The stars and moon had dimmed.
The campsite had finally fallen quiet.
Across the gentle slope lay scattered broken boots, torn skirt fragments, and overturned campfire pits. Footprints covered the damaged tents. The Bulgarian tricolour flags and Irish shamrocks that fans had hung outside their tents were either blackened by smoke or ripped to shreds.
Krum's magical posters had been torn down and trampled. Lipstick marks from female fans and muddy boot prints covered them, yet the developing potion's magic had not yet faded—the image of Krum still blinked and frowned at the footprints.
The chaos caused by fifty or sixty thousand spectators had exceeded all expectations. Ministry staff were now erasing the wreckage. Repairing and Cleaning Charms flew everywhere. Mud-stained tents and posters gradually restored themselves; extinguished campfires were rekindled. Professors from the four schools moved among their students, reminding them to stay safe.
A group of young witches and wizards who were unharmed lingered in the outer area, resting. They were in no hurry to return to their tents. Instead they gathered in excited clusters, chatting about their summer holidays, the World Cup final, and how the riot had actually been thrilling.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick had been on site first, summoning Hogwarts students. Ilvermorny, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang had followed immediately after. Their crests had risen swiftly because the professors' magic was precise and their reactions lightning-fast. They had stolen the show in front of the entire wizarding world.
Other magical schools were present too: the mysterious academy hidden in China's snow-capped mountains, Uagadou of Uganda, the Japanese magic institute on Sulphur Island, Castelobruxo deep in the Brazilian Amazon, and even Koldovstoretz of Russia, which had recently suffered upheaval. But their staff and students either chose not to reveal themselves or could not produce such eye-catching crests. Fortunately the riot had not required every school to step forward.
As Amos Diggory put it, this was Ministry territory, not a school event.
"…"
Melvin put away his wand and gently stroked the young Horned Serpent's scales. The magic that had drawn away fear was built on his research into Dementors, Boggarts, and the locket, yet casting it had felt strangely familiar—much like the gift the long-horned water serpent had once bestowed.
He could not control the emotions he absorbed, nor convert them into magic. Once the chaos subsided he had simply released them.
Now those emotions drifted across the slope campsite without returning to their original owners. Like smoke and scent they gradually thinned and dispersed. A small boy sat in front of his tent, still shaken, yet the panic and terror did not seek him out again.
Melvin observed the process with interest. Perhaps the emotions could serve as Boggart feed.
"Professor Levent's Patronus really is a long-horned water serpent!" Bagman leaned against a nearby tree trunk, shaking his head in wonder. "What a majestic magical creature!"
"Aren't you going to help over there?"
"That's not my job."
"Organising the World Cup wasn't the job of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes or Magical Law Enforcement either."
"Fine…" Bagman scratched his head unhappily and trudged toward the campsite.
"I never expected so many students to come in person. The moment Minerva raised the Hogwarts crest, Seamus and Dean came running over. So did plenty of recent graduates. Did you know Penelope and Percy broke up?"
Professor Flitwick had claimed the best viewing spot and a chat partner—far better than listening to students chatter endlessly.
Melvin shook his head. "I thought once Percy successfully summoned his Patronus and confronted his true feelings, their relationship would last."
"I heard they confessed to each other several years ago and kept their relationship secret, meeting all over the school. Percy was outstanding and Penelope was brilliant—they were a perfect match." Flitwick sighed and shook his head.
"School romances… it's normal for them to end after graduation."
Melvin suddenly remembered this was Hogwarts—where graduating and marrying was the norm—and couldn't help smiling.
Just as Flitwick was about to reply, Professor McGonagall, who had been instructing students nearby, suddenly looked up and raised her voice slightly. "Beauxbatons professor?"
Melvin turned.
From the dim treeline at the edge of the slope, a figure walked slowly forward.
Slender and tall, dressed in typical Muggle attire—a cream-coloured long coat and straight trousers—she gave McGonagall a polite nod but offered no reply. She continued straight to Melvin and stopped in front of him, tilting her head slightly to look up at him.
Her fair face had the soft lustre of cool jade. Her willow-leaf brows were long and natural; her pale pupils resembled a lake washed by water—clear yet faintly cool.
The witch carried a subtle air of detachment that reminded one of morning frost still clinging to the Romanian mountains before it melted.
A few loose strands of hair fell against her cheeks, lightly tousled yet restrained, quiet and composed, with the faintest hint of softness.
"Professor Levent… long time no see."
Her voice rose slightly at the end before she pressed her lips together, reining in her emotions.
Melvin paused. The corners of his mouth lifted in a faint, involuntary smile.
…
A slightly bulky trolley was pushed forward.
It resembled the snack trolley on the Hogwarts Express—simple in structure, three shelves piled with supplies worth hundreds of Galleons. This time it carried not sweets but emergency potions from St Mungo's.
Ministry staff hurried over to take the vials.
Essence of Rue and Essence of Dittany were distributed among the tents to treat the lightly injured witches and wizards.
Most of the helpers were from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, with staff from other departments assisting. A group of unofficial volunteers had also joined—mainly family members of the employees, such as Amos Diggory's son, Cedric.
"Repairing and Healing Charms are already second nature to you, and you can tell potions apart just by scent. I hear you can even cast a Patronus. Young man, you're already far better than your father was at your age!" Mr Weasley chuckled beside him.
"Of course! My son is the best!"
Mr Diggory puffed out his chest proudly instead of taking offence. "He got Outstanding in every O.W.L. subject—not just top of the year, but Quidditch Captain of his House as well!"
"Such a fine young man—only a couple of years left at school. Fancy joining the Ministry after graduation?"
"Next year he'll be in sixth year—two more to go."
Mr Diggory's voice brimmed with pride. "We'll see about the Ministry. He might become a professional Quidditch player instead. His match recordings are very popular—national teams have already sent invitations."
"…"
Listening to his father and colleague's banter, Cedric shook his head helplessly. He unscrewed a bottle of Essence of Dittany and gently treated the arm of the wizard who had tripped and scraped it.
…
The Leaky Cauldron offered breakfast to its guests. Old Tom usually stayed out of the second-floor dining room, mainly because his toothless smile tended to ruin appetites. This summer, however, was different. His nieces and nephews had all gone to Dartmoor for the match, leaving almost no one to help in the pub. Unwilling to hire extra waiters, Old Tom had sacrificed his napping time and taken on multiple roles himself.
When he saw that Melvin—who usually came alone—had brought a lady, Old Tom grinned with his gap-toothed smile, asked about her preferences and dislikes, and finally served a breakfast that was… difficult to describe.
Christine knew British cuisine well and understood that wizarding pubs were even less restrained. She took a polite bite of the jam toast, fried egg, and bacon, then declared herself full.
"We'll wander around Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley later, then head back to Hogsmeade for lunch. The food at the Three Broomsticks is much better," Melvin said with a light smile.
"Could we try the Hogwarts kitchens?"
"Next term. Plenty of opportunities then."
Melvin politely declined. "Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall are both away. The kitchens probably haven't stocked much. The house-elves will only throw together whatever they have for themselves."
"So it really is confirmed to be held at Hogwarts…"
Christine mused. "Madame Maxime learned about the Triwizard Tournament from Monsieur Nicolas Flamel, but she was never certain of the venue. Before leaving for New York she was still trying to persuade the others to host it at Beauxbatons."
"It has always been at Hogwarts," Melvin said, glancing at her. Seeing her slight displeasure, he smiled. "Before it was discontinued the tournament was always held there. Beauxbatons sits high in the Pyrenees—the mountain roads are remote and difficult. Setting up any competition venue would be troublesome."
"We're all witches and wizards. A little hardship is nothing—we can overcome it with magic."
"Then why not Durmstrang?"
"Ice and snow? No thank you." Christine muttered under her breath.
From Budapest two years ago to Paris last year and now Dartmoor this summer, Melvin noticed how much Christine had changed. The cool, aloof air around her had softened; she seemed more alive.
"How are Mr and Mrs Rosier?"
"Both in excellent health. They spend their days doing business, attending pure-blood family banquets, and backing proxies in Ministry factional struggles…"
Christine sighed, then shook her head. "But there's happier news. They've finally realised they can't keep every ounce of power in their own hands. They've hired professional managers for part of the businesses. The Magical Theme Park is now entirely under Miss Claire's control."
"Claire mentioned it in her last letter…"
Melvin chewed on a chickpea and changed the subject. "What about your aunt Vida and Abernathy?"
"Speaking of Aunt Vida…" Christine hesitated. "She asked me to remind you to fulfil the promise you made back then."
"…"
Melvin's thoughts drifted into the past.
Two years ago in Budapest he had accidentally stumbled into a gathering of the remaining Grindelwald supporters and struck a deal. In exchange for their help expanding the Mirror Club, he had promised to rescue Grindelwald.
The time was almost upon them.
Nurmengard…
That was in Austria, wasn't it?
…
Hogsmeade, the Three Broomsticks.
The shops along the street had not closed for the summer.
Travel was much the same for witches and wizards as for Muggles. Tens of thousands of witches and wizards pouring into Britain from around the world were hardly going to stay obediently in Dartmoor, watch the final, and leave. Most would tour Britain's wizarding settlements, sightseeing, checking in, and shopping.
Hogwarts, the world's most famous and ancient magical school, was not open to the public, but the commercial street outside it—Hogsmeade, Britain's only all-wizard village—was a top travel destination.
The number of tourists on the streets was only slightly smaller than in Diagon Alley.
Melvin and Christine had arrived early enough to secure seats near the bar on the ground floor of the Three Broomsticks.
The Three Broomsticks took customer experience seriously. Its cleanliness and food and drink were first-rate across Britain. There were no stubborn grease stains, and Madame Rosmerta's smile never turned anyone's stomach.
Out of gratitude to Melvin they received service beyond that of ordinary customers: unlimited drinks and freshly fried fish and chips—crispy on the outside and still steaming when brought to the table.
"Madame Rosmerta has never been this attentive to us…"
Regular patron Tacklow sat in the corner, already drunk despite it being barely noon. He swirled his glass of red wine and grumbled.
Malcolm shot him a sideways glance and silently drank his own wine, refusing to engage.
"After all these years and all the Galleons we've spent here, every time she brings me chips… not even parsley or cheese, let alone ketchup."
Malcolm finally couldn't stand it. "That's because right after graduation you told her you liked plain chips with nothing on them!"
"Did I?" Tacklow's eyes widened.
Malcolm gave up. "Stop hanging around Hogsmeade being an eyesore. You come here every day bragging about your expensive front-row tickets. Watch out—someone might take a Beater's bat to your head and use it as a Bludger tonight. Go claim a good spot in Dartmoor already."
Tacklow was not offended at all. He winked proudly, then launched into another tirade about his front-row seats and the fortune he had earned from luxury lanterns. In his excitement he even paid Melvin and Christine's bill.
Five minutes later Madame Rosmerta brought over a fresh jug of mead and set it in front of Melvin and Christine.
"Compliments of Tacklow."
"Professor Levent seems to enjoy quite a reputation here…" Christine blinked, teasing.
They had been sitting in the pub for half an hour and similar incidents had happened more than once. The villagers seemed genuinely grateful to the young professor. They greeted him in passing without any awkward distance.
Because it was her first time in Hogsmeade, Christine was fascinated by everything in the wizarding pub—especially since this was where the first Mirror broadcast had begun.
Melvin told her about the Mirror content: from nature documentaries to Prophet news and the recent magical history epics. The Mirror Club's founder explained the underlying reasons these programmes were popular and the creative thinking behind their production…
Christine found the subject of Muggle Studies genuinely interesting.