Adrian led them to his family's tent, its location nestled right at the edge of the wood, at the very top of the field. The view from here was spectacular, the perfect vantage point for any Quidditch match.
"This is one of the best spots," Adrian explained, swinging open the flap. "The Quidditch field's just through the trees."
"That's convenient," Berenice commented, her eyes glancing out towards the wooded line.
"Yeah, I know." Adrian grinned, holding the flap open for them to enter.
It felt as though Eleanor had stepped into the drawing room of a charming country house. The air inside was warm, a comforting contrast to the cool evening outside. Rich walnut furniture gleamed in the soft light, and the room was decorated in shades of deep browns and reds, like something out of an old family portrait.
A woman stood by the dining table, her dark blonde hair neatly pulled back into a tight bun, as she arranged plates with precision. Eleanor's eyes lingered on her—there was no mistaking the resemblance. Adrian's mother.
"Mum, this is Berenice Yaxley and Eleanor Seymour, my friends from Hogwarts," Adrian said with a proud grin. "Eleanor, Berenice—this is my mother, Florence Pucey."
The older woman looked up, her piercing green eyes mirroring Adrian's. "Good evening, madam Pucey," Berenice said, taking the lead with an elegant nod. "Thank you for your kind invitation."
"Welcome, Miss Yaxley," Florence's voice was deeper than Eleanor had expected, but still warm and feminine. "Adrian has told me much about you."
"Thank you for the invitation, madam Pucey," Eleanor added, giving a slight bow of her head. "I'm sorry we've arrived empty-handed. Adrian found us at the campsite."
Florence turned her attention back to Berenice, a slight frown crossing her face. "I'll send your mother a Patronus, Miss Yaxley. I don't want Isabeau worrying." With a flick of her wand, a silvery swift appeared, landing lightly on her arm. "Find Isabeau Yaxley, and tell her her daughter and guest will be escorted to the Quidditch box by the Puceys at nine o'clock." She spoke firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. The swift gave a sharp tilt of its head before darting off into the evening sky.
"Thank you, madam Pucey," Berenice said again, her smile bright and polite. Florence merely nodded and smiled in return.
"Not a problem at all. Please, make yourselves comfortable. I'll be in the kitchen, overseeing dinner preparations." With a final dazzling smile, she disappeared through a door at the back of the tent.
Berenice was the first to take her leave of the entryway. She elegantly draped herself over a leather couch, casting a casual glance at Adrian, who was busy pouring elven-made wine into three glasses.
"Who do you think is going to win, Bunny?" Adrian asked, handing the glasses to his guests.
Berenice shot him a look of mock exasperation as Eleanor settled down next to her, crossing her legs with a stiff movement.
"It's difficult to say," Eleanor began, accepting the wine with a smile, "but Ireland certainly dominated Peru in the semifinals. Ryan's save was a thing of beauty."
"Yes, but the Bulgarians have won the last twelve Eastern European Championships," Adrian countered, a teasing smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. "Krum's unbeaten every time he's played."
Berenice raised an eyebrow. "Bulgaria might have one excellent player, but Ireland has got seven," she fired back.
"Touché." Adrian raised his glass in salute.
Eleanor watched the playful back-and-forth between the two, her thoughts far away as a new realisation slowly dawned on her.
"Have you received the Quidditch Captain badge over the summer, Pucey?" Berenice asked, reclining into the cushions with a sly grin.
"No," Adrian replied without hesitation, his gaze narrowing slightly. "I thought Malfoy had it."
Berenice's frown deepened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I don't think so. If Malfoy had gotten it, he'd have been flaunting it in our faces by now."
Adrian shrugged, a nonchalant gesture. "Maybe his mother's finally managed to knock some sense into his thick skull. Might be he's learned a bit of etiquette and stopped acting like a half-baked Gryffindor."
Eleanor listened quietly, absorbing the conversation but not actively participating. Her mind was elsewhere, distracted by the subtle tension in the air. Florence, though courteous, seemed to view her with a thinly veiled distaste. Every now and then, Adrian would throw her an apologetic look, but it only made Eleanor feel worse—like she needed his pity.
Astraea had warned her—people would judge her based on her father's reputation, and Eleanor had prepared herself for that. But to feel the weight of that disdain from someone she considered a friend's mother stung more than she expected.
Eleanor straightened her posture, tossing her hair back with quiet defiance. She wasn't going to let Florence ignore her so easily. She'd hold her head high.
After dessert was served, Eleanor excused herself from the table with a soft murmur. "Please excuse me, I need a bit of fresh air."
Adrian looked at her, a worried frown etched on his face, but Eleanor merely shook her head and mouthed that she was fine.
Outside, the air was crisp and calming. Eleanor stretched her shoulders, her jaw aching from the smile she'd worn all through dinner. She reached into her leather bag for a pack of cigarettes and lit one, leaning back against the tent pole as she observed the gathering crowd.
The sound of excited chatter and laughter filled the air as wizards made their way to the Quidditch stadium, their movements a blur of colour and noise. The atmosphere was one of fervent excitement, but Eleanor felt oddly detached from it all.
As she exhaled a cloud of smoke, her eyes caught two familiar figures in the shadows of the nearby tents. They were speaking in hushed voices, too quietly for Eleanor to make out the words.
Curiosity piqued, she crept closer, her footsteps light and careful.
"Fred, are you sure about the outcome? This is madness, you know."
"Oh, George, think of the money. If we win, we can start the shop without begging investors or heading to Gringotts."
Eleanor froze, her heart skipping a beat. What on earth were they talking about?
"I mean—wait, what is that smell?" George suddenly sniffed the air, turning his head as if something had caught his attention.
Panicked, Eleanor quickly stamped out her cigarette and pressed herself into the long shadows of the tents.
"What is it?"
"I thought—no, never mind. Let's head back in and get ready for the match."
Eleanor waited until the twins had disappeared into their tent before she stepped back into the shadows herself, her heart hammering in her chest. Her mind buzzed with the strange conversation she'd just overheard.
As she turned to head back towards the Pucey's tent, the flap swung open again, and Berenice's voice called out to her.
"Come on, Eleanor!" she said, her excitement palpable. "Let's go!"
Eleanor nodded slowly, her thoughts still lingering on the twins, and followed them towards the path leading into the wood. The air around her hummed with the anticipation of thousands of people heading towards the Quidditch match, but Eleanor felt strangely distant from it all.
As they walked, the excitement started to seep into her, and she felt her lips curl into a grin. Berenice's eager energy was infectious, and for a moment, Eleanor almost forgot the nagging doubts that had lingered at the back of her mind.
After a twenty-minute walk, they found themselves at the edge of a vast stadium that loomed before them like a monstrous cathedral. It was the largest structure Eleanor had ever seen, and its size was enough to take her breath away.
"Mighty impressive, isn't it?" Mr. Pucey said proudly, casting a glance at the massive building. "It seats over a hundred thousand. The Ministry's been working on it all year."
Berenice beamed beside her, but Eleanor could barely take her eyes off the entrance. It was impossible to take in the enormity of the place all at once.
"Tickets, please," said the Ministry witch at the entrance, and they showed their passes. The witch nodded, gesturing them inside.
"You'll need to go straight upstairs, Mr. Pucey. The Golden Box is at the very top," she instructed, with a polite smile. "Enjoy the match."
Adrian, Berenice, and Eleanor climbed the stairs, the buzz of the crowd growing louder with every step. As they reached the top, the massive box they entered was grander than anything Eleanor could have imagined. Purple-and-gilt chairs lined the space, and two house-elves stood ready to serve drinks and snacks to the privileged guests during the match.
Eleanor's eyes darted around the room, but it wasn't long before she caught sight of something—or rather, someone—unexpected. The Weasley twins were seated just a few rows away. And beyond them, to her surprise, she saw Harry Potter and his friends. No wonder Draco Malfoy looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon.
"What are they doing here?" Berenice hissed at Adrian. He merely shrugged.
"Don't know, don't care," Adrian muttered.
They settled into their seats, and Eleanor's attention was drawn once more to the stadium. The field stretched out before her, bathed in a mysterious golden light that seemed to emanate from the very stands. It was as if the magic of the place itself was alive.
On the opposite side of the box, a massive blackboard flashed scores and advertisements as the match drew nearer.
An elf appeared beside them, offering ice-cold pumpkin juice. Eleanor gratefully accepted, taking a long sip as her eyes roamed the field.
She could see George Weasley's silhouette not far away. His back was turned to her, but she could make out the strong line of his shoulders, the tension in his posture. No doubt he was as eager for the match to begin as she was.
Beside her, Adrian and Berenice had already pulled out their Omnioculars, eager for the game to begin. Little Castor flipped through the velvet-covered program.
"A display from the team mascots will precede the match," he read aloud, before glancing up at his father for clarification.
"Each team brings creatures from their native land for the opening display," Mr. Yaxley explained. Before he could finish, Ludo Bagman's loud voice cut through the air, booming across the stands.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!" Bagman's voice echoed. "Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, their collective excitement nearly deafening. Flags waved, and the blackboard flashed with the scores—Bulgaria: 0, Ireland: 0.
"And now, without further ado," Bagman continued, "allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"
The stands on the right erupted into a solid wave of scarlet. Eleanor leaned forward, eager to see what the Bulgarians had brought with them. She caught Adrian's smirk out of the corner of her eye. "Ah, Veela," he muttered under his breath.
Berenice looked less than pleased. "Stop smirking, Pucey," she snapped, though her eyes shone with fury as the Veela began their hypnotic dance.
"Just enjoying the show, Yaxley," Adrian said, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin.
Bagman then announced the Irish National Team mascots. Eleanor's attention wavered slightly, but she kept her focus on her friends as she watched the heavy gold coins rain from the sky. Castor eagerly plucked them out of the air and handed them to his mother with excitement.
After the Irish leprechauns disappeared, Bagman's voice rang out again.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you—Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! And... Krum!"
The crowd roared as the players appeared, and Eleanor felt the air around her thrum with energy.
"Two Galleons on Krum catching the Snitch," Berenice whispered to Adrian. He smiled, clearly enjoying the atmosphere.
"And now, please greet the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Bagman continued, his voice rising. "Presenting Connolly, Ryan, Troy, Mullet, Moran, Quigley, and... Lynch!"
"Who do you think will win?" Eleanor asked, turning to Castor, who had forgotten about his program entirely.
"Ireland, of course!" Castor replied, his enthusiasm infectious.
The referee, Hassan Mostafa, blew his whistle. The players soared into the air, their brooms cutting through the sky like arrows.
"This is real Quidditch," Adrian whispered in awe, his voice full of admiration as the Irish Chasers launched into action. The Quaffle soared between the players so fast that even Bagman had trouble keeping up.
"TROY SCORES!" Bagman yelled, his voice ringing with excitement as the crowd cheered. "Ten to zero to Ireland!"
The match continued with Ireland steadily building their lead. Eleanor's attention began to waver slightly, until she saw George's expression tighten as he clenched his fists. She had never seen him so focused, so intense.
Her thoughts scattered when the Irish Seeker, Aidan Lynch, followed Viktor Krum into a dangerous dive, only to crash to the ground.
"It's a time-out!" Bagman's voice echoed. "As trained mediwizards rush onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"
Eleanor held her breath, waiting for the outcome.
"He'll be fine," Mr. Yaxley reassured Castor. "It was just a feint. He'll be back in no time."
Eleanor grabbed Berenice's Omnioculars, pressing the replay button and following the action in detail. The words "WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT—DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION" flashed on the screen as she watched Krum pull out of the dive just in time. She couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer skill on display.
"Pay attention, Nell," Berenice said, taking back her Omnioculars with a mischievous grin. "You don't want to miss this match."
"I'll do my best," Eleanor replied with a wink. Mostafa's whistle blew again, and the match resumed. The excitement of the game surged around her once again.