"Folks," said Ginny. "I'm going to dispel some rumours that have been going about. But I probably will start just as many more rumours, so we should probably break even at the end of the day." She glanced down at Rita Skeeter, still peacefully passed out. "I also realise that I may be stepping on some toes, but since The Daily Prophet's OFFICIAL Rumour-Monger is having a well-deserved rest... (about 95% of the crowd laughed, with hisses and catcalls from the less mentally gifted), ...I am forced to struggle along, weak though I am."

  The gorgeous man with the blond hair and beard behind her gave a rude snort, but refrained from further comment. He had just recovered a broom from 'Terpsichorea Warbeck' while muttering invective. "Terpsichorea' paid him no mind, leaning over the rail to look down at the sidelines. She wanted to keep observing the mythic Welsh beasts, who had turned out to be Gwenog Jones' familiars. Ceridwynn was not only on the sidelines. Stretched out as she was, she took up a good bit of the pitch as well.

  "Oi, Ceridwynn! Allan o'r ffordd!" Gwenog 'said.' Ginny knew ' said' to be the correct word, Gwennog having been a teammate of hers. Wait 'til the crowd heard her shout.

  Ceridwynn ignored her only long enough to prove that she was, indeed, a cat. Then, and only then, did she shrink to a more manageable size. Admittedly, she was still as big as a panther, and her teeth looked like they had stopped reducing a little too soon.

  Luna/Terpsichorea cooed, "Ooh! She looks just like The Cheshire Cat!"

  Only if The Cheshire Cat's diet consisted primarily of Werewolves, thought Ginny. She continued her announcement.

  "Some of you may have noticed that the Presentation of the Mascots was a bit more... freeform than usual. Well, you were correct! The International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee have authorised me to inform you that the handlers of the mascots were ambushed, tied up, and the Mascots were released WITHOUT SUPERVISION!"

  There was a collective Gasp! from the audience.

  Ginny nodded solemnly. "But we were lucky in two ways. Primus: The villains did not know about the Surprise Audience Participation, and Β?τα: You Spectators rose to the challenge, without ever knowing there was a challenge! Give yourselves a hand!"

  The crowd roared, clapping hands and stamping feet, instinctively falling into a rhythm that had the massive stadium shaking to its magical foundations.

  Ginny let it go on for a while, then raised her arms for silence. Once she got it, she assumed a solemn mien.

  "I wish, oh, how I wish that I could leave it there. But you brave fans deserve the TRUTH! This was not a prank, a childish, immature act like stealing another team's Colors, or Mascot, or Lucky Touch-Piece. This is deliberate and intentional Sabotage, and it is aimed at Stopping the CUP!"

  Ginny quailed a little at the response to that, but only inside. It was more animalistic than any of the Mascots she had seen this year. The growling alone was terrifying. It even seemed to impress Khaleesi, lying up in the American Delegation's section.

  Ginny soldiered on. "I tell you this, not to alarm you, but to put you on guard. This was not the first attempt, but it is the one that caused the ICWQC to go on the offensive! Before, they were trying to protect you, the spectators from having your Cup Experience spoiled. Now, they realise that YOU should be our FIRST LINE OF DEFENSE!"

  The fans were baying for blood. How dare ANYONE...?

  Ginny raised her hands again. "I will give you the little we know so far, then I will tell you what to watch for! The Daily Prophet will also spread the word."

  The silence became an almost physical thing. The tension practically twanged.

  Ginny took a deep breath. (A youngish V.I.P. paid a little too much attention to that breath. He got his head smacked by a blond man with a beard, who stared him out of his seat, up the stairs, and out of the Top Box). Ginny then proceeded to lie her ass off.

  "These people are radicals. Reactionary radicals. But not in a political way. The Cup has always held itself separate, above politics. These..." Ginny was obviously looking for a word bad enough, and just as obviously failing. "...these People, though. They CALL themselves Quidditch Fans, but not the Game WE know and love! No, they want to bring back the TRUE Quidditch!"

  People in the stands were looking puzzled.

  The ORIGINAL Quidditch!"

  The sound of concerned, if puzzled muttering was growing.

  "Baskets instead of Goal Hoops!"

  There were gasps at that.

  "Rocks instead of Bludgers!"

  Cries of alarm and disbelief were spreading.

  "Self-Enchanted Brooms Only!"

  Most of the English Speakers only got to WHAT THE...? before Ginny hurriedly spoke over them.

  "ONLY English and Irish Heritage Teams allowed!"

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The ROAR! at that was neither scattered nor tentative.

  "...AND they want us to go back to killing LIVE SNIDGETS!"

  Chaos... ensued.

  ***

  When the ones who needed medication were medicated, and the ones who had fainted were revived, and order was not so much restored, as enforced by anxious fans, Ginny went back to lying.

  "We have found a... Manifesto, I suppose you would call it. It will be printed in its entirety in tomorrow's Prophet. But NOW..." She paused to let the tension build. "...I am going to tell you what to WATCH OUT FOR!"

  They were on the edge of their seats.

  Ginny grinned, her Weasely heritage plain to see. "This is NOT a digression. Is everybody comfortable?"

  There was a sussurus of agreement.

  "Patagonia, in the dead of Winter, and we're doing FINE, thanks to our Weather Wizards! Take a bow, folks!"

  A small group of slightly confused witches and wizards stood up in one of the moderately priced end zone boxes, and tentatively waved. They got a decent round of applause.

  "So, show of hands. Have you seen people in full winter robes and cowls about?"

  There was quite a number of hands up, more joining them as people thought back.

  "And you noticed them because it was strange, because YOU were comfortable, and you wondered what their deal was?"

  There was nodding throughout.

  "Look at the Exits."

  A full squad of Security stepped into sight at every Exit.

  "Look at the Roof."

  A line of black-clad Aurors from every country in the world rose into view.

  "Look to the SKY!"

  Swarms of brooms rose from behind the walls, not quite blocking out the sun

  "Is there anyone near you wearing a cowl? Removing heavy robes? Is there anyone near you WHOSE SKIN IS LILAC PURPLE?"

  "Is there anybody near you running like a greyhound with the trots?" The blond man with the beard was wearing a Weasely Grin. Strangely enough, he made even that look good. "You know what's hilarious?"

  The blond man raised his hands, miming someone holding off an attacker.

  "No, wait! You've got it all wrong! I'm not a Quidditch Reactionary! I'm a Dark Magician with an unhealthy interest in the Dark Lord!"

  ***

  "Losing a lot to Apparition." Ron sounded resigned. "No idea where they think they're Apparating to in a high-altitude desert."

  Ginny snorted. "A bit naive, big brother. As organised as this lot are, I'm sure they have a rally point and unlicensed Portkeys to whisk them away. I would be willing to bet that the ones we're sweeping up will be low-level plebs. They probably disobeyed orders to come watch the game."

  "True," Ron said. He brightened up. "Still, though, it gives me a warm feeling."

  When Ginny gave him a quizzical look, he went on, "These fans have their priorities right. Dark Magic, Light Magic, blah, blah, blah. But try to screw around with their Quidditch..."

  "Also very true." Ginny scanned the stadium. "Okay, looks like all the lynch parties have been disbanded, and the lynchees taken into custody. One last poke to keep the crowd at a boil, and we'll get the game started."

  "I'm surprised Qwenog hasn't been raising Hel."

  "Who do you think was running the biggest lynch mob?" Ginny cast Sonorous.

  "Good boy, Bleddyn!" The Spirit Mastiff grinned up at the Top Box around his mouthful of struggling, lilac-faced humanity. "Gwenog, ask him to give his toy to the nice Auror."

  "Sure!" Gwenog gasped. "As soon as I break..." She paused to take a laboring breath. "...HIS BLOODY NECK!"

  "Gwenog, your familiar is smarter than you are!"

  Ceridwynn looked smug from her seat on Gwenog's back. She shifted her weight, and Gwenog's hard-won breath whooshed back out. "Traitor!" she croaked.

  "Jones! Your chat bach is saving you from the worst fate you can imagine! Let me lay it out for you! On one hand, you can try to kill that man, and at the very least, you will spend the night in custody. On the other hand, you can actually kill that man, and spend who knows how long in Azkhaban, awaiting trial." Ginny paused. The words were struggling to get past the rage.

  "And on the gripping hand, you can get up and manage your team in a Quidditch World Cup First Round Game."

  Gwenog abruptly stopped struggling, and seemed to deflate. Ceridwynn gently removed her weight and sat back on her haunches, tail wrapping almost twice around her feet. Gwenog came up on her elbows, and glared up at Ginny in the Top Box.

  "Cup Game," she growled. "You're right, Weasley. Again. You know how much I always hated that, don't you? But, you are right." She looked over at the suddenly very still man in Bleddyn's mouth. Her words betrayed a sort of homicidal wistfulness. "I didn't even get to break any bones."

  "Der i weld fi yfory," Ginny said in South Welsh. Gwenog's eyes narrowed. Welsh wasn't a secret language, by any means. But, in their time together on the Holyfield Harpies, using Welsh in public had been a sign that team business was involved, and that any further discussion should be held in private. Gwenog nodded, and stood up.

  "Drop 'im, Bleddyn, that's a good tyke."

  Bleddyn obediently walked over to a group of Aurors holding an Apparition Block on some very unhappy witches and wizards, and dropped his burden. Just then Khaleesi leapt down from the stadium deck, with a witch dangling from her jaws by her robes. The woman made an odd picture, having one hand lilac on the front, the other on the back, and lilac colouring her face, except for a hand-shaped outline. Khaleesi dropped her prisoner as well, and gave Bleddyn a companionable bump of the shoulder.

  Gwenog gave the two Canids a considering look. She spoke directly to Khaleesi.

  "Tyke hasn't had a good run in a week or two. You up?"

  Khaleesi wagged her tail energetically, as did Bleddyn his.

  "Your lot don't play again 'til the 12th. Have 'im back by then. Even if we don't go through, I'm here for the duration."

  Khaleesi nodded. Bleddyn wurfled at Ceridwynn, who gave him a disdainful look, did one of her ridiculously long stretches, and curled up on the sideline. Well, that was definitely an answer.

  The two started for the Welsh Gate, but were pulled up by Gwenog's last call.

  "An' I get first dibs from any pups!"

  Khaleesi's jaws gaped in a doggy laugh, and they were gone, both vanishing into Bleddyn's mist form.

  In the Top Box, Ginny remembered two things just in time. Zero-One: She had Sonorous enabled, and, One-Zero: Luna was undercover. She settled for giving 'Terpsichorea' a hard glare.

  "I... don't know," Luna said slowly. "I don't know if Khaleesi is coming into Season, or if such a cross is even possible. Bleddyn is at least partially a Spirit Animal, but..." She trailed off into mumbling speculation. Ginny assumed that if she looked around for Rolf, he would be doing the same. Of course, she didn't know what Rolf looked like right now, but the expression would definitely give him away.

  Okay, time for that last prod I mentioned, Ginny thought.

  "Ladies and Gentlemen, Witches and Wizards, one last thing before we present the teams! You have done the Game great favors today! The International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee thanks you, and, as a small gesture offers this!"

  "DRINKS ARE FREE ALL NIGHT!!"