The final whistle, mingled with the deafening cheers of the Ireland supporters, swept through the stadium like a tide.
Green and gold ribbons and smoke magically erupted from every corner of the stands, painting the night sky with the colors of celebration.
"We won! Ireland won!"
Ron cheered excitedly, slapping Harry on the back. His face was flushed red from both excitement and all the shouting.
Irish leprechauns once again flew through the crowd, showering gold coins, while Ludo Bagman loudly announced the Ireland team's victory.
After a period of revelry and shouting, the crowd began to move slowly. The exit was even slower and more congested than the entry had been.
The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, fireworks, and a heady mix of excited emotions.
Harry and his friends shuffled along with the crowd, encountering countless acquaintances on the way.
"Harry! Ron! Hermione!"
Seamus Finnigan squeezed through, his face painted with green shamrocks. "Did you see that? It was amazing! The scoring speed!"
"Krum caught the Snitch but still lost!" Dean Thomas added, his voice tinged with disbelief.
They even ran into a few Durmstrang students they had seen at Hogwarts the previous year.
The visitors were still wearing their heavy fur cloaks, looking somewhat out of place in the muggy summer night, but their expressions were much softer than they had been at school.
One tall boy even gave the twins a stiff nod and said in heavily accented English, "The match… was intense."
This surprised the group, but the Durmstrang students had probably remembered the twins ever since their joint battle against Peeves in the Hogwarts Great Hall.
Even more surprisingly, in front of a stall selling French desserts they encountered several Beauxbatons girls, including Fleur Delacour, who had tied for second place with Cedric in the Triwizard Tournament.
She recognized them, smiled elegantly, and curtsied. "Good evening. A wonderful match, wasn't it?"
As she spoke, her eyes kept drifting toward Bill, as if she were very curious about him.
Behind her was a group of younger students, and they followed Harry's group slowly out of the passage. Although their communication wasn't very smooth, Harry felt they seemed much more enthusiastic than when he had seen them at school the previous year.
By the time they returned to the campsite, night had fallen, but the festivities were far from over.
Wizards from all over the world had gathered spontaneously, sharing food, drinks, and every exciting moment of the match.
Songs, laughter, and conversations in different languages echoed between the tents, and the air was filled with all sorts of strange magical effects.
This was an eye-opener for everyone: wine bottles that played jazz by themselves, bonfires that constantly spewed rainbow-colored bubbles, and several flying knives that were automatically slicing sausages, occasionally playfully offering a small piece to passersby.
Mr. Weasley watched it all with a cheerful smile, showing a pouch of Muggle lighters to a few wizards from Eastern Europe, who were exclaiming in admiration in broken English.
"You see, just a light press, and fire comes out—no spell needed! No magic either!"
He demonstrated as he spoke, the flame dancing on his spectacles.
Bill and Charlie, meanwhile, were chatting with some old classmates.
Sirius leaned comfortably against a magically transformed soft cushion, holding a bottle of butterbeer.
He gave his wand a light wave, conjuring several glowing soft cushions for everyone to sit on.
Ginny asked curiously, "Sirius, what position did you play in school?"
"Chaser."
His eyes lit up, and with a casual flick of his wand, three shimmering points of light appeared in the air, simulating the trajectory of a Quaffle.
"James was our Seeker. But we often snuck out at night to practice, and we never got caught by Filch—not once."
He winked at Harry. "You and your father both have strong talent. I even think you're no worse than that Krum fellow, though he does fly very well."
As night deepened, Sirius used his wand to light several floating pumpkin lanterns, their warm glow illuminating their small circle.
Sirius pulled several packets of Honeydukes' latest Exploding Bonbons from his pocket and distributed them, giving the twins a special warning.
"Be careful," he cautioned. "George, Fred, if you want to use them for pranks, you'd better control the dosage."
"Of course, Sirius, we'll certainly be careful..."
Everyone sat around the bonfire, sharing snacks bought from the stalls and reliving every detail of the match until their eyelids began to droop.
Finally, exhaustion overcame excitement. They said goodnight to one another and crawled back into their swaying but magically reinforced tents.
Before falling asleep, Harry could still hear Mr. Weasley outside cheerfully correcting a Norwegian wizard's pronunciation of "telephone," while a small oil lamp by his bed automatically adjusted its brightness, gradually dimming. Finally, with a soft snore, the flame extinguished...
Deep sleep did not last long.
Harry was awakened by malicious shouting and the crackling of something burning.
He sat up abruptly, heart pounding. Ron, in the sleeping bag beside him, also woke up, looking bewildered.
"What's going on?"
Hermione's nervous voice came from the girls' section on the other side of the tent.
Outside, the celebratory noise had been replaced by chaotic, terrified screaming and running, interspersed with arrogant laughter and the sound of incantations.
Mr. Weasley's voice rang out, low and urgent, filled with a tension they had never heard before: "Everyone stay in the tent! Bill, come with me. Charlie, you watch them!"
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, unable to resist lifting a corner of the tent flap to look outside.
The sight before them made their eyes widen.
The campsite was no longer a sea of joy, but a chaotic inferno.
About thirty wizards, their faces covered by hoods and masks, clustered together, forming an evil procession.
As they shouted and waved their wands, tents were set ablaze one after another wherever they passed. The flames reflected on their cold masks, making them look incredibly sinister.
Even more horrifying, floating above this terrifying procession were four terrified Muggles twisted into various comical and painful shapes.
It was Mr. Roberts, the camp manager, and his family. They floated in the air like giant marionettes, pulled by invisible strings, serving as the dreadful banners of this evil parade.
Several vile Death Eaters in the procession extended their wands, stripping Mr. and Mrs. Roberts' pajamas clean off. Even their two children were not spared; their clothes were torn to shreds.
Mrs. Roberts' desperate cries and the children's terrified screams pierced the night, while Mr. Roberts had likely been hit by a curse and passed out.
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