Chapter 505: Semi-Final
“This world doesn’t sympathize with the failures who are honest, Wade. If you must be ruthless to claim victory, then be ruthless.”
Antoine spoke with a calm certainty.
Wade barely managed to suppress the retort on his tongue: Fifty years ago, Gellert Grindelwald chose to bear the world’s scorn, and still he didn’t win. If he’d only raised his moral standards slightly, perhaps he wouldn’t have ended up hated by the entire world?
The mindset of the Wizard Purity Party ran deep—even in Antoine, the so-called “new generation.” On the surface, he seemed to be changing, but beneath it all, the old logic remained unchanged.
Wade said nothing. He gave the appearance of thoughtful agreement, and Antoine, pleased, finally revealed the real reason he’d stopped him.
“This is intelligence on the other schools competing,” Antoine said, pulling out a thick stack of files and slapping them onto the table. “Their specialties in magic, standout students over the past two years, even their general approach to competition—all here. You can go through it at your leisure when you get back.”
He paused, smiling. “There’s an old Chinese saying: Know yourself, know your enemy, and you shall never be defeated.”
Wade’s pulse gave a slight jump.
“Does China have a school participating this time?” he asked.
“No,” Antoine replied. “Their wizards are… mysterious. They mostly pass down magic through family lines, and from what I’ve heard, they maintain far closer ties with Muggle governments than we do.”
Wade didn’t press further. He tucked the files away and stood. “I should go. Otherwise, Harry and the others will think I’ve been teleported into a toilet.”
“See you later,” Antoine called after him, voice rising. “Oh—when you see me at Hogwarts, don’t reveal my identity, alright?”
“Don’t worry,” Wade said, waving as he pulled back the tent flap. “I’m not suicidal.”
…
Time passed swiftly into evening. The air in the camp grew restless, charged with anticipation.
As night fully descended, the sound of Apparitions echoed from all directions.
Wade bought a panoramic telescope from a roaming vendor. Harry, eager and excited, explained its features: “It can replay footage… slow it down, even analyze the game. It’s more detailed than any commentator on television!”
After passing through the ticket check, they climbed a narrow staircase, winding upward until they reached the very top. Following a corridor, they entered their compartment—and finally saw the other side.
Before them lay a giant, oval-shaped stadium. The stands rose in tiered, stepped levels. The lower sections were packed with seats, while the upper tiers featured private, individual compartments.
Sirius Black’s compartment was ideally positioned. When the match began, the players would fly right past them—close enough to see every movement, even the exact moment a goal was scored.
The compartment held up to twenty seats, but even with all of them present, they filled barely a quarter of the space. Sirius Black, lounging in his seat, stretched his legs and shrugged.
“Feel free to invite anyone you know,” he said casually. “There’s plenty of room.”
Wade turned to Harry. “You didn’t invite Ron or Hermione?”
The other SSC members—Michael, Neville, Theo—had ways of getting tickets, even if their seats weren’t perfect. There was no need to come here and crowd into the Black family’s exclusive compartment.
Harry was leaning over the railing, staring up at the ever-changing text on the advertisement board. He turned at Wade’s question.
“Ron says his dad can get tickets. Hermione’s away with her parents—she won’t be back in Britain until tomorrow.”
Wade nodded silently. He looked away, a quiet pang of reflection in his chest.
In the original story, those three had been inseparable—like conjoined twins. But now, with Sirius Black as Harry’s godfather, and The Savior’s light still bright after years at school, the trio was no longer as close as it had been in the plot.
Wade remembered: Mr. Weasley could only afford tickets to the final. Ron probably wanted to come, but pride—or perhaps low self-esteem—kept him from accepting Harry’s invitation.
And Sirius Black hadn’t invited the Weasleys either.
He’d entered Hogwarts after the Weasley couple had already graduated. During the First Wizarding War, the Weasleys hadn’t joined the Phoenix Society. They weren’t comrades, nor even classmates.
Though now, both families were part of Dumbledore’s renewed Phoenix Society, Sirius and Molly Weasley were technically related—distant cousins. But from Wade’s observation, their relationship was merely polite, not warm or deeply bonded.
Voldemort hadn’t yet returned. The Wizard Purity Party’s influence was still beyond Britain’s borders. Without the constant threat of death, the Phoenix Society lacked the desperate, life-or-death camaraderie of the past.
After a few activities last term, the organization had grown quiet again—without a clear goal, it had settled into inactivity.
Wade was lost in these thoughts, comparing the original story to the present reality, when suddenly a thunderous voice boomed across the stadium:
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 422nd Quidditch World Cup Semi-Final! Welcome, all, to this historic clash—Ireland versus Peru!”
The stands erupted in deafening cheers. Fans waved flags in green, like a sea of grass, and in red and white, like waves of fire. The air vibrated with energy.
The commentary was handled by Ludo Bagman, who chattered with glee, introducing both teams and their mascots.
Ireland’s Boggart danced through the air in perfect formation—first forming a giant clover, then transforming into a Golden Snitch, a Trophy, a Harp—each shape flawless.
Peru’s mascot was even more striking: a stunning woman riding a giant Griffin, trailed by several Andean Condors. Where they flew, golden-red sparks showered the air like fireworks.
Amid the screams and roars, the players took to the field. They moved so fast, they were nearly invisible—only the panoramic telescope could track their movements.
“I knew it,” Wade muttered silently. After watching a few minutes, he turned the telescope toward the stands—toward the private compartments.
The Ministry of Magic had assigned top-tier compartments to each visiting magic school. Wade scanned the area casually—and immediately spotted the students from Beauxbatons.
The silver-haired girl—Fleur Delacour, the original champion—was strikingly beautiful.
Then his gaze shifted to another compartment.
Inside, crouched like a king on a throne, was a magnificent cheetah. It wore glasses. Beside it sat an old mouse with a scarf tied around its neck. The image was bizarre, surreal.
“Wagadoo,” Wade thought, eyes narrowing.
(End of Chapter)
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