That afternoon, Adrian returned to his own shop.
Over the following days, the Daily Prophet's coverage of the Quidditch World Cup became an almost source of entertainment. What had begun as legitimate reporting quickly devolved into Rita Skeeter's trademark sensationalism, with each day's edition more outrageous than the last.
The headlines grew gradually more absurd and provocative:
"SHOCKING! Ministry Hides Truth: Dark Mark Has Hidden Agenda?" was across the front page in large letters.
"Department of Magical Games and Sports Head Ludo Bagman Exposed for Financial Dealings with Dark Wizards!" followed the next day with a grainy photograph that may or may not have actually shown Bagman in conversation with a hooded figure.
But it was the third headline that truly showcased Rita's particular brand of journalistic opportunism: "Quidditch World Cup Final Night: Ministry Official Caught in Affair!"
This story even included what Rita claimed was photographic evidence of two naked figures fleeing from a burning tent in panic, though the most compromising details had been tastefully pixelated for the family readership.
The image quality was so poor it could have been anyone, but that hardly mattered in Rita's world of innuendo and suggestion.
Adrian couldn't help but feel admiration for the woman's audacity.
Even amidst genuine chaos and terror, Rita Skeeter had somehow managed to capture or manufacture the kind of scandalous gossip that would keep readers buying papers for weeks to come. Her ability to find scandal in the midst of tragedy was supernatural in its consistency.
What struck him as even more remarkable was that all these increasingly wild reports bore Rita's byline exclusively. It seemed as though she had become the Daily Prophet's entire reporting staff, single-handedly churning out story after story while her colleagues presumably sat in comfortable offices waiting for their next assignments.
This made Adrian wonder if Rita had somehow managed to make herself indispensable to the paper, or if the Daily Prophet had simply given up on actual journalism completely and decided to let their most prolific scandal-monger run wild.
Meanwhile, Ireland's historic Quidditch World Cup victory, a genuine sporting achievement that should have dominated headlines for weeks was relegated to a small column on page seven, squeezed between an advertisement for Madam Malkin's autumn robes and a recipe for pumpkin pasties.
More troubling, though entirely predictable was what the Daily Prophet chose not to report. As Adrian had expected, there was no mention at all of Crabbe's name, barely even a passing reference to Death Eaters.
The carefully sanitized version of events that emerged from the Ministry's official statements showed the perpetrators as nothing more than "two unidentified dark wizards engaged in disturbing the peace."
The Dark Mark itself was dismissed in the official explanation as a prank, a crude magical graffiti with no deeper significance.
The questions that truly mattered remained unanswered: Who exactly had orchestrated the attack on the World Cup? What was Voldemort's current state of power and influence? How many Death Eaters had answered his call, and what were they planning next?
Adrian had no concrete answers to any of these vital questions, and the Ministry's determined campaign of misinformation made it unlikely that reliable information would emerge through official channels anytime soon.
All he could do was wait, watch, and prepare for whatever came next.
After the Quidditch World Cup's chaotic conclusion, only one week remained before the autumn term at Hogwarts would begin. For Harry, that week passed in a strange haze of reflection and growing unease.
Ever since that Killing Curse had wheezed past him in the night, Harry sensed that something had shifted within him. He couldn't explain exactly what felt different, but the sensation was always there.
Perhaps it was simply the knowledge that Voldemort's followers were once again active, bold enough to attack innocent people in broad daylight and brazen enough to display their master's mark for all to see.
Or maybe it was the realization that the relatively peaceful years since his first encounter with Voldemort were definitively over.
Whatever the source of this new awareness, one thing Harry could predict with certainty was that the coming school year would not offer the same sense of security that he had grown accustomed to.
Well, he reflected with dark humor, thinking about it honestly, his life had never been truly peaceful anyway.
In any case, Harry felt certain that Voldemort was indeed on the path to a full return to power. And when that happened, not if, but when, everyone in the wizarding world would need to be prepared for what was coming.
In what felt like no time at all, the last week of summer vacation slipped away like water through cupped hands. Before Harry quite knew how it had happened, September 1st had arrived with all its familiar mixture of excitement and nervousness.
On the morning of September 1st, all of Privet Drive was shrouded in a misty drizzle.
Adrian used Apparition to take Harry and Hermione (who was staying temporarily) directly to King's Cross Station, in this weather, he didn't want to get soaked.
When they arrived at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, the platform was still mostly empty, with only a few scattered figures.
"Get on board and find yourselves a good compartment," Adrian told them both. "I need to get to Hogwarts by other means today, Professor Dumbledore says he has something important to discuss with me."
"What kind of something?" Harry asked curiously.
"Who knows?" Adrian shrugged with nonchalance. "The headmaster has always been fond of his mysteries and dramatic timing. I suspect it has something to do with recent events, but beyond that, your guess is as good as mine."
With that farewell, Adrian stepped back from the barrier, leaving Harry and Hermione to make their own way onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was still relatively empty at this early hour, with only a few scattered families saying their goodbyes and loading last-minute items onto the train. The usual chaos of hundreds of students and dozens of frantic parents would come later, closer to the official departure time.
Harry and Hermione made their way along the train's length, peering into compartments. Most were still empty, giving them their pick of seating arrangements.
"How about this one?" Hermione suggested, indicating a compartment toward the back of the train.
It was clean and comfortable-looking. More importantly, it was far enough from the platform end of the train that they were unlikely to be disturbed by the crowds that would inevitably form as departure time approached.
They settled themselves comfortably, packing their belongings in the overhead racks. Harry chose a seat by the window, watching the few early arrivals on the platform through the rain-streaked glass.
Almost before they had properly settled, Hermione had already pulled out a thick book titled Apparition: Theory and Essentials and opened it to a page covered with complex diagrams and dense text.
"You're studying Apparition already?" Harry asked in surprise, craning his neck to get a better look at the intimidating-looking textbook. "We won't even be old enough to take lessons for another two years."
"I know we can't legally practice it yet," Hermione replied without looking up from her reading, "but there's no harm in understanding the theory in advance."
She lowered her voice slightly, as if sharing a secret. "Besides, after what happened at the Quidditch World Cup... if we find ourselves in danger again, Apparition might be our fastest means of escape. I want to be prepared."
Harry thought about the chaos that night at the World Cup and nodded in agreement. Hermione's desire to prepare for the worst was not only reasonable but probably wise.
"Just promise me you won't try to practice any of it on your own," he said seriously. "Underage Apparition isn't just illegal and traceable by the Ministry, though those are certainly concerns but more importantly, attempting Apparition without proper training is incredibly dangerous. Most beginners experience some degree of splinching, and that's with qualified instructors standing by to help. Imagine if you managed to transport only half your body..."
The thought alone was enough to make both of them shudder.
"You seem to know quite a lot about this topic," Hermione observed, finally looking up from her book with a curious expression. "Have you been reading about it as well?"
"Actually," Harry admitted with some reluctance, "I tried it once. Early this summer, Professor Westeros let me borrow his wand and attempt a short-distance Apparition in a controlled environment."
"Really?" Hermione's eyes widened with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "What happened? You never mentioned this before."
Harry sighed deeply, the memory still capable of making him feel slightly nauseous. "Let's just say it took Professor Westeros quite a long time to put me back together properly. I spent the better part of an afternoon reassembling myself piece by piece."
"At least you survived the experience," Hermione said with genuine sympathy.
Harry shrugged, though the casual gesture didn't quite hide his lingering discomfort with the memory.
It hadn't really been a matter of survival, splinching was rarely fatal when it occurred under controlled conditions with a qualified wizard standing by to provide immediate assistance. But the experience itself had been deeply disturbing.
The scene was seared into his memory: his upper body appearing in one location while he could actually see his lower half standing motionless several feet away.
The psychological impact of seeing your own body separated in such a way was something no amount of theoretical preparation could adequately prepare you for.
The compartment door suddenly slid open with more force than necessary, interrupting Harry's uncomfortable reminiscence.
Ron burst through the opening in a shower of raindrops, his red hair plastered flat against his skull and his Hogwarts robes already showing dark patches where the drizzle had soaked through.
"This rain is absolutely miserable," Ron complained the moment he dropped into a seat across from his friends.
Water droplets flew in all directions as he shook his head vigorously, trying to restore some volume to his flattened hair. "I was waving at you from outside the window for ages, why didn't you see me?"
The vigorous head-shaking had the unintended consequence of spraying water freely around the compartment, and Hermione moved away from him with an expression of disgust.
"Sorry," Ron said sheepishly, noticing her reaction. "I didn't realize I was quite that soaked."
At that moment, the train gave a gentle lurch and began to move. Steam from the locomotive wafted past their window as the Hogwarts Express slowly gathered momentum, carrying them away from the platform and toward the Scottish Highlands.
"Good thing I made it," Ron sighed with relief, settling more comfortably into his seat now that the urgency had passed. "For a minute there, I thought I might have to wait for the next train. Though I suppose there isn't a next train, is there? I hope George and Fred didn't get left behind, they were still arguing with Mum about something when I ran for the platform."
Almost as if summoned by the mention of their names, the compartment door was pushed open again, this time revealing two identical red-haired heads peering through the gap with matching expressions of dramatic concern.
"Did our dear little Ronniekins just express worry about his beloved older brothers?" George asked in a voice dripping with mock emotion, one hand pressed dramatically over his heart.
"How incredibly touching," Fred added, pushing fully into the compartment and immediately draping a soggy arm around Ron's shoulders. "I think I might actually cry."
The twins were even more thoroughly soaked than Ron had been.
Ron's face flushed red with embarrassment and annoyance.
"Get off me!" He protested, trying unsuccessfully to shrug off Fred's damp embrace. "You're getting me even wetter than I already was!"
The twins laughed with genuine delight that came from successfully embarrassing their younger brother, but they did eventually release him and find seats of their own.
The compartment was becoming clearly crowded with the addition of two more occupants, but none of them seemed particularly bothered by the cozy quarters.
"By the way," Harry said, suddenly remembering something that had been nagging at the back of his mind, "did you two ever collect on that bet you placed at the Quidditch World Cup?"
He remembered the twins approaching Ludo Bagman with their life savings, thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts, and a fake wand that had been generously valued at five Galleons for the purposes of the wager.
They had bet everything on what seemed like an impossible outcome: Bulgaria catching the Golden Snitch but Ireland still winning the match overall.
Against all odds, that exact scenario had played out during the final game, which should have netted the twins a considerable sum given the high odds Bagman had been offering on such an unlikely combination of events.
The moment Harry's question left his lips, both twins' expressions underwent a dramatic transformation. The cheerful mischief vanished from their faces, replaced by looks of such deep disgust and anger that Harry immediately regretted bringing up the subject.
"Don't even mention that bastard's name," Fred said with vicious intensity, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl that Harry had never heard from him before.
"Bagman never had any intention of paying us," George added, his usual cheerful demeanor completely absent. "The whole thing was a setup from the beginning, he was just taking bets he knew he'd never have to honor."
Hermione looked genuinely confused by this revelation. "But wait, isn't Mr. Bagman the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports? How could someone in such a prominent Ministry position get away with cheating people out of their winnings?"
"That's exactly what we thought," George said bitterly, pulling a crumpled piece of parchment from his robes with obvious disgust. "We assumed his position would guarantee that he'd honor his commitments. Shows how naive we were."
"We found out later that he's got a serious gambling problem," Fred continued, his voice heavy with disappointment.
"Apparently, he owes the goblins at Gringotts an enormous amount of money, enough that they've got collection agents following him around. Right now, he can't even consider paying anyone back, because every Knut he gets his hands on has to go toward his existing debts."
George held up the wrinkled parchment for the others to examine. "Look at this rubbish he gave us instead of our winnings. It's supposed to be some kind of promissory note, but it's completely worthless."
Ron leaned forward to study the document, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of the hastily scrawled text.
"It doesn't even have a proper date on it," Ron saw the words and said. "Just 'to be paid when circumstances allow' or something equally vague."
"Exactly," Fred said with bitter satisfaction at having his point proven. "The whole thing is deliberately meaningless. He never intended it to be enforceable."
Harry looked at both twins with genuine sympathy. He knew how hard they had worked to save that money.
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