There wasn't much content on the flyer. In short, a fellow named Ludo Bagman had set up a betting pool centered around the Quidditch World Cup final.
Anyone could place a bet by going to Top Box Number Nine, as indicated on the flyer, before the match began.
The terms of the bet were simple: wager on which of the two competing teams in the Quidditch World Cup final—Bulgaria or Ireland—would claim ultimate victory.
Of course, that was merely the basic way to gamble.
Beyond that, you could also place bets on the "First Blood" of the match—that is, which team would score the very first Quaffle goal, or how many minutes into the opening whistle it would occur.
There were also bets on the exact final score, how large the points margin would be, and so forth...
For ordinary wizards, losing nine out of ten bets was perfectly normal.
If they weren't absolutely certain of victory, George and Fred wouldn't have been so secretive about trying to drag Kyle and Cedric into the game.
"I heard that old man Grindelwald..." Fred chimed in, sidling up to Kyle with a shameless, flattering grin.
George threw his arm over Kyle's shoulder from the right, finishing the second half of the sentence Fred had left unsaid, "...can see predictions?"
Good grief! So that's what you two were waiting for.
Kyle shot them a speechless look. "I want a twenty percent cut of whatever you win."
The flattering expressions on George and Fred's faces grew even deeper. "As you should, as you should."
They turned their gaze toward Cedric. "Ced, what do you say?"
Hearing their words, Cedric's expression straightened, and he scolded them with righteous severity, "How could you two get involved with gambling at such a young age? I, someone named Cedric, swore a solemn oath long ago never to share the same sky with vice!"
Kyle froze for a moment. "Incompatible with vice? What about lust and gambling?"
Hearing this, Cedric's solemn demeanor vanished without a trace. "How much are you planning to bet? Count me in."
His sudden, slick turn of attitude nearly broke the backs of the other three Father-Troublers.
"As for the money on us that we can actually use," George calculated, "let's bet three thousand Galleons."
"I'll bet three thousand too," Fred chimed in as well.
Although the twins had received a massive share of money from the Gringotts heist, they couldn't simply pull it out and spend it directly.
Wizards possessed zero skills in finance, but they weren't stupid.
If the Weasley family—who had always presented themselves as dead broke—suddenly acquired a huge fortune from an unknown source, anyone with half a brain would realize the Gringotts break-in was connected to them.
Thus, George and Fred could only use the income that could be legitimately verified on paper—namely, the proceeds from selling alchemical gadgets at their Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—to place their bets.
"Then I'll bet three thousand as well," Cedric said, looking at Kyle. "What about you?"
"I don't have much pocket money left."
Saying this, Kyle pulled out a wallet with an Undetectable Extension Charm from his pocket and peered inside. It was glittering with gold—so blinding that even with Kyle's Sharingan, he couldn't tell exactly how many Galleons were in there.
"Then..." He hesitated for a second. "Then I'll just bet fifty thousand Galleons."
The moment Kyle spoke, a thick wave of flex culture washed over the other three Father-Troublers.
"Leave your stakes with me," Kyle reached out and took the London Crown Casino flyer from the twins' hands. "I know this Ludo Bagman; his gambling ethics are notoriously terrible."
Tucking the flyer casually into his pocket, he added, "If I'm the one placing the bet, he wouldn't dare default on the payout even if he wanted to."
Who would dare default on a debt owed to the Third Dark Lord? Did they want to lose their life?
Just as the other three Father-Troublers handed the vast majority of their fortunes over to Kyle, a deep, resonant gong echoed from somewhere in the distant woods.
When the gong sounded, thousands of red and green lanterns instantly burst into light upon the trees, illuminating the path leading to the stadium.
This signified that the Quidditch World Cup was about to begin.
"It's time, kids!" Mr. Weasley's excited voice carried over from afar. "Hurry over, let's go!"
"Coming right now!"
Mr. Weasley led the way out front. Clutched in everyone's hands were the souvenirs they had bought as they hurried through the lantern-lit path into the forest.
They could hear hundreds upon hundreds of people moving around them, hearing shouts, laughter, and intermittent singing echoing through the night.
Kyle edged up beside his Dad Gellert, fumbling around in his pocket for a long while before finally pulling out a skull fitted with a long, flexible tube.
He held the skull out in front of Grindelwald and lowered his voice, "Dad, can you predict the outcome of this match?"
Grindelwald withdrew his gaze from Dumbledore up ahead, turning his attention toward Kyle. "You want to...?"
"Bet on the match, of course!" Kyle didn't feel the slightest bit ashamed of his cheating behavior; on the contrary, he sounded entirely righteous. "Otherwise, what else would I do?"
A smile curled at the corners of Grindelwald's lips. "No problem. Speaking of which, it's been a long time since I last gambled."
Without taking the skull from Kyle's hands, Grindelwald didn't even need such an artifact for a minor prediction like this.
Maintaining an unhurried pace as he continued walking forward with the group, Grindelwald narrowed his eyes.
Within those deep, heterochromatic eyes, a subtle glimmer of magic seemed to swirl.
Seeing this, Kyle reached out and grabbed his old man's arm, worried that if the old man didn't look where he was going and happened to trip over something, it would be terribly embarrassing.
A moment later, Grindelwald opened his eyes.
After following the crowd through the forest for about twenty minutes, they finally emerged on the other side.
Kyle raised his eyes to gaze at the magnificent golden walls of the match stadium; they were currently standing right in the shadow of a colossal arena.
Examining the architecture of the arena closely, Kyle almost thought he had traveled back to his home country.
Compared to the Bird's Nest, this stadium looked eerily similar.
Looking at the arena before them, Mr. Weasley introduced it with immense pride: "To host this tournament properly, five hundred Ministry employees have been working tirelessly on the stadium's construction since last August."
Hearing their dad's words, George and Fred curled their lips in disdain.
"Working tirelessly for our beloved Minister's wallet, you mean."
"George! Fred! Don't talk nonsense!"
Percy, hearing his two younger brothers' disrespectful remarks toward the Minister for Magic, barked at them in reprimand.
George put his hands on his hips. "Say, Percy, you only just landed an intern spot at the Ministry, and your bias is already showing?"
Fred's words were even harsher, his eyes darting toward the brand-new clothes Percy was wearing. "Who knows where those clothes even came from."
Percy's face instantly turned bright red.
The outfit he was currently wearing had been paid for using the twin brothers' money.
Taking someone's money softens your stance. What's more, the allowance he had spent over the past few years before finding a formal job had been confiscated from the twins by Mrs. Weasley before being passed down to him.
His stance was shorter than a Corgi's legs.
Fortunately, Mrs. Weasley made a timely appearance, giving both of the twins a flick on the forehead and saving Percy from the predicament.
Say what you will, Cornelius Fudge was still Mr. Weasley's direct boss.
Speaking ill of people behind their backs was bad etiquette regardless, even if it was the absolute truth.
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