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Ethan chatted with Mr. Weasley for a while before excusing himself under the guise of going on patrol.
Stepping out of the Weasleys' tent, he was greeted by the lively buzz of the camp. The air hummed with excitement, laughter, and distant bursts of music until a sudden.
"Bang!" shattered the rhythm.
An explosion echoed from a far-off corner of the camp.
Nearby, Aurors sprang into action, rushing toward the commotion. Ethan watched them disappear into the distance as two young children zipped past on toy brooms, their cheers and delighted screams trailing behind them.
Ethan meandered into an open space where tents of various shapes and sizes were pitched. Nearby, three solemn wizards dressed in long white robes and pointed hats gathered around a purple fire.
They were roasting what looked like a hare, the flames flickering with an otherworldly hue. One wizard sprinkled a handful of green spices over the meat, releasing an aroma so rich and unusual that it made Ethan's mouth water.
Not far from them, a group of middle-aged wizards laughed boisterously under a shiny banner that read Salem Wizarding Academy. Their thick and unfamiliar accents made their conversations impossible for Ethan to decipher.
As he turned his gaze, Ethan was struck by a sea of green. Ahead of him, the Irish fans' tents were draped in lush layers of clover, resembling a landscape of quirky, green hills.
Through open tent flaps, cheerful faces could be seen, their owners frequently shouting, "Ireland will win!"
The enthusiasm was infectious, even to passersby.
But as Ethan strolled past the Irish fans' enclave, a group of overzealous supporters intercepted him. Declaring it improper for anyone to walk through their territory without donning their colors, they insisted on wrapping a green-and-white striped scarf around his neck.
Resigned, Ethan complied, only removing the scarf the moment he exited their domain.
From there, Ethan wandered into the Bulgarian fan zone. Unlike the Irish camp's vibrant greenery, this area was simpler. Bulgarian flags in white, green, and red fluttered in the breeze.
The tents here were adorned with identical posters depicting a brooding young man with thick black eyebrows—Viktor Krum, the Quidditch star and favorite to win.
Ethan's attention was abruptly drawn to a familiar figure sneaking into a quiet corner. It was Ludo Bagman, the Director of Magical Games and Sports.
Clad in a yellow-and-black-striped Quidditch robe adorned with a large wasp emblem, Bagman's attire was stretched taut over his rotund belly. His flat nose, round blue eyes, short blond hair, and flushed face gave him the air of someone trying too hard to appear inconspicuous.
Clutching a notebook, Bagman scribbled furiously, his actions furtive and uncharacteristically serious. Ethan narrowed his eyes, curiosity piqued as he wondered what the notorious ex-Beater might be up to in such secrecy.
Ludo Bagman had once been a hugely popular Beater for the Wimborne Wasps in the 1980s. After retiring from Quidditch, he joined the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Games and Sports, eventually rising to the position of Director.
However, his charisma on the pitch had not entirely translated to his work at the Ministry, where he was known for his questionable decisions and dubious dealings.
Ethan approached Bagman quietly, his footsteps muffled by the soft ground. When he finally stood behind the man, he said, "Director Bagman."
Ludo Bagman jolted violently, nearly dropping the notebook in his hand. He caught it just in time, clutching it to his chest like a lifeline. Turning, he saw Ethan standing there, and his face paled.
"Mr. Ethan! I—I wasn't doing anything! Just... taking a little break," Bagman stammered, his usual bluster replaced by nervous energy.
Ethan smiled reassuringly. "Relax, Mr. Bagman."
But the smile had the opposite effect. Bagman seemed even more agitated, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route.
"I've heard you've been organizing a little gambling on the side," Ethan said conversationally, his tone light but laced with implication.
"What? No! Absolutely not! God, no!" Bagman exclaimed, his face turning an alarming shade of red.
"Relax," Ethan repeated, his voice calm.
"I'm not here to report you. In fact, I'd like to place a bet myself."
Bagman hesitated, his nervousness warring with temptation. On one hand, he feared Ethan's reputation. Since Ethan's involvement in the trials of Barty Crouch Sr., Barty Crouch Jr., and Peter Pettigrew, many in the Ministry viewed him with a mix of awe and trepidation. On the other hand, Bagman saw an opportunity to curry favor—or perhaps profit.
"Well... if you insist, Mr. Ethan," Bagman said, forcing a smile.
"Just a bit of fun, you understand. How would you like to wager?"
"I'm betting Viktor Krum will catch the Snitch, but Bulgaria will lose to Ireland by ten points," Ethan replied smoothly.
Bagman blinked in surprise. "That's... an incredibly specific bet. How much are you wagering?"
"Two thousand Galleons," Ethan said, dropping a heavy sack of gold onto the table between them.
Bagman's face turned ashen. He looked from the bag to Ethan, his lips trembling.
"Mr. Ethan, that's a dangerous wager! You could lose everything!"
Ethan remained unfazed. "I'm confident, Mr. Bagman."
Bagman opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. Instead, he picked up his quill and notebook, his hand trembling as he recorded the bet.
"I must warn you, Mr. Ethan," Bagman said, trying one last time to dissuade him.
"The odds are... risky. Perhaps I could suggest something safer?"
Ethan's calm demeanor stayed the same. "Thank you, Mr. Bagman, but I'll stick to my choice."
Reluctantly, Bagman finalized the transaction, muttering under his breath about "madman" and "impossible wagers."
Ethan watched the man closely, knowing full well what he was doing. He already knew the outcome of the match—knew that Viktor Krum would catch the Snitch but that Bulgaria would lose. And he knew that Bagman could never afford to pay out such a massive sum if he won.
This wasn't a bet; it was an investment. By leveraging Bagman's desperation and shady dealings, he was ensuring the Director of Magical Games and Sports was firmly under his thumb.
Bagman might not have held the most prestigious position in the Ministry, but he was a director nonetheless—and a useful pawn in the larger game.
Two thousand Galleons was a small price to pay for such a valuable piece on the board.