By this point in the evening, Quidditch fans were so enlivened that a dense cloud of mutual anticipation was looming over the campsite. As the sun sank lower into the horizon, witches and wizards had deserted all efforts to contain their magic and were now releasing it in the form of reckless team spirit. The increasingly voluminous crowd contrasted with Oliver and Olivia’s silent walk to their tents. Olivia was refusing to speak, despite Oliver’s several attempts to spark a conversation.

“Liv, just say something. Anything.” Oliver pleaded.

“Alright! I will.” She acquiesced crudely. “You just caved to peer pressure in the worst way possible. I do hope Ireland wins, because if they don’t, you’ll be surrendering a hefty chunk of your salary to your worst enemy.”

Once they neared the tents, Olivia broke away from Oliver to wake up her convalescent friend. They would depart for the final match in a matter of minutes.

It was nearly dark outside before the exhilarated crowd heard the sound of a deep, booming gong initiated beyond the wood. By this time, many witches and wizards had already gathered near the forest in anticipation. When the gong’s powerful note resonated through the forest, red and green lanterns illuminated themselves amongst the trees, lighting a pathway to guide devoted fans to the stadium. The gong’s vibrations seemed to break the levees of long-confined anticipation, leading to the release of a tangible blanket of thrilling energy. The crowd jeered and began to navigate their way towards the timberlands in a cluster. Oliver longed to join the crowds, but instead waited on Olivia - he did not wish to provoke her rage any further and knew he must carefully choose his words and actions to calm her excited nerves. The bet was rather large, equating to five-thousand American dollars. Oliver was well read on Quidditch, however, and would not have made such a bet without confidence that he would win.

As Oliver stood patiently by the tent’s exterior with his father, Olivia went inside to wake Davis. Their tent was considerably smaller than Mr. and Mrs. Wood’s, sporting just two bedrooms, a parlor, and a kitchenette. Davis was sprawled out on the sofa in the living room sleeping soundly, Amelia at her side. 

“How is she? Has she stirred?” Olivia asked Oliver’s mother.

“Not one bit. I gave her a dreamless sleep potion.”

“Good. She should be well rested, then.” Olivia approached and gently shook her friend’s shoulders. “Davis, it’s time to go to the match.” She said lowly. Davis, being a light sleeper, awoke almost immediately, wearing a contented expression. Amelia and Olivia assisted Davis into a seated position.

“Time to go already?” Davis asked sweetly, rubbing her eyes.

“Time rushes by when you’re sleeping well.” Mrs. Wood said with a grin. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel great.” She responded with a decisive nod. “Thank you for helping me out... I was rather rough earlier.”

The trio stood to go, Davis combing her hair before exiting the tent. Once they emerged onto the grounds, Oliver presented them each with a shamrock necklace, a miniature top hat, and other festive decorations that he had collected from a vendor. It was clear to Olivia that he was trying to regain her favor by presenting her with gifts.

“Do you like the necklace?” Oliver asked hopefully, moving behind Olivia to latch it around her neck.

“Of course I do, but you should stop spending money. There’s a fifty percent chance that you’ll be two-hundred galleons poorer by the end of the night.”

Oliver’s optimistic expression deflated, punctured by Olivia’s joking sarcasm. She could not bear to see him so disheartened, so she grinned and kissed him on the cheek. 

“Cut that out.” Oliver said, failing to suppress a grin.
“Cut what out?”

“Don’t kiss me when you’re angry. It confuses me.” He said in his thick Scottish accent, gazing down at Olivia, who had involuntarily shed her ill facade. “I don’t know whether you’re happy or mad. It makes you very hard to read.”

“So you need clarification?” Olivia teased. “Alright then. I’m not mad. I’m just worried you’ll lose a lot of money to Marcus, that’s all.”

“Don’t be worried. I know Ireland will win.”

With that, Oliver grasped Olivia’s hand. The two shared a mutual grin and headed onto the wooded trail alongside Davis, Amelia, and Isaac. The walk took around twenty minutes, and when they emerged into the clearing, they were met by a towering, golden stadium. 

“Bloody hell.” Oliver said, his jaw dropping in wonder. He hoped to play in the World Cup one day, so seeing the colossal arena firsthand galvanized him into an inspirational haze. “This is marvelous.” 

Olivia and Davis had never attended a Quidditch World Cup before and stopped in their tracks, gazing up at the structure in an awestruck stupor. Oliver, who was seemingly hypnotized by the stadium, continued walking ahead in a daze, his family struggling to keep up with him.

Minutes later, the pack of campers approached the entrance and headed towards their respective seating areas. As predicted, Oliver led the group towards a narrow staircase that led up to the top boxes.

“Puddlemere United reserved a row up here.” He gestured proudly, just beginning to emerge from his dreamlike state of childlike wonder.

The stadium’s interior was just as lavish as its golden plated exterior. With a seating capacity of one-hundred thousand, the stadium boasted multi-tiered seating. The energetic sea of fans waved lighted wands in the air, cheering loudly as music began to play. Advertisements were flashing across a giant blackboard on the opposing side of the pitch.

As they climbed higher, Davis glanced down, taking notice of the neatly manicured field, which was lined by multiple large lights that permeated the entirety of the stadium. Soon enough, they found their seats, which were conveniently mounted halfway between the golden goalposts. Mr. and Mrs. Wood took chairs at the end of the row and Davis and Olivia sat adjacent to them. Oliver walked up the row to greet two of his fellow teammates. The remainder of the team had not yet arrived. 

“Benjy, Joscelind!” Oliver glowingly greeted with a wave. “A great night for Quidditch, isn’t it?”

Soon, Oliver had pulled Olivia from her seat to introduce her to the remainder Puddlemere United reserve team. More people began to fill the purple-and-gilt chairs around them, and soon enough, their merry conversation was interrupted by a long awaited, booming announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”

Oliver, who was telling his teammates about his high-stakes bet, abruptly stopped talking. Wheeling around to face the pitch, he screamed to the top of his lungs, painfully close to Olivia’s ear. She slightly cringed at the high volume yell, but soon joined in, taking her seat between her best friend and her beloved.

The entire stadium had erupted into discordant cheers and shouts for joy. Every person in the stands was universally hyped - even Isaac and Amelia Wood were cheering rambunctiously from their seats. Many Bulgarian and Irish flags waved in the stands, and someone shot a shamrock cannon into the crowd on the other side of the pitch. Amidst anticipatory yells, the scoreboard made itself visible on the giant, animated blackboard, showing Bulgaria and Ireland with 0 points each.

“At least we know it works.” Davis said sarcastically.

“And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!” The announcer yelled at a deafening volume in attempts to overshadow the energetic crowds. Oliver leaned in to say something in Olivia’s ear.

“Just so you know, their mascots are veela. If I drool over them, know it’s not my doing.” Oliver playfully warned.

Sure enough, the Veela gracefully made their debut from the the left side of the stadium, drifting onto the pitch. Veela were stunningly beautiful semi-human creatures with siren-like qualities - their dance was able to seduce any man.

“Let’s hope they don’t dance.” Amelia said, leaning in to Davis and Olivia. “The last thing we need are stands full of swooning men...”

Sure enough, the veela began to dance. The veela’s gentle sway made every male eager to get nearer to them, even if it meant doing something stupid. Every male in the box, including Oliver, had dreamy eyes and hungry expressions. 

“This is sickening.” Olivia said harshly, wearing an expression that made her look like she had bitten into a lemon.

“They’re acting like animals.” Davis said, shaking her head.

“Primitive beasts.” Amelia added unexpectedly, raising a laugh out of the girls. 

Their laughing was put to a stop when Benjy Williams, Puddlemere United’s Seeker, charged the wall of the box, determined to get onto the pitch to see the veela. His female teammates attempted to pull him away - they were the only ones in their right minds - but he resisted their restraining grasp and climbed over the edge.

“Merlin’s Beard!” Olivia and Davis yelled in unison, jumping to their feet and running to the wall. Three girls had their hands on Benjy’s arm to support his weight, and without their grip, he would have fallen to the solid ground below. The men in the stands were cheering Benjy on.

Benjy was writhing around in an attempt to escape the grasp of his rescuers. Davis wondered why the staff of the event had not stopped the music - looking around, she saw that Benjy was not the only man that had lost control of his senses. Moments later, her thoughts were interrupted by terrified shrieks. Benjy had shaken himself so violently that the girls had lost their grasp on his arm. He was falling, accompanied by the dissonance of their screams. The scene caused Olivia and Davis to hold their breaths and seize up in fear, and others around them did the same. Luckily, Amelia was able to think clearly in the moment, running to the wall and leaning over. She unsheathed her wand and aimed it at the entranced Seeker.

“WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!” She yelled aggressively with immense concentration, her chant followed by a small blast of visible force from her wand’s tip. At this moment, the music stopped and the veela exited the pitch. The men’s countenances cleared and they returned to reality. “Finally! Those slags shouldn’t have been allowed to dance at such a big event! Too much potential for disaster!”

Petrified, the occupants of the first row rose to their feet and peered over the edge. Benjy, now bearing a terrified expression, was being slowly lifted upwards by Amelia’s steady wand. She had reacted so quickly and analytically, and her rationality had saved someone’s life.

When Benjy was raised level with the box, the men reached out to pull him back inside. Amelia put her wand away and took her seat with a satisfied smile. 

“And now, kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!” The announcer called out, receiving a positive reaction from the massive crowd.

“Oh, good! Some appropriate entertainment!” Mrs. Wood said cheerily, neglecting to pay notice to the people seated around her. Everyone was silently staring at her with disbelief. 

“Mum? Do you realize that you just saved our Seeker’s life?” It was so typical of Oliver to refer to his fellow Quidditch players by their position on the team in lieu of their name.

“Oh, yes, I know! Speaking of which - how are you, dear? Feeling alright?” She asked coolly, peering over at Benjy with motherly concern.

Everyone erupted into laughter at Mrs. Wood’s calm, collected attitude. Benjy stood and hugged her, thanking her for the clear-minded rescue. Merriment and celebration broke out amongst the group that had witnessed the scene. The bewildered and talkative group were crowded around Amelia’s chair, blocking Olivia, Oliver, and Davis’ view of Ireland’s mascots. Based on their short, restricted glances, however, they were able to conclude that the show involved leprechauns, shamrocks, and an abundance of heavy, gold coins.

After about ten minutes, the excited inhabitants of the top box took their seats. After each team flew onto the field, the announcer introduced the referee, an Egyptian fitted in golden robes named Hassan Mostafa. The referee released the balls, signaling the start of the long awaited match.

The players were tossing the Quaffle back and forth so fast that it was difficult to tell who was in possession of the ball. Each player was mounted on Firebolt broomsticks, too, which were universally renowned as the fastest broom in the world.

Oliver was able to follow the quickly paced game with ease. His knowledge of Quidditch enabled him to casually point out maneuvers and formations. Olivia, on the other hand, was confused by the fast paced commentary.

“Oliver, can you be my commentator?” She asked pleadingly, desiring an understanding of the game’s happenings. Oliver laughed at his girlfriend’s bemusement.

“Of course.”

Just minutes later, the gameplay became even more intense. Ireland was in possession of the Quaffle, and their Chaser, Moran, was rushing it to the goal posts. Volkov, one of Bulgaria’s Beaters, batted a Bludger towards Moran, causing her to drop the Quaffle to a Bulgarian Chaser named Levski. The Irish team darted around the pitch in seamless synchronization, though to Olivia, they just appeared to be flashes of green. Momentarily, Ireland’s other Chaser, Troy, snagged the ball from Levski and rushed it to the hoops.

“He’s going to get it!” Oliver yelled, standing to his feet. Quidditch fans dressed in green shared similar reactions - the energy of the arena swelled to a fever pitch. Those dressed in green roared with excitement, and those dressed in scarlet howled in protest. Olivia and Davis were too busy mocking Oliver’s acute team spirit to watch Troy score the first ten points of the game.

“TROY SCORES! Ten zero to Ireland!” The commentator bellowed, the stadium erupting into a cheer louder than any they had heard all evening.

Davis and Olivia jumped to their feet in celebration, marveling over the green and white fireworks that were blasting off overhead.

“Oh, by the way, Ireland scored.” Oliver said to Olivia playfully, mocking her earlier request to receive simplified commentary. She punched him in the arm as he laughed at his own humor.

Ten minutes later, Ireland had scored twice more, and the crowd’s thunderous cheers were vibrating the framework of the arena. One of Puddlemere United’s Beaters passed out homemade, spirited posters for her fellow spectators to hoist in the air. She handed one down to Olivia and Davis.

Bulgaria may have Krum, but Ireland has Shamrocks!

Davis, who was a fan of puns and witty words, took great pride in raising the poster, shouldering its weight with Olivia’s assistance.

Their vibrant poster unfortunately did not prevent Bulgaria from scoring their first goal, and shortly after, Ireland experienced its second instance of bad luck when Viktor Krum’s Wronski Defensive Feint led to the injury of Ireland’s Seeker, Aidan Lynch. His wounds seemed to scare his fellow players into action. After Lynch’s recovery, Ireland managed to bring on one-hundred more points, competitively raising the game score to 130-10. 

The rising probability of Ireland’s win had heightened Oliver’s spirits even more than before if that were even possible. He wore a seemingly unerasable grin and appeared to be on cloud nine. The prospects of winning a Quidditch match and two-hundred galleons in one night were enough to send him into an excited frenzy.

“I wonder what Flint is thinking right now.” He said with an almost evil grin. Olivia chuckled at his sudden craving for mischief.

As the night wore on, the Bulgarian team grew more and more aggressive. Bulgaria’s excessive elbowing and arguing with the referee scored Ireland two penalty shots, and when one of Bulgaria’s Chasers, Dimitrov, attempted to knock Moran off of her broom, he received a foul for his team. Things were not looking good for Bulgaria.

This claim was supported by Ireland’s next move. Ireland received the Quaffle, nimbly passing it along to Moran, who scored another goal for her team.

“I’m going to be rich!” Oliver shouted happily, delighted by the outlook of the game.

“You already are!” Davis countered with a yell, receiving a joking look of disapproval from Olivia and Oliver.

The trio became more engaged as the speed of the gameplay increased. Quigley, a Beater for Ireland, struck a Bludger at Krum’s nose. When it struck his face, blood spilled from his nose and mediwizards rushed to his aid.

“He’s done for!” Oliver said, clapping his hands.

“Oliver!” Olivia chuckled at his passionate inability to filter his words. “What’s with the sordid sense of humor?”

“He’s right! Krum’s out of commission! Now we’re talkin’!” Davis cheered, becoming engaged as Ireland reached the pinnacle of good fortune.

“That’s the spirit! High five!” Oliver said with a vivacious nod. Olivia smacked a hand to her forehead and giggled at their cryptic humor. These high spirits did not last for long, though. As Oliver and Davis finished their high five, Olivia spotted Lynch diving for the Golden Snitch. Despite his recent injury, Krum was following suit. 

“Look! Look!” She shouted, leaning over the edge of the wall. Instinctively, she grasped a shamrock on her necklace for good luck - when the Snitch was caught, the game would end, giving one-hundred and fifty points to the receiver.

“Bloody hell!” Oliver shouted intensely, eyeing the race for the Snitch. Krum’s face was still bloody as both Seekers charged the ground, pursuing the speedy, golden orb. 

“Krum’s pulling ahead!” Davis shouted with distress, nervously pulling a handful of her hair. The two Seekers continued to plummet even closer to the ground. Soon, Krum reached out a hand.

“Oh no! He’s going for it!” Olivia said, her mind immediately gravitating to the galleons that Oliver would have to forfeit. 

Moments later, Krum grasped the Snitch. The game was over. He rose into the air on his broom, pumping his fist. Olivia and Davis plastered on faces of disappointment, but Oliver’s contrasted theirs greatly.

“Yes!” He clapped loudly and cheered. He was one of the only ones - the remainder of the crowd seemed confused, just as Olivia and Davis were. They each stared at him, bemused.

“What do you mean, ‘yes’?” Davis asked bitterly. “Krum got the Snitch!”

“Exactly!” The crowd was beginning to cheer now, but the girls were still confused. “He caught it when Ireland was ahead by one-hundred and sixty points! We won!”

Oliver’s explanation was soon confirmed by the game commentator, who roared the results with conclusive finality.

“IRELAND WINS! KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS - good Lord, I don’t think any of us were expecting that!”

“See? I told you.” Oliver grinned. “Always trust your personal game commentator, Olivia.” He smirked at her and planted a kiss on her forehead before joining the uproarious merriment. Joscelind Wadcock, Puddlemere United’s Chaser, passed out shamrock shot glasses full of gigglewater to her fellow spectators, who turned them up simultaneously in celebration. Davis, who was under the drinking age in the wizarding world, was given butterbeer in lieu of the alcoholic drink.

The high-spirited Quidditch fans watched as Ireland made their victory lap, Troy and Quigley hoisting their newly acquired cup into the air. Witches and wizards began to file out of the stands to return to their tents, and Mr. and Mrs. Wood followed suit. Oliver, Olivia, and Davis wished to stay and celebrate longer, but Amelia shot a condemning look at her son when he suggested the idea.

As result, the trio found themselves en route to the campsite. The twenty minute walk was made enjoyable by the singing chants of Ireland fans, who were loudly rejoicing. The team’s leprechauns had joined the gleeful crowds, showing off by laughing and launching themselves into the air.

When they returned to their tents, Mr. and Mrs. Wood decided to retire for the night. 

“Oliver, make sure you come to bed within the hour!” Amelia called to her son, who was bundling his coat around Olivia at the firepit. Davis had joined them for a cup of cocoa before bed.

“Yes, and come to this tent! This one!” Mr. Wood reiterated.

“Yes, father! I know that!” Oliver responded to his parents, rolling his eyes with a chuckle. “We’ll wait a few minutes for them to settle down before heading over to Flint’s tent. I need to collect my reward.” He said slyly, sipping from his mug. 

As promised, Oliver stood to go after finishing his warm drink.

“Do you want us to go?” Davis called, placing down her empty mug.

“I’d rather you not.” He said. “I expect Flint’ll get a bit shirty with me.”

“All the more reason for us to go. We can provide back up.” 

“Honestly, Davis, I’d rather you st-”

“We’re going.” Olivia chimed in, standing to her feet. She knew her opinion would override his - all in the name of chivalry, of course. “You’ll be less likely to do something stupid if we’re there.” Without another word, the trio paced the short distance to Marcus’ campsite.

When they arrived, Flint was sitting by his fire in the company of Warrington and Miles Bletchley, the Slytherin Quidditch team’s Keeper. They each sported hostile, disconsolate countenances, obviously frustrated about Bulgaria’s loss. Marcus looked angrier than anyone, obviously feeling reluctant that he had invested so much in the loss. 

When the trio approached the Slytherin’s tent, Oliver cleared his throat and crossed his arms, stepping forward smugly. Flint turned his previously downcast eyes to face those of his longtime enemy.

“Wood! Lovely to see you.” He said snidely, his companions dishing Oliver an evil glare.

“I’ve come to retrieve my-”

“I know why you’re here, Wood. No need to explain.” Flint said in a suspiciously calm voice. “Unfortunately, we’re going to have to settle even. I’m afraid I can’t give you any galleons.”

Davis nervously glanced at Olivia, who was staring at Oliver with a glance that screamed “I told you so”. 

“What do you mean you can’t give me any galleons?” Oliver asked, his voice remaining cool. It seemed as though he were prepared for Flint to throw him a curveball. “We shook on it. You owe me two-hundred galleons, fair and square.”

Marcus had readied himself for this argument and pursed his lips, trying to restrain a troublesome smirk.

“No, not exactly.” He began to elaborate. “You see, when we made our bet, you said you were betting on Ireland to win the cup. I said I was betting on Bulgaria to catch the Snitch.”

“You never said such a thing.” Oliver said defensively, beginning to realize he was getting duped. “We both placed our bets on who we thought would win, and you know it.”

Oliver, who always avoided stirring trouble, began advancing towards Flint and his friends.

“I know what I said.” Marcus said cruelly and defensively, his collected facade falling away when Oliver opposed his conniving plan. “We both won the bet on our own spoken terms. Bulgaria caught the Snitch, and Ireland won the match.” Flint stood so he could oppose Oliver at eye level. “Nobody owes anything to anyone.”

Olivia watched Oliver ball up his fists, and this was enough to unnerve her. Knowing Flint’s malicious intent, she walked up to her boyfriend and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Oliver, this isn’t worth the fight. Let’s go.” Olivia looked up at him, seeing an expression she did not expect - Oliver appeared stony-faced and cold, his jaw tightly clenched.

“You can go if you want. I’m going to sort this out.” He vacated his stern expression for a kind one, locking eyes with his beloved. Still yet, Oliver ignored her pleas and turned back to face Flint. 

Davis was hanging awkwardly in the background, utterly confused about the scene playing out before her. 

“I think I’ll head back to the tent...” She spoke bemusedly, her words trailing off as she turned to leave.

“Take your friends with you when you leave. They have no business here.” Flint called to Davis, who responded to his request with a dramatic eyeroll. “I’ll be inside.” Cassius and Miles stood from their seats around the dying fire to follow Flint. “Oh- and, Wood? It’ll be in your best interest to forget this bet ever happened.”

With that, Flint plastered on his notorious glower and headed inside. Oliver was standing still, mentally debating on his next move. Olivia saw this as her opportunity to pull him away from trouble.

“Let’s get out of here while we have the chance.” She suggested. “You need to get back to the tent and calm down.” Olivia observed that Oliver’s hands were still in tight fists. She placed her hands around his in an attempt to soften his grip. At her touch, he released some of this tension, but his mind was still trained on the unfairness of the bet.

“I’m sick of him trampling on me.” Oliver said resolutely. “I’m going in there.”

“Oliver, don’t.” Olivia begged, but he ignored her entreaty and began to walk away. “Oliver!” 

If Oliver was not careful, his persistence might result in physical conflict - Marcus would not turn down the opportunity for a fight, especially since he had Cassius and Miles on his side. When these thoughts crossed Olivia’s mind, she took off after her boyfriend, who had already entered the tent. 

Heart beating out of her chest, she held an ear against the tent’s fabric.

“You’re on my territory now, Wood.” Flint said wickedly. “Put your wand down, or we’ll make you regret it.”

Wand?! With a gasp, Olivia tore open the flap of the tent and crossed the threshold. Sure enough, Cassius, Miles, and Marcus had their wands trained on Oliver. It became clear that Oliver had only drawn his wand in self defense.

“Put your wands down!” She yelled with a red face. “Right this instant! All of you!”

Flint and his vile comrades let out an irksome laugh.

“She never backs down, Wood! Just like a leech. She just won’t let go.” Flint seethed.

“You have no place to be calling names, you tactless twa-”

“Oliver! Let’s go! Stop fighting!” She grabbed the wrist of his wand-yielding arm, forcing him to lower it. “This is what you get when you make deals with the devil.” She spat, angling a cruel glare at Flint.

Olivia forcefully tugged Oliver’s arm, pulling him towards the exit of the tent. He surprisingly did not resist.

“Did you hear that, Warrington? Bletchley?” They both nodded. Olivia and Oliver continued to walk towards the tent flaps. “She just called me a devil!” Flint said, his voice seeming playful and dangerously explosive all at once. “At least I’m not a filthy, low-life mudblood.” He hissed.

Olivia and Oliver both stopped in their tracks, Olivia clenching her jaw. “Mudblood” was a highly offensive term that was used to describe wizards and witches of Muggle parentage. The tent went silent for a moment as Flint and his minions waited for a response, but they soon released the harassing laughs they were fighting to contain.

“You are despicable.” Oliver said before turning to Flint, his face hot with rage. Before he could act on this fury, however, Olivia grabbed his wand arm again.

“Which is exactly why we should leave now.” She said lowly, insulted by the remark and attempting to hide her vulnerable sadness with a cold, impersonal expression. As she bravely spun around to dish one last look at her oppressor, She noticed an intricately designed mask lying on a set of robes in the corner. For some reason, it caught her attention, but she did not know exactly why. She stared at them for a moment in contemplation - she recognized them from somewhere - before returning her eyes to Flint, who had noticed her looking at the mask and had suddenly gone pale in the face. Olivia tilted her head in confusion. His reaction puzzled her...

Deciding to momentarily overlook the mysterious behavior, Olivia tightened her hold on Oliver’s arm and disapparated, pulling Oliver with her through forcible side-along apparition. They returned to Olivia and Davis’ tent safely with a small pop.