Saturday, July 19th, 2014. 3:15 PM.

  2014 Quidditch World Cup Stadium, Patagonian Desert, Argentina.

  Three things happened almost simultaneously:

  Contessa Zabini whirled to face the 'empty' corridor, face contorting in rage, and her mad amber eyes literally glowing.

  Harry's Silently-cast Verdimillious spell hit the woman square on the forehead, detonating like a signal flare, and filling the corridor with blinding green sparks.

  There was an inconspicuous hole in the ceiling over the locker room door. It was the size of, say, a wand tip. It suddenly grew large enough for Ron to lean his head and torso out. He threw a a small package, which darted off to hover in the air over their attackers. He shouted as the hole started to shrink, and he was drawn back up into the ceiling.

  "ESCUTCHEON! FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

  When only his hand and wand were left showing, there came a muffled "Inflamarae!" The small package burst with a BANG!, throwing out a ridiculous amount of glittering, pale purple powder. Visibility was almost completely blocked, only the green sparks from Harry's spell still showed, ricocheting from wall to ceiling to floor.

  Forewarned, the still Disillusioned Harry and Ginny were already up and behind their overlapping shields. As they started backing to the cross-corridor, they heard a muffled Crack!, so they weren't surprised to find Ron waiting for them.

  "Keep the shields going 'til we make some distance," he urged as he added his own. "I have no clue how far that stuff is going to spread."

  "What is it?" Ginny asked. The powder kept expanding into the area beyond their shields as they backed away.

  "Run now, talk later," Harry advised.

  ***

  As it turned out, this time Ginny was going to have to wait for answers. Once Ron judged they were safe to drop shields, she Apparated off to the Top Box. She did take just a moment to goggle, as the shape of the shields, outlined in purple, glittering powder, hung in the air for a moment. The outlines slowly began to crumple toward the floor.

  "It stuck to the Shields?" she blurted, then was gone.

  ***

  The two men paused at the Prophet's rooms, just long enough to put back on their Auror dress robes, et al., and notify Security to carefully check on their Petrified guards. Ron gathered up the XK-001, and they Apparated directly to the entrance of Krum's reserved box, one of those located just below the Top Box. Security passed them through quickly and efficiency. Ron paused in the doorway.

  "Say, Dara, Kyinté, this door locks from the inside, doesn't it?"

  The short, pale woman with red hair exchanged looks with the tall black man with tribal scars on his face. She looked back at Ron a little suspiciously, before she spoke.

  "Indeed it does, sor. Might I ask...?"

  Ron interrupted her. "So, wouldn't it be more efficient to guard the door from the inside? You'd have a locked door at your backs, and you would be able to respond to any, ah, aerial threats more efficiently. Like, I don't know, from the game you would be able to watch? After all, it would be a shame if anything happened to your... (Ron rolled his eyes), ...pitifully weak box holders."

  The big man was grinning like a cat, (a BIG cat, mind you). "A true shame, Mr. Weasley."

  The redhead looked a little hesitant. "It's just, our orders..."

  Harry turned from where he had already seated himself, and looked at the two.

  "Auxiliary Aurors, seconded to the Committee?" The pair nodded.

  Harry went on, "Well, I am Head Auror Potter, also seconded to the Committee, and in your direct chain of command. And your new orders are to get in here, lock that door behind you, and have a seat. I don't like people looming over me."

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  Both of the guards were now smiling as they obeyed the new orders. Harry faced forward. He spoke without turning back around. "That dimensional cooler back there is pretty well stocked. I know it has Lobe-Blaster, but if that isn't to your taste, ask it for something else. I've never seen it stumped."

  The woman hesitated again. Ron winked at her, and said in a confiding tone, "It's not against the rules to drink on duty. It's being drunk on duty..." He grinned. "One or two won't impair you."

  Harry glanced at the big man. "Kyinté?"

  The grin was still there. "Ah do not indulge, sah. But thank you kindly."

  Harry arched a questioning eyebrow. "Karkanji?"

  Kyinté chuckled, deep in his throat. "Ah, yes. Yes, indeed. May I get you something?"

  "Knotgrass Mead for me. And an Ogden's Old Firewhiskey for this reprobate, if you can be spared from your duties for a moment."

  Dara made a sound that, on someone less dignified, might have been called a giggle. "Careful, Kyinté. I was told Mr. Weasley was just tired last night. Imagine what he could do with a few drinks in him!"

  Ron dropped his face into his hands, and groaned softly.

  Harry gave him the side-eye. "Does this have anything to do with the inexplicable new broom? Confess, Villain! Hast thou purloined somm'at?"

  Ron looked defeated. "Look, Harry, it's a long story, and I don't remember half of it. Wednesday's game ran three days..."

  "Three days?"

  The conversation was cut short by Ginny's amplified voice.

  "Ladies and Gentlemen, Witches and Wizards . . . Welcome! Welcome to this First Round game of the Four Hundred and Twenty-Sixth Quidditch World Cup! New Zealand versus Bulgaria!"

  The crowd ROARED.

  Ginny's voice blasted on. "As is traditional, we will start with the Presentation of the Mascots. But, first, I have two very short announcements."

  Scattered boos and hisses sounded, mostly from the section heavily inhabited by fans in New Zealand colors.

  Ginny's voice was practically a coo. (A loud coo, mind you, but a coo nonetheless).

  "And, of course, we hear from our beloved Kiwi contingent. I hope you will take this as a sincere expression of my innermost feelings..., (pause).

  "BITE ME, BOGANS!"

  There was a roar of laughter, a pause for translation, then another roar of laughter. The New Zealanders laughed hardest of all. That did not stop them from making rude gestures toward the Top Box.

  "First, I am greatly saddened to announce..."

  She doesn't sound sad, thought Harry suspiciously. She sounds thrilled.

  "...that my Commentating Partner, Rita Skeeter, will be unable to contribute her 'wit' and 'wisdom' tonight."

  There was a smattering of concerned gasps, almost lost beneath the sound of ironic cheers.

  "Huh," Harry said to Ron. "I didn't know you could hear quote marks."

  "See how they love you, Rita? Don't fret, folks! It's just a mild inflammation of the throat, not infectious. If you are concerned, the illness presents as matched sets of oddly finger-shaped bruises on either side of the throat. The Medi-Wizards assure me it's just a mild case of Gwenog-itis, and if she avoids any further exposure... What? No, I said 'Bronchitis.' Just keep sucking on your..., Rita, is that a Bezoar? You know that's only for poisons, right? Oh? OH! Yeah, that makes sense. You just keep sucking, Rita."

  Harry and Ron heard loud footsteps above them, stomping away toward the exit from the Top Box.

  "Oh, good," Ginny said. "A little rest will... JONES!!" Ginny's sudden bellow set ears ringing all through the stadium. "Jones, I see you! You set your ass down RIGHT NOW, or I WILL set Khaleesi on you, I swear by Circe's Second-Best Chastity Belt!"

  There came a WUFF! that Harry heard more with his soul than his ears. Everybody in the stadium who had been standing, for any reason at all, sat down abruptly.

  "Thank you, Khaleesi," said Ginny. "You're a sweetie!"

  "YIP!"

  Everyone said, "Good Girl!" in true Tower of Babel style.

  Ginny pressed on. "Now, the second and final announcement. Early this morning, the International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee met in Secret Session, with representatives of the British and Irish Quidditch League and the Quidditch Steering Committee of Britain's Wizengamot also attending. They voted unanimously to recognize someone very special to me..."

  Ron went, "Eep."

  Harry looked over at him. He was pale as milk, his freckles standing out starkly.

  Harry thought furiously. He may not know what was going on, but he knew what to do.

  He smacked Ron on the back of the head.

  Ron gaped at him. Harry barked at him. "Auror Weasley, Atten-HUT!"

  Ron jumped out of his seat, coming to attention.

  Harry reduced his voice to a soft mutter. "Step forward to the rail. Assume Broom At Ease."

  Ron twirled the broom, and planted the tip of the handle at the outer side of his left shoe, grasped it just below the tail with his left hand, and tilted it out at an angle of thirty degrees from zero top. His right forearm and hand were brought up smartly behind his back.

  Harry looked to the two guards, who were already at Attention, awaiting orders. Harry approved.

  "Take flanking positions, one step back. Dara, Wand At Ease Left, Kyinté, Wand At Ease Right. Come to Attention at word of command."

  They assumed Guard of Honor positions with smooth polish, wands pointing away from the Honoree. As opposed to just plain Guard position, where the wands were pointed at the detainee.

  Harry smiled, thinking, I wonder if I can poach them? Then he saw, for the first time since the skirmish earlier, Ron's wand hand.

  It was light purple.

  And it glittered.