章 431: 0430 Grandness

Even Harry, Hermione, and the others, despite their diligence in physical education classes, were out of breath by the time they reached the summit. Their legs burned, and their lungs cried out for air. The height was truly staggering, rivaling that of a modest mountain. Peering down from their vantage point, they saw waves of wizards flooding into the stadium, moving like a colony of migrating ants.

In that moment, even Sirius felt a twinge of gratitude towards Ludo Bagman for securing them such important seats.

Their designated area was a compact box directly opposite the gleaming golden goalposts— this was the best vantage point that even the deepest Gringotts vault couldn't purchase.

Given the size of their group, Mr. Weasley gently escorted the younger members to quickly enter the box and find their seats. The space was already occupied by a group of individuals who were mostly key figures from the Ministry or the wider wizarding world. Mr. Weasley moved through the crowd shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, taking every opportunity to introduce an eager Percy to his extensive network of acquaintances.

Harry trailed behind Sirius; his mind still partly preoccupied with the mysterious woman from before. He was on the verge of entering the box when he suddenly realized– Remus, who was with them throughout their journey had inexplicably vanished.

"Sirius," Harry called out, his voice raised to be heard over the sound of the excited crowd. He tugged on Sirius's sleeve just as he was about to step into the box. "Where's Remus? He was right behind us earlier, but I can't see him anywhere."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you!" Sirius turned to face Harry with complex expression and a hint of shame. "Remus... well, he can't sit with us up here. You see, Harry, at an event of this size, with so many wizards from all corners of the world in attendance, the Ministry is... shall we say, overly cautious. They want to ensure everything runs smoothly, without any... complications."

It took Harry a moment to understand what Sirius meant but when they did, Harry's face contorted with a mixture of shock and indignation, but he didn't know how to defend Remus. And Only now did he realize how difficult it was for his father's other friend to survive in the wizarding world, and he understood why Remus had invested in Fred and George's venture.

With a heavy heart and a mind clouded by conflicting emotions, Harry stepped into the box. His gaze swept over Mr. Weasley, who was still engrossed in his networking efforts, and Harry abandoned any notion of voicing his protests to him.

His eyes then sought out Hermione and Ron; Hermione was conversing with Ginny, while Ron, along with Fred and George, had their attention completely captivated by the enormous magical scoreboard that hovered in the air like a shimmering mirage. Reluctantly, Harry also abandoned the idea of sharing his frustrations about the Ministry's treatment of Remus with his best friends.

As his eyes continued to roam the dimly lit box, Harry's attention was suddenly drawn to a tiny figure huddled in the last row. The small creature's legs were so short that they stuck out comically in front of its chair, reminding Harry of a child's doll perched on adult furniture. It wore a loose-fitting robe that seemed to swallow its tiny frame, and its face was buried deep within its hands. But it was the long, bat-like ears that caught Harry's attention, resembling those of a house-elf he had encountered in the past.

"Dobby?" Harry called out in disbelief.

The house-elf, startled by the sudden address, slowly lowered its hands from its face. As its face came into view, Harry immediately realized his mistake – this was not the eager, bright-eyed Dobby he remembered.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry—" Harry quickly apologized, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. He nodded apologetically towards the unknown house-elf, explaining, "I mistook you for someone else. Um, Dobby – he's another house-elf I know."

To Harry's surprise, the house-elf's large, tennis-ball-sized eyes lit up with recognition. "But I knows Dobby too, sir!" the creature squeaked, its high-pitched voice carrying a note of excitement. The elf hadn't completely lowered its hands, still shielding its eyes as if the light in the box was too harsh for its sensitive vision. "My name is Winky, sir—and you, sir—"

As Winky's gaze traveled upwards, finally settling on Harry's forehead, her eyes – so different from Dobby's in their shape and hue – widened to an almost comical degree.

The lightning bolt scar, Harry's most 'distinguishing' feature, seemed to have the same effect on house-elves as it did on humans.

"You is Harry Potter!" Winky exclaimed, her voice a mixture of awe and reverence.

Harry, having faced this exact scenario countless times throughout the day, managed to maintain his composure and calmly nodded towards her.

"Hello, Winky. It's nice to meet you. You mentioned you know Dobby? Did you work together at some point?"

Winky drew herself up with pride, her chest puffing out slightly despite her little stature.

"Winky serves Master Barty Crouch, sir!" she said, her voice filled with unmistakable reverence for her master. However, her tone shifted as she continued, "And Dobby—begging your pardon, sir—but you set Dobby free, and I'm afraid... well, I'm afraid that hasn't done him much good, sir."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion and concern. "Why not?" he asked, genuinely surprised by this information. "What's wrong with Dobby? Is he alright?"

Winky's large eyes grew sad, and she shook her head slowly. "Freedom's going to Dobby's head, sir," she explained, her voice heavy with what sounded like a mixture of pity and disapproval. "He's getting ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir. No respectable wizarding family will hire a house-elf who wants wages and holidays!"

Harry's mind whirled at this information. His gaze instinctively flicked towards Hermione, who was still chatting with Ginny near the railing. He could already imagine her passionate reaction to such news.

Looking back at Winky, Harry's frown deepened. "Wait a moment," he said slowly, trying to process this new information, "are you saying that house-elves don't typically get paid or have holidays?"

"Of course not, sir!" she squeaked earnestly, as if explaining a basic concept in mathematics. "House-elves belongs entirely to their masters. We must obey our master's orders unconditionally, without question or hesitation. Take Winky, for instance, Harry Potter, sir—"

She paused, creating a small gap between her hands that were still partially covering her face, and glanced nervously towards the edge of the box. A visible shudder ran through her tiny body, and she let out a small gasp before continuing. "I has a terrible fear of heights, sir, but Master sent me to the top box, so here I came, sir—"

Harry's mind latched onto a crucial detail – Barty Crouch. The name stirred a memory; this was Percy's boss, the high-ranking Ministry official. But more importantly, a dimmer recollection surfaced – Barty Crouch was the man responsible for sending Sirius to Azkaban fourteen years ago without a trial.

A spark of indignation flared in Harry's chest.

"If he knew you were afraid of heights, why would he send you up here?"

Winky's eyes widened in alarm at Harry's tone. "Master—Master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter, sir. He's very busy," she explained hastily, tilting her head to indicate the empty seat beside her. "Winky wishes she could go back to Master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she's told. Winky is a good house-elf."

She cast another fearful glance towards the edge of the box, her entire body trembled slightly, before quickly covering her eyes completely once more.

Harry opened his mouth, intending to inquire further about Dobby's current situation and the apparently complex dynamics of house-elf employment, but his words were cut short by a sudden commotion at the entrance to the box. A new group of people had arrived, led by none other than Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself.

Fudge's entrance had an immediate and dramatic effect on the atmosphere within the box, like a stone thrown into a previously calm pond. The people who had been conversing with Mr. Weasley stood up one after another, approaching Fudge with fawning expressions.

With Mr. Weasley's assistance, Percy also managed to navigate through the mass of supporters and bootlickers finally reaching Fudge's side. In his excitement and nervousness, Percy bowed so low and so quickly that he accidentally smashed his horn-rimmed glasses against the floor.

Winky clearly overwhelmed by the presence of such important figures in the wizarding world, seemed to shrink even further into herself. She turned sideways in her chair, practically lying across the armrest of the seat she had diligently saved for Mr. Crouch, not daring to look at them.

"Oh ho ho, Harry, my boy!"

Fudge's jolly voice cut through the excited chatter filling the box. Politicians, it seemed, possessed an ability to spot potential photo opportunities, and Fudge's keen gaze pierced through the crowd to land straight on Harry, who was still standing at the back of the box. With a broad smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, Fudge waved enthusiastically at Harry. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here!"

Caught in the spotlight of the Minister's attention, Harry found himself unable to continue his conversation with Winky. With a mixture of reluctance and resignation, he made his way from the back of the box to the front, where Fudge was waiting for him with his hand outstretched in greeting.

As Harry approached, Fudge's chubby fingers closed around his hand in an overly firm handshake. Without releasing Harry's hand, Fudge turned slightly, using his free arm to gesture towards a wizard who had entered the box alongside him. This new figure was dressed in black velvet robes trimmed with intricate gold embroidery that spoke of both wealth and status.

"Harry," Fudge began, his voice carrying a note of barely concealed pride, "allow me to introduce you to a very distinguished guest. This is the Bulgarian Minister for Magic."

To Harry's surprise and slight discomfort, he discovered that even someone as important as a foreign Minister for Magic was not immune to the fascination his scar seemed to have in the wizarding world.

As soon as Fudge finished his introduction, the Bulgarian Minister's eyes locked onto Harry's forehead, widening with recognition and excitement. Without further ado, the foreign minister began to gesture energetically towards Harry's scar, as a stream of enthusiastic but entirely incomprehensible words poured from his mouth.

Fudge let out a weary sigh, his earlier enthusiasm noticeably diminished. "Well, it seems he's finally understood something—" he muttered to Harry in a soft voice, his exasperation evident. "We've been battling this blasted language barrier all evening. I've been reduced to miming everything like some sort of street performer. This sort of thing is really more Barty's forte. Ah, speaking of which—" Fudge's gaze flicked towards the back of the box, where Winky still trembled in her seat. "I see his house-elf has saved him a seat. How thoughtful. These Bulgarians have been trying to cadge all the best places— ah—"

Fudge's words trailed off abruptly, his attention suddenly diverted. Though he was still facing Harry, his body language shifted subtly, indicating that he had sensed someone approaching from behind. With the practiced ease of a seasoned politician, Fudge seamlessly changed his demeanor, his voice taking on a light, jovial tone as he greeted the newcomer.

"Lucius!" Fudge exclaimed, turning to face the approaching figure. "What a pleasure to see you here!"

Lucius Malfoy, along with Draco and Narcissa, whom Harry had encountered earlier that morning, appeared at the entrance of the box. Sirius's expression changed slightly. He jumped over a row of chairs to stand beside Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder while coldly staring at the Malfoy family.

"Ah, Cornelius—" Malfoy strode into the box, approaching the Minister of Magic. "I don't believe you've had the pleasure of meeting my wife, Narcissa, or our son, Draco."

Fudge plastered a broad smile across his face. His bowler hat bobbed as he nodded enthusiastically greeted Narcissa and Draco, then turning back to Lucius, Fudge's brow furrowed slightly. "You're quite late, Lucius. Did something hold you up?"

"Your perception is as keen as ever, Minister. We did encounter a... slight situation—" Lucius smiled smoothly, though his cold grey eyes held no warmth. His gaze swept the box, lingering for a moment on Sirius and Harry, filling with a contempt so palpable it seemed to lower the temperature in the already chilly box.

"What happened?" Fudge asked with concern.

Lucius's voice dropped to a theatrical whisper, perfectly adjusted to carry to every eager ear in the box.

"It wasn't me, you understand, but Narcissa and Draco. This morning, at the campsite, they had a most alarming encounter with a werewolf." He paused, allowing his words to sink in, savoring the shocked gasps that rippled through the gathered witches and wizards. "Upon learning of this, I was, naturally, deeply concerned about their psychological well-being. I took the liberty of escorting them to St. Mungo's for a thorough mental evaluation."

'Lies!'

The word blazed through Harry's mind like wildfire. He longed to shout it, to expose Lucius Malfoy's deceit to everyone present. But Sirius's grip on his shoulder tightened preventing him from reacting.

Lucius's words indeed shocked Fudge considerably. However, noticing that the Bulgarian Minister of Magic beside him also seemed deeply troubled by Lucius's words, Fudge attempted to regain control of the situation. He let out a laugh that sounded more like a wheezy cough as he said, "Oh, ha ha, what a droll little jest, Lucius. Werewolves are under the strictest control, I assure you and after Bryan executed Fenrir Greyback and his pack of bloodthirsty beasts, I'd like to see any werewolf in Britain dare to cause even the slightest disturbance."

Fudge's gaze darted around the box, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face as he continued, "Speaking of which—Bryan, like yourself, Lucius, made a rather generous donation to St. Mungo's. I had Amelia send him an invitation to join us, but curiously, the several owls we dispatched were unable to locate him." His eyes landed on Sirius, and his tone became noticeably cooler. "Sirius?"

It was clear that Fudge had recognized Sirius earlier but had deliberately ignored him, knowing their mutual dislike for each other. Now, however, the mention of Bryan forced him to address the former prisoner. "Do you happen to know of Bryan's whereabouts? If he's here to watch the match, we really ought to extend an invitation for him to join us. It would be a shame if he were stuck with anything less than a top-tier ticket."

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.

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章 432: 0431 Charm

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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