After finishing his letter, Dumbledore handed it to Fawkes, the phoenix.
The bird's radiant wings beat gently, and in a flash of flame, it vanished into thin air.
"It won't expose Lucius' identity, will it?" Wes asked, unable to hide the concern in his voice.
"I didn't write anything in the letter," Dumbledore replied calmly. "I only sent along a ticket for the World Cup."
"A ticket?" Wes frowned slightly, puzzled. To him, the move seemed oddly roundabout.
"My friend is an exceptional Auror," Dumbledore explained. "The Death Eaters are staging their attack because they've discovered a flaw in the Cup's security. Once my friend arrives, he'll spot the problem immediately and be able to deal with it."
Dumbledore's trust in this friend was absolute.
---
To prepare for this year's Quidditch World Cup, the British Ministry of Magic had gone to extraordinary lengths. Months of painstaking effort had gone into the planning, much of it dedicated to ensuring Muggles remained oblivious.
Officials drafted detailed contingency measures and set up specialized Apparition points for quick access to the stadium. Across the country, two hundred Portkeys had been discreetly distributed to serve over a hundred thousand visiting wizarding fans.
These Portkeys were cleverly disguised as rubbish or discarded clothing to prevent Muggles from triggering them.
By the time Wes Apparated to the edge of the stadium, the place was already heaving with people.
An endless sprawl of tents stretched out like a sea of color, home to the countless fans who had been camping there for days. From every direction, wizards poured in, swelling the crowd until the sheer size of it seemed overwhelming. The atmosphere was electric, a festival of excitement.
Some rode their brooms high above, weaving through the air to cheers and laughter as they showed off their flying skills.
But Ministry officials bustled frantically below, confiscating brooms to prevent Muggles from noticing.
Elsewhere, arguments between rival fans grew heated. More than once, wands were drawn in bursts of temper. Fortunately, Ministry officers stepped in quickly, preventing any incidents from spiraling into international disputes.
The workload was crushing—officials rushing from one crisis to another, desperate to keep order amidst the chaos.
Wes hadn't been there more than a few minutes before he'd already seen the Ministry break up three separate conflicts.
Some were sparked by quarrels between fans, others by small accidents. Either way, the staff were stretched thin and visibly overwhelmed.
No wonder the Death Eaters chose this place. Too many people, too much chaos—the Ministry can't possibly control it all.
For once, Wes found himself almost sympathetic to their struggle. Pushed forward by the surging crowd, he inched his way bit by bit until, after some effort, he reached the location Lucius had described.
So this is where the Death Eaters plan to strike. A clever choice. With everyone's attention locked on the World Cup, no one will notice until it's too late.
"Professor—"
"Are you here to watch the World Cup too?"
The familiar voice pulled Wes out of his thoughts. His gaze swept across the crowd until it settled on Fred and George.
"What's this you've got there?" His eyes flicked between the twins, quickly noticing the box in their arms and the floating magical fireworks that spelled out an advertisement above it: "Twin Brothers' Fireworks — Everyone Who Tries Them Loves Them."
The glowing words shimmered with dazzling colors, drawing the attention of those nearby.
"Exactly what it looks like," Fred said with a satisfied pat on the box, as though he were showing off a prized treasure.
"We're raising funds," George added, his voice brimming with excitement.
The twins had been diligently studying alchemy for quite some time, pouring effort and energy into it. With Wes's occasional guidance, their progress had been remarkable. They were now capable of crafting reliable, stable magical products.
"We want to open a joke shop someday," Fred explained.
"But Mum doesn't approve," George added with a dramatic shrug that made people nearby chuckle.
"So we've had to make some fireworks and sell them here," Fred admitted, a hint of dejection in his tone. His eyes lowered slightly, as if weighed down by the thought of his dream being blocked.
One thing was certain—Fred and George had a real knack for business. They spotted opportunities where others didn't, and with their alchemy skills, they had created spectacular magical fireworks.
In less than an hour, they had already earned dozens of Galleons—more than their father's monthly salary.
"Give me some to try out." Wes pulled out ten Galleons. "Consider it support for your venture."
"That's too much," Fred protested, waving his hands in refusal. He hadn't expected Wes to offer so much. "The rest of the fireworks aren't even worth that much."
"Really, Professor, they're not worth so much," George echoed hurriedly.
But Wes ignored them, calmly picking out a few varieties and lighting them up.
The fireworks burst brilliantly in the sky, dazzling and colorful, drawing a chorus of cheers from nearby children. The kids bounced and shouted in delight as sparks rained down. Wes handed out the remaining fireworks to them.
"Excellent work. Fireworks are magical tools in their own right. You've already mastered the ability to create alchemical items independently."
The praise brought wide grins to the twins' faces, their pride evident.
"If only Mum supported us the way you do," Fred sighed.
"She likes Percy better—bookish and boring as he is," George muttered.
"She wants us to find steady jobs like Dad. But that's just… dull."
The twins couldn't help but vent their frustrations to Wes.
"I think Molly will come around eventually," Wes reassured them with a small smile. But he had more pressing matters to attend to, so after a few more words, he sent them on their way.
By now, the twins had nearly a hundred Galleons in their possession. They were eager to use their earnings as proof to convince their mother to at least stop opposing their plans.
As the sky darkened, Wes followed the flow of the crowd into the stadium. To his surprise, Dumbledore had given him a VIP ticket. He found himself in the highest box, surrounded by the Ministry's upper echelon.
There was Minister Cornelius Fudge, Director of the Department of International Magical Cooperation Bartemius Crouch, and a number of other high-ranking officials. Their luxurious robes marked their wealth and authority.
Several pure-blood families were present as well, including the Malfoys.
°°°
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