"Bertha Jorkins?"
Mr. Bagman let out a derisive snort, as if the re ntion of her na was utterly absurd.
"That one? Not a trace of her," Bagman said with a careless wave of his hand. "But don't worry, she'll turn up—poor old Bertha… her mory's like a sieve with a hole in it, and her sense of direction's even worse. I'd wager she's gotten herself lost, believe it or not. Mark my words, co so day in October, she'll co stumbling back into the office, thinking it's still July."
"But since she's missing, shouldn't you send soone to look for her?" Mr. Weasley ventured cautiously, feeling that, as a colleague, it was only right to suggest so effort be made to find Bertha.
"Barty Crouch keeps banging on about that," Bagman replied, his round eyes widening with an almost childlike innocence. "But we're stretched thin as it is. Oh—speak of the devil, here he cos! Barty!"
A wizard approached from a distance, his deanor a stark contrast to Ludo Bagman, who lounged on the grass in an old Wimbourne Wasps robe. Barty Crouch, a man in his fifties, carried himself with rigid precision, dressed in an immaculate suit and tie. His short, neatly trimd mustache looked as though it had been asured with a ruler, and his shoes glead with a mirror-like polish. His entire appearance was ticulously polished, not a hair out of place.
It was no wonder Percy idolized him. Percy, who always preached strict adherence to rules, saw Crouch as the epito of discipline, especially in how flawlessly he adhered to Muggle dress codes—so much so that he could pass for a bank manager.
At the sight of Barty Crouch's arrival, Percy's face flushed with an almost sycophantic glow.
"I'd bet old Barty's shoes are polished to a shine by Percy's tongue," Fred whispered to George. "If I didn't know he was a Weasley, I'd swear his last na was Crouch…"
The twins couldn't stand Percy's fawning behavior. Even Charlie and Bill, watching their brother's antics, couldn't help but frown.
It was a bit too obsequious.
"Take a seat, Barty," Ludo said cheerfully, patting the grass beside him.
"No, thank you, Ludo," Crouch replied, a hint of impatience in his voice. "I've been looking for you. The Bulgarians are insisting we add twelve more seats to the top box."
"Oh, that's what they're after!" Bagman exclaid. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow my tweezers—rlin, their accents are thick."
"Mr. Crouch!" Percy gasped, so excited he could barely catch his breath. He leaned forward, bowing so deeply he looked almost hunchbacked. "It's an honor to see you, Mr. Crouch!"
"Oh," Crouch said, eyeing Percy with mild surprise. "Well… good to see you too, Weatherby."
Fred and George nearly choked on their tea, stifling laughter. Percy's ears turned pink as he pretended to study his shoes intently.
Mr. Weasley's expression darkened. Unlike the twins, he couldn't join in their amusent—after all, he was Percy's father.
"Embarrassing," Ron muttered under his breath, head bowed, clearly mortified.
He wasn't just embarrassed by Percy's groveling but by the fact that his brother's efforts went largely unnoticed.
"Let's grab sothing to eat over there," Veratia said, tugging at Harry's sleeve and looping her arms around his, rubbing against him playfully. "I'm starving, Harry."
"Alright," Harry nodded. "Co on, Cass, let's check out what's nearby."
The trio wandered to a stall selling grilled sausages and sandwiches, settling onto small stools nearby.
"I'll take three sausages and three sandwiches," Harry said, passing the nu to Cassandra. "I'll have tuna. What about you two?"
"Sa," they replied in unison.
Veratia leaned in, lowering her voice. "What do you think of the Departnt of International Magical Cooperation?"
"Er…" Harry wasn't sure what she ant, matching her hushed tone. "In what sense?"
"I an," Veratia said with a sly chuckle, "what do you think of that departnt… for your godfather? I think he'd be a perfect fit to head it, starting as its director."
"Huh?" Harry blinked, confused.
"Have you lost your mind?" Cassandra said, her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing. "Grindelwald, obviously. You just saw the head of that departnt, didn't you? Old Barty Crouch—no need for to spell it out."
"I have my reasons for saying this," Veratia said, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the table. "Just wait and see. That director's seat will be vacant within three months…"
"Mr. Crouch is getting a promotion?" Harry asked.
"Oh," Veratia raised an eyebrow. "You could say that… In any case, if you want, your godfather could step into the role of director."
"That's brilliant!" Harry bead. "What a perfect outco! Mr. Crouch moves up, and my godfather seamlessly takes over as head of International Magical Cooperation. Could anything be better?"
Cassandra, however, felt a twinge of unease.
Harry didn't sense anything amiss because he trusted Veratia implicitly.
Cassandra, on the other hand, didn't trust a single word that ca out of the woman's mouth.
A promotion?
More like a one-way trip to the pearly gates.
But since Crouch had no connection to her, Cassandra couldn't be bothered to call it out.
Whether he lived or died was none of her concern.
Well… maybe it was, slightly.
Best to keep her distance, lest she get splattered with blood.
"Don't worry," Veratia said, picking up a disposable paper cup and pouring tea into it before handing it to Harry. "If you ask , these paper cups shouldn't fall under the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts regulations. At least for an event like the World Cup, using Muggle inventions like these is a clever choice."
Indeed, for soone as fastidious as her, such conveniences were a godsend.
"So, where are you staying tonight?" Harry asked, his tone a bit too eager. "The Austrian Ministry's tent? Or back with us?"
Veratia caught the hint in his voice and smirked. "If Cass agrees, I'll co back to your place."
Cassandra's eyes narrowed. She had no idea what ga Grindelwald was playing.
Crossing her arms, she asked, "Why do I need to agree? Aren't you planning to share Potter's bed?"
"Oh, yes," Veratia said, lazily stirring her tea with a small spoon. "But isn't it you warming Harry's bed these days, little maid?"
Cassandra froze.
Cassandra went silent.
"Stay out of my mories!" she snapped.
"Oh," Veratia chuckled lightly. "I haven't been snooping in your mories—you should have more faith in your Occluncy. I just made a little prophecy back at Grimmauld Place, that's all."
Cassandra's grip tightened, crushing the paper cup in her hand.
Infuriating!
"You should co back tonight," Harry interjected quickly, genuinely worried Cassandra might pop a blood vessel. "I've got so things I'd like to talk to you about anyway—"
"Exactly," Veratia said with a smug grin. "Why bother asking the maid's permission when the master's approval is what matters? Right, little maid Cass?"
Cassandra shot Harry a venomous glare, as if she wanted to carve a piece out of him.
Harry scratched his head, bewildered by her sudden hostility.
Having successfully riled Cassandra, Veratia looked positively refreshed.
Back when she'd made that little prophecy, she hadn't intended to interfere. It was just a bit of bed-warming, not a full-on affair, so she was confident enough to let things play out.
"Speaking of which," Harry said, grasping for a new topic, "where did you take the four professors? I even checked the Map Room once, but they were already gone."
"Oh," Veratia replied, unfazed. "I was planning to leave Britain for Austria, so I figured I wouldn't get many chances to visit Hogwarts afterward. I took them with —sorry for not telling you."
"No worries," Harry said, scratching his head again. "It's just that I was almost done learning Occluncy with them."
"Is that so?" Veratia gave him a sly, half-smile, though she didn't attempt any Legilincy.
"How's your practice going?" she asked.
"Well…" Harry ventured cautiously. "Want to test ?"
Veratia wasn't falling for it. She grinned, eyes narrowing. "No thanks."
Harry's attempt fell flat, and he started scheming about how to trick Veratia into so "maid service" of his own.
The sandwiches at the camp stall were decent enough—good enough to justify setting up shop here. The prices, though, were steep. A pot of tea, three sausages, and three sandwiches cost a Galleon, eleven Sickles, and three Knuts.
Veratia was appalled and haggled fiercely with the vendor, eventually bringing the price down to a Galleon and two Sickles.
"I never would've thought a refined lady like you would haggle," the vendor grumbled.
"Your prices are outrageous," Veratia shot back, justifying herself. "Even for an event like this, that's unreasonable. A Galleon and two Sickles still gives you at least double the profit!"
The vendor sighed, conceding defeat. He'd hoped to make a killing at the World Cup, but his first sale was barely a profit.
"See that?" Veratia boasted to Harry as they left. "Your sister's got skills. Saved you nine Sickles and three Knuts. Here—" She stuffed the coins into Harry's pocket.
"You're amazing," Harry said, giving her a thumbs-up. With Veratia around, it was hard not to save money.
When they returned to the tent, they found Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch still chatting with Mr. Weasley. Harry had assud their conversation would've ended ages ago, but apparently not.
Percy was still hovering attentively at Crouch's side, like a devoted manservant.
As Harry, Veratia, and Cassandra stepped inside, the twins trailed in behind them.
"Achoo!" Fred sneezed loudly, a pointed jab at Percy's groveling.
rlin's beard, having a brother like that was… a disgrace to the Weasley na!
Mr. Weasley seed to pointedly ignore Percy's fawning, turning to Bagman instead. "Honestly, I'd wager you're all eager to wrap this up, aren't you?"
Bagman looked utterly shocked. "Eager?! rlin's beard, I've never been happier! But there's plenty to look forward to, isn't there, Barty? Eh? We've got more events to organize, don't we?"
Crouch raised an eyebrow at Bagman, silencing him. "We've agreed not to announce anything until all the details—"
"Oh, details!" Bagman waved dismissively, as if swatting away gnats. "They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I'd bet these kids will hear about it soon enough… I an, it's happening at Hogwarts—"
"Ludo, you know we need to et with the Bulgarians," Crouch cut in sharply. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."
He handed his untouched teacup back to Percy and waited for Bagman to get up.
Sirius, who'd been quietly clutching his own teacup, finally snapped. "His na is Weasley, Barty," he said coldly.
"Oh, right," Crouch said, turning with a careless shrug. "Sorry, Weasley. I've been busy—hard to keep track of things. Ludo, let's go."
Percy, unfazed by the mistake, stamred assurances that it was fine.
Mr. Weasley sighed heavily.
Bagman struggled to his feet, downing his tea in one gulp, the Galleons in his pocket jangling rrily. "See you later," he said, waving. "Once I've dealt with the Bulgarians' nonsense, I'll be back to chat, Arthur—always a pleasure."
With that, they left the tent.
At the entrance, Crouch shot Veratia a dark, suspicious glance.
Veratia returned it with a look that could only be described as one reserved for a dead man walking.
--
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