Narcissa was growing tired of her tea. She would not drink wine with Rosier and Rockwood. The two Death Eaters had avoided Azkaban with the Imperius Defense, stating Sirius Black had forced them to take the Dark Mark.
Honestly, the Dark Mark was a protean charm and could not be entered into without the actual free will of the subject. That the Ministry accepted a solution which any OWL level charm student could tell you was impossible was a sign the system needed to be burned to the ground and reseeded.
Wine was served in a clear glass, where any charms would be visible and any rune work would be obvious. Her tea set bore the Black Family crest, and anyone who thought they had a potion or poison that could be used against one who bore the Black Blood in a family tea set would die so horribly that their passing would add further darkness to the Black family shadow. Honestly, she hoped they would try. Conversation had long past tiresome.
Augustus Rockwood smiled, his eyes caught hers and the feather light touch of his Legimency would have been imperceptible before. She had always found him insightful and charming, surprisingly intelligent and well read. How much of that was his simply pulling the knowledge from her own head and supplying her the answer he knew she wanted. If she were Ravenclaw the fact that she had been fooled would humiliate her. If she were Gryffindor she would call them out, She was Slytherin. Now that Noodle had bound himself to her blood, magic, and mind, she had the same shields as their precious Dark Lord. Her mind was a place of sliding cold scales, bright fangs and paralyzing venom.
"The Dark Lord is returning, and the Black family has always sat at his right hand. With your husband gone, the role of his hand in the wizagamot will openly be played by Lord Parkinson, but socially and behind closed doors no one has reach that equals yours." Rockwood said, his Legimency softly pushing visions of her taking the place of Bellatrix and Lucius both in the inner councils.
Narcissa smiled, and Rockwood read that as her surrendering to the visions of the future she wanted.
"When the Dark Lord rises, he will restore the Ancient traditions, raise the oldest families to the power and glory they once knew. Can the Dark Lord count on your support, and that of your heir?" Rockwood said, his passive Legimency like the softest feather touch over the surface of her mind, no longer pushing, but straining over the surface of the sea of her thoughts, trying to read it's currents unnoticed.
Narcissa smiled a tight closed lips smile. She reflected that Slytherins and Goblins shared almost identical social customs. How long had she been so blinded by prejudice that she never understood that whenever she talked to goblins like something between a muggle and a farm animal, she was effectively broadcasting her every inner opinion. The entire time she faced the equivalent of a fellow Slytherin showing less composure than a drunken Gryffindor. Honestly, the more she looked at the Blood Supremacy she was raised in, the less superior their tactics, strategy, and success looked.
She put down her tea cup and folded her hands in her lap. Taking a deep breath, she fluttered her eyelashes before letting her eyes go wide and open, her smile now baring her teeth as she spoke softly and quietly.
"Mr Rockwood, Mr Rosier, in honour of your long and storied history with my former husband, I shall give you the greatest of all possible gifts to take back to your Dark Lord."
Narcissa nodded and felt her cheeks actualy stretch as the smile moved into a full feral grin. Oh dear Merlin, she finally understood the rush Sirius got from his Gryffindorish defiance. Her blood quickened and she felt actual arousal. This was delightful. Her wand was sliding down from its wrist sheath into her hand unnoticed beside her leg, lost in the folds of her gown.
"Your allegiance?" Guessed Rosier who failed to read the room, now as always.
"Your lives." Narcissa said, he wand now pointed at the ground half way between her guests.
"Your Dark Lord attempted to rip out my son's soul, and dessecrate his body with his undead taint. You can tell that jumped up Half Blood with delusions of purity that he isn't even the most powerful Half Blood in Britain, and the other one would kill or die to defend my son.
I rather think if I see you gentlemen again, your skulls will be transfigured into soup bowls to feed my guests. Granted Rosier will be at best a half serving, but not everyone cares for soup."
Three of them rose, the two Death Eaters clearly thought about going for their wands, knowing that Lucius Malfoy had granted Death Eaters immunity to his House Malfoy Wards. As they thought that, the light in the room seemed to recede and their skin began to go cold, and itch as if something began to eat at their skin.
Naracissa smiled. "With the dissolution of my marriage, Lord Sirius welcomed me back into the House, and shared with me our House magics. I think you will find House Black wards handle hostility rather more permanently than most."
Rockwood had been an Unspeakable, a master of magic, and researcher for the Ministry before he became a Death Eater. He knew enough to understand that inside these wards, the Dark Lord or Dumbledore would be required to stand a chance against even a mediocre witch. The Black family witches had never been mediocre.
"We will take our leave." Rockwood said.
"I will have an elf escort you to the door. I am afraid our floo network and apparation wards react rather badly to the Dark Mark." They exchanged rather cold smiles at Narcissa's suggestion.
Rockwood turned to face Narcissa before taking his leave. He bowed to her and said very softly.
"You are as brave as you are beautiful. I shall prefer to remember you this way. The brave tend to have such ugly ends after all."
Cruelty was a taste they all shared, so neither had any doubts that death would be a mercy should either fall to the other. They, of course, differed as to who they thought would fall to whom.
After they left, Naracissa took Draco aside and sat him down.
"Draco, your father's old friends are mobilizing. They are convinced the Dark Lord's return is imminent." Narcissa said softly.
"Harry has been saying the same, and him I actually believe." Draco said and shrugged. He wasn't being brave, he simply took in the information and incorporated that into his plans as another data point. Narcissa felt an odd swelling of pride. She fought to keep her expression cold. She was no Hufflepuff to get huggy just because her offspring made her proud. That cheapened both of them.
"Lord Black has invited all of us to attend the World Cup with him in a private box. Half the world will be there, and the other half will be waiting for word." Narcissa said, no expression on her face or any tone of urgency in her delivery.
"Sort of an obvious place to stage something flashy and terrifying. Given the sort of confusion an attack at something that large scale, it would be pretty easy to squeeze in an assassination or kidnapping if you knew it was coming. Since Father had more than a few Aurors and Ministry drones on the payroll before, you can pretty much assume they will have full access to the site, and possibly some of the security actively aiding." Draco said, a slight smirk on his face.
Narcissa looked at her son critically. "You are still planning on going?"
Draco's smirk intensified. "Honestly, if they didn't attack soon we were seriously contemplating putting an add in the personal section calling for lonely Death Eaters looking for partners in casual public violence."
Narcissa's expression grew pained. "You are spending too much time with your uncle. He is corrupting you."
Draco blushed. "He wasn't serious about the Veela cheerleader introductions. At least, I don't think so."
Narcissa collapsed back into her chair. She felt another Gryffindor headache coming on. It was a good thing Harry was the guiding force of their little coup, because even as their warlord Sirius couldn't take anything totally seriously. She took a look outside on the lawn and noticed one of her husbands beloved peacocks was not moving.
No. It was petrified. Well now. Children really do grow up so fast these days. Magic, it seemed was clearly favouring rather quick development in Harry's little basilisks. The timing could not be better. She would have one of the elves prepare it. Set, her basilisk simply would not admit he could not swallow anything he could bring down. Draco had been the same with his chicken tenders. More than once she had to Accio chicken chunk right out of his throat before he turned blue. Snake or wizard, boys had no impulse control or survival instincts.
What they had was Narcissa, and that was better.
-GAME DAY-Quidditch World Cup
Hermione was looking at Sirius Black's idea of a muggle tent.
"I thought the idea was to be discrete, because this event is being held on muggle lands." Hermione asked irritably.
Sirius grinned. "Spectacular isn't it? James and I went muggle for six months back in 1979. Caught this thing called teebee. Like the wizarding wireless only with pictures. Kind of like a pensive for things that never happened. Brilliant idea. I saw this wonderful show. Muggles made it about one of their Aurors who lived with a kind of House Elf, only also human. They had this camping scene and actually got it right about stuff being bigger on the inside than out. Since Muggles already know about that kind of tent being bigger on the inside, then it can't be that much of a surprise and won't be mistaken for magical."
Harry, Milicent and Neville were staring at it in awe. Remus was rubbing his face painfully. Narcissa looked mildly amused, but didn't really see the problem. The tent looked like a large pink and purple bottle with lots of gold filigree around the glasswork.
Hermione's face was red and she was clearly about to explode. "Sirius, was this show called 'I dream of Jeannie?'"
Sirius looked impressed. "Trust a muggleborn to be up on all the muggle classics. Brilliant show. I made my tent based on her djinni bottle, not the real ones of course. Those bastards have to be sealed right and tight, they get grumpy if they get out and they are a pain to banish, but the muggle idea is swankier than half the brothels I've been in."
Hermione lost it and punched Sirius in the arm. "That isn't a real muggle thing. They made it up for TV, and you only like that house elf because she was blond, had huge boobs and almost no clothing. Muggle tents do not look like giant glass djinni bottles!"
Sirius looked offended. "Yes they do, I saw it on the telly so it has to be true. Besides, mine is way better than James. His tent was a big blue box that said "Police call box" on the outside. I just got out of Azkaban, and I am not camping in a police box. Even if it is bigger on the inside."
Remus looked up. "Yeah, and when we used that one, James always made us call him doctor for some reason. It made the most distressing noises when you portkeyed with it."
Hermione banged her head into Sirius shoulder in frustration. "Your idea of a normal muggle tent is a choice between 'I dream of Jeannie' and Doctor Who?" She asked.
Sirius gave her a thumbs-up. "Got my NEWT in muggle studies. That was Lilly's influence. Come to think of it, she made about the same faces Hermione is now. Witches be like that I guess. Not natural campers."
Milicent turned to Narcissa and stage whispered "How is he still alive, let alone with a reputation as a ladies man if he is that clueless."
Narcissa raised one eyebrow and looked at the Slytherin girl. "Sirius Black really is as bad a decision as he looks. At a certain point in a girl's life, the urge to do something self destructive with a boy who is everything your mother warned you to avoid will occur. Sirius Black is literally the checklist of everything a wise mother warns you against, and better than average at it.
I honestly think James Potter won over Lilly Evans in the end because standing next to Sirius Black for years simply made James seem far more stable, well adjusted, and mature than he really was, if only in comparison."
Inside the tent looked like a 1970's interpretation of an Arab harem done in pink flowing silks. It was somewhat beyond lavish, dipping deeply into sybaritic, hedonistic, decadent with a hint of cute that kept it from being outright offensive. It also had more rooms than some hotels.
Remus stroked the walls and muttered. "I remember these. Lilly and I worked on them forever. Couldn't make it work with pure charms or runes, had to mix them both and with very careful arithmancy to keep the space expansion from interfering with the protection wards. There is even a werewolf cage that floods with psychadelics and mice. That was Sirius idea. It made the change bearable but I was tasting colours and seeing sounds for a week afterwards, when I wasn't off in a corner having a good giggle."
Neville looked shocked. "You gave LSD to a werewolf?"
Sirius looked offended. "Don't be silly. There is a rare mushroom that grows only on dragon dung that is far more potent than any muggle drug. LSD won't even touch a werewolf. Of course the mushroom would kill a normal bloke, but I figured if you could make a troll stoned enough to dance, it could only help Moony when he got all furry and fighty."
Harry patted Sirius on the shoulder. "See Neville. Totally more responsible."
Noodle slithered into the tent and dissappeared into pink cushion covered couches. From somewhere in the mass of silk and softness, a hiss emerged. "$ This is acceptable. Mouse Giver may wake me when silly hunting game for prey you can't eat starts. $"
Hermione, Sirius, Remus and Narcissa stayed in the tent. Neville, Draco, Milicent and Harry went looking for other classmate Quidditch fanatics.
Fred and George Weasley were the first they found, talking to Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Sport. They were looking shifty and gold was changing hands.
Fred began. "A hundred galleons on Ireland to win,"
George continued "But Krum to get the snitch."
Ludo Bagman, current department head but former Wimbleton Wasp beater grinned. "You lads put too much stock in Krum. The beaters of the Irish outclass the Bulgarians as much as their chasers do. No matter how good Krum is, they won't let him near the snitch."
"So" Began George
"It's a bet?" Finished Fred.
The three shook hands and parted. Draco smirked. "Krum will get the snitch. He is the best seeker in a century. He made the national team while still in school. He will win the whole thing for Bulgaria."
Harry was shaking his head. "Draco, Ludo was right. Ask any beater here and they will tell you, Bulgaria doesn't belong on the same pitch as the Irish. Outside of Krum, they are totally outclassed. In the pro leagues the snitch is twice as fast as in school games and gets a big head start. The way the Irish run up the score when they are on a tear, it won't be an hour before who gets the snitch won't matter."
Milicent looked between the two of them and shook her head. She knew how it worked in the professional leagues, but World Cup finals were as far above standard league play as league play was above Hogwarts house cup play. She would wait and see.
Draco picked up a Bulgarian hat, so all the Weasley's had to put on Irish hats. Harry took an Irish pin, but Neville took a Bulgarian, as he had a Krum poster in his room at home. Milicent refused to pick a side, preferring to let the teams impress her before she decided who to cheer for.
There were better than a hundred thousand witches and wizards from all over the world present, which was a number that boggled all of their minds. The stadium itself looked like a cross between the Roman Colosseum and the Weasley's infamous Burrow. It rose like a huge cup whose edges soared high like muggle sky scrapers. By any rational standard, it should not be possible to build that high with that little support.
Milicent looked at the structure and felt the power of the wards built into it, just to keep it upright. There was enough power invested in this structure to rebuild a muggle city after a major quake or flood and it was poured into a building that would be up for less than one week. She shook her head. This level of conspicuous consumption when the budgets for Aurors and Healers got cut every budget for "austerity" made her almost cross over to Hermione's socialism. Not all the way. She still favoured rule of oligarchs, the common rabble would vote trolls into office if they promised lower taxes, but clearly a wiser crop of oligarchs was needed.
The magic of the place made all of them grin like idiots. A hundred thousand cheering fans gave an energy to the place that would have Dementors and Boggarts skittering for the far horizon. Magic reacted to the excitement and joy and the land sang with it. They were getting drunk of the magic as any of the fans were getting from the Irish Whiskey and Bulgarian Rakia being free poured into any container that looked even partially empty.
When the time came to head up to their boxes, they ran into Ludo Bagman looking quite nervous.
"I say, Sirius old chap, you speak Bulgarian don't you?" Ludo asked urgently.
Sirius laughed. "You know I do. Spent six months in that Veela enclave recovering from stopping that Death Eater attack on them. One month recovering from the curse, and five months recovering from the thank you. By the end I was quite a cunning linguist." Sirius said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Hermione made gagging noises, Harry and Draco grinned. Neville blushed. Narcissa administered a slap to the back of his head. Milicent and Remus just rolled their eyes.
Ludo clasped both Sirius hands in his. "Thing is Sirius old bean, Barty was supposed to be playing translator. The old goat knows every language under the sun, so I never really planned on a backup, but the silly sod has wandered off. Just his House Elf and an empty seat saved for him. I have the Bulgarian Minister for Magic as my guest. I need him happy, as we still have to work together on the whole Tri-wizard thing and really need a translator."
Sirius grinned. Barty Crouch Sr had been the one to shuffle him off to Azkaban without a trial. Any chance to make him look bad before the world while doing a good deed was too good to pass up.
"Ludo my friend, never let it be said that Sirius Black failed to step up for England. Harry and I will come join you in the Minister's box. If old Barty ever bothers to show up we can just head back to ours. If he doesn't we will keep your Minister all happy and chatty during the game." Sirius said, not missing the chance to get Harry a meeting with a powerful international official. In the times ahead, he would need name recognition and respect from figures all around magical Europe if he was going to be listened to.
Narcissa smiled, happy to see Sirius actually doing his job as a proper Lord Black, building connections and favours with those who could be of use in the days ahead. She smiled and patted Sirius elbow as she sheparded the rest of the kids and Remus off to the Black Box.
When the game started, Cornelius Fudge as Minister of Magic gave a short enough speech not to draw boos, and cast a powerful fireworks charm to signal the start. The Irish charged onto the pitch almost before the flare faded. They trailed a single colour each behind their brooms, but wove amongst themselves to create a twisting rainbow that circled the stadium. Harry was shocked to find that his Omnioculars were no help in tracking them, as they moved too fast to both track them, and keep them in the picture at any magnification. He prided himself on being a good flyer, but the Irish were moving so fast and so close to each other it made him flinch just watching.
The Irish mascots came out. Leprechauns came and danced in the air, their fairy gold falling into the stands as they danced their mad jigs and reels upon the rainbows the Irish flyers wove. Harry knew the leprechauns were an old fairy race left behind when the Tuatha De Dannan, the Sidhe, the true elves turned sideways from the world and left it to humans when humanities cold iron threatened to wipe them out. Taking one of the falling golden coins, he tested it against the iron of his dagger sheath and it dissolved into dust.
Fairy gold, like the magic of the lesser fairies failed at the touch of iron. The true elf magic didn't but iron could make wounds on them that healed as slowly as cursed wounds on a wizard. The elder fae had not fled before human magic, but human metal. A fact that was not dwelled upon in Magical History or Muggle Studies. That might undermine the somewhat wizard supremacist view of magical history.
Sirius had joked that wizards named the lesser servants of the Sidhe "House Elves" to mock and degrade the magical race that had vied with humanity for power all through the stone, copper, and bronze ages, only to flee before the coming of iron. Oddly, the elves turning sideways from the world and leaving mirrored the wizards fleeing at the Statue of Secrecy, as if the unity of humanity could not last more than a few centuries past the passing of the magical rival race. The races the Elves left behind were not particularly well treated by wizards, including the goblins.
The Bulgarians burst onto the pitch, they flew in a static formation, with only one figure weaving through them in defiance of their static formation. Harry for the first time appreciated Draco's impression of Krum, for it could be no other. He treated the rest of his team like static goal posts, he moved past them so swiftly they may as well have been standing still. Harry felt his palm itch, the challenge to see if Krum could be caught by a bludger suddenly made his blood boil.
Boiling blood was about to be a common problem, as the Bulgarian mascots came out. The Veela cheerleaders were amazing acrobats, making human cheerleaders look like draft oxen, and their beauty was a little too perfect to be truly human. Harry could feel the power of their allure as the Veela consciously put their power behind the natural charm. It slid across the coils and scales of Harry's mind like most charms did, the parselmagic woven into his occulmency by Noodle's training made him barely perceive the pressure of the charm.
The same could not be said for most of the wizards in the crowd. The charge for the railing was embarrassing for many. Harry noticed the Bulgarian minister giving Harry a surprised look as the young boy resisted the charm of the Veela as if it was nothing. Sirius shot Harry a wink, and the Bulgarian minister and Sirius launched into a discussion of Veela each had known that Harry was pretty sure he was better off not understanding, at least from the recognizable hand gestures each made at various points.
When the game started, the magic of the stadium began to impress Harry in a way Hogwarts could not. The stadium had magic worked into it so that every seat had a view that was magically enhanced to be nearly the equivalent to being goal post level mid field. It was one of those quiet marvels of magic that made the game happen so close you felt you could reach out and touch it.
Hermione was lost. Quidditch was a game for jocks, a waste of wizarding potential, a trivializing of magic and the intelligence that it demanded. This had been her truth all through school since discovering the game and watching otherwise intelligent witches and wizards forsake the wand for the club and chase little murder balls through the sky.
Intellectual honesty is a keystone of her existence, so as much as it pained her, she had to admit, she had been wrong.
Luna had been happily providing the play by play, in a very Luna way, but Luna did not describe the play that was happening. Luna described what was going to happen next.
"The big Bulgarian has the quaffle, but the blonde Irishman is about to fake diving for it to make him speed up. Poor boy doesn't notice the Irish seeker diving past the Bulgarian beater!" Luna cheered.
"But why?" Demanded Hermione, only to see it play out before her. The Irish seeker drew a bludger attack that the seeker sloth rolled out from under, passing beneath his broom as the bludger shot neatly onto the Irish beater's bat. The bludger came exactly opposite the angle the Bulgarian chaser was looking to avoid the Irish seeker he had sped up to dodge. In a burst of speed, looking over his left shoulder he missed the bludger only his burst of speed put him in the path of. It struck his right side and the bludger hit blasted the quaffle right into the hands of the second Irish chaser who drove in a straight sprint for the Bulgarian goal, the other two Bulgarian chasers converging to squeeze him out, only to find he dropped the bludger mid air to the original Irish chaser who had been accelerating this whole time from farther back and caught the quaffle at a speed neither the two chasers nor the Keeper who had already committed to the right low goal could correct as the chaser released the quaffle like a comet through the center top goal.
Luna smiled. "All warfare is based on deception."
Hermione blinked. "That is Sun Tzu. How did you read that? It's muggle!"
Luna blinked back. "I'm Ravenclaw. We read everything. Besides, Sun Tzu had and used wizards when he went to war. Magic is shaped by runes, arithmancy, incantation, and seal. It is all about patterns. Nature is about patterns, war is about patterns. Words are patterns we use to make sense of all the other patterns around us. Quidditch is about making patterns."
Hermione blushed, unused to being taken to school even by her professors. Luna did not know or care that she had just proved casually to Hermione that she saw and understood things the oft touted brightest witch in her generation had missed. Luna was the truth of Ravenclaw, not the imitation. Her eyes were wide with wonder, her mind lost in the pure joy of knowledge and its sharing. Ego was a thing she didn't really understand, it was dull and smooth, it lacked sharp edges and sparkle the way new patterns did, so she didn't use it much.
"Sparkly!" Luna cheered and happily described how the Irish chasers made patterns the Bulgarian chasers and beaters tried to break up, but missed the pattern the Irish were NEEDING the Bulgarians to make. It didn't matter how fast the Bulgarians were, or how strong. This was a dance, this was a war, and the Irish were leading because they had called the tune and only they could hear the music. War was based on deception, and only the Irish and one Ravenclaw girl, saw the truth.
The Bulgarians fell behind with the steady beat of a metronome. Hermione's brain was working overtime as she tuned out the chaos of the individual actions and let her eyes unfocus. Unfocus like Luna was always unfocused. Unfocused from the detail to take in the shape, to see the pattern, to see not what they were doing, but what they were making.
"Bugger." Swore Hermione as she saw it. The Irish Seeker pulled a Wronsky feint, diving like a falcon for the ground as if after a snitch. Victor Krum called out to his team to ignore it, the frustration on his young face like the rage of a dragon, but his team, all older and more experienced, ignored him. The Bulgarian chaser swerved to "accidentally" cross the Irish seeker's path to force him to veer off the snitch he presumed the seeker was near to catching.
In veering away, he missed the pass from his wingmate who was being pressed for the quaffle by another Irish seeker. The quaffle was caught by an Irish seeker who dove between two bludgers blasted by the Irish that caused the remaining Bulgarian beater to pull up rather than get smashed.
The Irish beaters had crossed bludgers in front of the Bulgarian chaser, so the bludgers each ended up on the bat of the other Irish beater, who directed them at the Bulgarian keeper. The Bulgarian beaters dove for the bludgers, and one of them made it. The Keeper had to wait to commit to the quaffle until he knew which of the bludgers would be blocked. Moving late, he showed all the brilliance you could expect from a Keeper in the World cup and actually got two fingers on the quaffle. He caused it to wobble and hit the ring, but still pass through.
Hermione looked over at the Gryffindor idiots, at Neville, the simple quiet boy, and at Milicent the amazonian Slytherin. The poor ignorant witch and wizards who were wasting their time using bats rather than wands in a stupid game, and ignoring the miracle of magic. They all had the hungry gaze of predators watching the hunt. They breathed as one, their eyes tracking, flicking ahead to where the next piece of the pattern would be, no must be. They didn't "Know" like Luna, but they felt it. They had given themselves so fully to it with muscle and training, with instinct and battle that they too could sense where each ball and flyer must be.
"All warfare is based on deception." Hermione said slowly.
"And Quidditch is war!" Cheered Luna, waving her Irish flag as the Irish Keeper moved casually to block the goal as Hermione, Luna, and the Irish team all knew and trusted that the diving Irish chaser who was moving too fast to manoever to catch the Bulgarian chaser with the quaffle could only be dodged by moving low left, and with his right hand the chaser would have to cast up and right in passing to hit the remaining ring. The keeper moved just fast enough to have his entire body converge with the shot, his eyes ignoring the quaffle itself to track his own chasers who he hit with a pass before the Bulgarians knew they missed the shot.
Luna spread her arms. "Can you feel it. Magic loves this game. Chaos and patterns, creation and destruction, flowers of blood and sweat dancing in the air. War without killing. Practice for the other war, the one that comes tonight."
Hermione shuddered as she felt Luna offer casually a prophesy, not that she saw it as a prophesy. The Ravenclaw girl just opened her eyes wider than anyone else. Her mind never dismissed a pattern as impossible. She embraced the Unreal as well as the Real and thus saw patterns no one else could. Hermione was muggle born, and kicked herself again. Unreal in the muggle world meant false. In magic the real and unreal were woven together to make the universe and at the fundamental level, witches and wizards used the unreal to reshape reality. Just because what Luna talked about frequently wasn't real didn't mean it wasn't right.
Hermione hated being the last to understand. In frustration she looked up at the sky to see Victor Krum snarl and tear across the field. His face was rage and pride and power. He could not save his team, he could not win his war, but he could end it. The Irish Seeker dove after him, older, wiser, far more experienced and in every way that counted better. Every way but one. Victor Krum was magic on a broom.
Hermione felt her heart soar and sing. One man, one boy, put his will against the whole world. A hundred thousand screaming witches and wizards willed an Irish victory, the whole world bent to their will to make this pattern that they wove a reality. Victor Krum could not take the thread from their hands and weave it otherwise. He was one boy on a broom. He could not weave anything.
He was a knife, a terrible swift blade, and he could end things.
The snitch was ahead of him, between him and the Irish Seeker, about to cut ninety degrees away from Krum and towards the Irish Seeker.
Krum turned hard and kicked off his broom. The Irish seeker was moving too fast to process what he saw. Victor Krum turned directly in front of him. Instinct made him brake, as Krum's broom past beneath him and his body leaped over top of him.
Krum knew his broom would fly straight and starting to fall without power for several seconds before the safety charms triggered to lower it to the ground. He also knew that his tightly corded and muscular body would fall faster. He knew where his broom would be, so he kept his eyes only on the snitch. It tried to dodge again, this time up, but Victor's hand flashed faster than any saber and cut it from the air with a practiced snatch.
This left him off center for his broom, as the lunge for the snitch caused him to pass beside rather than fall onto his broom. Victor did not care, catching it with his left as he passed he leaned forward into a dive, trusting his heavier weight to make his body lead the dive. Once falling like a star, he rolled onto his broom and pulled up, thrusting his fist defiantly into the air, golden snitch waving its wings helplessly in defeat.
Ireland had won, 170-160 having held the Bulgarians to a paltry one goal, but Victor had stopped the match at defeat, and before humiliation.
Hermione joined Luna and Draco in jumping to her feet and screaming "KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!"
She had seen the Irish make magic in the sky, weaving together a tapestry of will, grace, and power she could only barely grasp, and could never be part of. She had seen them make a magic no one could possibly oppose, and one man, one boy, had dared to put his will and hand against it. Bulgaria had lost, they had never stood a chance, but Victor Krum put his will against the world and made it stop.
That was magic.
Hermione turned to Luna and hugged her. "That was beautiful!"
Luna hugged her back. "Hold onto this feeling. Tonight will be ugly. You cannot weave this much light and cast no shadow."
- In the Ministry of Magic box
Sirius and the Bulgarian minister were chatting, laughing, shouting and cursing as the game wore on, the Bulgarian minister kept passing a flask back and forth between them that held something that made Harry's eyes water. First Harry thought that Noodle didn't like the smell of whatever Rakia was, because he slithered off Harry's shoulder and moved between them and the House Elf sitting by the empty seat saved for Barty Crouch Sr of the Department of Internation Cooperation.
Noodle rose to his fighting height and began to sway back and forth.
The House Elf eyed the snake warily, but when their eyes met, the elf shuddered and went still. For a few seconds Noodle was in the House Elf's mind then something unseen but present passed between them and blocked Noodle's eyes.
The House Elf cast its eyes to the ground and peeked back at Noodle fearfully.
"$ What are you looking at Noodle $" Harry hissed. "$ The game is this way! $" Harry said, pointing at the finest Quidditch match Harry had ever seen.
"$ The chase with prey you cannot eat is of no interest. I prefer prey I can eat. $" Noodle said.
Harry caught the tone, his wand snapping into his hand from its wrist sheath and his senses coming alive. "$ What do you see? $" Harry asked.
"$ There is nothing to see. $" Replied Noodle truthfully, if unhelpfully. Just then the crowd cheered again.
"Oh bugger, the Irish scored again. The game's out of reach now. Even the snitch won't save them!" Harry swore, turning his eyes back to the game.
Ludo Bagman began to swear like the beater he was, taking comfort in the fact the Bulgarian minister couldn't hear him. Krum had caught the snitch in time to save every game this tournament. Ludo had bet a thousand galleons the Bulgarians would win, he got six to one odds, enough gold to get him out of debt. Rumours that Augustus Rockwood had been a Death Eater were most likely false, but the bugger was not one to cross. Now that the Bulgarians were going to lose Bagman owed Rockwood a debt he could not hope to pay.
His distraction on his betting woes and the undoubted mixed feelings when Krum caught the snitch all contributed to his missing the feeling of an invisible hand sliding his wand from its waist sheath. Only one House Elf and one Rock Viper saw it, and only the House Elf looked terrified.
Noodle watched the saggy loser of a wizard have his wand stolen by the one who smelled like Barty Crouch, and yet not like Barty Crouch who hid under the invisibility cloak by the House Elf. Why a wizard would want a wand that didn't' fit them he did not know. Noodle did not use a wand for magic, not that he could do much beyond mind magic, invisibility and warming charms, but what else did he need.
If the almost Crouch had tried to steal Harry's wand or even moved closer while invisible, Noodle would have killed him of course. Harry and any number of others would probably give him the "killing people is wrong" speech again, but Mouse Giver understood. Some people smelled wrong. Traitors, murderers. If they came around his Speaker or Mouse Giver, Noodle would just kill them first, and let the human Aurors get the petty details about what terrible thing the wise and knowing reptile had stopped.
It was, after all, the only use Noodle had ever found for Aurors.