Sectumsempra

A great wave swept through the stands.

The advertising banners that had hung around the pitch vanished, replaced by the flags of Bulgaria and Ireland.

Soon afterward, Clara saw the legendary Veela for the first time, and quite a few boys in the stands went a little mad.

Clara glanced back and nearly choked. Half of Harry's foot was hanging over the wall, and Hermione was clutching his arm for dear life. Ron stood at the edge of the stand, poised as though he were about to dive—was he planning to jump?

"Ron! Don't move!" Hermione's voice cut through the din. She grabbed for Ron's robes with her free hand while bracing her shoulder against Harry, who was leaning forward. She looked as though she were wrestling two out-of-control Nifflers at once.

Clara turned to look at Rowle beside her, wanting to see whether she had been affected too. She found Rowle looking at her with a perfectly clear gaze and an expression of utter disdain.

"Bunch of hopeless idiots." Rowle rolled her eyes harder than anyone in human history and folded her arms. "They're only Veela. Are they better-looking than Krum? No. So what's there to go mad over?"

Clara couldn't help laughing.

She instinctively glanced to her right.

Cedric was leaning back in his chair, hands in his pockets, his Omnioculars hanging quietly around his neck. His expression was calm-almost excessively so. Noticing her gaze, he turned his head and raised an eyebrow slightly, silently asking, "What is it?"

"You-" Clara considered her words. "You weren't affected?"

"I was a little distracted," Cedric admitted readily with a shrug. "But I don't much like the feeling of not having a clear head. Veela do have a stronger effect on boys, but Ireland's mascots will be up soon."

Ireland's Little Goblins might not drive people mad like the Veela.

But-

They threw gold coins!

Clara and Rowle grew visibly excited, though Cedric poured cold water on them.

"Those coins will disappear when the match is over, but it's still nice to feel how heavy they are, right?"

Clara was a little disappointed, while Rowle didn't hear him, her attention already caught by the players coming onto the pitch.

"Let me see!" Rowle had her binoculars trained on the entrance to the Bulgarian Team's rest area, muttering under her breath. "They're coming out, they're coming out-oh, that's Zograf—that's Volkov—that's-"

Rowle's scream was drowned out by the waves of cheers around them. The players from both teams flew onto the pitch one after another, their green and red figures tracing bright arcs across the night sky. When Krum came out last, the volume in the stadium rose to a level Clara thought her eardrums could barely withstand.

Rowle finally unsealed her sash, and it immediately let out a deafening "Krum!!!!!!" An Ireland fan in the row ahead turned and glared at them, and Rowle glared right back.

"Your sash!" Clara covered her ears, trying to protest.

"It's just enthusiastic!" Rowle shouted.

The match began amid cheers and screams.

Just as Clara had imagined, Ireland's Chasers showed a tremendous advantage from the start, easily pushing the score to 130-10.

During that time, Krum performed a masterful and stunning Wronski Feint, drawing a cry of surprise from Cedric beside her.

Clearly, Krum's skill was astonishing.

Honestly, if Krum caught the Golden Snitch now, his team would still have a very good chance of winning.

Unfortunately, finding the Golden Snitch within fifteen minutes was simply too difficult, and the gap between the two teams' scores continued to widen.

Perhaps because the score had affected their state of mind, the Bulgarian Team's players began swinging their bats wildly. They didn't care whether they hit a ball or a person.

This sparked a brawl between the mascots below. Mr. Bagman and a group of Ministry of Magic officials tried to stop it, but had little success, and even the referee flying over the pitch got caught up in it.

"Krum's hurt! Referee, blow the whistle!" Rowle clearly didn't care about the battle between the mascots; her attention was fixed entirely on Krum. "Wait, they've seen the Golden Snitch!"

Krum and Lynch were neck and neck. Unlike during the earlier Wronski Feint, Lynch looked utterly determined this time.

"He's going to crash," Cedric said mildly.

"Krum? Impossible!" Rowle dismissed his words.

"Lynch. Krum caught the Golden Snitch." Before Cedric had even finished speaking, they saw Krum's broom stop and his hand rise, a faint glint of gold visible in it, while Lynch crashed to the ground.

170-160. The score was final.

Ireland had won, but Krum had caught the Golden Snitch.

The entire stadium split in an instant—the green side erupted in thunderous cheers, while the red side fell silent for a moment before beginning to applaud.

"You were right," Rowle said softly beside Clara. Her eyes were red. She sniffed, straightened her crooked "Krum is the best" woolly hat, and said with utmost solemnity, "But Krum is still the best Seeker. But my Sickles!!!"

Well, it turned out she was upset because she'd lost her bet.

"It's all right. I think I won quite a bit, so I'll treat you to snacks after I collect my winnings tonight!" Clara laughed and patted Rowle on the shoulder. She turned and saw that Cedric's expression was rather strange.

There was none of the delight he should have felt at winning dozens of Galleons. Instead, he was strangely silent.

Everything was just as he remembered, apart from the few changes he had made, such as getting Dad to give Mr Collins tickets and meeting Clara ahead of time.

The entire Quidditch World Cup match had been exactly the same, from the Wronski Feint at the beginning to the final score.

Now he could be certain it hadn't been a dream.

Then tonight, if he remembered correctly, would he see the Dark Mark?

Should he try to stop it? Should he tell Dad? Clearly, no one would believe him, and he couldn't expose himself this early. If Voldemort realized someone knew his plans, the changes afterward would only grow greater and greater.

He had to wait until the end, until the Goblet of Fire had made its decision and Harry had been chosen as the fourth Champion, before trying to stop it. Otherwise, if it wasn't the Goblet of Fire, that cunning fellow would probably come up with some new trick, leaving them unable to guard against it.

He was in a daze until Mr. Diggory pulled him out of the grounds, bringing him back to his senses.

They didn't go straight to the betting area. The campsite's main road was packed with celebrating Ireland fans, the green crowd winding through the night like a glowing river. Songs and horns mingled, turning the entire marsh into a giant outdoor party.

Mr Collins and Mr. Diggory walked ahead, clearing a path. Cedric walked beside Clara, while Rowle hung onto Clara's other arm, still mourning her Sickles.

"I saved up all summer," Rowle said in a sleepwalking voice. "All summer. All gone."

"And that, dear Rowle, is why blind gambling is a bad idea," Clara teased.

"But Krum is the best!"

"He really is the best. Unfortunately, the Bulgarian Team isn't."

Rowle let out a wail and buried her face in Clara's shoulder.

They went to the betting area a little later, when the crowd had thinned considerably. Clara and Cedric each received a small bag of gold coins, making Rowle even more resentful.

The Irish were still celebrating, while the Ministry of Magic officials on duty were so exhausted they could barely keep their eyes open.

The night breeze blew in from the marsh, cool and carrying the scent of fireworks and grilled sausages. Everything was so normal, so lively, so-

Streaks of green light tore across the night sky.

Clara froze. Some strange memories seemed ready to burst out of her mind, and she shook her head to clear it.

Then everything descended into chaos.

Screams erupted from every direction. The crowd that had been singing moments before scattered like a smashed anthill. Someone knocked over the counter of a betting stall, sending Galleons and Silver Sickles rolling across the ground, clinking as people stepped on them.

A dozen or more cracks of Apparition rang out in the crowd, but more people had come without their wands and could only be swept along in every direction.

Clara felt someone seize her wrist—it was Rowle. Her hand was ice-cold, her nails digging into Clara's skin as she frantically pulled her toward the campsite.

Clara instinctively looked toward Cedric. He stood in the crowd a few meters away, looking in her direction and shouting something, but the screams were too loud for her to hear. Then a wave of people surged between them, and his face disappeared behind countless terrified ones.

Then Rowle's hand was torn from hers too. It all happened so fast that Clara was swept off in another direction before she even had time to feel afraid. She tried to push back against the flow, but the force of the crowd was too great, and she could barely keep her footing and avoid being trampled. Screams and sobs surrounded her. Someone tripped over a tent's guy rope, and the whole tent came crashing down, its canvas thudding dully in the wind.

She didn't know which way to go, so she ran into the woods with the crowd.

She had just seen that group seize the caretaker of the marsh, the Muggle gentleman. She wasn't stupid; they were most likely after Muggle-born wizards, the "Mudbloods" they called them. She couldn't let them catch her.

She didn't know how long she had been running when the woods fell completely silent. A chill crept down her back. She turned and saw the bushes shaking.

But there was no wind in the woods.

"Who's there?" She pulled her wand from her pocket and held it in front of her. Although she remembered the rule forbidding underage wizards from using magic outside school, she couldn't think about that now. Staying alive was what mattered most.

"Morsmordre."

The spell rang out from somewhere in the woods, and a huge beam of green light shot straight into the sky. At first, there were only twinkling green stars, but they gradually formed an enormous skull, with a great serpent emerging from its mouth.

Clara's head swam. Fragments of an image flashed past-green light, a spell, Cedric standing in front of her—but it was too blurry and vanished too quickly for her to grasp any details. Pain made her stumble, and she dropped to one knee.

A House-elf ran out of the undergrowth, with someone seemingly following behind. The two were struggling with each other.

Clara couldn't see anyone. Her vision was blurred and her mind was muddled, but instinct told her that person was dangerous.

She raised her wand instinctively.

"Sectumsempra."