"No! Don't do it you- you asshole! FUCKING LOSER!"

"What are you so worked up about?"

"I put a lot of money on that dickhead to win."

"How much did you bet?"

"A million Galleons."

A stunned silence.

"What convinced you to bet so much on the Weasley kid?"

"Ah, well... he had such a beautiful number... sixty-nine!"

"Oh, you dirty dog."

Laughter erupted amongst the men in the golden animal masks as they viewed the dormitory's live feed with amusement. Trying not to let out a disdainful sigh, the man in the plain black mask - the front man - stepped forward, clearing his throat to garner their attention.

"Gentleman, you can place your bets again before the next game begins. For now, however, why not relax and make yourselves comfortable in our VIP lounge? Our waiting staff will be happy to attend to your every need."

"Where is the host?" The man in the eagle mask asked, looking around. "It was of our expectation to have him meet us upon arrival."

"Regrettably," the front man said in what he hoped was a sincere manner, "some urgent business has prevented him from attending."

Murmurs arose as the VIPs looked at one another in confusion.

"Seriously?" Spoke the man in the mask shaped like a badger. "I find it hard to believe that the host would miss a night like tonight."

"He asked me to apologise on his behalf."

"Is there a going to be a problem with the games?"

"Not at all," the front man said smoothly in response to the lion mask's query, "it's just a personal matter of the host. The remaining games will be held as scheduled. I'm sure you won't be disappointed."

"I will be if I keep betting on losers," the man in the serpent mask drawled. "Never mind... I'll bet on the Diggory boy, next."

"Why?" The badger asked curiously. "Because he was once Hogwarts Champion?"

"No, because if I can't do sixty-nine, then I'll try ninety-six."

The room once again interrupted into raucous cackles, making the front man wince.

"Oh, jeez," the lion chuckled, his whole body convulsing in laughter as he wiped a tear from beneath his mask. "You kill me!"

*****

The front man raised his fist and rapped sharply on the door, straining his ears to listen out for the host's response on the other side.

"Come in."

He sounded worse than ever, the front man noted as he carefully pushed open the door and stepped inside the room. The cancer was clearly taking hold.

He tried not to visibly shudder as he was met with the scent of what he could only describe as death. It was different to the kind of death he experienced in the games, this was a slow decaying rotten stench, of a man rotting alive.

"The VIPs are all settled, boss. Are you quite sure you do not wish to greet them?"

The man behind the Phoenix mask weakly shook his head. "Not without my main mask. Tell me, is it arrived from the cleaners yet?"

"I'm sorry, boss. I've chased it up again this morning but unfortunately there is a delay, something about staff shortages. Will the Phoenix not suffice in the meantime?"

"It's not the same." His voice was sulky, like a child's. "It's just not... me."

"It's fitting though," the front man said, trying to make him see reason, desperate for him to do his fucking job so that he no longer had to deal with those pigs in gold masks himself, "considering yesterday's game... wouldn't you say?"

But his boss wasn't buying it, arrogant and stubborn as always.

"I shan't let them see me without my mask." The slam of a fist down on the desk. "It's an important part of who I am!"

"Very well, as you wish. But before I return, I would like to discuss the ah- unfortunate incident regarding player 069. With a low pass expectancy on game five, I fear we could be in danger of not having enough numbers to compete in the final round."

His boss waved a dismissive hand. "It'll be fine. Besides, there are more concerning issues going on of which I'm keeping a close eye on."

The front man nodded. "I understand, I have been observing this situation myself. Are you happy for this to play out in its natural course, or do you require intervention?"

The host appeared to contemplate this for a moment, carefully stroking his square chin.

"No..." he eventually said, his pale eyes flashing through the slits in his mask, "let us see... I'm intrigued. It makes things rather poetic, wouldn't you agree? Besides, I've always loved watching a good tragedy."

He laughed so hard that he spluttered and began to violently retch. The nurse, who had been waiting unseen in the shadows, scurried forward with a bowl in hand, holding the sick man's long hair back as she caught his spew just in time.

The front man looked away, glad his mask was disguising the disgust that would surely be evident upon his face.

When the host had finished throwing up his guts, the front man waited patiently for his dismal, bowing his head when it was eventually given, backing out of the room as quickly as he could.

When he returned to the VIP lounge, it was to the discovery that the man behind the serpent mask had stolen one of his waiters.

Merlin, he'd better be getting a fucking pay rise after this.

******