Even though the Minister of Magic was once her brother's subordinate, Veratia still didn't see herself as the queen mother of the Austrian Ministry of Magic.

She followed every procedure to the letter.

After changing into Muggle attire and stepping out of her office, Cassandra couldn't help but grumble, "I still don't understand. Madam Rosier was a key member of the Saints, so why do you bother with all these formalities? I doubt she'd hold you accountable for shirking your duties."

"I need to correct you, Cass," Veratia said, raising a finger. "First, Madam Rosier is a former Saint. She's completely distanced herself from Gellert Grindelwald. As for me, I have no ties to the Saints whatsoever. I'm just an innocent girl with no background, studying in Britain."

"Second," Veratia continued, "even if we're close, that's no excuse for me to act recklessly. Mr. Malfoy must have taught you the importance of separating personal and professional matters."

"Hmph," Cassandra huffed but said nothing more.

The trio left the temporary tent serving as the Austrian Ministry of Magic's outpost and returned to their own tent.

"Veratia!"

Upon seeing her, Hermione leapt three feet into the air, bouncing excitedly to Veratia's side.

"It's been ages!" she said, gazing up with admiration. "How's it been at the Austrian Ministry? Has anyone been giving you trouble?"

"No one's bothered me, Hermione," Veratia replied, gently ruffling the back of Hermione's head. "They've no reason to, have they?"

"I suppose not," Hermione said with a sheepish grin.

Nearby, Harry had an arm slung around Ron's shoulders, saying boisterously, "Hey, mates, you'll never guess who the Austrian Minister of Magic is."

"Who?" Ron glanced at Veratia, eyes wide with surprise. "Not actually Miss Grindelwald, is it?"

"No way!" Harry shot Ron a sidelong glance. "But you do know this Minister. Remember that woman in second year who posed as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? The one with the Inferi?"

"Oh, her—Vida Rosier, right?" Ron scratched his head. "But who was she impersonating with Polyjuice Potion? I can't seem to recall…"

To be fair, no one seemed to have a clear memory of that person.

"Lockhart," Percy interjected, walking over. He seemed distracted, his large black-framed glasses perched on his nose. "Gilderoy Lockhart, the bestselling author who turned out to be a complete fraud."

"Oh, right!" Ron nodded. "Gilderoy Lockhart—the greasy git who smiled like he'd bathed in oil. Mum was mad about him…"

Before he could finish, a ball of yarn came flying from nowhere and smacked Ron square on the nose.

He was about to protest when he caught sight of his fuming mother.

Wisely, he shut his mouth. Otherwise, a ball of yarn would be the least of his worries.

"Let's go for a walk," Ron said, deftly changing the subject. "It's almost dinnertime, and we should find something to eat. Dad said we're on our own for dinner, and I doubt Mum's in the mood to cook."

Ron wasn't wrong. Mrs. Weasley had no intention of cooking; she was planning to catch up with some old friends over a few beers, chatting the evening away.

The group dragged a reluctant Percy along. As Harry passed Bill and Charlie, the two older Weasley brothers each clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"What's up?" Harry asked, looking puzzled.

Neither said a word, but they both gave him a thumbs-up.

This kid was something else.

They'd noticed the way those two stunning girls looked at Harry, their eyes practically sparkling with affection. And the strangest part? The two girls seemed perfectly at ease with each other, which baffled the brothers completely.

They weren't wrong to be confused. In public, Veratia and Cassandra never let their rivalry show.

As they reached the tent's entrance, a middle-aged man appeared.

"Hello, children," he said with a cheerful smile. "Is this the Weasley tent?"

"Yes," Bill stepped forward as the eldest. "I'm William Weasley, Arthur Weasley's oldest son. May I ask what business you have with my father?"

Bill's formal name was William, just as Ron's was Ronald—Bill was merely a nickname.

"I'm Ludo Bagman," the man said with a hearty laugh, revealing his identity.

Ludo Bagman was easily the most eye-catching figure in the entire campsite. Even Dumbledore in his starry, moonlit robes couldn't hold a candle to him. Bagman was decked out in a long Quidditch robe, its wide yellow-and-black stripes emblazoned with a giant wasp splashed across the chest.

He looked like an actual bumblebee—minus the stinger on his backside.

It was clear he'd once been athletic, but time hadn't been kind. His robe strained tightly over his bulging belly, a far cry from the days when he played Quidditch for England.

His flattened nose contrasted with his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion, giving him the appearance of an overgrown schoolboy.

From the moment Harry saw him, he couldn't help but think Dumbledore's "old bee" nickname might be in jeopardy.

"Ludo! Ludo!" Mr. Weasley's voice called from a distance. The group turned to see him hurrying toward them like a gust of wind.

"Ahoy!" Bagman waved enthusiastically, bouncing as if springs were attached to his feet. His flailing arms could've starred in a Muggle advert for seaweed egg drop soup.

"Arthur, old mate," he panted, reaching Mr. Weasley's side. "What brilliant weather, eh? Absolutely smashing! Perfect for tonight—no clouds in sight… everything's running like clockwork… I've got nothing to do!"

Just then, a group of haggard Ministry officials dashed past, chasing a burst of purple sparks shooting twenty feet into the air—someone was playing with magical fire.

"Hello, Mr. Bagman, sir," Percy said, stepping forward to offer a handshake. Though he wasn't fond of Bagman's laid-back demeanor, he wasn't above trying to make a good impression.

After all, this was the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

"Ah, yes," Mr. Weasley said with a smile. "This is my son Percy, just started at the Ministry… and this is Fred—no, sorry, George—that's Fred—Bill, Charlie, Ron, my daughter Ginny… and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter… and Harry's, er, friends—girlfriends, Cassandra Malfoy and Veratia Grindelwald."

At the mention of Harry's name, Bagman's eyes flicked to the scar on his forehead, a reaction Harry was all too used to. But when he heard the names Malfoy and Grindelwald, his surprise deepened—especially at Grindelwald.

As a seasoned Ministry veteran, though, he knew better than to ask questions.

"Let me introduce you," Mr. Weasley continued. "This is Ludo Bagman. You know who he is—we owe him for getting us those brilliant box seats—"

Bagman grinned broadly, waving off the praise as if it were nothing.

"Fancy a wager on the match, Arthur?" he asked eagerly, his yellow-and-black robe jingling with what sounded like a pocketful of Galleons. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting Bulgaria scores first—I gave him steep odds, mind you, since Ireland's third Chaser is the best I've seen in years. And little Agatha Timms has bet half her eel farm that the match lasts a week!"

"Well… alright," Mr. Weasley said. "Let me think… I'll bet one Galleon on Ireland winning."

"One Galleon?" Bagman looked momentarily disappointed but quickly perked up. "Fine, fine… anyone else want in?"

"They're too young to gamble," Mr. Weasley said. "Molly wouldn't—"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, and three Knuts," Fred interrupted, as he and George pooled their money. "On Ireland winning—but Viktor Krum catching the Golden Snitch. Oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand."

"You're not seriously showing that junk to Mr. Bagman—" Percy hissed.

But Bagman didn't seem to mind. He took the wand from Fred, which let out a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken. Bagman roared with laughter, his boyish face alight with glee.

"Brilliant! I haven't seen one this convincing in years! I'll give you five Galleons for it!"

"Ha! Told you someone would appreciate it!" the Weasley twins crowed. "We brought over a hundred of these trick wands—hope we can make a killing here!"

"And you?" Bagman glanced at Harry, then at Veratia.

A violet gleam flashed in Veratia's eyes.

"Hmm," she mused, glancing at the eager twins before pulling out a hundred gold Galleons from her purse.

"I'll bet a hundred Galleons," she said with a sly smile. "Same as the twins—Ireland wins, but Viktor Krum catches the Snitch."

Sirius, standing nearby, looked tempted to join in but held back, maintaining his godfatherly dignity. Gotta set a good example for Harry, he thought, resisting the urge.

Bagman seemed to choke for a moment at Veratia's bet but quickly recovered. "Alright—Miss Grindelwald's wager is quite something! Maybe I'll follow your lead and bet on Ireland winning with Krum catching the Snitch."

Veratia's smile turned enigmatic. "That's exactly what my godfather suggested, Mr. Bagman—"

"Godfather?" Bagman looked up.

"Yes, Sirius Black," Veratia said, nodding toward Sirius standing beside Mr. Weasley. "He's Harry's godfather—and mine."

"I see," Bagman said, realization dawning. He pulled out a notebook and quill, scribbling down the twins' and Veratia's names—and, of course, his own.

Ludo Bagman wasn't a fool. He'd heard of the Grindelwald name, even if it wasn't Veratia's specifically. Gellert Grindelwald's knack for prophecy was legendary, and Bagman figured Veratia, as his descendant, likely inherited that gift. Even if the odds were a thousand to one, he'd take the bet—especially since the likelihood of her inheriting that talent was far greater.

As for Black… Bagman decided he'd make a point to get chummy with Sirius after the World Cup.

"Listen, you two," Mr. Weasley said, frowning at the twins. "I'm still not thrilled about you gambling. Your mother will have your hides if she finds out."

"We're grown," the twins said in unison.

"And I'd say a World Cup without a few bets is hardly a World Cup at all," Veratia added, throwing her support behind them.

Mr. Weasley sighed deeply. Fine, they're not kids anymore…

"Don't come crying to us when you lose everything," he said sternly to the twins.

"Don't worry, Dad, we know what we're doing," they replied in perfect sync.

Seeing the twins' ironclad determination, Mr. Weasley gave up arguing and turned to Bagman. "By the way, Ludo—any news on Bertha Jorkins?"

At this, Sirius looked up, his attention fixed on Bagman.

He'd heard about Bertha Jorkins' disappearance last month.

Veratia, too, subtly pinched Harry's back, signaling him to listen closely to the conversation about Bertha Jorkins' vanishing.

--

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