By the time Harry looks back up and thinks his face isn't quite so red, the man from under the stadium is gone. After a flurry of bemused introductions, Harry tries to hide behind Andromeda without it being obvious. He succeeds, but that only makes the attempts from the other Ministers more obvious when they lean or turn to look at him. Fudge is slowly but surely turning more and more red as he is snubbed by the other heads of state, and the Malfoys are likewise fuming in their seats.
Draco had tried to say something, about Harry's state of appearance, but the German(?) Swiss(?) Polish(?) Minister shot something back and shut them down. Narcissa is trying to buy their way back into the conversation, but its slow going with no one bothering to give her the time of day.
"Is it just us and the Ministers?" Harry whispers to Andromeda.
"Don't forget the Malfoys, but yes. I did call in a favor for you, so be grateful. In addition to Ludo, who will be joining us after he announces the launch of the snitch and bludgers, I invited the new ambassador from France to come with his family. He and his wife and their two daughters will be here." When Harry doesn't look reassured, she continues quietly, "I hear one of them broom races."
"Really? Do you know if she races on the EU circuit or the International?" Harry asks trying to be quiet.
"Internat'nal." Not quiet enough. Harry turns to face the girl and-
"Harry! So nice of you to rejoin us. This is Jean Delacour, the new ambassador to England from France." Fudge says.
"Nice to meet you, sir. I'm Harry Potter." Harry says, before receiving an elbow. "And, of course, this is my lovely guest and tutor Andromeda Tonks."
Jean smiles and shakes the offered hand. "You require no introduction, Mr. Potter. I'm sure there is not a wizard alive within three continents who does not know your story. What your parents did elevated a small rebellion to the front-page news world over! This is my wife, Apolline, and my daughters, Fleur and Gabrielle." Beside him Fudge bristles at the snub of England, but the introductions continue. Jean kisses the back of Andromeda's hand while Harry does the same with Apolline. Harry turns to Fleur and everything slows down.
"Oh dear." Jean sighs, recognizing the look in Harry's eyes. I hope this doesn't go bad.
"Are- are you Fleur d'Aster?" Harry asks, throwing Jean for a loop and causing Fleur to blush up.
"Oui?" She says nervously.
"I read about you debut match, it was fantastic! You totally should have won! Disqualifying you on a technicality like that, when the other racer was clearly cheating-" Harry says, his mouth taking off and outpacing his brain.
"Alright." Andromeda says with a smile, wrapping a hand over Harry's mouth. "Pleased to meet you all, I'm sure. I've been teaching Mr. Potter for a few months now, correcting the oversight of his previous guardians, but I'm afraid it is a work in progress. If you could just excuse us for a moment."
"Harry, what the hell was that?" Andromeda demands outside of the box. "First off, daughters of ambassadors are not supposed to participate in international sports or competitions. Secondly-"
"Thirdly." Harry interjects.
"I'm pretty sure it's secondly." Andromeda argues.
"Point one, daughters aren't supposed to compete in sports or competitions. Point two, relatives of ambassadors and heads of state aren't supposed to compete. Point three?"
"Okay, if you want to be like that and really make me hate our misogynistic society, Thirdly, you never talk about the outcome of an event like this is polite company. It's on the list!"
"I'm sorry, okay. I just saw her, and I recognized her and it really isn't fair, she should have won."
"Then you know what she is?" Andromeda asks.
"Yeah, she's a Veela." Harry says, rolling his eyes. "So what?"
"So what? You- wait here." Andromeda says, walking back into the box for a moment. Through the wall, harry can hear a loud laugh from Jean, and then Andromeda comes back out with Apolline.
"Blast him." Andy says, smirking.
"Oh, Harry, what would you do for me?" Apolline asks, shyly smiling at him. All around Harry, the sound stops. The people below them on the stairs, those finding their seats, everything grinds to a halt. All he can think about it the woman in front of him.
"Do what? Do you need something?" Harry asks, confused.
Apolline gives Andromeda a look and steps down to Harry's level. "Harry, tell me, what do you feel?" she reaches out and caresses his cheek with her hand.
"Honestly, a little creeped out. You have a daughter my age." Harry says, ducking away. "What's going on?"
"You, sweet summer child, are apparently immune to Veela allure. I hate you." Andromeda says.
They lead him back to the box, Apolline apologizing for her behavior, but Andromeda asked if she would, and she too was curious. Harry didn't forgive her outright, but said he understood. The whole thing was just a little too strange.
"So, what was that about?" He asked Andy as they sat back down.
"You'll see once the Bulgarian mascots come out." She tells him.
The Ambassadors and the Ministers chat for a bit, Jean comfortable with all of them, even seeming to know the one from Spain personally. Ludo starts introducing the players and everyone stops chatting to watch. Normally Harry would be entranced watching the players fly in, Seamus being an avid Ireland fan so Harry knows their line up far too well, but three seats over is who he considers one of the most talented flyers in the world. Is it bad that he's a little distracted and possibly starstruck?
So out of touch and caught up in his thoughts, Harry misses the entire Bulgarian introduction and only zones back in as their mascots walk away. He blinks and wonders what he missed, with half the men in the stadium out of their seats, some even trying to climb over the balconies.
"What's going on?" Harry asks in the silence, looking around the box. Minister Fudge, one leg over the railing won't meet his eyes, neither will Lucius, whose wand is clenched in his hand. Even Draco doesn't provide any help, but neither does he comment, which seems odd until Harry notices Narcissa's hand twisted in the back of his shirt, locking him in place. Only the German minister and Jean seem unaffected in the box, with Andromeda and Apolline sharing a look over Harry's head.
"Ze mascots for Bulgaria are," Fleur seems to search for a word, her face twisted in concentration as she searches for the right word in what is obviously not her primary language, " associates, of ours. We know of zem, their history. Ze have an effect on males, an, em,"
"They are quite entrancing." Apolline says, rescuing her daughter from the subject. "It is perhaps not fair to have them on the field, but since when is quidditch fair?"
Her questions sets the cat amongst the canaries, with the various Ministers and Ludo erupting to defend the sport. In the pandemonium, Harry's question and Fleur's response are forgotten.
"Polly and I are going to be covering for you all afternoon, aren't we?" Andromeda grumbles, leaning over to talk to Harry without anyone overhearing, "Veela have an allure that can ensnare men and make them loses their senses. It's a magical effect that very, very few can resist. Fewer still are those immune to the charm, and even fewer yet are those who have complete immunity from the Allure in all of its forms. Congrats Harry, you'll never be normal even if there was a mass obliviation of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's actions and why he stopped." Harry nods, not really liking being special in yet another way, but unable to do anything about it. They had been working on his feelings about being a Parseltongue, and this was just like that. There was nothing he could do; he just had to live with it
"Are Veela widespread?" Harry asks, turning to Apolline.
"Non. W- They mostly live in tribes, keeping to zemselves and avoiding other people. Veela who are in the public eye are not usually liked, past those in the same room." Fleur says. Harry receives a pinch from Andromeda, a warning to not ask about Veela again.
Warned away, Harry tries to distract himself with the game, but it's not that interesting. Able to sit still and not having to duck and weave bludgers himself, its child's play to spot the snitch and track it. (Under the broom of the Irish secondary Chaser, keeping pace with the formations.) The beaters are in full force from both sides, and Harry almost feels bad for the bludgers, as much as you can care about bronze cannonballs. They're being smacked around, reach teams beaters extremely aggressive in redirecting the balls. Harry doesn't think either bludger has gone more than ten seconds without being hit.
The chaser formations are good to watch, but its clear Ireland outclasses Bulgaria in that department. The Irish formations are crisp and clean, the quaffle passed swiftly and efficiently, minimizing the time it's in the open. They also run trick plays, faking a carry and lobbing it away seemingly at random. In contrast the Bulgarian chasers are being flown ragged, their plays breaking apart and being poked to pieces relentlessly by the greater Irish chasers. The Bulgarian Keeper and the Irish one seem about evenly skilled, but with Ireland firing over twice the number of shots; their score is rocketing higher and higher.
The only place where Bulgaria beats out the Irish is in seekers. Krum, the Bulgarian seeker, (Harry only learned his name when Draco shouted it out. Before then Harry called him grumpy, from the one time Harry saw his face.) was a far better flyer than the Irish, faking and juking to throw him off his tail. Krum spiraled through the Irish lines, more effective at breaking chaser formations than his own were. Unfortunately, his distractions cost him and he took a bludger to the leg, spinning him on his broom and costing him his lead on the Irish seeker as they looked for the snitch. It didn't matter much anyway, since neither had found the snitch. (It was currently playing with a toddler in the middle stands behind Bulgaria's hoops, dancing just out of reach as his mother tried to keep him from touching the golden ball.) Though Harry knew that taking hits both hurt and sapped your strength as the game dragged on.
"Not that interesting?" Harry asks, looking over to see Fleur leaning back in her seat and fiddling with her hair.
She looks around, but the others are all caught up in the game, "Non. Quidditch is a little… slow for me."
"I'd imagine. Their firebolts can top out at 130 cords, but in this pitch their lucky to break 70." Harry says.
"You think firebolts top out at 130?" She asks, smirking.
"Well, that's what the company published when they filed the patent and started marketing." Harry protests.
"That they did." She says cryptically.
"How fast?" Harry asks.
"What do you zink?"
"Well, I'd guess I've pulled about 136, 138 when I really pushed it." Harry admits.
"You have a firebolt?" Fleur asks, "We should fly. If you think you can keep up."
"Me? Against a professional racer, who took her debut by storm, outflying racers with years of experience?" Harry asks.
"Well, if you're poulet…"
"I'll do it. Where and when?" Harry agrees.
"Well, isn't it cute? They're already arranging playdates." Andromeda says.
"Not even in Britain a week and she's already picking fights. I'm so proud." Apolline agrees teasingly. Harry is starting to guess that the two women know each other and the fact that Jean is the ambassador from France is merely good fortune.
"How long 'ave you two been spying?" Fleur accuses.
"Spying? You're lucky everyone is distracted by the game. " Andromeda counters.
"So?" Harry asks. "We're not allowed to talk?"
"Harry." Andromeda snaps, "In public, polite company, we avoid three topics, which are?"
"Politics, Sports, Religion." Harry groans. "I know. But it's Fleur d'Aster!"
"And it's not like ze game is interesting anyway. Ireland is going to drop the quaffle; Bulgaria will recover, but won't make it to the hoops before Ireland recovers it. Zey're moving so slow." Fleur says.
"Exactly. Krum and Adrian are looking on the wrong side of the pitch for the snitch." Harry adds dismissively.
"Oh?" Apolline asks, watching as Ireland drops the quaffle right into a surprised Bulgarian's hands.
"It's actually under the brim of the head reff's cap at the moment, but he isn't allowed to touch it at all so he can't make it go away." Harry says, glancing over the pitch.
"Okay, so this isn't the most exciting for the two of you." Andromeda says after Ireland recovers the quaffle and she sees a flash of light under the head reff's hat.
"But try and enjoy yourselves without potentially provoking an incident. Fleur competes under a pseudonym for a reason." Apolline says.
The two women return to watching the pitch, leaving Harry and Fleur to their devices. Unable to continue talking as they were, Fleur moves her fingers in a pattern by the rail, but Harry can't tell what she's doing. He catches her eye and shrugs, Fleur rolling her eyes and waving him off.
Bored of the game, Harry starts watching the crowd instead, picking out trends and finding anything entertaining. He watches a four year old whose eyes follow the snitch religiously once it darts out from under the head reff's hat, much to his relief. The golden ball goes on a wild chase, swirling and darting around faster than the brooms each team is using. Once it finds a new resting place, halfway down the Bulgarian left hoop post, Harry moves on. He's watching a pair of witches, one obviously bored and one very, very into the game. The bored one keeps playing with the other's shirt and it takes Harry a moment to figure out what's going on. He blushes and quickly looks away. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Fleur giggling, having seen the same scene and his reaction.
The crowd roars and Harry snaps his head up, hoping the game is done. No such luck, but Krum flies victoriously, the Irish seeker half planted into the grass of the pitch, his broom a few yards away.
"… BRILLIANT WRONKSI FEINT FROM MR. KRUM!" Ludo shouts. Harry watches the announcer for a moment, but he grows bored again and finds the snitch. (Ironically enough, hiding inside the hole in the quaffle, still unnoticed.)
Harry returns to people watching, not really finding anything interesting, but eventually the crowd roars and he looks back at the pitch. Krum is a few feet from the snitch, miraculously having found it, and closing in fast. He's doggedly chasing it and is moments away when a bludger smashes into the side of his head, sending him reeling. The crowd cheers and boos in equal measure, before suddenly changing sides as Krum triumphantly holds up the golden ball, his face heavily bleeding, the left side caved in from the bludger, eye swollen closed.
"Finally." Harry mutters, drawing a few looks from the others in the box, but agreement in Fleur's eyes.
After a bit more chatting and waiting around for the stadium to empty out, they finally leave the top box. Andromeda and Harry walk to their tent, dodging dejected Bulgarian fans and elated Irish in equal measure.
"Not a bad game, all things considered. You might have been bored, but to the average wizard that was quite a show. Tight formations, violence, sweaty men in tight clothes, both the expected outcome and an upset at the same time- quite enjoyable." Andromeda says.
"Don't think I missed the insinuation of widespread homoerotic tendencies in the wizarding population." Harry replies.
"Not homoerotic, just devout. Some of those fans out there, obsession doesn't even begin to describe it." She says.
"I hope I never have to deal with anything close to that." Harry says disgustedly.
"Best pray to every god you can think of then." Andy smirks.
Harry scrunches his face, "Really? Ugh."
"Alright kiddo. Nymphadora is on duty tonight here, she'll bunk here with you in the tent when her shift is over. I've got an order that needs to be brewed tonight, so I'm not staying with you. You're next to the Ogdens, so just be polite if you need anything. Stay safe, Harry." Andromeda says once she deposits Harry at the tent.
Harry putters around for a bit before turning in. The tent is nice, but nothing extravagant. A main room, two bedrooms and a bathroom- hardly luxurious. But it's everything he needs and Harry is not one to complain. Inspection complete, Harry las back on his bed and closes his eyes. He'll wait for Tonks's shift to be over and ask her about her day before going to bed. Harry may have intended to stay awake, but soon his breathing settled out and he was fast asleep.
The first thing Harry notices is the smoke. Next is that the wall is on fire, and then he's running for the exit. Harry dives out of the burning tent and hits the dirt, rolling over the grass and springing up. Shirt damp from the dew, he takes in the scene in a flash of spellfire.
Four figures in dark robes and masks, marching down the main walkway and willy-nilly shooting fireballs at tents. Harry goes for his wand but realizes that he left it on the nightstand in the tent. He's unarmed, in the middle of the night, faced with four wizards who're terrorizing the camped crowds.
Harry growls and dives back into the shadows of the tents, hating that he can't stop them, but all too aware a blind rush would be stupid. He has to wait for them to get closer before he can do anything. Or for the Aurors to arrive, but without his wand there was little he could do about that. With every scream and panicked cry his resolve fades and it's harder to stay crouched where he is. They slowly get closer; Harry itching to fight them with every additional scream. They're about seven tents away when he hears something that changes things: a voice he recognizes.
"Hermione!" He shouts, rolling out of the dark and running at the masked wizards. While not sure of the girl's relationship with him, Harry still cares for her. One of the four spots him and flicks his wand at Harry. Someone throws up a protego in front of him from out in the tents, and the curse splatters on the shield. The magic barely has time to disperse before Harry is rushing through it.
Dudley, being a spoiled brat, always got the nicest toys. One of which was an American game, a digital recreation of their bastardized football. While Harry never got to play, he saw enough of the game to execute one of the more common sights perfectly, lowering his shoulder and crashing into the wizard at full speed.
Unseen to Harry, his eyes glowed as he neared, his footsteps smoking in the grass. On contact the force discharged with a loud bang, the wizard flying back and smoking. Harry whirled to face the next one, stepping close enough to punch his face, the mask shattering under Harry's enhanced fist.
"Harry!" Hermione shouts, "You came to help me? Even after…"
A red spell crashes into the third terrorist's shoulder and he drops. The last masked wizard pulled a chain and said something. Harry dove for him, grabbing his robe as the portkey activated. As he felt the hook in his gut he heard Tonks shout, "Harry!"
The pair crashed into the ground, the portkey destabilized by Harry's magic leaking into the air around him. The wizard was down, his leg twisted and, given the lack of screams, his not being conscious.
A wand suddenly jabbed under Harry's chin and he looked up to see three more masked wizards.
"Such a nice gift Travers brought us." The wizard says, pushing with his wand to get Harry to his feet.
"You'll make a fine prisoner." At wandpoint Harry is guided toward another tent. He's pushed inside and the flap closed behind him.
After stumbling and regaining his feet, Harry meets the eyes of Fleur.
"Merde. They got you too." She swears, arms around her sister, whose face is buried in her older sister's robes. "We have to get out of here. Ze Death Eaters, they'll kill us. Or use us for some twisted thing. I won't be a pawn again."
"Fleur-" Harry starts to say before the flap to the tent opens up again and two of the Death Eaters step in. Fleur tightens her grip on Gabrielle.
"Give us the girl." One demands.
"Non." Fleur growls, hissing over her little sister's head.
"You'll do as I say, bitch or-" Their attention distracted, Harry springs forward, kicking one in the side before punching the other in the face. Fleur is just as opportunistic, whirling Gabbi behind her and conjuring a fireball to throw at the one Harry kicked. He recoils as the flames catch on his robes, his partner falling down and smoking. Harry gasps for breath, hands on his knees suddenly as he feels the drain. Fleur shoves Gabbi into Harry's grasp and steps forward, manifesting a hand of talons and slashing at the still burning wizard. Now bleeding and on fire, the wizard backpedals out of the tent, Harry setting Gabrielle down and following Fleur.
Outside there are a dozen masked and unmasked magicals, all in Death Eater regalia. Harry and Fleur meet eyes for a moment, instantly forming a plan and leaping into action. Harry pushes as hard on his magic as he can, and something feels like it tears inside of his chest before a bright flash and boom echoes through the group and four Death Eaters are on the ground, convulsing and smoking. The air smells like roasted meat and burning hair before Fleur starts lobbing fireballs as fast as she can pull them. But she can't catch them all as shields start to be summoned or cast and most splash harmlessly. Safe from the surprise assault, the Death Eaters start to return spellfire, growing faster and more dense as they fall into rhythms of casting and shielding. Fleur, desperate to protect her sister and herself, digs deep into her magic for something to help her. Something responds, but not a part of her magical core. The fireball she just threw suddenly doubles in size and rockets forward, a sharp gust blowing the ash into the air behind the fireball which doesn't so much as splash as burn through the two Death Eaters and their shields leaving the smell of roasting meat in the air again.
Harry isn't still either, but the death eaters spread out and he can't focus to blast any of them. Harry turns as fast as he can, ducking and dodging and puling at the air around them which grows heavy and swollen with wet. The air reaches saturation and water starts whipping around them, cold and icy and lashing.
Somewhere in the confusion, Gabrielle ran out of the tent and was sandwiched between them. It was a good thing she did, since the tent took a stray curse and violently burned with violet flames. Harry and Fleur fight as one, pulling Gabrielle along with them as they twist and whip the elements around them into a frenzy. The wind whips around them, carry rain and sleet pelting the Death eaters. Arcs of fire whirl on the gusts as well, catching robes and grass on fire. The air above them rumbles and ozone floods the clearing before a crackle of energy rips from sky to ground, narrowly conducted away from a Death eater who takes a gout of flame to the back but lives. The remaining Death Eaters entrench and dig in, throwing up heavy shields or transfiguring cover from the micro-storm. Harry and Fleur are doing their best, but their powers are useless against the protected terrorists and they're barely able to stay ahead of the spellfire crackling through the area.
Without warning a sudden burst of cracks echoes across the tents and the death Eaters pull out with the telltale pop of a portkey. The responding Aurors approach the maelstrom cautious but without firing.
"Queen's Aurors! Stand down, you're safe now."