Friendship and Fun

Harry looked over the glass railing that prevented them from falling out of the box, gazing around the stadium. Mr. Weasley really hadn't been kidding about the number of people present at the event. Every part of the stadium from the ground up held witches and wizards of all kinds. Floating high about three hundred feet above the ground was a glass screen of some sort.

"It's a Recorder Glass!" whispered Hermione excitedly to him and Ron, "It was invented just a few months ago by Camille Estelle, a French Enchantress. It isn't nearly as good as muggle television, of course; it can only show whatever is being instantly seen by the recording orbs. The orbs can be connected to an infinite amount of mirrors, so people could all see something from other sides of the magical world! It's a waste to only have glasses in the Quidditch Pitch, I mean, we're already here, we can see what's going on. But apparently you need express government permission to use them, and they won't do anything that doesn't make them money. It isn't fair that they took ownership over the creation, they're essentially preventing a potential major step in the magical communi - "

Harry tuned out, looking up at the glass his bushy haired friend was talking about. On the top in fancy font, it read BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0. Harry sat down in the middle row, the twins to his left and Hermione to his right. He casually looked up at the sky, checking the weather.

A few clouds littered the sky. They were sure to provide entertainment if the match went on for too long. Apparently, the last Quidditch Cup had gone on for five days. Harry looked at the clouds, focusing hard on forcing a bolt of lightning out, even though he had created a bolt of lightning just a quarter of an hour ago.

Nothing happened. Harry forced himself not to swear.

This sucks.

....

The time spent before the game passed fairly quickly, with only a few events of note. The most unpleasant of which had definitely been the arrival of the Malfoy family. After listening to Draco's taunts for about half a minute, Harry was struggling to keep himself from showing any sign of a reaction. It was a good thing that he still could not feel his magic flowing through him, as he was very tempted to strike the blonde with an overpowered bolt (or as overpowered as he could make one).

Fortunately, the Malfoys were seated directly in front of them. Harry and the twins took turns poking the back of Draco's head whenever the blonde boy's parents weren't watching. Harry had been cautious at first, before listening to the twins' reasoning. He had to concede that they did indeed have a point; Draco couldn't stop them without attracting attention to himself, which was not a good idea in such a place. Sadly, the young blonde quickly learnt to sit slightly further away from the back of his seat, muttering a few choice words as he did so.

Harry also noticed the foreign Ministers of Magic looking at him after Fudge had whispered something to them. He ignored the jealousy that had returned to Ron's face (although he did discreetly stick his tongue out at Draco when he noticed the young blonde's expression distort in anger). It wasn't Harry's fault that he was famous, as he had told his redheaded friend countless times.

The next (and last) event of interest had been when Harry turned around to the sight of an upset house elf, whose hands covered their face. Harry had quickly said Dobby's name, wondering if the elf in question was the one he had met years ago.

Hermione and Ron's eyes widened in curiosity before they turned around at breakneck speed, as did Draco (although his eyes had widened in horror). As it turned out, the elf was not Dobby. Her name was Winky, and she belonged to Mr. Crouch. She was saving a seat for her master, something which Hermione did not seem to like very much. It was clear to them that she was deathly afraid of heights.

Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys now sat waiting impatiently in their seats. After some time, Minister Fudge, who had been sitting in the very front and center of the box, stood up with Mr. Bagman and walked to the edge of the box. After a brisk nod in Fudge's direction, Bagman cleared his throat, and whispered "Sonorous."

The recording orbs zoomed in on the Top Box, specifically at Bagman. He waved as the crowd roared with excitement. After the crowd had somewhat calmed down, the ex-beater began to address them.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to welcome you to the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch world Cup!" The crowd roared once more, as thousands of flags were raised into the air.

"And now, the Bulgarian Mascots!" roared Bagman, and a sudden silence (as silent as a hundred thousand witches and wizards could get) enveloped the stadium. Harry spun his head up to the recording glass, and froze.

They're the most beautiful women I've ever seen.

For a few seconds, Harry felt a slight pull as he looked at them. He could feel emotions building up in his body, emotions he was not interested in feeling in front of everyone else. The realisation was enough to get Harry to snap out of his daze.

Unfortunately, Harry was now beginning to develop a slight headache. Putting a hand to his forehead, Harry looked around the box and checked everyone's expressions.

If the reactions of everyone else in the top box meant anything, they were going through the same struggle as he had, although without success. Each and every Weasley male's eyes had glazed over (although Mr. Weasley's were slightly less so), and locked onto the Recorder Glass. The same could be said about the other males in the box, although both Malfoys males tried (and failed) not to.

The females in the top box could not have acted more differently than the men. Each and every one of them had a scowl present on their faces, glaring at the beautiful witches who were dancing upon the pitch.

"Veela . . ." Harry heard Mr. Weasley mutter under his breath.

Harry watched the Veela with interest, although it wasn't just because of their looks. He was trying to figure out what that pulling feeling he had felt was. It had broken a while back, as he could now look away if he wanted to. But the others with him clearly couldn't. It was more than likely some sort of magical effect, but he still wanted to know why he wasn't affected.

Or maybe I am affected. I haven't exactly looked away.

With the sole purpose of proving himself wrong, Harry looked away.

After a few minutes of dancing, the Veela bowed to the crowd, before moving to the side. The audience didn't seem to like that. Thousands roared in protest, none wanting the Veela to go. Harry didn't really care at the moment; he was too busy trying to get his headache (which was beginning to come back) to go away.

"Kindly welcome . . . the Irish Mascots!"

What looked like tiny and sparkly green meteors shot around the stadium, before forming an image in the sky. It was a giant dancing Leprechaun, just as each of the individual green dots were. They did a few quick Irish dances (with a few obscene gestures here and there), before flying over the crowd, money raining down upon the audience.

"Excellent!" roared Ron, as he began to greedily pick as many galleons as he could of the floor.

"That won't cure your poorness, Weasel." Draco whispered snidely from in front of them, "It's leprechaun gold, it'll vanish in a few hours. Unlike these, of course. He quickly pulled out a dozen or so real galleons from his pocket, discreetly waving them in front of Ron's face.

"Leave it, Ronald." said Hermione, stopping the redhead from making a fool of himself. Once she was sure he wouldn't do such a thing, she turned to her left, where Harry was still rubbing his forehead, "Are you alright, Harry?" She looked around them, before turning back and whispering, "Is your scar hurting?"

"No, just a headache." He had sent a letter to her and Ron at the start of the summer about his scar hurting, even mentioning the dream of Voldemort and the old man. He had regretted it almost instantly. Both of them had immediately told him to tell Dumbledore, something he had not been interested in doing after being returned to the Dursleys' for the third year in a row.

Thankfully, his headache was swiftly fading away. He raised his head and smiled at his friend, ignoring Ron's shriek of delight as Victor Krum was called. He did, however, join in with the cheers as the game finally began. It was nice to be normal, even if it only was every once in a while.

.....

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