The seats Mr Weasley had managed to procure for the World Cup were fantastic; they were in the Top Box, and, once Harry had borne a dozen handshakes with various Ministry staff including Fudge, Sprottle, Sprottle's assistant Pemberley, a writer from Quidditch Quarterly whose name Harry didn't catch, and then also the Bulgarian Minister for Magic and some of his staff, Harry was finally allowed to claim his seat.
He ended up between Ginny and Hermione, but that was short lived; Ron, who'd been at the end, on Hermione's other side, made her swap with him:
"Well, no, you don't have to," Ron said, when she'd frowned and folded her arms, "but if you stay there, you'll have to deal with me and Harry leaning over you to talk Quidditch..." Her eyes flicked between them, and her mouth twitched.
"All right," she said, gathering up her omnioculars and program, and shuffling down a bit.
"You're the best!" A grinning Ron flung himself down into the seat beside Harry. "This is going to be brilliant!"
Harry agreed. From up where they were, he could see almost the entire stadium, the hundred thousand brightly coloured witches and wizards that filled it, and, of course, the bright green pitch.
Harry could only find two faults with their seats. The first was that Padfoot, Moony, Dora, and Marlene would not be sitting with them; Padfoot was working, obviously, and would be walking the stadium rather than sitting in any one place, Moony said such excellent seats would be wasted on him, Dora admitted she'd be jealous any other time, but was grateful to not have to face the extra stairs, and Marlene - who'd arrived only a few minutes before the match - was just jealous.
The other fault was that they were apparently sharing the box with the Malfoys. Draco's presence was an unexpected pleasure, but Harry could have done without the other three; in fairness, Mrs Malfoy gave Harry a tiny, stiff nod and went to sit down, but Hydrus and Mr Malfoy let Fudge fawn all over them and prattle on about Mr Malfoy's latest donation to St Mungo's. Ginny wore an expression even frostier than Mrs Malfoy's, and clasped her white-knuckled hands in her lap until Bill - who was seated on her other side - noticed her distraction and drew her into a conversation about something in the program. Mr Weasley hardly looked much happier - as soon as Fudge had been distracted, Harry heard Mr Malfoy ask Mr Weasley what he'd had to sell to afford seats in the Top Box - but he allowed himself to be drawn into the conversation with Fudge, Sprottle, Percy, and Mr Malfoy anyway. Much as Harry disliked Mr Malfoy for asking such a question, Harry found himself wondering too; he knew Bagman had offered Mr Weasley the seats, and Harry and Hermione had paid Mr Weasley back for theirs, but the rest still wouldn't have come cheap.
It was something of a relief when Fudge and the Malfoys sat down. They were in the row behind Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys, and, while Mr and Mrs Malfoy and Hydrus ended up behind Fred, Charlie and Percy, Draco had a brief exchange with his mother and made his uncertain way to very end seat behind Hermione's. Hydrus glared down at them, and Mr and Mrs Malfoy whispered to each other, glancing toward Draco every so often.
"They won't cause a fuss in front of the Minister," Draco said smugly, but his posture was rather stiff.
"Yeah, but what about after?" Ron said. "Obviously we want you here, but we're not worth getting in trouble over, mate-"
"Don't worry yourself, Weasley," Draco said, and though he seemed rather calm now, Harry couldn't help but remember how panicked he'd been that morning when Mr Malfoy came out of the tent and saw them all together.
"Are you sure?" Harry asked, deciding to voice that very concern. "Because-"
"Everyone ready?" Bagman burst into the box, his face alight. "Minister? Damaris?"
"Ready when you are, Ludo," Fudge said. Sprottle glanced up from a conversation with Pemberley and gestured her approval.
"Sonorus!" Bagman said, then tucked his wand away with a flourish. "Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty second Quidditch World Cup!" A roar of cheers and clapping answered him, and thousands of green and red flags waved around below. "And now, without further ado," Bagman said, "allow me to introduce the Bulgarian National Team mascots!"
"What are…?" Marlene said, frowning down at the grassy pitch.
"They're veela!" Remus said, leaning forward for a better look. Fleur, a student of his, was one quarter veela, and he'd seen her little sister around once or twice as well, but he'd never seen a full veela before.
Stunning didn't do them justice. Rather absently he wondered, that, if werewolves looked like that whether they would still be as disliked - veela could undergo a rather nasty transformation as well, and yet looking at them now, he couldn't find a single negative thing to think about them. They began to dance, and he took another step closer to the railing, fascinated. "Dora, look!"
She didn't need to be told; it took a serious amount of effort, but when Remus finally managed to turn away from the veela to look at her, Dora was watching the dancing below with interest, one hand bracing her back. Music crept into Remus' ears, crooning at him to turn his eyes back to the veela, and he didn't put up much of a fight, even edged closer for a better look. A warm hand came to rest on his arm, not quite holding him there - not yet - but ready to.
"Easy," Dora said, sounding amused.
"I'm not going anywhere," Remus said. It was a struggle to speak - it seemed almost sacrilegious to speak over the top of the veela's music - and his voice sounded distant, so he turned, again, with effort to face his wife. She was laughing at him now, eyes bright and expression warm, hair a sunny yellow.
"Are you sure? I must look plain and fat compared to that lot." Her eyes twinkled, teasing.
"A little fat," he admitted, rubbing her belly. Marlene, who Remus was only vaguely aware of, moved. "But that's my fault, and I'm rather pleased about it these days, so, no, I'm not going anywhere." She laughed again and he pulled her closer. "Besides, I rather think you'd hunt me down if I tried, and I'm much, much more afraid of you than I am of them." He nodded down at the dancers, who were moving faster now, with a detached sort of interest. The music had grown more persuasive too, and yet somehow, Remus found it only background noise, and easy to ignore.
A murmur of 'veela' raced around the Top Box, as a hundred pale figures glided out onto the grass below. Harry lifted his omnioculars for a better look.
His first thought was that the veela looked a bit like Mrs Malfoy, but it was a fleeting thought; compared to the veela, Mrs Malfoy was old, her hair dull, her skin sallow. It was impossible to guess the age of the veela, but there wasn't a wrinkle in sight, nor any stiffness in their movements. They had long hair that gleamed like white gold, and they were pale in the way that the moon was pale; radiant and beautiful. They were tall and short, slender and curvy, and Harry found he couldn't fault a single one of them.
Music started and they danced, their movements somehow both graceful and strong all at once, and Harry's mind emptied itself of everything except curiosity about what they would smell like to his wolf-nose. They were the most incredibly beautiful things he'd ever seen - would they smell just as incredible? He had to find out. He eyed the edge of the box, figuring that jumping right over was the fastest way down. They'd probably be pretty impressed by that too, and if they weren't, well, Harry could do some other pretty impressive things; he was an animagus for one, and he could cast a corporeal patronus. And if that wasn't enough, well, he was Harry Potter, so-
"Yes, we know who you are," Hermione said exasperatedly, as if from very far away. "Draco, can you- Ron!"
The music stopped and Harry was suddenly aware of being tugged back into his seat.
"We know who he is, but the veela don't," Ginny said; she was red faced from laughing and Bill was watching Harry with an amused look on his face. Draco sniggered and released Harry. Hermione was trying to wrestle Ron back into the seat beside her - he had a determined look on his face, and looked like he'd about to dive out of the Top Box. On the other side, beyond Bill, Fred and George - who seemed to have been engaged in some sort of wrestling match on the floor - sprang apart, Charlie seemed completely unaffected, and Mr Weasley was patting a dazed-looking Percy on the shoulder. Behind them - and Harry had to feel a little sorry for her - Mrs Malfoy had one hand on Hydrus' shoulder to keep him in his chair, and her other curled into the back of Mr Malfoy's robes; he was on his feet, and seemed to have paused halfway through combing a hand through his hair.
Below them, the crowd's noises had turned distinctly angry; it seemed they didn't want the veela to go. A part of Harry didn't either, but a larger part of him was relieved. Even Wormtail's Imperius hadn't affected him so easily.
"What are they?" Harry asked. He looked to Hermione out of habit, but it was Bill that answered.
"They're magical beings. They…" He paused, apparently looking for the right word. "It's not enchantment, or hypnotism, but that's as good a way as any to describe the effect." He took a look at the discomfited expression on Harry's face and smiled. "Don't feel bad - you're a teenage boy, which makes you very susceptible to veela." Harry wasn't reassured.
"How do you fight it?" Harry asked, as the crowd booed loudly.
"Me personally, or just generally?"
"Both," Harry said. "Either."
"I see a lot of pretty things as a cursebreaker," Bill said, shrugging. "You never stop appreciating them-" His eyes went to the veela, who were making their slow, graceful way off the grass. "-but you learn pretty quickly to keep a cool head and not to touch." He smiled in a wry sort of way. "Speaking more generally… not being interested in women's the most effective, but being in love's meant to help too. Otherwise sensory blocking spells, and occlumency, or you just shut your eyes and cover your ears."
"Are they dangerous?" Harry glanced down at the pitch again. Had Voldemort ever used veela, the way he had werewolves and giants and dementors?
"Probably on par with your average witch," Bill said, shrugging. "Unless you upset them, in which case, run."
"That's true with witches too," Ron said. "Have you met Mum? Or Ginny or Hermione for that matter?"
"Trust me, Ron," Bill said, shaking his head.
Ireland's mascots were next - leprechauns - and they glittered green, white, and gold as they darted around the pitch below, forming the Irish flag, then a golden snitch, then a large trophy, and then, with an explosion not unlike a firework, split off into seven smaller green shapes - the Irish team - and flew around the stadium. When they came together again, it was to form an enormous green shamrock, which soared into the air and began to rain gold.
It was only when the shamrock flew past the Top Box that Harry realised the rain was actually of heavy golden coins, and that there were thousands of them. Several bounced off his head and shoulders, and people down in the stands were snatching them out of the air.
A cheer went up around the stadium - beside Harry, Ron joined in, delightedly scooping up whatever coins were in reach - as the shamrock exploded like a firework and the leprechauns settled down at the edge of the pitch, opposite the veela.
"For the omnioculars," Ron said, shoving a handful of coins at Harry.
"And now," Bagman boomed, "ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!" He rattled off their names as the players flew out to wild applause, then introduced the Irish team.
Harry watched them through his omnioculars. They were all flying Firebolts, he noted, with some envy, and Merlin but they were brilliant broomsticks; Bulgaria's beaters were fair fliers but nothing special, and Ireland's keeper seemed rather stiff on his broom, but the speed that the Firebolts gave them when they needed it… As for the teams' better fliers, it would have been criminal to put them on anything else; Ireland's chasers were quick, agile, and amazingly coordinated, and Krum, Bulgaria's seeker, flew with an ease and comfort Harry had never seen the like of.
"Troy," Bagman said, "Mullet, Moran, Troy- Levski-" One of Bulgaria's Chasers barrelled into Troy and stole the Quaffle. "Ivanova, Levski- Moran-" Moran flew right at Levski, got her hands on the Quaffle, then rolled to the side in the instant they'd have otherwise collided. The Quaffle went with her, and she continued down toward the goals at unbelievable speed.
"I want one," Harry said to Ron.
"You want Moran?" Ron asked, without looking away from the game; Troy had just scored and did a quick lap around the goalposts to celebrate, while the leprechauns formed into a giant shamrock again.
"I want a Firebolt," Harry corrected, while Hermione cheered and did a little dance on Ron's other side. Behind her, Draco clapped enthusiastically.
Ireland scored twice more before Bulgaria managed to. The veela danced in celebration when they did, and this time, Harry took Bill's advice and blocked his ears.
"Dimitrov, Levski, Dimitrov, Ivanova- oh, I say!"
From where they'd been hovering above the rest of the game, Krum and Lynch suddenly plummeted. One of Ireland's beaters knocked a bludger at Krum, but he was going too fast for it to have had any hope of hitting. Harry shifted his gaze, scanning the grass below for the snitch…
"They're going to crash!" Hermione said shrilly, through her fingers. Harry's heart was in his throat; he'd have begun to pull up or slow down by now, but they were both still accelerating-
With no warning, Krum pulled out of the dive at the very last moment and corkscrewed away almost lazily.
Lynch ploughed directly into the grass, and a groan raced through the stands. Ginny was on her feet, leaning over the edge of the box looking, looking horrified.
"He'll be all right," Bill assured her, as a team of mediwizards hurried out onto the pitch toward Lynch's still form.
"He'd better be!" Ginny said, swatting away his attempts to get her to sit down. "Ireland's without a seeker, otherwise!" Harry replayed Krum's feint while the mediwizards saw to Lynch.
"Reckon you can learn that one?" Ron asked, lowering his omnioculars for a moment.
"Not on my Nimbus," Harry said ruefully.
"Maybe not quite so well, but still - imagine Malfoy's face- Sorry," he added, glancing around to look at Draco, who was watching the Irish team's huddle in the middle of the pitch.
"Imagine Pomfrey's," Harry muttered back. "If the feint didn't kill me, she would."
Lynch finally managed to get himself back into the air, and play resumed. Ireland seemed to take Krum's feint as a challenge, and scored ten goals in fifteen minutes. Bulgaria hadn't scored again and seemed to take it personally because play got nasty after that; Ireland were awarded three penalties in a row after being fouled by Bulgaria. The leprechauns seemed particularly pleased by this, and were cheerfully forming rude words, and big, mocking faces in the veelas' direction.
"And Ireland scores again!" Bagman cried. "The leprechauns are happy, the cheeky- Oh dear, they've upset Bulgaria's mascots..." The leprechauns - which had been clustered together to make a particularly rude hand gesture - scattered as several fireballs soared toward them.
Harry saw why Bill had suggested he run if he ever upset a veela; they'd sprouted wings and beaks and claws and a number of them were conjuring up handfuls of fire to fling at the leprechauns.
"Attempted tackle by Ivanova, but Troy with the Quaffle, Moran, Troy- Ooh, nice bludger from Vulchanov! Ivanova doesn't quite get to the Quaffle in time - it's falling, with Mullet in pursu-" Bagman hissed suddenly; one of the fireballs being flung about on the pitch almost hit Mullet, who'd dropped below the majority of the players to go after the falling Quaffle.
She barely got it off to Moran before Ivanova slammed into her. Below them, Ministry staff were pouring out onto the field to intervene before things got any more out of hand between the mascots. Harry scanned the chaos and found Padfoot trying to settle a pair of veela, while a group of leprechauns flung coins at his back - or tried to; the coins stopped in mid-air about a foot before they could hit him, then turned and flew back at the leprechauns, who scattered. Padfoot's mouth twitched.
The audience let out a roar, and Harry returned his attention to the game with a jerk of his omnioculars and found Krum clutching his nose and covered in blood.
"What-"
"Bludger from Quigley," Ron said. He pressed his omnioculars into Harry's hands and tugged Harry's away for himself. "If you hit replay, you'll be able to see it." Harry watched the replay through Ron's omnioculars, and, though there was no sound to it, could all too easily imagine the thunk of the bludger breaking Krum's nose. When Harry lowered the ominoculars again, Krum was still clutching his face, and no whistle had been blown.
"Shouldn't they call for a time out if he's hurt?" Hermione asked worriedly. Draco nodded, frowning.
"Time out!" Ron bellowed, though the referee had no hope of hearing; for one, they were all the way up in the Top Box. For two, Mostafa's broomstick had been hit by a veela's fireball - stray or targeted, Harry wasn't sure - and he seemed rather preoccupied. Harry couldn't blame him in the least, but regardless, watched with some amusement as a pair of Aurors he didn't know ran around trying to spray him with water from their wands. "He can't play like that!" Ron said.
"He's going to have to," Harry said grimly, pointing. "Look at Lynch." Lynch had just gone into a steep dive.
"Feinting, you reckon?" Ron asked. "Payback for before-"
"That's no feint," Ginny said, from Harry's other side. "He's seen it." Harry did his best to follow Lynch's gaze with the omnioculars, and sure enough the snitch was there, glinting gold in the late afternoon sun. He looked up at Lynch again, and saw Krum had not only noticed, not only flown after him, but managed to draw level. They were neck and neck, hurtling toward the snitch as it darted around above the grass.
"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked, for the second time that match. Draco's knuckles were white on the back of her chair.
"They're not!" Ron was still on his feet, peering over the edge of the box through his omnioculars.
"Lynch is!" Harry said, and was, unfortunately, right; Lynch crashed, harder even than the first time, and was immediately set upon by a horde of gleeful veela. Krum spiralled up almost casually.
"He got it," Harry said.
"What?!" Ron whipped around to look at him.
"Where's the snitch?" Charlie bellowed from further down the row. "Did anyone-"
"Harry said Krum's got it!" Ginny called.
"Some seeker you are, Charlie," Fred said.
"Yeah, aren't meant to be good at spotting the snitch?" George said.
Krum slowed, stopped, then spun and faced the stands, lifting his hand into the air with purpose. The snitch fluttered there, trapped in the black leather of his glove, and behind him, the scoreboard updated itself:
BULGARIA - 160
IRELAND - 170
There was a moment of stunned silence, while the crowd processed what had happened. Then, a roar went up from Ireland's supporters. Ginny laughed and waved her flag, and Bill brought his fingers to his lips and let out a whistle so loud Harry thought the players could probably hear it where they were. Hermione was doing an odd little dance and cheering, Ron was jumping up and down, yelling, and the fist that wasn't pumping madly in the air was clutching at Harry, forcing him to jump up and down too… not that Harry minded in the slightest. Draco clapped enthusiastically, but still seemed very composed compared to the rest of them.
"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman roared. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH, BUT IRELAND WINS! Merlin, I don't think any of us were expecting that!" Amidst all of the celebrating in Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys' row of seats, Fred and George were oddly still, staring at each other with identical disbelievingly delighted looks on their faces.
"Not that I'm complaining," Ron said, releasing Harry so that he could clap, "but what did Krum catch the snitch for? Bulgaria were a hundred and sixty points behind-"
"Ireland's chasers were too good and he knew it," Harry said, having to yell to be heard over the noise. "If he hadn't grabbed it then and ended it, they'd have lost by loads more."
"Smart," Hermione said, watching Krum; he still had blood dripping from his nose, but was on the ground and the mediwizards were on their way to him. "And very brave of him, playing on like that."
"Mad, more like," Draco said. "Look at him; he's a mess."
"I reckon it was brilliant," Harry said.
