There was one flaw Rowan had deliberately left in the version of Apparition he published.
It could still be blocked by Anti-Apparition wards.
His own Apparition ignored those wards completely. Even Hogwarts couldn't stop him. But the spell as taught in his book retained that limitation.
On purpose.
If every wizard suddenly gained the ability to Apparate through all protective barriers, the security of the entire magical world would collapse overnight.
Bill and Charlie caught the meaning instantly. They exchanged a glance that said everything. After the match, they were absolutely stealing that book from their father's room—or buying a copy in Diagon Alley.
A moment later, Arthur, Bill, and Charlie Apparated in properly.
Molly Weasley hadn't come. She was one of the rare witches who genuinely didn't care about Quidditch.
"Morning, Rowan. Morning, Arthur."
Two figures emerged from the rolling mist. They were dressed in painfully bad Muggle disguises: one wore a floral suit with knee-high rubber boots, the other a tartan kilt paired with a South American poncho.
They were Ministry patrol officers stationed around the perimeter to guide arriving witches and wizards and quietly redirect any Muggles who wandered too close.
"Morning, Basil. Morning, Cox," Rowan and Arthur replied.
Basil trudged over, rubbing his eyes. "Lucky lot. You've got the day off. We've been standing out here since last night."
He checked a parchment. "First campsite section. Quarter mile straight ahead. Your manager's name is Roberts."
"Thanks, Basil," Arthur said.
They set off across the marsh.
The Ministry had chosen a location so remote it barely existed on any Muggle map. It had taken months to construct a stadium capable of hosting over a hundred thousand spectators without leaving a single trace.
They crossed empty wetlands, passed through dense enchanted fog, and climbed a long grassy slope.
Then the campsite came into view.
"Wow…"
Hermione stopped short.
So did Ron and Ginny.
They had never seen anything like this.
Endless rows of tents stretched across the valley, each decorated with flags from different countries. Wizards of every age wandered between them. Stalls sold food, drinks, souvenirs, spell trinkets, and novelty charms. Street performers conjured impossible illusions. Advertisements floated in the air, calling out in cheerful voices.
It felt less like a sporting event and more like a magical world's fair.
The Ministry didn't host the World Cup for glory alone. It was an economic engine.
One hundred thousand tickets. Tent rentals. Vendor fees. Licensing deals. Sponsorship charms.
Every host nation fought viciously for the right to hold it.
Once, the competition between Ministries had escalated into an actual brawl at an international summit. Fortunately, no one had drawn a wand. They'd settled it with fists.
"Our tent's over there," Rowan said.
They found the first campsite section, registered with the manager, and stepped into a tent expanded far beyond its exterior size.
Rowan had barely crossed the threshold when someone grabbed his arm.
"Rowan! Finally! Come on, we need you at the stadium. Three hours to kickoff!"
Ludo Bagman looked like a man on his fifth cup of caffeine.
England had reached the final. For Bagman, this was the peak of his career. And Rowan was the linchpin.
Without Rowan, England had no chance against Ireland.
"I'll catch up after the match," Rowan said, turning to Hermione and the others. "Save me a seat."
"Go get them!" Ron yelled.
"We'll scream ourselves hoarse!" Ginny added.
Outside the tent, Rowan nearly ran into Harry and Sirius, who had just arrived. They greeted him quickly before heading inside to join the Weasleys.
The walk to the stadium took half an hour.
They passed through multiple camping zones, crowded with Hogwarts students traveling with their families. Rowan recognized dozens of familiar faces.
Then the stadium rose into view on higher ground.
From the outside, it resembled a massive football arena.
Inside, the truth revealed itself.
The entire playing field was underground.
A colossal cavern had been carved beneath the earth. Tier upon tier of enchanted seating descended into the depths. The actual Quidditch pitch floated at the very bottom.
A structure this size could never exist above ground without drawing Muggle attention. Underground, it vanished the moment the event ended. The earth could be sealed back into place like nothing had ever happened.
Rowan stepped into the VIP area.
He immediately spotted Cornelius Fudge speaking with Albus Dumbledore. McGonagall stood nearby. So did Snape.
"So Dumbledore came after all," Rowan thought.
Azkaban had been destroyed. Every Death Eater had escaped.
Fudge denied Voldemort's return in public. Privately, he was terrified.
If anything went wrong today—if Death Eaters attacked the World Cup—his career would be over.
He'd already failed to recapture a single escaped prisoner.
One disaster here, and the Wizengamot would tear him apart.
That was why he'd begged Dumbledore and the Hogwarts professors to attend.
Insurance.
Rowan smiled faintly.
It wouldn't help.