A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretence disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.
Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, 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 they, Skylar and Hermione strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him.
Skylar had a shamrock she pinned to her shirt and bought a hat for her head as well in excitement.
"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and 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."
"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.
"Four pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.
"I can buy my own." Skylar grinned.
"I'm having one too!" Leon suddenly appeared at their side with Ginny.
"No — don't bother," said Ron, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that Harry, who had inherited a small fortune from his parents, had much more money than he did.
"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his, Skylar's 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 —"
Their money bags considerably lighter, they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George shockingly were also wearing some green, though lighter than everyone else. Skylar turned to her brother.
"You didn't."
"What, I couldn't leave them like that." He shrugged. As the twins had given all their gold to Bagman, Nick had brought them some souvenirs for the game.
"There you all are." Dominique and Nathaniel appeared out of nowhere, having apparated and grinned at them all.
"All ready?" Nathaniel grinned.
"This is going to be great!" Skylar beamed.
And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.
"It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"
Clutching their purchases, Mr. Weasley in the lead with Dominique and Nathaniel, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious. They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium, though they could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field.
"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr. Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on Harry's face. "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… bless them," he added fondly.
"Come on then, we don't want to miss our seats." Nathaniel clapped Arthur on the back and led the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.
"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, Nathaniel, and as high as you can go."
The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. Mr. Weasley and Nathaniel's party kept climbing, and at last they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About thirty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and the two families slid into the first row.
The scene before them was like one none could imagine.
A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at their eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; advertisements.
The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family — safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer… Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!… Gladrags Wizardwear — London, Paris, Hogsmeade…
"This is fantastic." Nick said. Leon was leaning on the railing and Dominique grabbed the back of his shirt as though worried he'd fall out.
"Leon, sit back properly, we don't need you falling to your death."
"Have you seen this mum, how could I sit down?" He demanded, his eyes alight with excitement.
"Dobby?" said Harry suddenly, incredulously.
Skylar turned at his voice and saw him looking behind them.
There, sitting in one of the seats, one over from the end, was a house elf, and she was looking up at Harry with enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato.
"Did sir just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was high. Ron and Hermione spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, they had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest. Skylar of course, having grown up with the Malfoys and their parties, had met Dobby many times. Unlike this elf, Dobby's eyes were green and his voice was not so high. And unlike Dobby, who wore a dirty pillow case the last time they'd seen him, this house elf was wearing a towel draped like a toga, and her hands were up by her face, as though hiding it.
"Sorry," Harry told the elf, "I just thought you were someone I knew."
"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf. 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.
"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 favour, sir, when you is setting him free."
"Why?" said Harry, taken aback. "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."
"Why not?" said Harry.
Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, "He is wanting paying for his work, sir."
"Paying?" said Harry blankly. "Well — why shouldn't he be paid?"
Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again.
"House-elves is not paid, sir!" she said in a muffled squeak. "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," said Winky firmly, from behind her hands. "House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter" — she glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped — "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?" said Harry, 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. "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."
She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid her eyes completely again. Harry turned back to the others.
"Weird things, aren't they?"
"Dobby was weirder," said Harry fervently.
"Hey mum, can we employ Dobby?" Skylar asked.
Her mother laughed. "Unfortunately I don't think we have enough work for him what with Midori." She said.
"Worth a shot." Skylar shrugged as her brothers were laughing at her.
Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium.
"Wild!" he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again… and again… and again…"
"Ugh!" Skylar said disgustedly.
Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvet-covered, tasseled 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."
The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Mr. Weasley and Nathaniel kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an old friend. They had met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the wizards on either side of him.
"Harry Potter, you know," he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English. "Harry Potter… oh come on now, you know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who… you do know who he is —"
The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it.
"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat… Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places… ah, and here's Lucius!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned quickly while Skylar groaned at hearing the name. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley were none other than Dobby the house-elf's former owners: Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco; and his mother, Narcissa Malfoy.
Harry and Draco Malfoy had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. His mother was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.
"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?"
Skylar turned to Nathaniel who had chosen to ignore the man for the moment. When Lucius had been kicked off the Board of Governors at Hogwarts, Nathaniel had taken his place and Lucius, for the first time in years, had stopped sucking up to the man. Nathaniel had what Lucius always wanted; a spot in the Ministry.
"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? And Nathaniel Rosenwald obviously you know already."
It was a tense moment. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other, Skylar was sure the two hadn't seen one another since they last came face-to-face: It had been in Flourish and Blotts' bookshop, and the air had been very tense. Mr. Malfoy's cold grey eyes swept over Mr. Weasley, and then up and down the row.
"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."
"Oh, still buying his way in, I see." Nathaniel nodded.
"Now, now, Nathaniel." Dominique also nudged her husband.
"How — how nice," said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile.
Mr. Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Everyone knew exactly what was making Mr. Malfoy's lip curl like that. The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, gave Skylar the cocky smirk he only ever reserved for her, then settled himself between his mother and father.
"Slimy gits," Ron muttered as he, Harry, and Hermione turned to face the field again. Skylar however was watching Draco, a look of unusual curiosity in her face. She was pulled away from the captivation however as Ludo Bagman charged into the box.
"Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister — ready to go?"
"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.