[I own nothing in the Harry Potter franchise, all such content belongs to J.K. Rowling.]

Quidditch World Cup, August 20th, 1994, 21h00.

Red, green, white, and blue were everywhere now — as the Bulgarian National Team prepared to face off against the United States in the penultimate match of the tournament. Whoever took this round would go on to face Ireland in the final, but that could wait for another day (or five, to be precise). All that mattered was getting past their opponent, with the odds being slightly in favour of Bulgaria — and Viktor Krum. Crowds of supporters now flocked from their tents to converge upon the magnificent stadium nearby; their songs and colours cutting through an otherwise quiet, misty morning.

It wasn't too long until the crowd reached their destination, with countless witches and wizards presenting their tickets and filtering into the gigantic stadium. The amount of anti-Muggle work that had gone into organising such an event was absolutely staggering to consider.

"I do 'ope Bulgaria wins," said Fleur Delacour, a beautiful girl who occasionally joined up with Harry Potter and Sirius Black here — ever since their arrival at the campground yesterday morning. "And I would like to see zem beat ze Irish in ze end, just to shut zose stupid leprechaun mascots up. Zey are so stupid and annoying."

How Harry had come to befriend Fleur was a matter of sheer coincidence last year, but he didn't mind. And neither did he mind the grey tracksuit top and trousers she wore today. "You just want them to win 'cos they've got Veela mascots."

Fleur smiled as the trio climbed the purple-carpeted stairs leading up to the Top Box, where all three had been booked. "It would've been nice eef I was a full-Veela. Imagine transforming into ze angry form and throwing fireballs around." She chuckled. "Zat would, as zey say, 'scare people shitless', yes?"

"I almost forgot about that," said Sirius, once they'd reached the best seats in the house — so to speak. "Just so you know, Harry; full-Veela can turn real nasty at a moment's notice. But I guess you won't have that problem with Miss Delacour over here."

Harry surveyed the empty rows of purple-and-gilt chairs in here, where he'd thought the Delacours would be waiting. "How come you're up here without your family? That's not right."

Fleur ushered them towards the rightmost section of the front row. "Zese tickets weren't cheap, you know, so we drew straws at 'ome. I got ze longest, so I got ze best tickets. But eet's not so bad for ze rest; Maman, Papa, and Gabrielle are somewhere in ze top row over zere."

"Sure," said Sirius, eyeing Fleur in a rather sceptical manner. He narrowed his eyes and looked from her to Harry while whispering, "I'll bet she knew you'd be up here too. It isn't hard to check who booked what tickets, wherever."

"Can you see over ze railing or should I conjure a cushion, little Potter?"

"Hilarious." Harry took his seat, crossed his arms, and huffed. He had absolutely no problems seeing the pitch below, the scoreboard up ahead, and whatever else would be happening in-between. "You nervous for the match?"

"Why would I be?" Fleur lounged comfortably in her seat, as if she owned it. "You two had better be careful in ze final... for when ze Veela start zeir dance, men tend to get all stupid with zeir words and actions. Don't say I never warned you."

"How about a demonstration for us stupid men sitting here?"

"Such a comedian, little Potter. Well, I'm sorry to say zat I can't do eet as good as zose mascots. My grandmuzzer nevair wanted to teach it to me; she said I should build my own talents." Fleur gave a haughty little smile. "And zat is why I am ze best student at Beauxbatons, in both work and looks."

Harry said nothing; he simply stared at the confident witch sitting beside him. Yeah, I don't find that hard to believe.

The next person to arrive was an upright, elderly wizard who could pass for a bank manager in the Muggle world. There was barely a hint of joy around him; instead, he simply walked in and sunk himself into the seat behind Harry, with a sigh.

"What's got you so stressed these days, Crouch?" Sirius asked, his tone far colder than Harry had grown used to. "Not like you got thrown into Azkaban for twelve years without a trial, eh? And where's your house-elf? I'd've thought a busy man like you would've brought it along."

"None of your business," said the man named Crouch. He was speaking in a strangely tired tone behind Harry. "What should I say? 'Sorry', perhaps? It's hard to argue when Albus Dumbledore gives testimony against someone, Mr. Black. You were said to have been the Potters' Secret Keeper at that time."

"And you were laughing like a 'ooligan, Seerius."

Sirius said nothing; he simply turned around and stared into the distance ahead. His expression anything but empathetic towards the man who refused to grant him a trial. It was a tense few minutes of silence in here, with only the noise and chants of the booming crowd being heard.

Then, finally, Mr. Crouch shifted in his seat. "Excuse me, boy, but are you —"

Harry turned around, saw Mr. Crouch glance at his scar, and then he shook hands with the man. "Harry Potter, yes. And you must be Madam Bones' predecessor, right?"

Mr. Crouch sat up straight in his seat; his wearied, stressful expression replaced with a dignified one. "Correct. Those years were a true blight on magical history, and things were far worse than you might think." Sirius snorted, but Mr. Crouch didn't give a damn. "If you've heard from appropriate sources, Mr. Potter, then you'd realise that my methods were a necessity: fight fire with fire, as the Muggles say."

"And what about your late son?" Sirius asked, without so much as turning to face Mr. Crouch. "Burned in the process? That poor kid kept screaming for his mother over and over again, Crouch."

Harry shared a quick glance with Fleur. There were old reports to peruse, of course, but to personally see and hear Mr. Crouch's ruthlessness was... something else.

"'That poor kid' was caught in the company of a certain cousin of yours, Mr. Black." Mr. Crouch crossed his arms and looked defiant. "And now he's dead, yes... d-dead and buried, as he should be. Barty made his choices in life... as an adult."

Sirius frowned. "That sentence goes both ways, you know."

Fortunately, the Top Box began filling up with some rather important-looking witches and wizards now; a welcome end to the tension between Sirius and Mr. Crouch. There were all sorts of people entering the box to take their seats, with Cornelius Fudge trying to lead the way. Harry then heard Mr. Crouch sigh behind him, which turned out to be in response to the arrival of Percy Weasley.

"Good worker," whispered Mr. Crouch to Harry, "although I do find his enthusiasm a tad wearisome. He's the quintessential overeager intern, so to speak."

"I didn't know Percy was working for you," said Harry, to which Mr. Crouch raised his brows.

"Oh is that his name? I'll just keep calling him 'Weatherby' anyway. Ought to remind him of his place around here."

At some point during the widespread conversation in here, Sirius pulled Harry aside and whispered, "Be careful around Crouch. He's not usually talkative with random students out here, or haven't you noticed how Fleur's practically nonexistent in his eyes? Crouch is obviously trying to make himself seen with the one who took down Voldemort."

So, the former top-cop was simply using Harry to try and bring back some of the old popularity, eh? Well, Harry reckoned he might as well make the most of it. On the other hand, Mr. Crouch wasn't the only one trying to use the Boy Who Lived for their benefit — as Minister Fudge had now introduced the entire Top Box to Harry Potter.

Might as well make some allies while everyone's at it.

Harry turned and saw a very jealous, and somewhat dejected, Percy Weasley sitting in the leftmost corner of the front row. "Hey, Percy Weasley, how are those cauldron-reports coming along? I hear you've been quite busy recently."

"Well, if you must know..." Percy went into one of his long-winded explanations on shallow-bottomed products, which were obviously a danger to society these days. And although most people turned away out of boredom, there were some who took an interest in this topic — to which Percy shot Harry a grateful look as the latter returned to his seat.

"What was that about?" Sirius asked, leaning forward to look past a bored Fleur — at Harry.

"Nice way to divert the attention from yourself," said Mr. Crouch, to which Harry almost smiled. Perhaps Sirius was right about the whole brown-nosing thing. "Unfortunately, Weatherby's head now seems to have further inflated."

Minutes of random conversation passed by until, finally, the commentator had arrived. It was some blond man by the name of Ludovich 'Ludo' Bagman, who Harry thought looked like a jovial, overgrown schoolboy up here. Re-introductions were made and the teams were soon announced, with Bagman providing commentary all the while.

Meanwhile, Harry turned to whisper in Fleur's ear. "Wait, where are the mascots? Where's your people?"

Fleur almost rolled her eyes. "Maybe you should read and listen more carefully, famous-Potter. Ze mascots are only brought into ze stadium for ze final match, which Bulgaria already sees zemselves as being booked for."

"Then how can you hate the Irish mascots if they haven't even performed yet?"

"I just 'ate leprechauns, eet is nuzzing personal. Zem and zeir stupid fake-gold..." And she muttered something which sounded incredibly rude, in French.

Even without their mascots, both teams put on one hell of a show as they flew out onto the pitch. For the U.S., a gigantic, magically generated stars-and-stripes flag formed itself in the air above the crowd. Then came the team's emblem — a badge which was blue on top with three stars, as well as having a black eagle with a Beater's bat in each claw — which superimposed itself over the national flag.

"Splendid!" said Bagman, speaking in his magically amplified voice to the crowd. "And here comes the American team! First out is Keeper Ralph Heidelberger, and he's followed by Beaters Greg Ruczinski, and Captain Troy Duvall! Bulgaria might have their work cut out for them against these two, I'd say! Where are those Chasers? Ah! There's Robert Green, Debbie Muntz, and Gianni Fedele flying out in formation again! And last but not least for the U.S., we have Seeker Ariel 'Speedy' Singleton — who'll be hoping to put her skills against her Bulgarian counterpart out there today!"

Harry slowed down his Omnioculars to see the seven players, clad in robes of navy blue and dark red, zooming around the pitch in an arrow-like formation. Then — suddenly — red, white, and green-glowing bars shone across the pitch as the Bulgarian National Team flew out from their entrance. They were introduced as: Volkov and Vulchanov, the Beaters; Zograf in Keeper; Dimitrov, Ivanova, and Levski as Chasers, and then — to the roaring approval of many fans — Krum was hailed as the Bulgarian Seeker.

Everything was proceeding with so much noise and vibrance that Harry got lost in his own daydreams here. He pictured himself being introduced, by Ludo Bagman, before thousands upon thousands of fans. Harry Potter! The Star Seeker of England! The Boy Who Lived to Catch a Golden Snitch! Here goes Potter, flying up high on his magnificent Firebolt in search of the Snitch —

"Er, 'ello?" Fleur waved her hand right in front of Harry's face. "You did see zem score, did you? Just what are you theenking about so 'ard zere, Monsieur?"

"Huh, what?" Harry looked around and saw the scoreboard flash BULGARIA: 0, U.S.A.: 10. He couldn't believe that he'd missed the entire opening of a World Cup semi-final due to a mere daydream. "I was, er, picturing myself playing in a final, or something."

Both Sirius and Fleur laughed, although they quickly directed their attention to the game as the Americans scored yet again.

"Zograf didn't know what hit him there!" said Bagman, while the crowd groaned. "It was a Bludger, by the way. And we're off again, with the Americans in possession! Green, Muntz, Fedele flying through the centre... breaking formation to dodge their incoming opponents... Oh, this looks interesting!"

From what Harry saw, a blur of navy players performed some sort of team-move which involved the Quaffle going back and forth between their Chasers. Then, suddenly, Green scored from behind the goalposts while Muntz dived off his broom — although Zograf just about managed to stop a second goal from happening.

"It's thirty-zero so far, as Muntz is caught by his teammates — a narrow failure to score both goals as part of their special team move!"

Harry replayed the action in his Omnioculars, which showed a tricky combination of pass-and-dribble between the three American Chasers. It was something called 'The Harlem Shuffle — very dangerous Chaser technique', according to the purple words flashing across the Omnioculars' lenses.

"Come on, come on!" Fleur banged her fist against her right armrest, startling Harry. "I want to see ze Veela in ze final," she muttered, "I want to see ze men doing stupid zings from zeir seats!"

Slowly but surely, the Bulgarians began to fight back as the Quaffle switched hands at breathtaking speed. It went from Ivanova to Levski, intercepted by Green, retaken by Dimitrov, and then — eventually — passed to Ivanova who scored just as Vulchanov whacked a Bludger at Heidelberger.

"Thirty-ten on the board!" said Bagman, barely heard over the wave of Bulgarian applause. "Game restarted by Heidelberger... Quaffle passed to Green! Muntz! Back to Green again..."

The chances and goals came in hard and fast. One minute might see the Americans on the attack, and the next would see the Quaffle going through the centre again. Chance after chance; shot after shot... the golden words of the scoreboard were steadily changed over the next half an hour. And in that time, the Golden Snitch was spotted at least once, with both Seekers narrowly missing out due to well-placed Bludgers from either side.

"That's right, folks, keep it coming!" said Bagman, who was absolutely delighted at the tremendous noise coming from nearly eighty thousand witches and wizards in here. "And it's Muntz to Fedele, both Chasers shielded by their Captain as the Americans go down the left flank. Volkov's coming in hot; that bat looks ready to smash the next Bludger it touches! Vulchanov's chasing not one, but both Bludgers on the right side of the pitch! Quaffle moves from Fedele to Muntz...

"Oh! Muntz gets whacked by a Bludger, but there's no need for medical attention. Ruczinski's now man-marking Vulchanov down the centre flank; he's not letting that Bulgarian fly freely anymore!

"Quaffle's hovering near the left... Keeper Heidelberger's coming out to retrieve it... Good move! He passes to Fedele. Fedele to Green! Green rounds the oncoming Ivanova to break for the Bulgarian hoops... Bludger whacked by Duvall... catches Dimitrov on the turn! Green's going ahead... He shoots... SAVED! Zograf restarts play!"

It was mere seconds later that Chaser Ivanova looped over Heidelberger and scored, bringing the game to sixty-forty — although the Americans were still in the lead.

"Oh, I say! Look at those tactics!" Bagman pointed out the American Beaters both targeting Krum, leaving their own Chasers wholly unprotected against Volkov and Vulchanov. "Risky decision from Captain Duvall as he takes Ruczinski with him to tail Viktor Krum! Well, the opponent can't exactly win without their Seeker, right? Krum's not gonna just take it; look at him work that Firebolt to both search for the Snitch and dodge those incoming Bludgers!"

"You still wish to practise with 'im, young Seeker?" Fleur asked, as she saw Harry gaping at the flawless flying of Krum ahead. "'E is vairy good, yes?"

'Good' was an understatement. Krum was weaving his way through the air in a truly frustrating manner for the American Beaters, both of whom struggled to direct their Bludger shots on target. Then came Volkov on the defence; the Bulgarian Beater struggling to keep up with his own teammate while attempting to shield him.

"Funny how Krum hasn't done that feint-thing yet," said Sirius, watching the action through his own Omnioculars. "I guess he's not letting the Irish get a read on his whole arsenal today."

"Forget the Irish and look at the Americans now!" said Cornelius Fudge, spinning his lime-green bowler hat in excitement further down the row. "Er, no offence intended to any Irish folks in here. It's merely a figure of speech, so to speak."

Harry heard a slight scoffing noise behind him, as Mr. Crouch had overheard Fudge's poor choice of words. But there was no time to worry about politicians now, not when the Quaffle had just been punched through the left Bulgarian goalpost.

"Spectacular goal by Muntz!" said Bagman, earning a round of applause from the U.S. section of the crowd. "That brings us to seventy-forty, still in favour of the American team — Oh! That was a rather quick bit of retaliation from Bulgaria there... Vulchanov's whacked a Bludger straight at the celebrating Muntz! Mediwizard, please."

A time-out was called as two mediwizards sprinted across the pitch to attend to the bruised Chaser.

"How weak," said a wizard leaning against the leftmost part of the Top Box's railing. His fingers were twirling the end of his goatee as he stood watching the mediwizards at work... far below on the field. "Viktor wouldn't need such a long time-out just for a simple Bludger shot to the head."

"Now, now, Igor," said some random, middle-aged witch in the second row. "Let's not get too overconfident, not when there's still a whole match left to play."

The U.S. players rallied in revenge for their now-healed Chaser, causing a rush of navy-blue blurs to storm across the pitch. Their sudden, overwhelming switch to complete offence caught the Bulgarians off guard — which led to Zograf fumbling four of his six attempted saves over the next twelve minutes.

"... could we see our fifth American goal in fifteen minutes?" Bagman asked, raising his magically amplified voice above the thunderous crowd. "Muntz on the attack, Quaffle passed to Green... then to Fedele! Ivanova and Dimitrov moving in to intercept... Fedele and Green break formation to head forward — Hold your Hippogriffs there, boys! Foul by the American team, whose relentless attack might've clouded their judgement for a crucial moment.

"Green relinquishes the Quaffle to the referee, and he gets a slight talk on Stooging in return. Only one Chaser can enter the scoring area around the goalposts, folks! All right, Ivanova's all set in the centre of the pitch. She's got the Quaffle in hand and is ready to fly forward and battle Heidelberger for the penalty..."

Seconds later, Ivanova outwitted her opponent at the right hoop — bringing the score to one hundred and ten to fifty, with the U.S. still in the lead.

"I see what everyone's been saying," said Harry, standing beside Fleur at the railing. "The Bulgarians are heavily reliant on Viktor Krum to win their games, with their Chasers merely controlling the points gap in the meantime."

Fleur patted him on the back. "Good to see your glasses are not too theeck."

It's Harry Potter on the attack! He's going after the Snitch... What a fantastic dive from a fantastic Seeker! He's the best in the woooorld!

"Please stop staring ahead and daydreaming, Meester," said Fleur, shaking Harry's shoulder to bring him back to reality. "Look right; zat is where everything is 'appening at ze moment."

Krum had just about tricked the two U.S. Beaters into colliding with each other in mid-air, which afforded Krum the opportunity to fly unhindered against Singleton. The two Seekers were once again on the attack, with Krum pushing his Firebolt ahead of whatever Starsweeper model Singleton was using.

"Duvall and Ruczinski are still reeling from that bump of heads, and Krum's taking full advantage of it! Elsewhere, Volkov and Vulchanov double-team that Bludger to whack Heidelberger — which is perfectly legal, seeing as Levski's within the scoring area.

"No Keeper? No problem, eh?" Bagman chuckled. "Levski's put in that Quaffle without much trouble! One hundred and ten to sixty — and now it's one of the American Chasers moving in to swipe up the Quaffle, before Bulgaria can get themselves an easy second goal! OH, I SAY! KRUM'S NEARLY GOT IT!"

Harry had been in this situation well enough to know that Krum only had a bit more work to do until getting the Snitch. It was glittering just a few metres from his outstretched hand —

The Bulgarians groaned as a Bludger collided with Krum's left shoulder.

"Tough luck there!" said Bagman. "Wait, Krum's still going without a care in the world! Duvall's shot bought Singleton a few more seconds to catch up, and both Seekers are now neck-and-neck behind that Snitch! Goal by Dimitrov too; it's all happening at once here, folks! One hundred and ten to seventy so far!"

The Bulgarians bellowed in disapproval as Zograf got taken down by a Bludger, courtesy of Ruczinski.

"Foul!" said Bagman, laughing. "A Keeper can only be targeted if there's a Chaser challenging them at that moment. And I should know, considering that I've done this foul a fair few times! Penalty to Bulgaria!" And, seconds later... "Saved by Heidelberger, although he's still shaky from that last Bludger. On the other hand, Zograf's not looking too good either..."

With either Keeper reeling from their injuries, both sides racked up the chances and — eventually — scored their share of goals. One minute it was Ivanova, and then it was Levski who followed through on the next counterattack. After that, Green and Muntz scored with their own successive attacks, before Fedele put one more in for the U.S.

"One hundred and forty to ninety, with the Americans still holding on to their lead!" Bagman directed everyone's attention to the Seekers, in the left corner of the pitch. "Singleton's giving Krum a run for his Galleons here, isn't she? Look at her push that Starsweeper XII to its limits! She's almost edged-out Krum towards the Snitch, but that Firebolt's too fast!

"Green scores! Quaffle passed from Zograf to Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova! Snatched by Muntz! U.S. going ahead... goal from Muntz! Zograf restarts... What a poor pass that's intercepted right at the hoops... Muntz scores again! Foul by Zograf for elbowing someone nearby... was it Muntz?

"Americans taking their penalty. Fedele's going... going, Quaffle saved but rebounds... Fedele scores on the follow-up! One hundred and eighty to ninety; that gap's growing wider by the goal out here, people!

"Game restarts as Zograf goes forward to play as a fourth Chaser. It's all-out attack by the Bulgarians now, but Captain Duvall's already seen this coming. He's moving in with his fellow Beater towards those Bludgers... Levski and Ivanova are just about shielded by Volkov and Vulchanov, but it's too late.

"Fedele and Muntz easily bypass the lone Dimitrov, in the centre of the pitch, and now it's a frantic scramble towards the Bulgarian hoops! Fedele's Starsweeper XII just about beats Zograf's Nimbus Two Thousand and One; the Bulgarian Keeper's far too behind to do anything now! And neither can their Beaters stop the speeding Fedele... Goooooal! It's a hundred gap between these two —" Bagman paused, and so did everyone else. "KRUM'S CAUGHT IT!"

Harry had to rewind his Omnioculars to spot Krum narrowly beating Singleton on a turn, in order to catch the Snitch. "Oh, wow."

"Eet will be leprechauns against Veela in ze final!" said Fleur, cheering and applauding with the rest of the Bulgarian supporters around here.

"Whew! What a close shave in the end," said Bagman, still speaking in his magically amplified voice across the stadium. "The Americans were hot on the attack and finally widened that gap. But, in the end, Viktor Krum" — A wave of applause boomed across the stands — "made it two hundred and forty for Bulgaria. Now let's have a round of applause for Team U.S.A. and their new brooms, for a spectacular showing right up until their unfortunate end!"

One by one, the American players landed to a much-appreciated show of cheers, songs, and applause from the crowd. Even Ariel Singleton, who lost out in the end, was lauded for her performance in the air today.

"Quietus!" said Bagman, looking thoroughly pleased as he turned to address the rest of the Top Box. "Wasn't expecting Krum to have that much trouble out there. If you ask me, the Americans have a solid team — and brooms — to build on for the next World Cup."

"Of course we have," said the President of the Magical Congress of the U.S.A.; a wizard sitting near the corner of this room.

Harry turned to look at Fleur, as various witches and wizards began exiting the Top Box. "When I'm done with school, I'll join the English team straightaway to show them what's what." He saw the amused (or was it encouraging?) smile of Fleur and continued. "'98 Will be my year, just you watch."

"OK, I will diarise zat and eagerly await ze year of '98. Let us see what great zings Meester Potter will do zen." Fleur later joined Sirius and Harry as the trio made their way down the stairs and out the stadium. Here, they hung around for quite a while until Viktor Krum exited with his team.

"I vos not expecting that much trouble vith my opponent today," he said, looking less than pleased with his own performance — never mind the victory. "You all go ahead; I haff been looking forvard to getting in some more Seeker practice." The rest of the Bulgarian team were certainly not about to just 'go ahead' here, and they immediately returned to the stands. "Vell, they are very protective."

"No kidding," Sirius said, as the group of four stood right at the stadium's exit. "It's night, the stadium's nearly empty, and you're the most valuable player in this tournament. I wonder what could go wrong?"

"Vot?"

"Sirius!" Harry shot him a warning look. "I'm sorry, Krum, but my godfather didn't mean what he said. It's what we call 'sarcasm'."

Krum placed one hand on his hip while the other hand shouldered his red Firebolt. "Yes, I could tell that much. And I tell you vot, Harry Potter: if you can last at least two minutes in a Snitch-chase vith me, then ve go on first names, OK?"

"Deal!"

"But, aren't you tired after all zat?" Fleur asked, as Krum opened a large pocket of his robes and withdrew a Golden Snitch. "Ze game, I mean."

"Perhaps this vood give your famous friend an advantage, yes?" Then, as if to squash any and all hope that he was tired — Krum shot straight through the tunnel, beside the stairs, and onto the pitch.

It was sheer luck that Sirius' campsite wasn't too far from the pathway leading up to the stadium, and Harry therefore raised his wand. "Accio Firebolt!"

"Better hope the Ministry doesn't bust our arses for this," said Sirius, as Harry's broom soared through the nearby woods. "Nice skills with that charm, by the way."

"Tell that to Tracey Davis; she's the one who forced us to practise this 'convenient' spell over and over last year." Harry shouldered his broom and made his way through the tunnel, after which he took his first steps onto a world-class Quidditch field. It was far different than entering Hogwarts' stadium, to say the least.

"It is scary the first time, eh?" Krum asked, as Harry seemed almost dizzy from looking around at the thousands upon thousands of seats rising in the stands all around them. "You vill also need to get used to playing under this bright light, unless Hogvarts also plays at night?"

Harry shook his head, tried to ignore the watchful gaze of six Bulgarian players in the stands, and then he threw down his Firebolt (which hovered instead of hitting the ground). "Nobody's gonna chase us out, right?"

"Vhy vood they? If anything, I do not think it vill be too long until the cameras arrive." Krum activated his practice-Snitch and threw it up, after which it blitzed away like any normal one. "Another thing you might not know: the international-match Snitches are a little faster than school-level ones. And my Snitch up there is made to match vot I go up against. I'll give you a headstart; you ready?"

"Yeah, hope so." Harry took a quick, thirty-second warm-up before mounting his broom and kicking off before Krum. He bent low and sped up to over a hundred miles per hour, as the Snitch climbed faster than any one Harry had previously chased. If either Sirius or Fleur were whistling or cheering now, Harry couldn't hear it through the rush of wind against his face.

Then, suddenly, a scarlet blur shot past Harry and followed the Snitch on its loop-the-loop manoeuvre, far above the field. But Harry wasn't about to get himself steamrolled by famous Krum, and he sped up even further — with both Seekers slaloming through the centre of the pitch.

"I do not play games in practice," said Krum, and he caught Harry off guard with a hard jostle straight against him. "Good balance."

Harry retaliated by going on a sudden, vertical dive — even though the Snitch was speeding away towards the distant goalposts. He sped as if chasing his target downward, then he reached out his hand... waited... focused... and quickly pulled up just inches from the ground. "What?"

Krum returned from the goalposts; his expression highly amused while holding the Snitch in his hand. "Vell, vell, I haff not seen another Seeker pull off such a good Wronski Feint in a long time. But, Harry Potter, it is not vise to do that vhen your opponent already has his eyes on the Snitch. Or did you think I vos just going to follow you for no reason?"

Harry felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment now; he'd just done a one-man Wronski Feint... something which must've looked incredibly silly. "I didn't make two minutes, did I?" Geez, that was embarrassingly quick.

"You did enough to earn another round. Let's go."

Two sessions later, Harry managed to last just over two minutes until Krum caught the Snitch — and Harry did so quite spectacularly too. Then, with the early morning already underway, he rejoined his group while Krum went off with the latter's team; both having a newfound respect for each other here.

"I'd love a Starsweeper broom, like the Americans had," said Harry, making his way down the pathway towards Sirius' campsite.

Sirius glanced quizzically at him. "You've already got a Firebolt. Isn't that way better?"

Fleur laughed. "What else can you expect from a little child? Zey don't care about what's better as long as zey get something new. Well, goodnight zen, both of you." Then she yawned as she made her way back to her family's tent, while Harry and Sirius settled down for some much-needed sleep in theirs.

The following morning saw Harry wake up at almost noon; then he got freshened up, prepared breakfast for two, and eventually exited the tent. It was a fine but breezy day today —

"Might I interest you in a short interview, Mr. Potter?"

Harry was pulled from his thoughts by the sudden appearance of a tall, thin male reporter for the Daily Prophet. "Were you the one taking pictures of us last night?"

"Andy Smudgley, yes." He shook hands with Harry outside the tent. "Rather I cover your story before my 'esteemed' colleague, Rita Skeeter, gets hold of it, eh? We'll be reading about tragic insecurities and random love triangles then."

"Fair point." Harry spent the next few minutes discussing his thoughts on the Quidditch World Cup (while trying to maintain as much neutrality as possible), his practice with Viktor Krum, and minor plans for his fourth year at school.

"Splendid! I'll have this ready for either this evening or tomorrow's edition... depending on availability, of course." Smudgley thanked Harry and Disapparated, probably back to the Ministry of Magic.

Next came a very familiar little owl, which arrived just as Sirius exited the tent. "Hey, that's the one I bought Ron Weasley."

It was Pigwidgeon, and it zoomed about like a speedy little Snitch until dropping a letter in Harry's hands (after which Sirius fed the owl some treats).

Harry,

Did you watch the semi-final? How was it? I heard the Americans put up a good fight against Bulgaria. Mum and Dad says to tell you that we'll all be arriving on the 24th, that's a day before the big final.

Oh, and Hermione's got these weird things in her mouth as of late. It's hilarious seeing her walking around with metal on her teeth. 'Braces', I think they're called. She says she's always had them since first year but now switched from 'lingual' ones to 'traditional' ones. If you ask me, I'd just use magic to fix my teeth if I were her.

Anyway, hope Pig isn't being too annoying on his delivery, the feathery git.

From: Ron Weasley.

"Hermione with braces?" Harry paused for a moment and smiled. "That's hot."

"Knew you'd say that," said Sirius, chuckling as Harry wrote a reply and sent it along with Pigwidgeon. "Although, I wonder how she'll react the day she finds out you're real buddy-buddies with perfect Fleur Delacour, eh?"

"Let's wait and see..." Harry stretched out and set off to wander around the campground, with Sirius at his side. There were quite a few more tents present than yesterday, which meant a greater possibly of running into a friendly face or two around here.