A/N: The gods in the previous chapter were not from Harry Potter.

Harry and Pyra were playing outside the tent when the Weasley twins came running up to him.

“We.”

“Have an offer.”

“For you,” they said, finishing each other’s sentences with identical grins.

Harry narrowed his eyes immediately. “Not interested,” he said flatly, though the twins simply chuckled and pressed on.

“Imagine,” Fred began.

“Making money for—”

“Just standing in a place,” George finished dramatically.

Harry sighed. “You’re going to charge people money to take pictures with me. Yeah, no.” He figured them out instantly.

Fred, surprisingly speaking the whole sentence himself, tried again. “How about we borrow Pyra for an hour?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, then looked down at Pyra before shaking his head.

“She’s already a celebrity around the campsite,” Fred said brightly, while George patted his shoulder.

“Great idea, Freg. Foreign wizards would pay good money for a photo with her,” George added.

“British wizards would too,” Fred finished, both of them now looking at Pyra with greedy eyes.

Harry scooped Pyra into his arms and walked away without a word, shaking his head at their antics.

A small group of children ran up to him, their faces hopeful.

“Can we play with her?” one little girl asked eagerly, pointing at Pyra.

Harry looked at Pyra, who gave a small nod. He set her down, and she bounded toward the kids, happily running in circles as they chased her.

The parents watched with warm smiles before returning to their own activities. Magical creatures were often feared by wizards, but familiars were seen as trusted companions—a whole different matter.

Harry watched the scene with a soft smile. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aaric approaching, Chaya coiled loosely around his neck like a living scarf.

The two greeted each other with a firm handshake. Around them, people cast frequent glances at Aaric, recognizing him as the son of Simon Hawthorne, who employed many of them.

“Have you fixed the match yet?” Harry asked teasingly.

Aaric smirked. “Of course. Ireland for the win.”

The two laughed and strolled through the bustling campsite, sampling food and browsing stalls. Hermione joined them after a while, immediately scooping Chaya from Aaric’s shoulders and cooing over her.

While Aaric was speaking to a French merchant, he suddenly felt someone approaching with an odd, eager energy. Before he could turn, a hand shot out, trying to yank his arm.

Aaric didn’t move an inch. He calmly raised an eyebrow at the woman who now stood before him, a strange smile plastered across her face.

“Now that you own the arena where the match is being held,” Rita Skeeter said, voice dripping with false sweetness, “what are your thoughts on those who suspect you might fix the match?”

Aaric just stared at her. Silent. Unimpressed.

Rita faltered slightly under his gaze before releasing his arm and stepping back with a tinkling laugh.

“Excuse my manners,” she said lightly, waving off her earlier behavior as though it were nothing.

Aaric ignored her entirely, turning back to finish his conversation with the merchant, who wisely chose to pretend Rita wasn’t there either.

When he was finally done, Aaric turned to leave—only to find Rita blocking his path, a parchment and quill hovering eagerly beside her.

She repeated her question, clearly expecting an answer this time.

“The Bulgarian authorities encouraged the acquisition of land,” Aaric said evenly, “because they know the integrity of my father.”

With that, he started walking away.

“Where are your manners, kid? I’m asking you questions!” Rita called after him.

Aaric paused, exhaling in mild irritation. He glanced at her briefly.

“Send me an official letter requesting an interview,” he said, voice calm but firm. “Then I’ll consider it.”

He walked off without another word, leaving Rita sputtering in frustration.

That night, Harry lay awake in his tent, staring up at the enchanted ceiling as it displayed a perfect starry sky. Ron snored loudly beside him, and Pyra curled comfortably on Harry’s chest. The peaceful moment made Harry smile before he finally drifted off to sleep.

The next day, excitement buzzed through the air as Harry’s group followed Arthur Weasley through the crowded stadium.

“Here we are,” Mr. Weasley said with a proud smile, gesturing to the top box.

Harry barely had time to take it all in before the Minister of Magic greeted them warmly. At the same moment, Simon Hawthorne spotted their group and gave a polite gesture, inviting them to join his family.

Harry and the others approached, finding Daphne and Luna already there. Their parents hadn’t bothered to come, leaving the girls free to attend with the Hawthornes.

The stadium roared as the teams made their grand entrances.

The Irish team soared in first, dazzling the crowd with a synchronized flying routine that had everyone cheering.

Then came the Bulgarian team, making a very different statement. They entered on massive, winged horses, exuding tradition and raw power. The effect was breathtaking, giving the entire event a truly magical atmosphere.

To top it off, the Bulgarians had brought Veela cheerleaders, who immediately began a mesmerizing dance. Several wizards—including Arthur—stared a bit too intently, earning them a sharp bonk on the head from Their wives.

Simon, meanwhile, stared at Edwina throughout the entire performance as though his very life depended on it. Hermione sighed dreamily at the sight of such devotion, while Edwina smiled softly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

‘Why are they swooning?’ Simon thought frantically, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple. ‘I’m fighting for my life here!’

Aaric, watching the whole thing, snickered and leaned toward Daphne and Luna, whispering his guesses about what Simon must be thinking. Both girls burst into quiet laughter, making Aaric grin even wider.

A/N: Power stones and reviews, please.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep