I was buzzing with excitement as the afternoon wore on. Magic was already making its appearance, and this time, those Ministry Officers gave up in trying to cover it.
Salesmen Apparated from every corner, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes - green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria - which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.
"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron told Harry as we strolled through the small businesses, looking what to buy. Ron already had gotten himself a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, and just recently, he purchased a small figurine of Viktor Krum, who i found out was the Bulgarian seeker. The little doll walked back and forth over Ron's hand, scowling to the skies.
Jumping from cart to cart, I eagerly dragged Hermione with me, pointing at a few things and also listening as she explained what they were, having already seen them in books. In the end, I bought long green scar with dancing shamrocks, a pair of large green rosettes for Neville, and two flags, each one of either team.
"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, running over a cart full of shiny brassy binoculars which were full of knobs and odd misplaced dials.
"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action... slow everything down... and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain - ten Galleons each."
I mentally counted my money, and was satisfied with the amount left. I itched to buy one of those Omnioculars but I didn't want to waste my money.
"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, glaring at his hat halfheartedly.
"Four pairs," Harry said firmly, offering a load of coins. I nearly fell from surprise.
"Harry," I hissed, tugging at his sleeve.
"No - don't bother," said Ron, going red.
"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his and Hermione's hands. "For about ten years, mind."
"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.
"Oooh, thanks, Harry," said Hermione. "And I'll get us some programs, look -"
As Hermione fussed, Harry looked at me expectantly. I shook my head, taking my pair with a huff from his hands. "One of these days, wonder boy," I muttered, and he grinned.
We returned back to our tents, the rest of them already waiting for the announcement to come. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny wore all green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Only Fred and George didn't have souvenirs but they had painted their faces with green, one of them having the Irish flag on each cheek, the other having a big clover in the middle of his face.
And then, a booming gong went off from the woods, and instantly, green and red lanterns lit up from the tress, lighting up a path to where the stadium was.
"It's time!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed. "Come on, let's go!"
I made sure to tie my scarf into a knot around my neck and set off behind the others, hurrying down the path through the woods, barely making people out from the red and green lights. There were shouts of laughter, and off-key singing, but no one seemed to take notice of that: the excitement was too high to even care. The Weasleys kept telling each one a joke, all of them laughing even if I didn't find the fun in them, but at last, we finally found ourselves under the shadow of a gigantic building, shining in the dark as if it were made of gold. It was almost the size of Hogwarts' grounds, and I could bet that the Orphanage would have fit in a hundred times at least.
"Seats a hundred thousand," Mr. Weasley commented. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again…" he shook his head fondly, "bless them." He led us to the nearest entrance, already swarming with shouting witches and wizards.
"Prime seats!" said the witch in the booth as she checked the tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."
The stairs were surprisingly carpeted in rich purple and there were doors on each row of stands but my lot kept going upward, until we were at the top of the staircase, so high that the wind could easily blow us away. I held my scar and my hair tightly, waiting for them to move, and let out a relieved sigh when I stepped inside the room. Actually, it was a box with twenty purple and gold chairs in two rows, placed halfway between the golden goal posts.
The view outside was both beautifully amazing and breathtaking at once. As people took their seats around the oval field, they were engulfed in a golden light the stadium itself seemed to be giving off. The field looked like it had been painted in green, as its smoothness made it look good as new. At either end of the field, stood three goal hoops, and opposite the box, was an enormous blackboard, short messages drawn in golden chalk appearing in and out of sight. I looked over my shoulder, my eyes travelling from person to person: they all looked pompous like Percy - who apparently was setting a new record in shaking hands today, as he eagerly approached officer by officer. Bill and Charlie kept sniggering and pointing at his back -
"Dobby?"
My head snapped to the side. Harry was watching a small house elf that had taken a seat on a chair. It had a towel draped over its body like a toga and it was grabbing its bat-like ears to cover its eyes. My heart went out to the creature, but there was nothing I could do. Either its master had ordered the house-elf to save his seat or its was being punished mercilessly by staying here.
The elf lift her ears tentatively and stared at Harry with huge brown eyes.
"Did sir just call me Dobby?" it said, its voice sounding far too squeaky to be a male.
"Sorry," Harry apologized, "I just thought you were someone I knew."
"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf.
She was holding her hand hands to either side of her face, only being able to see whatever she stared directly at. "My name is Winky, sir - and you sir - you is surely Harry Potter!" she exclaimed, her eyes resting on Harry's visible scar. It had fortunately stopped looking raw.
She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir - and you, sir -" Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"
"Yeah, I am," said Harry slowly.
"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck.
"How is he?" said Harry. "How's freedom suiting him?"
"Ah, sir," said Winky, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free."
"Why? What's wrong with him?"
"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir," said Winky sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."
I stared bemusedly as she spoke of Dobby like if he had suffered a horrible fate.
"Why not?"
"He is wanting paying for his work, sir," she whispered.
"Paying?" said Harry blankly. "Well - why shouldn't he be paid?" I winced at the horrified look that crossed Winky's face.
"House-elves is not paid, sir! No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."
"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," said Harry.
"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter. House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter, but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."
"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" Harry asked, frowning.
"Master - master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy," said Winky, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. I imitated her and narrowed my eyes. "Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf." It was frighteningly disturbing to notice how she talked like if she was telling this to someone else, as if Winky was looking for approbation from the thin air.
"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered when Winky hid behind her hands again. "Weird things, aren't they?"
"Dobby was weirder," said Harry fervently.
Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started to play with the knobs, staring out at the field.
"Wild!" he breathed, turning the knob on the right. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again... and again... and again..."
I scrunched my nose and leaned over to lower his hands. "Stop it. That's disgusting, Ronald."
Hermione was busy reading her velvety program.
"'A display from the team mascots will precede the match'," she read aloud.
"Oh that's always worth watching," said Mr. Weasley. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."
For the next half hour, people kept coming in to fill their places. Many wizards offered their greeting to Mr. Weasley, and Percy still didn't stop shaking hands. However, when the Minister himself arrived, he bowed so low his glasses just fell off from his nose. He stopped moving and finally took a seat, remaining them for the rest of the time, and threw a few dirty looks at Harry when Fudge greeted him like an old friend.
"Harry Potter, you know," he told the wizard on his left loudly, who was wearing robes of black velvet trimmed with gold. The man didn't look like he could speak English.
"Harry Potter?" said the Minister again. "Oh come on now, you know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who… you do know who he is -" the wizard noticed Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly, waggling his finger at it.
Bored, I glanced out at the field again, fingering the program on my lap absently, and playing with the Omnioculars for a bit.
I perked up though, when Fudge said, "Ah, and here is Lucius!"
I turned, and saw that behind Mr. Weasley, they were three empty seats left, and none other than the Malfoys were shuffling toward them. There was Lucius, and his son, Draco, and a woman who I guessed was his mother. Contrary to her blond husband and son, Mrs. Malfoy actually had straight, dark brown hair, except for two long strands of hair, which were actually a platinum blond. She was really good-looking, but the sneer on her face sort of ruined her natural beauty.
"Ah, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"
"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"
Both men sized each other with frowns on their faces, Malfoy Sr. looking past Mr. Weasley and over at us.
"Good lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"
Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."
"How - how nice," said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile.
Nice, my arse. Malfoy's eyes swept over us again and he settled on staring at Hermione, a sneer appearing on his face. It wasn't a surprise, as people like him actually thought themselves superiors to Muggleborns.
"Aren't you going to take a seat, sir?" I said, my lip curling up. Malfoy's gaze then went at me but I stared back defiantly - or better said, indifferent. People like him, I knew they should remember what their place was, because some day, Malfoy will fall down from his high horse and his son's delusions of grandeur will cease.
Both Malfoy males looked like they wanted to say something but it was Mrs. Malfoy's hand on her husband's shoulder that reminded him of where he was. He nodded sneeringly at me, and set off, not before his son shot us a contemptuous look. When Mrs. Malfoy passed though, she nodded at me in greeting. Surprised, I tilted my head and nodded too, my body no forgetting its manners.
"Slimy gits," Ron muttered.
Ludo Bagman then ran inside the box, his face gleaming in excitement.
"Everyone ready? Minister - ready to go?"
"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge.
Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said, "Sonorus!", and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over us, booming into every corner of the stands.
"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
The stadium exploded into cheers, and many of the spectators started to sing their own anthems in a very off-key tone. The blackboard opposite us erased itself and new words appeared with a spark, making it now a scoreboard.
"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"
From my point of view, the rights scarlet side of the stands roared its cheers.
"I wonder what they've brought," said Mr. Weasley before his eyes widened, and then he was leaning forward eagerly and puled off his glasses to polish them with the hem of his shirt. "Veela!" he said excitedly.
"What are veel -"
But then a group of at least a hundred women entered the field and Harry's question died on his lips. I couldn't honestly blame him as they were really beautiful, probably the most beautiful women I'd ever seen in my life. Their white-golden hair fanned out behind them and their ivory skin seemed to glisten in the moonlight. I watched, a bit dazzled, when they started dancing just as if they were floating in their places and spun.
From either side of me, I heard Ron and Harry take deep breaths and it suddenly clicked. Of course, Veelas used their beauty to lure their prey - in this case, men.
Then the Veela started to dance faster and faster, their silvery clothes looking as if they were only a whisper of the wind. I blinked, closing my eyes for a moment and reached to rub my temples, the sharp mild headache fading in seconds. Next I was aware, Hermione was yelling, "Harry, what are you doing?" and I opened my eyes. Without even thinking it thoroughly, I jumped to my feet and wrapped an arm around Harry's torso and placed my feet firmly on the ground, holding him as he struggled.
I was relieved when the music finally stopped. I felt as Harry's body relaxed from his earlier tense posture and he shook his head, the long tresses of hair hitting me on the face.
"You nutty boy, what do you think you're doing?" I said, half-laughing, half-scolding him. I slowly let my arm fall from his upper body and tugged at the back of his shirt to pull him back on his seat.
Once the boys jerked fully back to reality, I turned to stare at the rest of the stadium, wincing at the loud angry jeers that came from the crowd. They obviously didn't want the Veela to go.
"You'll be wanting that," said Mr. Weasley as he caught sight of Ron shredding the shamrocks on his hat, "once Ireland have had their say."
At Ron's vacant expression, Hermione made a tutting sound and crossed her arms, huffing. "Honestly!" she said.
"And now," Ludo Bagman's voice roared, "kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!"
In that moment, what looked like a green and gold comet zoomed into the stadium, flying around the field and split into two smaller ones, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow suddenly appeared and stretched to each side of the field, connecting the two comets. The crowd oooohed and aaaahed like if they were watching a fireworls' show. The rainbow eventually faded and the balls of light united and merged, forming a big shamrock on the sky and it rose. From it fell what looked like a shower of gold.
"Excellent!" Ron yelled as the shamrock soared over us, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off our heads and seats. Squinting up at the enormous clover leaf in the sky, I realized that it was actually made by thousands of little men with red vests, each of them carrying either gold or green lamps.
"Leprechauns!" said Mr. Weasley.
I threw my hand out and caught a few coins. Curious, I nibbled one. Instantly, a disgusting coppery flavor filled my mouth and I coughed, spitting out the golden dust on my sleeve. With the other, I wiped at my tongue roughly.
Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed. Ron was giving Harry a large amount of coins from his hat and Hermione seemed to be examining one with her fingers. I oped she didn't try to bit it too.
The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!"
A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.
"Ivanova!"
A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.
"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaaand - Krum!"
"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. I quickly focused my own.
Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen.
"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand - Lynch!"
Seven green blurs swept onto the field.
"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"
A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a large hairy mustache, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other.
I spun the speed dial on my Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and (I saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.
"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!"