After Lucius and his entourage slunk off, Mr. Weasley turned to Kevin Croft and flashed a thumbs-up. "Well done, kid."
The others exchanged confused looks. No one quite knew what had just happened. Mr. Weasley didn't explain — he simply herded the group back toward their seats. Sirius clapped Kevin on the shoulder, then led the way.
"Kevin, what did you do back there?" Ron asked, eyes wide.
"Nothing much. Just squeezed Lucius's hand a little."
They all understood immediately. They knew exactly how strong Kevin was.
"Did you break it?"
"Pretty much."
Across the aisle, Lucius's expression had gone dark. He slipped a small vial from his coat pocket and downed it in one go.
"What's the matter, Lucius?" Narcissa asked quietly.
"Nothing." Like hell he'd admit his hand was on fire. He fixed a tight smile on his face.
Draco had spotted his father's trembling fingers. He'd pieced it together and said nothing — just exhaled slowly. Kevin had gone easy on him. He knew that. But still. It was his father.
The match kicked off fast. Kevin couldn't quite see the appeal — it looked like school Quidditch, only a touch fancier. Bulgaria versus Ireland, with Viktor Krum as Bulgaria's Seeker drawing most of the crowd's adoration. Ron was practically beside himself.
Ireland took the match. Krum caught the Snitch. Even after the final whistle, Harry and Ron were buzzing, dissecting Ireland's tactics play by play, the girls drawn in and grinning alongside them.
The stadium was still celebrating when the mood outside shattered.
Back at the tents, the screams and explosions hit without warning.
"What's going on out there?"
Harry peered through the entrance. Sirius felt it instantly — that shift in the air, thick and wrong. He was on his feet and outside before anyone else had moved. Kevin and the others followed right behind.
This wasn't how the films had shown it. They weren't tucked safely away in the Weasley tent. They were directly in the path of what was coming.
A massive dark mob marched toward them through the firelight — masked figures in pointed black hoods, torches held aloft. Wands flared and tents erupted into flames on either side. Worse, a cluster of Muggle-born wizards hung suspended in the air overhead, screaming, helpless.
"Death Eaters." Sirius's voice was flat. He had his new wand out before the word was finished.
"Move! Head for the Portkey!"
Harry and the others didn't need telling twice. They turned to run.
A blast of fire streaked straight at them.
Sirius spun, swept his wand, and the spell veered off. "Stupefy!" One Death Eater dropped cold. The others answered with more fire, and they were still closing fast.
Harry and the group drew their wands, bracing.
"Hephaestus's Command!"
Kevin's voice cut through the chaos.
The incoming flames twisted in mid-air. Every spell, every tonguing fire from the burning tents — they all curved upward and funnelled together above the group's heads, compressing into one enormous, roiling fireball. The Death Eaters threw more into it. It didn't matter. Every curse arced off course and joined the mass above, feeding it.
The fireball grew. The heat rolled out in waves, a wall of it, and the Death Eaters finally stopped advancing.
Kevin swept his wand. The suspended wizards above — he caught each one with a Summoning Charm, drawing them clear before the inferno could reach them. Then he turned back to the fireball and swung.
The fire answered like it had been waiting. It reared up and crashed down over the Death Eaters in a single roaring wave.
Harry stared. Three years of training — intensive, relentless training — and Kevin was still somewhere completely beyond him.
Kevin lowered the wizards to the ground carefully and waved his wand again. The flames drew back in from the edges, condensing, tightening. Only then could they see what was left.
Charred figures in the ash. Half the Death Eaters were huddled behind Protego shields, straining against the heat. The ones at the front — directly in the surge — were worse.
No surprise that some had survived. Regular fire, even Kevin's, could be endured with strong enough shieldwork. But Hephaestus's Command wasn't conjuring fire from nothing. It was drawing in everything in range — enemy spells, wild blazes, every Incendio for thirty metres. Absorbing. Compounding.
Kevin had built it himself. He'd pulled the theory from a Wand-Stopping Charm and worked it together with everything he'd observed of Dumbledore's fire techniques — an original synthesis, something no textbook contained.
And he wasn't finished.
The fireball contracted, denser now, burning white at its core. Then it stretched — a flaming spear, crackling with insane heat. Kevin flicked his wrist. It streaked into the huddled Death Eaters. Their shields shredded like tissue paper. Flames erupted through their lines.
From any distance, it looked like a volcano erupting. A column of fire punched skyward.
Not a spark touched anyone else.
Kevin waved once more. The blaze surged upward, burst apart like fireworks, and vanished.
A stunned silence settled.
"Kevin—what was that spell? That was—" Ron's mouth was still open.
"Basic fire control," Kevin said, completely calm.
That kind of ruckus would bring the Ministry inside ten minutes. He was already thinking ahead.
"Who were those Death Eaters?" Harry asked, looking at Sirius. "Why attack people here?"
"Psychopaths," Sirius said. "Voldemort's faithful. They hate half-bloods, Muggle-borns, anyone they've decided doesn't belong. Hadn't shown their faces since he went down. Never thought they'd surface here, of all places."
Harry absorbed that, the words settling uneasily alongside the nightmares he'd been having. Bad omens, stacking up.
Kevin moved among the freed wizards, feeding them potions, supporting those who couldn't stand. They came around quickly.
"Don't move!"
Bartemius Crouch Senior arrived with Aurors in tow — late, wand already raised, his expression furious. He aimed straight at Kevin, who was busy forcing a healing potion down a dazed wizard's throat one-handed.
Hermione — right beside Kevin, helping the injured — jumped up and stepped into Crouch's path. "Wait! We're not Death Eaters! They're over there!"
Crouch followed her point. He took in the dozen charred bodies. He looked at the group again.
Then he crossed to the fallen.
Aurors split — half following to investigate, half staying to take statements and tend the victims. Sirius gathered the group and waited.
The ground near the bodies was still steaming. The outer figures were badly burned but mostly intact. The ones at the centre? Skeletal. A Dark Mark tattoo was visible on one undamaged forearm. The clothing confirmed it.
Mr. Weasley had arrived in a panic — his younger children had been right here. He counted heads, found Ron and Ginny unharmed, and let out a long, shuddering breath. After a quick, fierce group hug, he pulled Sirius aside to get the full account.
Crouch listened with open scepticism. A student? He doubted it. But the evidence was in front of him, and these weren't Death Eaters.
He clapped Kevin on the shoulder. "Good work. Ministry commendations will be sent to your school. Go with Mr. Weasley now — we'll handle this from here."
They turned to leave.
Then the Dark Mark blazed in the sky — a green skull with a serpent curling from its mouth, hanging over the treeline.
Crouch was already moving before it fully formed, face pale as stone. He took half the Aurors and sprinted toward the spot it had been cast from.