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By the time Lynn and the other three finally squeezed out of the stadium with the dispersing crowd and returned to the vicinity of the campsite, the sky was already pitch black.
But time and fatigue could not dampen the fervor brought by the victory in the slightest.
The campsite had turned into a massive open-air party scene.
Countless tents were brightly lit, decorated with magical lanterns and flickering luminescence, and the air was thick with the scents of beer, butterbeer, and grilled meat.
The Irish team's anthem, the Bulgarian team's lament, and various out-of-tune voices mixed together, echoing through the night sky.
Wizards in groups of three or five waved flags, and from time to time, someone fired off green or red magical fireworks that burst into the shapes of shamrocks or Dragons in the night sky, drawing bursts of cheers.
However, in this ocean of revelry, where almost everyone was intoxicated with excitement, there was a small group of people whose mood was completely at odds with the surrounding joy.
For example, George and Fred.
At this moment, the twins were neither participating in the celebration nor returning to their own tent. Instead, they were currently scurrying around the campsite.
The expressions on their faces were surprisingly identical: brows furrowed tightly, faces written with anger.
Every now and then, they would stop abruptly, shaking their heads like rattles as they scanned every inch of grass beneath their feet, the shadows of the bushes, and even the corners of nearby tents.
"You two... not sleeping in the middle of the night, and not going to celebrate—what are you looking for?" Lynn's voice came unexpectedly from behind them, carrying obvious confusion.
The twins' swaying heads immediately froze.
They slowly turned around and saw it was Lynn; the anger on their faces was instantly replaced by embarrassment.
"That... Lynn... hi! Good evening!" George squeezed out a smile that looked worse than crying. "No... nothing! We're just... walking off our dinner! Yes, walking off dinner! The air here is really good!"
"Exactly!" Fred nodded hurriedly, his eyes darting around. "Looking at the stars, taking a walk... the green fireworks are quite pretty, huh?"
Lynn crossed his arms and looked them up and down.
The words "guilty conscience" were practically written all over their faces.
"Walking off dinner? Taking a walk? Your expressions don't look like you're enjoying the peace of the night. It looks more like you've done something bad and are trying to destroy the evidence."
Sure enough, the twins jumped up at the same time, their voices rising an octave:
"How is that possible?!"
"How could we do anything to wrong you? Lynn, what kind of people do you take us for?!"
Such a vehement reaction was practically a confession.
Lynn: "...???!!!"
"It involves me too?"
The twins looked at each other, their shoulders slumping.
Fred scratched his hair and began speaking at an extremely rapid pace:
"Listen to our explanation... it's like this... didn't we make some Galleons selling those souvenirs? Then... yesterday, Bagman said he had a betting pool, a very small one. We momentarily... uh... got an itch... so... before the match started, we invested the profits... a little bit..."
George added in a whisper from the side, "And we won! Bagman was very straightforward at the time. He gave us a large bag of Galleons directly—it was heavy!"
Lynn listened expressionlessly. "So... you took the money we made together selling 'merchandise' to bet on the match, and then you actually won."
The twins nodded like chickens pecking at rice.
Fred, with a mournful face, continued to ramble:
"Yeah, we won. We originally thought we could make a big profit and give you a surprise, returning the principal and even more profit to you... But!
"When we got back to the camp and wanted to see how much we won, we opened the bag and saw—Merlin's fattest underpants!
"The glittering 'Galleons' inside were all that kind of gold coin conjured by Leprechauns!"
George waved his fist angrily. "That liar! He used a pile of fake coins to cheat us out of all our real Galleons! We're penniless again! We've even lost all the capital!"
As he spoke, he couldn't help kicking at the nearby turf, as if he could somehow kick out the vanished Galleons.
After Lynn finished listening, he was silent for several seconds.
"That's it?"
The twins looked up at him blankly.
Lynn shrugged. "Just consider it... an early investment in your future 'Joke Shop.'"
Fred and George looked at each other.
"Even so... but!" Fred clenched his fist. "We can't swallow this insult!"
"Right!" George agreed. "Fred, keep looking! Even if we can't find the real Galleons, we have to find something else! We can't just let it go!"
---
...Time quietly slipped toward the true depths of the night.
Outside the tent, although the waves of revelry in the distance had weakened slightly, they had not ceased; the whistling of fireworks could still faintly be heard.
Most areas of the camp were still brightly lit; many people obviously planned to celebrate all night.
But all this noise and joy had nothing to do with Lynn at this moment.
Just now, he had received a short message from Lucius Malfoy.
[We've made our move. Target: You. Be careful.]
The Death Eaters had begun to move. And they were coming for him.
The Death Eaters had indeed not forgotten the order to "recruit or eliminate" him.
With the Quidditch World Cup final over, at a time when the Ministry of Magic's security was at its loosest, the crowd was at its most chaotic, and it was easiest to create confusion, they had chosen to make their move.
At this moment, Lynn had transformed into an inconspicuous beetle, quietly crouching on the carpet inside the tent.
The beetle vibrated its wings and silently slipped out through the gap in the tent flap, blending into the darkness at the edge of the campsite.
He didn't have a clear destination, merely "wandering" among the shadows, grass, and gaps between tents near the camp.
The structure of compound eyes gave him a nearly 360-degree field of vision, and his tiny size combined with excellent camouflage made him extremely difficult to detect.
As Lynn moved, he muttered to himself:
"Death Eaters... their efficiency is really low. Or did they get lost? Lucius said they 'moved,' and it's been a while now, so why haven't I seen a single soul?"
Speak of the Death Eaters, and the Death Eaters appear.
A group of figures emerged indistinctly from the pitch-black night at the outskirts of the camp.
About seven or eight people, all dressed in uniform black hooded robes, their hoods pulled low to cover most of their faces. Each wore a uniform mask, revealing only narrow slits for their eyes and mouths.
Among the group, a slightly tall and thin figure walked a little ahead, seemingly leading the way. It was none other than Lucius Malfoy.
Suddenly, a thickset Death Eater in the group, clearly lacking patience, quickened his pace to catch up with Lucius, his tone extremely impolite.
"Malfoy! How much longer until we reach that brat's camp?! It's pitch black out here. Are you sure you didn't take the wrong path?"
Lucius stopped and slowly turned around.
"What's the rush? We're almost there!" He paused. "Also, why are you shouting so loudly?! Are you trying to make sure the entire camp knows we're here? Or do you think, dressed like this, we can just charge straight in?"
The Death Eater who had been snapped at by Lucius was clearly stunned. Subconsciously, he wanted to retort: You weren't exactly speaking quietly just now either! What are you pretending for?!
But he swallowed the words that had reached the tip of his tongue, only muttering discontentedly under his breath. His pace slowed, putting some distance between them.
Lucius ignored him and turned to continue forward, but his heart was far from as calm as his expression suggested:
Lynn... should have received the message by now, right? Why isn't there any movement at all?