting her Butterbeer and tipping the cup slightly toward him. "Then, Diggory, here's to us winning tonight."

"Too bad. If we win, Rowle will be very upset." Clara sighed, though her eyes were smiling. Rowle was emerging from the betting center, her head topped with red hair and her face still showing traces of excitement from her verbal battle with the Ireland fans. She began waving at them from a long way off.

Clara waved back at Rowle, then turned to find Cedric's Butterbeer cup suspended in midair. He was looking at her, a moment's hesitation on his face, as though weighing something.

"What's wrong?" She waved a hand in front of his face.

"You called me Diggory just now," he said.

Clara froze for a moment. "...Yes. What about it?"

"You can call me Cedric."

Clara's fingers tightened involuntarily.

Not "Diggory." Cedric.

It seemed she had called him that many times: on the Quidditch Pitch, in front of the common room fireplace, and in the library corridors. But those had probably all been times when she was talking to herself.

"Oh." She heard her own voice, dry as a sponge that had spent too long in the sun. Her mouth was a full beat behind her brain, and by the time she finally realized she should say something more, silence had already spread between them.

She hurriedly added, "...Okay. Cedric."

The scene seemed both familiar and strange.

Rowle ran up to them, panting, and plopped down on the stone seat beside Clara. She reached for the Butterbeer they had left for her on the table and took a big gulp.

"Oh, Merlin, the stuff at the Three Broomsticks tastes better. This is like watered-down syrup!" Rowle finally caught her breath and took a deep breath. "Also, what were you two talking about? Why do you look so strange?"

"Nothing," Clara and Cedric said almost at the same time.

Rowle's cup stopped halfway to her mouth. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked back and forth between the two of them twice. Her gaze finally settled on Clara's face and her ears, which had yet to lose their color.

Oh, all right, it looked like there were some secrets. She was a good, dependable best friend, so she wouldn't say another word about it now.

They made their way back, passing more and more little vendors along the way.

On the last afternoon before the Quidditch World Cup, the entire campsite had turned into a huge traveling marketplace. Glittering badges hung from carts, stalls were filled with all kinds of Omnioculars, and some wizards were even selling miniature Firebolt models. The models darted wildly around their cages, making the wire mesh rattle and clang.

"Hey! Want a pair of Omnioculars? You can change the magnification and see Krum's nose hairs clear as day!"

"Oh~ shape-changing badges! They can switch between faces and even record video!"

"Anyone need a rose badge? Or a roaring Bulgarian sash-guaranteed to make you louder than the whole crowd when you cheer!"

"Flying Firebolt models, you deserve one! Buy three and get a mini Bludger free!"

In just twenty minutes, the three of them had emptied their wallets.

Rowle bought a badge that switched between portraits of every member of the Bulgarian Team, a bright red Bulgarian sash, a small Krum figurine, and a knitted hat embroidered with "Krum is the best," which now sat crookedly on her red-haired head. Cedric bought a set of Ireland Team Omnioculars straps in a discreet green, matching the side he had bet on. As for Clara's money, aside from what she spent on a pair of Omnioculars for herself, Rowle had borrowed it all.

"Oh, Merlin, I saved up all summer and it still wasn't enough," Rowle said, clutching an armful of things, looking both satisfied and pained. "I have to say, there's just so much merchandise, and it's all so much fun. Lyla, you're the best. I'll pay you back when we get home, I promise. I'll pay you back double, and you can copy my Potions Class notes too-"

Clara smiled and shook her head without exposing her. She knew Rowle's so-called "paying her back" would probably turn into treating her to ice cream and barbecue ten times over the next holiday, and she had no objection to that whatsoever. She looked down at her own prize: a basic pair of Omnioculars, black, with no team logos, the cheapest kind. She had originally wanted an advanced model with a slow-motion function, but it cost nearly twice as much.

"Why did you buy the plainest one?" Rowle leaned over for a look and wrinkled her nose. "It doesn't even have a team's colors."

"As long as it does the job." Clara hung the Omnioculars back around her neck, her tone matter-of-fact. She wasn't the sort of person to dwell on missing one feature. She would probably only use Omnioculars this once all year. Whether they were black and white or had slow motion, she would be watching Krum flying around in the sky either way, so being able to see clearly was enough.

When night fell, the whole campsite lit up. Lanterns hung in front of every tent. Some glowed an ordinary warm yellow, while others flashed alternately green and red, representing the teams their owners supported. The enormous stadium by the woods was as bright as day under its floodlights, their beams sweeping slowly across the night sky like giant fingers writing on the clouds.

"Stop daydreaming!" Rowle burst out of the tent, having changed into her red Bulgarian jersey with "KRUM" printed across the back. The roaring Bulgarian sash was tied around her neck, though she had pinned its mouth shut for the moment, saying she would unseal it when the match began.

Her "Krum is the best" knitted hat swayed gently in the night breeze, and she looked like a walking red flame.

"If we don't leave now, there'll be a long queue to get in!"

"I want to watch them warm up! What if Krum glances at the stands while he's warming up?" Rowle grabbed Clara by the wrist and dragged her running toward the stadium. Mr Collins followed close behind, calling out "Be careful" to them every now and then.

After being pulled along for a few steps, Clara looked back at the Diggory family's tent. Just then, the flap lifted, and Cedric and Mr. Diggory came out one after the other. Cedric still wore the dark gray jacket from that afternoon, with a green turtleneck underneath in Ireland's team color. He held the advanced-model Omnioculars he had bought that afternoon, their barrels bearing the Ireland Team's logo in a subtle pattern.

He saw her too and waved.

The entrance to the stadium was a sea of people. Red and green flags fluttered above the crowd, while vendors pushed their snack carts through for one last round, calling, "Popcorn-butterbeer-lucky badges!"

Rowle pulled Clara through the crowd, weaving this way and that, the Omnioculars swinging around Clara's neck.

They ran into the Weasley family. The twins had done something to their hair again, making them look from a distance like two green balloons about to burst. Harry and the others greeted her warmly. Their seats were close together, all first-class.

Cedric sat to her right. Apparently, Mr. Diggory had bought their tickets together.

Cedric came over and sat down, greeting them with a smile. "It should be starting soon. I heard there'll be a mascot performance at the opening."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a thunderous voice came from the box behind them, making Clara jump.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome... welcome to the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"