0431 Charm

Harry keenly observed that when Fudge mentioned Professor Watson, Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, appeared unusually tense. It was only after Sirius informed Fudge that Professor Watson had not attended the match that some color returned to his face.

Hermione and Ron, unable to squeeze through the crowd of important wizards, had come as close as they could. They craned their necks anxiously, trying to catch every word of the conversation, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Oh, my—" Fudge's voice cut through the tension, his political instincts kicking in as he realized he had inadvertently drawn a crowd. He showed a gentle smile to the gathered witches and wizards, his tone jovial as he announced, "The match is about to begin. Everyone, please return to your seats."

As the crowd began to disperse, Harry and Sirius found were standing on the steps waiting for those in front to clear a path. Draco brushed past Harry, his grey eyes, so like his father's, glittering with malice as he shot Harry a contemptuous glare. Harry, his blood boiling, returned the look with equal venom.

Narcissa indifferently glided past ignoring her 'disgraced' relatives. But it was Lucius who caught Harry's attention. As he passed Sirius, he hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze sweeping over Sirius's face with an intensity that made Harry's skin crawl. Lucius's eyes were deep pools of unreadable emotion as he murmured, just loud enough for Sirius and Harry to hear,

"Your assessment of the Malfoy family was quite... colorful. I've taken note of it—"

Sirius's brow furrowed, but before he could say anything, Lucius had already walked towards his seat.

"Sirius—" Harry's voice was thick with worry. It was clear that Draco's father must have heard about Sirius's remarks about the Malfoy family earlier this morning. Harry knew all too well the dangers of underestimating Lucius Malfoy. The man was far more powerful and cunning than his son. In their second year, to get back at Mr. Weasley, he had even slipped one of Voldemort's relics into Ginny's bag, using the Chamber of Secrets incident and the attacks on students to nearly drive Dumbledore out of Hogwarts.

"It's nothing, Harry—" Sirius's dismissive snort did little to alleviate Harry's fears. "That sort can't harm me."

When Harry finally managed to rejoin Hermione and Ron, he wasted no time in recounting Lucius's veiled threat. To his surprise, neither of his friends seemed particularly worried by the news.

"You're giving that git too much credit, Harry—" Ron's tone mirrored Sirius's earlier dismissal, tinged with a hint of ridicule. "He's been trying to get at my dad for years, and he's never managed it. If you ask me, Lucius Malfoy's just like his son—all bark and no bite, with not a brain cell between them."

Hermione also added her own reassurances. "He wouldn't dare try anything rash, Harry—" Her brown eyes were serious as she continued, "Neither Professor Dumbledore nor Professor Watson would stand idly by while Lucius Malfoy causes trouble for Sirius."

The mention of those two wizards' names eased Harry's mind considerably. Indeed, even if Lucius Malfoy harbored ill intentions towards Sirius, they would surely wither under the watchful gaze of Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Watson.

Sensing the need for a change of subject, Hermione's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Harry, I couldn't help but notice you chatting with a house-elf earlier. Do you know her?"

"Her name is Winky—" He recounted his conversation with the winky in detail, watching as Hermione's expression shifted from curiosity to outrage at Barty Crouch's irresponsible behavior. Ron, however, seemed unable to muster much empathy for the house-elf's predicament, his attention was instead drawn to the empty seat that should have been occupied by Crouch.

"But Barty Crouch hasn't shown up yet, has he?" Ron pondered as his freckled face scrunched in confusion. "The match is about to kick off, isn't it?"

As if summoned by Ron's words, Ludo Bagman burst into the box, his round face gleaming with excitement and sweat. "Everyone ready?" he roared; his enthusiasm infectious. His eyes, bright with anticipation, swept the box before settling on Fudge. "Minister — ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," Fudge replied, his earlier unease forgotten in the face of the impending spectacle.

Ludo's magically amplified voice thundered through the packed stadium, causing the very air to vibrate with its intensity: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The stadium erupted with applause and cheers. Thousands of flags waved, accompanied by their national anthems. The atmosphere was electric, charged with excitement. Whatever people had been thinking or discussing before, the moment Ludo's voice rang out, only one word occupied their minds: 'Quidditch!'

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian National Team mascots!"

The right side of the stands, a solid block of scarlet-clad supporters, roared its approval.

"Oh, this is always worth watching!" Mr. Weasley's face was blazing with childlike excitement as he leaned forward, explaining to the youngsters, "Each team brings their own mascots. I wonder what they've— Oh my!"

Mr. Weasley's exclamation was accompanied by a sudden movement as he lurched forward, hastily removing his glasses and wiping them furiously on his robes, as if certain his eyes were deceiving him.

"Veela!"

Harry puzzled by Mr. Weasley's reaction asked. "What's Vee--"

But his words died in his throat as a hundred veela glided onto the field, answering his unfinished question in the most spectacular fashion imaginable. Veela, Harry realized with a start, were women — but to call them just women seemed an insult to their otherworldly beauty. They were, without a doubt, the most breathtakingly beautiful creatures Harry had ever laid eyes upon. Their skin seemed to glow with light, shimmering like moonlight on still water. Their hair, a cascade of white-gold, fanned out behind them as if caught in an invisible breeze, each strand seeming to capture and reflect the stadium lights in a hypnotic dance.

As the music began, All thoughts of Quidditch, of the Malfoys, of anything beyond the veela's mesmerizing dance fled from Harry's mind. He was drifting in a sea of contentment, anchored only by the rhythmic movements of these otherworldly beings.

The veela's dance quickened, their movements becoming more intricate and alluring with each passing second. Wild, half-formed thoughts began to swirl through Harry's dazed mind, each more outlandish than the last. An overwhelming desire to do something impressive, something spectacular, gripped him. The idea of leaping from the box into the stadium below suddenly seemed not just appealing, but necessary.

Yet even as he contemplated all this, a small voice in the back of his mind wondered if it was impressive enough, if there wasn't something even more daring, he could attempt to capture the veela's attention.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione's voice seemed to come from a great distance, muffled and distorted as if traveling through water.

The music stopped abruptly. Harry blinked rapidly, disoriented. As his surroundings came back into focus, he realized with a jolt that he was standing with one leg hoisted over the wall of the box, positioned to vault over the edge. Beside him, Ron was frozen mid-action, as if about to perform a spectacular dive.

"Tsk, tsk." The sound of tongue clicking in amused disapproval cut through Harry's embarrassment.

Glancing around, Harry saw that most of the men in the box had similar sheepish expressions, all looking as if they had just emerged from a particularly vivid daydream. Only a handful of adult wizards seemed to have maintained their composure throughout the veela's performance.

Among them was Sirius whose nerves were hardened by encounters with dementors. His lips curved into a knowing smile as he looked at Harry and the Weasley children, his voice was tinged with nostalgia and a hint of teasing, "Ah, youth...."

Harry felt relieved that it was so dark, as his face was burning with embarrassment. Meanwhile, just a few feet away, Mr. Weasley was smiling as he prevented Ron from tearing off his shamrock hat in his enthusiasm. At the same time, Mr. Weasley was carefully extricating his own leg from gap between the railings.

The atmosphere in the stadium shifted palpably as the Irish team's mascots began their grand entrance onto the field. A dazzling shower of golden coins suddenly rained down from above, catching the light and creating a mesmerizing spectacle that pushed the already electric atmosphere to new, dizzying heights. The crowd's roar swelled to a deafening climax.

Ron let out a whoop of delight as he darted around the box with the agility of a Niffler on the scent of treasure. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he gathered up the few coins that had fallen into their seating area. Clutching his handful of unexpected wealth, Ron paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he seemed to wrestle with an internal dilemma. After a moment's hesitation, his face cleared, and with a generous grin, he extended his hand towards Harry, offering him the glittering coins.

"Now we're even, mate!" Ron exclaimed, his voice brimming with a happiness. "And listen, if we win our bet, we'll split the winnings right down the middle, okay, Harry?"

The pre-game shows put on by both teams were spectacular. But now, as the last echoes of the performances faded away, came the moment everyone had been waiting for with bated breath. An expectant silence fell over the crowd. Harry also held his breath, his emerald green eyes shining brightly in the dim light.

Suddenly, the magically amplified voice of Ludo Bagman boomed throughout the stadium, causing Harry's heart to leap into his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen," Bagman's voice rang out, tinged with barely contained excitement, "please give a thunderous welcome to... the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!"

A brief pause allowed the tension to build to an almost unbearable level before Bagman continued, his voice rising with each name he called. "I give you - Dimitrov!" The name was met with a roar from the crowd. "Ivanova!" Another cheer. "Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov!"

With each name, a scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick exploded into the stadium from an entrance far below, moving so fast they like crimson blurs streaking across the night sky. The speed and precision of their entrance left Harry awestruck, as his eyes were struggling to follow their movements.

"And finally," Ludo's voice rang out once more, reaching a fever pitch of excitement, "KRUM!"

The response from the crowd was earth-shattering. The cheers and screams of almost blasted the roof off the stadium. Beside him, Ron was shouting himself hoarse as he witnessed his idol in the flesh. He was so caught up in the moment that he completely failed to notice Hermione's disapproving glance.

"Is all this really necessary?" Hermione complained, her voice barely audible over the noise. "He's just a Quidditch player!"

Sirius, overhearing her complaint, leaned in with a wink. "You don't understand boys, Hermione,"

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