---

Percy Ignatius Weasley, youngest Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in three hundred and forty one years, was having a very good time. He sat in his office while everyone was on their lunch break, reading reports on splinching. Just this morning a couple of students had attempted Apparition during their Easter holiday. They had had an awful lot to sort out; it had taken them hours to find the last boy’s toe.

Just after Percy had started scribbling down his own personal report on a spare piece of parchment, which would come in handy in the trial that awaited these buffoons (he couldn’t suppress a sly grin), someone knocked at the door. Irritated, Percy looked at his watch. The meeting with the other Heads would start in little more than half an hour. He didn’t have any other appointments, either. He never forgot anything about business! Who was it then?

The knock came again.

“Come in!� Percy called impatiently.

A dark face appeared in the door, grinning at him shyly. “Mind if I come in, Mr. Weasley, sir?� the stranger asked politely.

Nodding sharply, Percy stared at the man. Who was he? Somewhere in his busy mind he knew him – ah, yes, he had to be the junior member who had started some months ago. Percy wasn’t certain of his name though; it didn’t do to mingle with one’s inferiors. He had better and more important things on his mind than the people in his department. It had been some kind of a first name that sounded like a surname - Martin? Yes, that sounded familiar.

“Please sit down,� Percy offered with a forced smile, shoving some of his parchments aside. “What can I help you with?�

The young man slipped into the large leather armchair, looking at him anxiously. “Mr. Weasley, I’d like to ask for a holiday.�

A holiday? A holiday??? Percy himself hadn’t taken a holiday for years. And now this boy, who had only been in the department for a few months, was asking for a holiday? Percy felt his blood starting to boil.

“And what do you need a holiday for?� he inquired icily. There was no need for holidays at all. They were just a waste of time. And if holidays were to be taken, older members of the department were definitely first in line. A youngster like this one ought to keep quiet and wait for his time to come.

“I have tickets for the World Cup, Mr. Weasley, sir.� The young man was shifting uncomfortably. “I’ve spent a fortune on them and I’d really appreciate if you would let me take some days off.�

The Quidditch World Cup was about to be played again? Percy wondered why he hadn’t noticed anything about this. Why had no one given him any tickets? Not that he would be able to go, he was drowning in work, but he was the Head. Heads had to get tickets. He wondered if England had made it into the final round this time, making a mental note to tell his secretary to fetch him a sports magazine and Ludo Bagman. Although that man was a disgrace to the Ministry, he was always up-to-date on sports.

“Where will the final round take place?� he asked the junior curiously.

“In Germany, Sir. I’ll be watching the final in Berlin.�

Berlin? Berlin??? These Germans were even madder than Percy had ever thought. Not only did they have a weakness for luxury brooms, horrible food and old castles, they had also placed a Quidditch stadium in their capital! He would have to report this: It was a serious breach of clause 5b of the Treaty for International Magical Concealment from Muggles. Were they completely incompetent on the continent? Well, he would investigate this matter later. Best send a memo to Araminta Hokersley, Head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation.

“Who will be playing in the final round?� Percy continued. “Has England made it this far?�

“Oh, England will be playing Paraguay. I really hope they’ll make it into the final! England against Brazil, that would be great. Of course we would have to kick out Ecuador in the second round; I reckon they’ll lose to Germany, so we’ll have to play them next. And then I reckon it will be the Netherlands in the quarter finals, and Argentina in the semis. That will be tough; they’ve an awful crowd, and there’s Riquelme, he’s a great player. But we’ll stand a chance, we have Beckham and Hargreaves. I just hope that Rooney will recover in time.�

Stunned, Percy listened to the babbling, but didn’t dare to interrupt. Merlin’s Beard, he didn’t know anything about Quidditch anymore! Maybe he was really getting old; his generation’s heroes must have hung up their brooms long ago. Beckham, Hargreaves, Rooney – the names didn’t mean anything to him. Well, they seemed to be good. At the last World Cup, England had been kicked out before they had even reached the last sixteen; they hadn’t managed to get a hundred points in three games. It had been a pitiful performance. What astonished him most was that his associate was expecting England to win against Paraguay, since Paraguay had an excellent team (or had had one some years ago) and several clerks had placed bets on them the last World Cup.

Brazil was an unknown name to him, at least in Quidditch. Argentina didn’t mean much either. Apparently a lot of time had passed since he had last read the Daily Prophet’s sport pages. Maybe he should talk to his youngest brother? Ron had been taken on as the Chudley Cannons’ reserve Keeper and he knew everything about the business. Normally Percy didn’t have a great relationship with his family, but it had definitely improved over the last years. It greatly displeased him to take advice from his younger brother – Ron had hardly scratched five N.E.W.T.s and his marks certainly couldn’t be compared to Percy’s. But Percy didn’t want to feel like a fool either, and so he had to grin and bear it, he supposed.

“What about Ireland? Or Bulgaria?� He had seen these teams in a World Cup Final years ago. Ireland had always been one of the most outstanding Quidditch nations.

“Ireland was kicked out by Switzerland in the qualifiers,� Dean said animatedly. “Bulgaria lost to Croatia and Sweden and didn’t make it into the final round. I would have liked to see Ireland play but I don’t care much for Bulgaria.�

Bulgaria – that rang a bell. Hadn’t they had that brilliant Seeker years ago? He had also been a Triwizard Champion in that horrible year where everything went wrong. If he had been alone, Percy would have slapped his head. Once again, he was at a loss to remember the name.

“Has their star retired?� he asked cautiously.

“Blukovic? Yes, he has, a few years ago. The team’s worth nothing without him. They just can’t score.�

“Yes, I remember, Bulgaria would never have been that good without him,� Percy added eagerly. What had their score been in that final he had been to? If the Seeker – what was his name again? – hadn’t caught the Snitch, they would have lost very badly; they had been over a hundred and fifty points behind.

“So may I take some days off?� the young man pressed. “This is a unique chance; the next World Cup will be in South Africa.�

“Well, if your luck depends on it…� Percy was slowly cracking. “But this will be your only holiday this year. And be back on time.�

The last time there had been a World Cup the final had taken almost a week. The Ministry had been wiped clean; no one but him had been there at all. He made a mental note not to let more than a quarter of his co-workers leave for this World Cup. Quidditch was nice but there were more important things in life – like this serious breach of the Ban on Underage Sorcery in Southampton where a thirteen-year-old had sold potions he’d made himself to Muggles. Percy returned to his reports.

“You may leave now,� he said shortly. “I’m certain you have work waiting for you.�

The young man smiled, thanked Percy profusely and left the office.



Outside he was greeted warmly by the secretary.

“Did the old git let you off, Dean?� she asked curiously.

“Yes, it was no problem. We actually had a conversation. You won’t believe me, but he likes football, too!�

“Must be his father’s influence,� the young woman retorted. “You know Arthur Weasley, he’s completely into this Muggle stuff.�

“Yeah, I suppose. But, Orla, you won’t believe it – the great boss seemed almost human for a few minutes.�

“And you, Mr. Thomas, should get back to work, unless you want him to have your guts.� Grinning, Orla lifted her wand and mimicked her boss. “Lunch break is over, Mr. Thomas, we’re here to work, not to have fun. You still have a lot to learn.�

---

“Mum? Mum, are you here?� A red-haired head, sporting many freckles and a healthy tan, appeared in The Burrow’s fireplace.

The plump woman standing at the sink whirled around.

“Ron! How nice to see you. How’s the training going?�

“Training’s fine.� Ron seemed a bit tight-lipped today.

“What’s the problem?� Mrs Weasley questioned him. “You seem a bit down-hearted today. Have you had another tiff with Hermione?�

“No, Mum, it’s… it’s Percy. I reckon he’s gone mental.�

“Mental?� Ron’s mother turned pale, sinking into a chair as though her legs turned to jelly.

“We had lunch together today. I don’t know why, but he kept asking about a Quidditch World Cup in Germany. Everyone knows that the World Cup takes place in France this year! He kept talking about teams I’ve never even heard of, Mum, and he wanted to know if he should place his bets on Brazil… Mum? Mum, are you okay???�

Summer 2006 was a summer which Fleur would never forget. Together with her husband Bill and their children - six-year-old Sirius, three-year-old Fabian and two-year-old Gideon - she was planning to travel to the World Cup, which was taking place in France that year. She had managed to get cheap tickets via her family’s connections. Because the children were still so small, they had booked rooms in a wizarding hotel which had been built near the stadium especially for World Cup.

The family stood in their living room in front of the large fireplace. Fleur had decided to travel by Floo Powder; it was just the safest way to travel with children, so long as she held them tightly. She threw a handful of Floo Power into the fireplace, and, stepping into the green flames with Gideon on her arm and Fabian’s hand in hers, she shouted loudly: “The World Cup!�

One moment later she was whirling through the air, clutching her children hard against her body.

Thud! Fleur landed at the most beautiful fireplace she had ever seen. This had to be the hotel! It looked even better than in the leaflet she had seen. Everything was made of white marble and gleamed in the sunlight. Just when she had let Fabian down, Sirius appeared in the fireplace, his eyes shining with joy. Only a wink later Bill appeared too, carrying the heavy trunks.

“I told you not to let Sirius travel alone!� Fleur said sharply. “�E ees much too small. ‘E could ‘ave gone lost!�

“I told you not to pack too much,� Bill retorted. “We will only be here for the final, not for a two-week-long family holiday.�

“If I spent as leetle time with ze children as you do, I’d zink zey only need one outfit per day, too!� Fleur resembled Mrs Weasley quite remarkably when she was annoyed.

“Well, someone has to earn some money!�

“But you are…�

Bill would never know what he was, because Sirius chose this moment to squeal with delight. “Look, there are plugs!�

Plugs? His parents looked each other in the eyes. Plugs were some strange Muggle devise for something called “eckeltricity.� Normally they weren’t found in wizarding communities, unless one counted Bill’s dad.

“Plugs?� they echoed.

“Oh, and here’s a switch, see!� Sirius continued exploring the room. When he flicked the switch, a light turned on. This was when Fleur realised that they were in the wrong place. They had landed somewhere in a Muggle house, they didn’t know where they were and they didn’t have any Floo Powder left to get back. There was only one option.

“We ‘ave to get out of ’ere!� Fleur commanded, pushing her husband in the ribs, grabbing the two babies and shooing Sirius away from the switch.

She stepped into the middle of the floor and started searching for a way out. Bill followed closely, only taking his time to shrink to suitcases into a pocket friendly size.

***************

“Can I help you?� a friendly woman asked when she noticed the young family that was obviously lost on the busy streets.

Just as Fleur started to refuse her offer politely, Sirius started talking again. “We’re searching for the World Cup, you know,� he piped up.

Fleur could barely stop herself from shaking her head in despair. Didn’t this boy have any sense? It was clear that they were stranded somewhere in the Muggle world, and they didn’t know about the World Cup.

To Fleur’s great surprise, the woman beamed at them. “I should have known!� she exclaimed loudly. “There are so many visitors here for the World Cup.�

Her eyes rested on the family for a moment. Fleur felt uncomfortable being inspected so closely by a complete stranger. Was there anything unusual about them? The woman’s eyes settled on Bill, studying his face, and his long hair which had become a bit darker during the years and wasn’t a flaming red anymore.

“Owen Hargreaves!� the woman shouted and the family jumped. Little Fabian started crying, Sirius watched the woman as if she were a really interesting pet, but Fleur’s hand grabbed her wand. Was this a threat? What did that woman mean? Maybe it was a codeword… After Bill’s grave wounds, and the long years of war, Fleur had become almost as paranoid as Moody. She was deeply mistrustful towards any stranger and always expected the worst. She felt Bill’s muscles tighten and knew that he also had his wand at the ready, prepared to fight for his life. When the woman started rummaging in her handbag, Fleur panicked. What would that stranger do to them?

The woman took something out of the bag and turned towards them, the probably-deadly weapon in her hands. Fleur had to work hard to suppress a scream. One step further and she would start throwing hexes.

Just then she felt Bill relax beside her. He staring at the thing in the woman’s hand and his eyes grew larger and larger. Fleur followed his view and started choking. The deadly weapon was –

“Could I please have your autograph?� the woman asked, blushing and holding out a pen and a piece of paper. “You were so great in the match yesterday. I just hope it doesn’t hurt anymore?�

Bill looked bovine with astonishment, Fleur decided. Normally it took quite a lot to startle her husband, but this woman had managed it with only three sentences. Obviously someone who looked like Bill was famous here. She stomped on Bill’s foot, trying to signal him to say something.

“Er… yes, of course. I’m very flattered. Just give it to… to me,� Bill stuttered.

“What was the name again?� he whispered to Fleur.

“Eet doesn’t matter,� his wife retorted. “Just do a few unreadable squiggles; stars always sign zat way.�

When she saw the signature, the woman squealed in delight. Meanwhile, the unusual assembly and the loud shout of “Owen Hargreaves� had attracted some passers-by who now watched them curiously. Soon, they too were requesting autographs, and Bill had to scribble the same signs over and over again.

It didn’t take long for some reporters to appear. Although Fleur didn’t know anything about the Muggle world (Now she actually wished her father-in-law were with them; normally she wished he were as far away as possible, not always giving stupid Muggle stuff to Sirius. Who on Earth collected PLUGS?), she was clever and so had long ago figured out that this whoever-he-was had to be a star. So, when the photographer pointed his camera at her, she pushed her long, perfect hair back and beamed at him. Despite their happy marriage, she enjoyed getting men’s attention from time to time. Bill was even sweeter than usual when he was jealous.

“Would you please take her into your arms?� a photographer asked Bill. Fleur’s husband moved closer to his wife and put an arm around her. Lights were flashing and when they kissed the crowd started whistling and hooting.

“Do you love her?� one of the reporters shouted.

“I love her more than my life itself,� Bill responded earnestly.

Other questions were being posed. The kids were getting bored. Sirius had nicked a kid’s ball about the size of a Quaffle and was ready to throw it into a shop’s window. Fabian was wailing; he wanted something to drink, and Gideon clearly needed his nappy changed very soon… he was already starting to smell awfully. But seeing as her husband was enjoying the attention these strangers gave him, there was only one way to interfere.

“Zat’s enough now!� Fleur couldn’t stand it anymore. She wanted to get back to her world, back to where people behaved normally. Back to the world where she got all the attention, not Bill. Many of the girls looked like they wouldn’t deny kissing him. They had to get out of here.

“Darling, we ‘ave an urgent appointment.� Tugging lightly at his shirt, she managed to regain his attention. Their eyes met and she knew that he understood. “We should really ‘urry up.�

When they were getting up, the crowd started to dissipate. With Gideon on her arm and Fabian holding her skirt, Fleur started off to a less crowded place. She didn’t care if Apparition was unhealthy for small kids; she wanted to go home. NOW. Without looking back she started walking, hoping that her useless husband and eldest son were clever enough to follow. They needed a Muggle-free area. It would be highly suspicious if some famous star disappeared suddenly in the middle of a busy street.

With a loud pop, Fleur appeared in her living room. Fabian and Gideon were screaming at the top of their lungs. “Be quiet!� she snorted irritably. The next moment she was crushed brutally by her eldest son who had Side-Along-Apparated with his father to the very same spot.

“Cool.� Sirius’ eyes beamed. “Can we go on a trip like that again?�

Although Fleur and Bill often disagreed, this time they had only one word to say: “NO!�

***************

The next day Owen Hargreaves, English football player, was hit brutally by his wife’s hand-bag. “How DARE you!� she screeched furiously. “Having an affair with that blond bitch! And I find out in the papers! Never – ever – come near me again!�

***************

“Bill!� Fleur shouted. “Where ‘ave you put ze suitcases?�

***************

A small notice appeared in a Berlin newspaper one week later:

Yesterday a pick-pocket was detained by the police. He was found to be in possession of eleven purses, several mobile phones and keys, and two mini-suitcases. These pieces of art could even be opened and contained miniscule clothing and effects for a small family. Until the owner requests the return of these masterpieces, they will be part of an exhibition in the local museum for dolls and miniatures.