"Who knew that Bartemius Crouch had a sense of humour?" Alduin asked when the Weasleys left, alongside Lavender, who Harry had noticed hadn't seemed to greet Ron any more enthusiastically than she did all of the rest of them. He reminded himself to try and ask Ron about that later. For now, those that remained were now sitting and drinking afternoon tea, and frowning over Alduin's observation.
Harry blinked at him. "I must have missed it."
Alduin gave a small smile. "Oh, you probably did – the Weasleys certainly have. But you did notice that he called Percival Weatherby?"
"Well, yes." He'd felt bad for the bloke, who according to what his brothers had said valued his position a lot.
"Think about it," Alduin encouraged him. "The Weasleys are one of the Ancient families. He knows Mr. Weasley personally. Is it likely he wouldn't know Percival's actual surname?"
Harry blinked. "He was making fun of him?" He asked incredulously.
"Undoubtedly," Alduin said with dry amusement. "Bartemius might be a workaholic, but that doesn't mean he enjoys this kind of servility. Someone should have a word with Percival." He gave a sort of resigned sigh.
"What is Smith rhetorics?" Harry asked curiously after a moment of silence.
Alduin made a face of distaste. "The Smiths sometimes like to claim," he said, "that they should be considered the most ancient British wizarding family because they are the only properly British one, you see."
Harry did not see. "What does that mean?"
"Well, out of the families surviving until today, if we don't count Riddle as one of the Gaunts, only three date their presence on the Isles to before the Conqueror. The Smiths, the Shacklebolts and the Shafiqs." Alduin gave him a look. "I am sure you can see where that argument leads."
Harry could. "But, I mean..." he wondered about how to phrase the question. "Is this less common than, you know...prejudice against Muggle-Borns?"
Alduin looked mortally offended. "Vastly less common," he said with emphasis. "Without meaning to defend blood prejudice in the slightest, it was born from long years of persecution. It's a shared historical memory for us. This kind of prejudice, on the other hand...well, it's sometimes called Muggle tendencies as well, because apart from the Smiths, you can usually only find it in wizards with some Muggle background. In fact, it's generally assumed that the Smiths got this idea from a half-blooded witch that married into he family some generations ago. That's certainly when the rhetoric started."
Harry frowned. "So...you're saying it's worse than normal racism because the Muggles deserve it in a way?" He asked, Sophie next to him hissing at the idea.
Alduin shook his head. "No," he said decisively. "That'd be applying collective guilt. Perhaps I am saying that the prejudice against Muggles is understandable to a degree – only against Muggles, mind you, once Muggle-Borns and especially half-bloods come into it, it's nothing but pure doctrine of blood supremacy and it turns even more vile. But understandable doesn't mean fine."
Harry still had no idea what exactly he was supposed to take away from this. "So..." He began, but developing this theme further was prevented when Harry noticed a large black dog approaching their tent. He trailed off, staring at it for a while. "Sirius?" He said hesitantly.
The dog nodded, and then padded over to the tent and nudged it with its head.
"Probably a good idea," Alduin muttered. "People might not be quite used to the fact that he's innocent yet."
As if to prove his point, upon realizing who the dog was, Seamus pretty much bolted, muttering a half-coherent excuse and dragging a protesting Dean away.
Shaking his head, Harry entered the tent, and Sirius and the others followed him. "Alduin's right," the man said after he transformed. "I don't want to have people mob me. But I wanted to say hello."
"Do you have tickets, then?" Harry asked.
Sirius smirked. "Not exactly...by the time I got sorted after Azkaban, it was already too late to buy them. Any chance you could take me in with you as your personal dog?"
"We're sitting in the Minister's box, as particular guests of Lucius Malfoy," Alduin said drily. "Are you sure you want that?"
Sirius face grew red in anger so fast it was honestly impressive.
Before he could say anything, Harry quickly interjected: "Sirius, please – there were reasons for it, I swear. But anyway, Neville and Sophie are sitting elsewhere, so maybe they could take you?"
Neville looked hesitant, but Sophie enthusiastically agreed.
Sirius looked ready to argue, more about the Malfoys than about sitting with Sophie Harry supposed, but just then, Alexandra delicately interjected, reminding them that it was time to go take their seats unless they wanted to go when the biggest crowds did, and Sirius gave her a dirty look before he transformed back and headed out as the first of them.
They met numerous souvenir sellers on the way, and Neville bought himself a set of omniculars. They also got one for Sophie, as a combined early Christmas present, they said. She thanked them, though she was also blushing slightly.
They went through the camp and a stretch of forest, until they reached a huge stadium. At the entrance, they met with the Shacklebolts. When Kingsley saw Sirius, he rolled his eyes but didn't say anything.
"Now," Alduin said to Neville and Sophie, "your places are with the Shacklebolts, so please stick to them. If anything happens, Neville has a two-way mirror to call Harry with, right?" Both boys nodded, and that part of the group headed upstairs.
The Traverses and Harry waited for a moment, until the Malfoys caught up with them, and then they too headed up. Harry caught a glimpse of the Shacklebolts just a row bellow the top box, but soon he was too preoccupied to think about them.
The front row of the box was already occupied, and it was filled with Weasleys. Harry stared a little. He had no idea they would be sitting here. How on Earth did they get the places?
Apart from them, there was the man Harry knew from the papers to be Cornelius Fudge, with a slightly fat, cheerful looking man in Wimbourne Wasps Quidditch robes by his side, and a group of people who were a little aside.
"Ah, Fudge," Mr. Malfoy said, going straight to him. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco? You of course know Alduin Travers."
"How do you do?" Fudge said, bowing to Mrs. Malfoy and then being introduced to Alexandra and Harry.
"Oh, Mr. Potter, it is a great pleasure to finally meet you, such a great pleasure," he declared.
"Er...the pleasure is mine," Harry returned, a little unsure at getting the same kind of attention he sometimes received from random stranger from the Minister of Magic himself.
Fudge then introduced the Bulgarian Minister of Magic in a way that made Alduin and Alexandra exchange a fleeting look.
"And of course," Fudge blundered on, "you know Arthur Weasley, I suppose?"
"Of course," Mr. Malfoy said smoothly.
"Lucius and Alduin have just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur," the Minister explained. "They're here as my guests."
"How – how nice," Mr. Weasley muttered.
"Really," Alduin said, "I feel we should not be given all the credit. The charitative donation was largely our wives' idea."
"Naturally, naturally," Fudge muttered excitedly. "And I suppose the ladies might not know – this is Ludo Bagman," pointing to the man in the Wasps robes, "and Barty Crouch should be here any time now. That's everyone, isn't it?"
The entire group slid into their seats. Alduin and Mr. Malfoy framed their party, and Harry and Draco were in the middle, next to each other. To Alduin's other side, though, there was a – house-elf? Harry stared.
He gave Alduin a questioning look, and his cousin shrugged, clearly having no clue. There was no time to ask anyone, however, because at that moment Mr. Bagman announced the beginning of the match.
Harry had been told there would be mascots, but not what they would be. When a row of extraordinarily beautiful women marched to the pitch – inhumanely beautiful, in fact – he was astonished.
"Veela," Alexandra muttered next to him. "For safety's sake, keep your eyes mostly averted, Harry."
The last thing Harry wanted to do was to keep his eyes averted, but a quick look proved that Alduin and both Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had done the same, so he reluctantly looked away and only glanced at the pitch out of the corner of his eye.
The Veela were dancing, and it was beautiful, irresistibly beautiful. Harry was having more and more trouble not looking at them directly. He didn't really know why he shouldn't, in fact. They were here to look at, were they not?
But just as he was about to turn his head fully, the dance stopped.
He gave a disappointed sigh, and then turned to Alexandra accusingly. "You watched!"
"Yes," she agreed.
"As I've told you," Alduin said, "Alexandra is one of the few exceptions in this."
Harry didn't really know what he was referring to, but before he could ask, the Irish mascots arrived to the pitch, and gave quite a show, ending with raining gold on the head of the people bellow them.
Most of the Weasleys in the front row immediately started to rummage around, collecting. Harry gave a very small sigh. He could see the disdain in the Malfoys' faces plainly, and he could also see Percy's and Ginny's dismay as they watched her siblings scramble. It seemed the frequent visits with Alexandra had had some effect on her, but Harry wasn't sure it didn't just make the situation worse for Ginny. Percy, he supposed, had enough disdain on his own, without needing anyone to educate him in it.
The players came in, and Harry focused his omniculars on Krum. He had seen pictures of him in magazines, of course, but still, it was interesting to see the wonder player with his own eyes. He only tore them away when the Irish came, and then the referee was there and the game could start.
The game was incredibly quick, and incredibly brutal. Harry thought he had seen some good Quidditch in the IQT, but the Irish Chasers truly were as unparalleled as all the magazines had said. The only thing that made Harry tear his eyes away was Krum and Lynch suddenly speeding towards the ground – only to find out it was a feint as Lynch crashed into the ground!
"Wow," he muttered. "I wish I could fly like that."
"Like Lynch?" Asked Draco with a smirk.
"That too, actually – it's not like he's bad, only Krum is..."
"Krum is Krum," Draco agreed.
It was after a Bulgarian foul that the Veela started to dance unexpectedly, and Harry could see, out of the corner of his eye, that the referee was very interested. "Now, we can't have that," Mr. Bagman said in amusement and Harry, looking at him, saw that he was watching the whole scene with a benevolent smile, seemingly entirely unaffected by the Veela. Apparently, he shared the immunity with Alexandra, whatever it was.
The game resumed, and it turned even more brutal, both on the ground, where the mascots were fighting, the Veela now looking like birds of prey and throwing fistfuls of fire, and in the air, where Bulgarian Beaters were without mercy.
And then, just as Krum was hit in the face with a Bludger, Lynch saw the Snitch.
Harry watched, more thrilled than ever before in his life, as Krum with his face full of blood flew after Lynch, using his incredible skill – they had the same broom, it really was nothing but the skill – to catch up with him and overtake him and then – then actually catch the Snitch. When Ireland was a hundred and sixty points in the lead.
It took the crowd a while to realize what happened, so the roar of victory from the Irish side started slowly, but it gradually rose into deafening proportions as Harry couldn't help but join it. It had been an incredible game, and the Irish Chasers deserved all the applause – though Krum, he felt, would deserve quite a lot of it too.
To his delight, he got it. The Bulgarian team came up to their box and they were announced individually, and when Krum's name came up, the entire stadium roared.
The Irish wee given the huge Cup and did an honour lap around the pitch, and then it was time to go.
"That was...quite incredible," Harry muttered.
"It was," Draco agreed. "I've been to the two previous Cups, and neither was this crazy."
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As they headed towards the exits from the Quidditch stadium, Lucius leaned towards Alduin and said quietly: „Keep out of the camp tonight."
"What?" Alduin said, uncomprehending. Where was he supposed to sleep?
"Trust me, you won't want to be there."
Alduin frowned, but he only nodded and as they met up with the Shacklebolts and Harry's other friends – including an excited Sirius still in dog form – he used the cover of all that conversation to consult with Alexandra.
"Narcissa told me she was Apparating home tonight and recommended I do likewise," she confirmed.
"That's all good and well, but what am I to do about Harry and his friends?" Alduin demanded. "It would look extremely strange if I told them we were to go home, after we built the tent and all that."
"Harry, at least, you could tell the truth, and probably Neville too," Alexandra said. "I don't know about Sophie."
Alduin pulled Harry aside after they left the stadium and there was a little more space. "I got a tip," he said, "that something unsavoury was going to he happening in the camp during the night and we had better leave. Now, how do you think we should best explain it to your friends?"
Harry shrugged. "Just tell them."
Alduin hoped Harry knew what he was saying.
They all headed to the Travers tent, even the Shacklebolts, only the Malfoys bidding them goodbye.
The rest sat down in the large living room around a table, and they drank the butterbeer Alexandra pulled out of her picnic basket and discussed the match for a long time. Only when the conversation started to run dry, and in circles, Alduin carefully said: "I...received a warning."
They all listened to what he had to say with frowns on their faces. "Couldn't you have told me sooner?" Kingsley asked then, irritated. "I have to organize the Ministry people to prevent this."
Alduin sighed. "They're giving you the excuse you need, for...after."
"Ah." Kingsley became calmer after that, but after a moment, said: "Still, it could get out of hand. I'm going to get some people together. I trust you to handle it here."
He turned to leave, and Sirius rose from the table, too. "I'm going with you," he said in a tone of disgust. "I don't know what kinds of games little Alduin is playing, but I want no part of them."
Alduin only sighed, and Kingsley rolled his eyes, but the two men left, followed soon enough by the remaining Shacklebolts. Susan and Kiara were Apparating home, but Nathan and Maurice were staying to help if matters got out of hand.
Once they were gone, Alduin explained: "We will all be Apparating home."
Sophie made a face of dismay. "Do we have to?"
"Yes," Alduin said firmly. "I'm responsible for you, and this will soon be an unpleasant place to be. You can continue talking at home."
"We should warn our other friends," Harry said.
"Unless you have a mirror paired with theirs, you don't have much chance," Alduin pointed out.
It was true. When they exited the tent to pack it up, the found the camp in a full-on party confusion. It was useless trying to find anyone in this.
Leaving, on the other hand, was just a matter of minutes. The tent was packed with a wave of the wand, and then Alexadra took away first Neville, and then Sophie just as Alduin checked they left nothing behind and took Harry away.
The Quidditch now driven mostly out of their minds, Harry and his friends discussed what was about to happen for a long time before they went to sleep.
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AN: Alduin's opinions on racism and blood prejudice are not my own, and in fact they will be addressed in the very next chapter. Not that I think wizarding blood prejudice is exactly the same as real world racism, but mostly because of the usual problems with 'fantastic racism': if one side has special powers, it changes the dynamics completely, and all parallels with the real world will always come short.