The silver griffin soared majestically around the arena, its shimmering wings catching the light. To everyone's astonishment, Ethan's voice echoed from the creature's mouth.
"Please calm down! Return to your seats!"
The strange Patronus commanded the attention of every wizard present, momentarily halting the chaos. Gradually, Ethan's words seemed to soothe the crowd, and the tension began to dissipate.
Seizing the rare opportunity, the Aurors and security wizards swiftly evacuated parts of the audience, restoring order. The subdued spectators were ushered back to their seats, grumbling but compliant.
As the arena fell into calm once more, the silver griffin gracefully returned to Ethan's wand in a shimmer of light. With the situation under control, the game resumed.
Fudge and the senior officials from the Ministry of Magic visibly relaxed, their relief almost palpable.
Ethan, however, noticed a group of Veelas whispering among themselves and casting amused glances in his direction. A few giggled, while the bolder ones dared to throw him flirtatious winks.
Ethan blinked, utterly baffled. What's that about?
The atmosphere shifted suddenly as a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Viktor Krum had plummeted heavily to the ground.
All eyes turned to him, the entire stadium holding its breath. For a moment, an eerie silence blanketed the arena.
Then, Krum staggered to his feet, wobbling but determined. Bright red blood trickled from his nose, staining his vibrant robe. Climbing shakily onto his broomstick, he soared into the air once more, raising a triumphant fist. A golden glint shone between his fingers.
"Krum caught the Golden Snitch!" Ludo Bagman's voice, filled with disbelief, carried over the hushed crowd.
A heartbeat later, the stadium erupted into deafening cheers. The thunderous applause was so intense it seemed to shake the very foundations of the arena.
Ethan found himself cheering too, his hands clapping wildly as the score flashed across the enchanted scoreboard:
Bulgaria: 160, Ireland: 170.
Despite Krum's heroic catch, Ireland emerged victorious.
Irish fans erupted in ecstatic celebration, jumping and shouting with joy. Yet, to Ethan's surprise, the Bulgarian supporters were cheering just as loudly—this time for Krum.
His dramatic capture of the Snitch was a feat worthy of legend, one that would forever be etched into Quidditch World Cup history.
Not everyone shared in the jubilation, however. Ludo Bagman sat slumped in his chair, his face a portrait of despair.
Muttering under his breath, he seemed to be grappling with the realization that his reckless bets had left him owing Ethan an enormous sum of money—a debt he had no hope of repaying.
As the Veela delivered the glittering Quidditch World Cup trophy to the top-floor box, their charm set hearts aflutter across the stadium. Yet, instead of leaving immediately, they gravitated toward Ethan, their luminous eyes gleaming with mischief.
Ethan could hear the breathless murmurs of men nearby, many visibly captivated by the Veela's enchanting presence.
Hermione, ever vigilant, clamped firm hands on Harry and Ron's shoulders, preventing them from making fools of themselves.
"The big bird you summoned was truly magnificent!" one Veela purred softly, her gaze fixed on Ethan.
"Miss, that was a griffin," Ethan corrected, his tone polite but firm.
"Ah, yes, a griffin!" chimed another, her voice lilting with delight.
"I've never seen one in real life before—it was simply extraordinary!"
Ethan smiled awkwardly, unsure how to respond to the growing attention.
"Why don't you wait until the game is over, come to our tent, and tell us all about the griffin, okay?" one of the approaching Veela suggested, her voice lilting with charm as she winked playfully at Ethan.
Before he could respond, she slipped a folded note into his hand, her delicate fingers grazing his palm in a way that made him tense awkwardly.
Then, with a soft giggle, she spun around and left the box with her sisters, her scent lingering in the air like a faint, intoxicating perfume.
Ethan could feel the searing stares of envious young wizards boring into him. If looks could kill, he thought wryly, he'd be ashes by now.
Hermione, however, was another matter entirely. Her frown deepened, and she crossed her arms, glaring at him with clear disapproval.
She seemed to be contemplating something serious, her competitive side flaring. Ethan had no idea what she was planning.
In reality, Hermione was plotting her own subtle intervention. Veela now? Really? she thought irritably.
Determined to keep Ethan from indulging in whatever mischief might occur in that tent, she resolved to bombard him with study questions as soon as they got back. She'd leave him no time—or energy—for anything else.
The award ceremony began with both teams standing on the stage. The Irish players radiated pride, while the Bulgarians looked battered but stoic.
Krum, though bruised and walking with a noticeable limp, still clutched the golden Snitch in his hand. His injuries didn't diminish the roaring applause he received from fans of both teams.
Finally, the Irish team lifted the gleaming trophy high into the air. The audience erupted in thunderous cheers, their excitement palpable.
As the ceremony concluded, the massive crowd gradually made its way back to the campgrounds. Yet, the energy from the match lingered. Fans animatedly discussed the game, leprechauns darted through the air, and lanterns cast a magical glow over the excited throngs.
Ethan followed the Weasleys back to their tent, ready to unwind.
The moment they stepped inside, however, Hermione pounced.
"Professor, I have a few questions about magical creatures," she began, her tone far too eager.
Ethan barely managed to sit down before Hermione launched into a series of relentless questions. Every time he finished answering one, another quickly followed.
"Good grief, Hermione! Can't you take a break for one evening?" Ron groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration.
"There's a group of lovely ladies out there waiting for Professor Ethan!"
Hermione whipped around to glare at Ron, her eyes blazing with chainsaw-like fury. Ron shrank under her glare, his protests dissolving into an awkward silence.
Unfazed, Hermione pressed on, keeping Ethan occupied late into the night. By the time she finally yawned and decided to turn in, she felt victorious. Ethan hadn't left the tent, and her competition—ahem, the Veela—would simply have to wait.
Ethan, exhausted but amused, laid back on his assigned bed, letting his eyes drift shut.
Just as he was on the verge of sleep, a commotion outside the tent jolted him awake. The cheerful singing from earlier had stopped, replaced by the unmistakable sounds of panic—screams, running footsteps, and even distant explosions.
The noise quickly roused everyone else.
"What's happening out there?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with nervousness.
Ethan's expression darkened. He'd been expecting this. The Death Eaters' riot had begun.
"Mr. Weasley," Ethan said gravely, turning to Arthur.
"Take the children and leave the area immediately. Keep them safe. I'll go see what's happening."
Arthur nodded, his face serious, and began organizing the group.
Ethan stepped out of the tent, his wand already in hand. The scene outside was chaos. Wizards were running in all directions, their faces pale with fear.
Strange lights darted through the air, accompanied by loud, jeering laughter and drunken shouts.
Through the confusion, something unusual caught Ethan's eye.
Lucius Malfoy, clad in a black robe, was moving stealthily toward the dense forest at the edge of the campgrounds. His demeanor, even in the chaos, was suspicious.
Frowning, Ethan followed, his steps quick and silent. He vanished into the trees, determined to uncover whatever Malfoy was up to.