Having left Sirius to return to his assign patrol route, and needing to do nothing further at the stadium itself for now until his initial match, Cassius entered the growing cocophy of people on his way back to familiar ground.
The number of people present was increasing by the minutes as thousands of wizarding fans the world over poured in through various portkeys before mixing in and filling the field designated as their lodging grounds.
He moved through it easily, slipping between knots of wizards arguing over tent stakes, witches levitating trunks while shouting contradictory instructions, children darting about with miniature flags and toy brooms.
The World Cup camps were alive in a way Hogwarts never quite was.
Hogwarts only had four house teams, but here even teams who never made it to the main tournament had fans showing up sporting their colors.
The ultimate sporting event for Wizardkind akin to the Superbowl for Americans, or the World Cup for Europena muggles.
The sheer scale was unheard of.
And as an outsider all Cassius could think was, that it looked like the world largest tailgate party, only without any trucks from which to tailgate.
Vendor stalls had even begun to popup all over selling team merch, spectacles to view the game closer even if your owns seats were afar.
Even the gambling crowd had already begun their pitches with fervor.
Belting odds out into the air, trying to catch anyones fancy as they passed by.
Some were intrigued and lay their galleons, Dragot, Bezant and all other manner of magical currency on the line better for their favorite teams, or the demise of their rivals.
It was a melting pot of cultures clashing here and there.
Every accent under the sun collided here.
Bulgarian barked orders near Irish laughter.
Egyptian charms hummed softly from a cluster of white-and-gold tents arranged with geometric precision.
A Brazilian group had somehow already turned their campsite into a party, music spilling out in rhythmic pulses that made nearby wards flicker irritably.
Cassius walked with his hands in his pockets, posture loose, eyes sharp.
To anyone watching, he was just another student—young, talented, lucky enough to be attached to the British team.
To himself secretly he was watching faces looking for those he knew to be former death eaters who were quick enough to cry foul, demand an innocent verdict and paid a fine for their wrong doing and part in the previous civil war.
While at the same time, his eyes couldnt help but fall on the Aurors and his own Arcanum forces or as he like to term them Hit Wizards.
The law and the private organization working hand in hand for the security of this momentus occasion.
Good.
Even so, Amelia Bones had been right.
An incident wasn't a matter of if.
It was when.
Eventually, the density of tents thinned, and Cassius spotted it almost immediately.
Their tent.
It stood out like a beacon of heresy.
Where most wizarding tents leaned toward canvas, stripes, or outright absurdity—peaked roofs, flapping banners, brass fixtures enchanted to glow ominously—theirs was unmistakably muggle.
Low-profile.
Sleek.
Nylon and polyester in a sharp, modern color that looked almost neon against the grass.
A pop-up tent.
Cassius's lips twitched.
From the outside, it looked like it could barely fit two people and a suitcase.
From the inside…
He reached out, fingers brushing the zipper, and paused for just a moment—casting a quick, silent check.
The enchantments were active and allowed him entry, while a scent trapped within began spilling out into the chaos of the grounds.
Satisfied, he unzipped the flap and stepped inside.
The world folded.
The familiar sensation of spatial magic settled around him as the interior expanded far beyond the constraints of the outer shell.
The air shifted, warmer, cleaner, faintly scented with lavender and something citrusy—Hermione, no doubt using a muggle diffuser or similar to bring a homely touch.
Cassius turned slowly, taking it all in.
They'd done… well.
Very well.
The tent had been oriented into distinct zones without feeling cramped.
To the left, a small kitchenette area—compact counters, a magically chilled storage unit, shelves already stocked with neatly labeled jars and tins.
Hermione's handwriting was unmistakable, even from a distance.
Beyond that, a sitting area: two couches arranged in an L-shape, a low table between them already cluttered with books, pamphlets, and what looked suspiciously like betting slips.
A couple of futons were folded neatly against the wall, charmed to expand when needed.
The walls themselves were lined with light strips—soft, indirect illumination that mimicked natural daylight without being intrusive.
Efficient.
Comfortable.
Lived-in.
Cassius's gaze drifted toward the back.
The bedroom.
He stopped.
Right in the center of the designated sleeping area sat a single bed.
Not just any bed.
An over-king sized bed.
Wide.
Tall.
Impossibly generous.
It dominated the space, clearly transfigured or conjured with intent, dressed in dark sheets and layered blankets that looked far too inviting for their own good.
Cassius stared at it.
Then he slowly looked around.
No divider.
No second bed.
No illusion of separation.
Just… the bed.
"…I see," he murmured.
The couches and futons suddenly made much more sense—and somehow less sense at the same time.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
They hadn't done this accidentally.
They were still children dammit.
Inside his aged soul was practically crying our tears of blood as the young temptresses worked endlessly to fray the last of his resistance and cause him to cross the unspeakable line.
Sure he had slept with them all before but, it was already that time when the girls became women, and started to look the part as well.
Awake he could control himself, but once asleep?
Who knew what manner of naughty-not-niceness his unconcious self would get up to, and leave for him to deal with once morning came?
Cassius exhaled slowly, then shook his head, a small, helpless huff of laughter escaping him.
"This is going to be… problematic," he said to the empty tent.
He was almost willing to whip out his wand cast a few quick charms to reduce the beds size, before duplicating it a half dozen or more times, and fashioning quick but efficient bunk beds.
Only to stop himself not willing to undergo a similar scolding session as Sirius had gone through just minutes before, as he undid all their hard work without letting them get to appreciate his thanks for going out of their way.
At best he could plan for a counter-attack, a reason to go ahead with his plan after giving his thanks, though the margin of victory on that route seemed slim to him, even when donning the Diadem to try gaining an advantage in developing the perfect plan.