The carriage carried Draco and his companions through a sparsely populated village before stopping along a secluded path where no one ever passed.
Ahead of them stretched a dark, damp trail leading away from the village and deeper into the countryside.
It was clear that no one—especially not Muggles—would ever choose to walk this way. There were no lights along the path, and hidden rabbit holes waited to trip the unwary. Every step sank into wet, sticky grass.
Simply put, this was not a place any Muggle would willingly come.
And it was precisely this desolate setting that had caught the attention of the Ministry of Magic. After all, it made the perfect location to conceal a Portkey...
For wizards, a path like this was hardly an obstacle. With the aid of magic, Draco’s group moved swiftly through the darkness and soon emerged into a cleaner, open clearing—where a wizard was already waiting for them.
“Over here, Lucius.”
“Keitchby?”
“That’s right. We’ve been waiting for you. Once we send you through, we’ll be collecting the Portkey afterward.”
Lucius Malfoy lowered his wand and stepped forward.
It was clear this was the wizard they had come to meet—the one in charge of the Portkey that would take them directly to the Quidditch World Cup site.
If not for that, Draco thought, they would never have bothered coming to such a miserable place.
“Quite a surprise, Lucius. I thought you weren’t the type to care for events like this.”
“You know how it is. Some things simply must be done.”
“Hmm... true enough.”
The man speaking was a ruddy-faced wizard with a brown beard. His finely tailored robes marked him as someone of noble standing, and from the way they addressed each other, it was clear he and Lucius were well acquainted.
Friends? Draco thought. But... something about him feels unfamiliar.
Almost unconsciously, Draco’s gaze drifted toward the man’s arm.
As he studied the wizard—Keitchby—the man gave his shabby top hat a light shake.
“Time’s about up, Lucius.”
“No problem. Let’s begin.”
“In ten seconds, all you need to do is touch the Portkey. Just one finger will do...”
Ten seconds later, the last thing Draco saw was the man holding a pocket watch—
—and his father’s silent mouth forming words he couldn’t hear.
It looked as if Lucius was saying:
Everything is according to plan...
…
The Mobiliarbus Charm, though convenient, is far more difficult to master than most imagine.
To be precise, true mastery of it is anything but simple.
In fact, the Mobiliarbus Charm used by an ordinary wizard differs greatly from that of a powerful one.
A highly skilled caster can not only transport others along with themselves but also perform continuous short-range teleportations within a limited area.
One can easily imagine how such proficiency would grant a massive advantage in a wizard’s duel.
Thus, whether one can truly master the Mobiliarbus Charm has become the greatest dividing line between ordinary and powerful wizards...
The Portkey, which serves a similar function, can replicate the effects of the Mobiliarbus Charm.
The sensation is much the same.
When using a Portkey, it feels as if a hook has latched onto your body. You can clearly feel your feet lift from the ground, a strange sensation of flying taking over. Because this journey is shared, Draco could see his shoulder pressed tightly against Astoria’s as they were drawn through the air.
They hurtled forward like a rushing wind, everything around them blurring except for Astoria beside him. His outstretched finger clung firmly to the battered old hat, as though pulled by a magnetic force drawing him in... closer... until, after what felt like an eternity, his feet slammed heavily onto solid ground.
Thud!
“Ugh!?”
Noticing Astoria’s unsteady footing, Draco quickly reached out to steady her.
It was a common reaction for first-time travelers—some even fell. Clearly, Astoria, who had always been carefully protected, lacked such experience.
Before Draco could fully register the reassuring solidity beneath his feet, a weary voice reached his ears.
“Four wizards, from St. Catchpole Village.”
After a brief journey through space, they had successfully arrived at the Quidditch World Cup grounds...
...
Once Astoria was steady, Draco glanced around. There were no stadium structures in sight, nor the lively crowd he had imagined.
Instead, he saw wizards materializing one after another across the wide, barren field. Those who had arrived earlier were checking in with the supervising wizards before heading in the same direction.
It seemed this place was merely a reception point for wizards arriving by Portkey.
“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy.”
“Ah, it’s you two. Looks like you haven’t had any rest.”
“Yeah, no shifts. We’ve been here since morning... Anyway, you’d better head inside. Another group will be landing where you’re standing soon.”
The wizard’s face brightened slightly upon seeing Lucius Malfoy, but the expression quickly faded as he remembered the long hours still ahead.
After nodding and confirming their camp’s location, Lucius led Draco and the others onward.
They hadn’t gone far when—
“It’s you! Malfoy!”
“So it’s you, Weasley... and Harry Potter.”
Standing before them were the Weasley family and Harry Potter, who had arrived at the same time.
Compared to the Weasleys—who glared at them with open hostility—Draco noticed his father’s gaze fixed more intently on Harry Potter, sharing the same look of cold animosity.
This made Draco rub his chin thoughtfully.
Had his father noticed something...?