Campsite Antics

After nearly half a day of exploring the camp grounds, night had finally fallen. Clouds were clearly visible in the sky, though they were not low enough to interfere with the match. Harry was more than pleased with that; he had been hoping to try his powers on the clouds during the match if he got bored. He doubted he would accomplish anything, but that wasn't the point.

Percy, Charlie, and Bill all arrived around midday. Harry couldn't really say he really liked any of them; the first was far too much of a brown-noser when it came to abiding by the rules (something which Harry had learnt the hard way over the last three years at Hogwarts.

As for the other two, they were both fully fledged adults that depended on nobody (Percy couldn't do a thing without bringing up a man named Mr. Crouch). Harry's previous experience with adults had rarely ended well. Most of them either hated him, never believed what he said, or were trying to kill him. That wasn't to say he hated them, or anything like that; Harry was simply a bit more wary than most children would be.

Harry had been having loads of fun attempting to make small bolts of lightning hit the Earth (he tried to ignore how obviously weak the bolts were). He was beginning to notice a pattern with the power. After using the ability, he felt cut off from it.

There was no pain from using it, he just no longer felt connected to it, as if it took time to regenerate it. He'd have to wait about an hour before he could fully feel the energy fully coursing through him once more. The time between intervals was also shortening slightly, but not by much.

Harry had additionally tried other forms of wandless magic as he had seen in the Gringotts Pamphlet, but had absolutely no progress. He had spent quite a fair amount of time attempting to summon the water jug from the dining table, and had been utterly shocked when the jug started floating. The shock only lasted until Harry realized that Bill had summoned the water jug in order to quench his thirst.

He had even tried wandlessly manipulating other elements, such as fire and water, but to no avail. For now, all he was capable of doing without a wand was creating small bolts of lightning. Harry was more than fine with that, however; it was still progress, and it was certainly something Harry found rather impressive.

Harry had nearly had a heart attack when Hermione had looked up at the sky earlier, having just finished making their tent, and asked "Does overly saturated magic cause some sort of lightning? I mean, electricity is mostly just energy, it would be an excellent way to release overpowered magic. It would probably be the same for other things too, like fire. It would be lovely to learn about it . . ."

Harry had frozen suddenly, his thoughts drifting towards the wizarding school of Hogwarts.

There was lots of lightning at Hogwarts, and the waves of the Great Lake were unnaturally strong. It had only become really noticeable during their previous school year at Hogwarts, but Harry had always assumed that was because of the Dementors.

It had completely passed his notice that Dementors only created mist and cold. Even before the Dementors had arrived, the weather at Hogwarts had always been unnaturally cold. The lightning and thunder had not been their doing. Though to be honest, it was far enough apart that it could definitely have been completely natural.

And besides, the lake had the Giant Squid living in it. Why wouldn't the waves be unnaturally strong?

If Hermione's hypothesis was correct (which Harry decided was likely), then perhaps the weather at Hogwarts was caused by all the ambient magic surrounding the school. Harry had always felt that the school was the most magical place on earth.

After another half hour (which was spent lying around the Weasleys' borrowed tent), it was finally time for the World Cup. Mr. Weasley had managed to procure seats in the Top Box, due to a favour he had done for Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Upon arriving at the Quidditch stadium, which was in the center of the woods, they were led up to their seats by a rather pretty witch.

The climb up to their seats was more than a little uncomfortable. The witch occasionally sent a hungry glance at Harry, which was something he was not at all used to. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it, either. On the one hand, she had not yet seen his scar, and he couldn't exactly say it was a bad feeling that he felt at the moment.

But on the other hand, it was a rather uncomfortable feeling. He had never really had anyone look at him like that. It was something he hadn't expected to happen, not just because he was fourteen. Although Tom was very charming when he was fourteen . . .

Crack.

Shit.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry did not notice the way Ginny had glared at the pretty witch, nor the way Ron looked at him with jealousy. The group marched upwards several dozen staircases before they finally reached the highest floor.

"Center box, directly forward." said the witch. She quickly smiled at Harry before retreating down the stairway. Harry and Ron, who had both frozen from the witch's actions (although for different reasons), were dragged towards their box by Hermione.

"I thought the Top Box would be just one box." said Harry to Mr. Weasley. The redheaded man shook his head. He quickly checked his tickets, before turning to Harry and Hermione, who were the only two people interested in hearing his answer.

"There are roughly a hundred thousand people here, from all over the world. The Top Box, as you two may have guessed, is typically for the utmost elite. But considering the amount of wizards present, the number of the supposed utmost elite witches and wizards is fairly high. So in the center box, we have the ministers of magic, the Heads of the departments involved in setting up the whole thing, and Britain's pureblood elite. The other boxes most likely hold important political figures or pureblood elites."

"I thought only Britain really cared about blood status." said Hermione, frowning, "Why do other countries care about blood?"

"They don't." Percy answered, puffing out his chest. "At least, not really. No matter where you go, the only people who really care about blood status are the Purebloods themselves. It usually makes them feel superior, or some rubbish."

Mr. Weasley nodded, holding the door open for the group to enter. As they walked to their seats, Mr. Weasley made one final comment on the matter.

"The fact remains that Britain is one of the few places that has a large number of purebloods. Most of the other purebloods either married muggle borns or half-bloods, or they died out due to wizarding wars. Britain was very fortunate that not many wizarding heirs were killed during the last war. Most other European countries lost their pureblooded heirs thanks to Grindelwald."

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