In the afternoon people calmed down a little, became calmer, but quite insignificantly. Near the tents sat at tables, fires, national variations of kebabs those who are older. Ladies enchanted basins and washing accessories so that they washed everything themselves. Kids ran to older guys so that they painted the colors of this or that team on their faces. Someone drank, someone ate, someone even managed to fight, but without magic.
By evening we were decently tired from the endless activity of wizards around, from the constant carnival, which in different parts of the camp was just as different as the representatives of different countries present here. It's good that Cedric thought of making a copy of the camp map, otherwise we would have got decently lost. We didn't find the camps of the Bulgarian and Irish teams, but found out the reason for their absence—they were placed in a special place so that fans would not besiege them. Fans, and ill-wishers—both teams had enough of both.
People no longer ran around, gradually preparing for the start of the match. We also decided to disperse to our tents, change clothes and prepare. The weather in the evening and at night promised to become cool, if not even cold, and the match could drag on—there were precedents in history when the game lasted very long due to the fact that Seekers could not catch the Snitch in any way. Yes, a stupid moment. Introducing a time limit could give games much more spice.
In the tent, when we returned, Mr. Diggory was cheerfully communicating at the table with two of his comrades, as I understand. Funny—all slightly plump, a little bearded, drinking something and laughing loudly.
"And here is my son, Cedric," Mr. Diggory pointed towards our prefect. "Talented, as is a talented young man."
"Yes, Amos," one of his interlocutors nodded. "Heard... And the second?"
"His teammate, Hector Granger."
"Hmm..." the third man thought. "His face seems suspiciously familiar to me."
"Oh, buddy," Mr. Diggory smiled. "You could have seen him on promotional wizarding photos of Sleipnir. My son is a talented young man, and his friends too."
The conversation immediately turned towards brooms, and Cedric and I easily left the society of tipsy wizards.
"Father is proud of you," I couldn't help but notice the obvious before we dispersed to our nooks to change.
"Even too much."
Although I had a warming amulet on me, still, by the way, properly working, I preferred to dress for the weather, maximally modestly and simply, so as not to attract attention at all, but remain a wizard. An adequate wizard. As a result, having reviewed my things chosen by both parents and me personally, with surprise discovered that I could not stand out in this crowd of motley wizards only by dressing like an idiot. Unfortunately, or fortunately, my hand faltered and such shocking behavior turned out to be inaccessible to me. As a result, I ended up in dark blue trousers, a warm soft turtleneck in the color of trousers and with a high collar, in shoes and a robe, but not a banal sack, but initially incomprehensible mixture of a coat, robe, cape, in general, everything with everything.
Getting out of the nook, drew attention to the wizards already gathered to move to the stadium. Here, it would seem, and you won't say from the appearance that they carefully chose clothes, but no, chose, and even quite well combined the concepts of fashion of ordinary people and wizards.
With such a company we joined the general stream of wizards heading to the stadium. The sun had just set, and the sunset sky shimmered with redness, but for the most part—darkened. As we moved through the camp, the number of wizards increased, it became very noisy: here and there cheerful conversations, songs, shouts about who is the champion here, and who is "not very" were heard. All this endless crowd slowly poured into the clearing, behind which the lights of some clearly huge structure were visible. And here's what I can say—the general mood captures you, lifts, like a surfer's wave, carries somewhere forward. The main thing, I believe, is to remain yourself in the crowd.
Just a minute of movement in this endless stream of people, and we came out to a really huge, wide and tall stadium, the walls of which seemed to glow with a soft golden radiance. At the entrance, which was wide, and far from the only one, we were met by a strict and not particularly happy lady in a robe and with some armband on her sleeve. She checked our tickets, praised for excellent seats, and we went further. Now we faced a climb up, through an countless number of flights of stairs, but it is worth giving credit, there were also sloping ramps here, which are much easier to climb—not only I noticed this.
Inside, but not yet at the spectator seats, the stadium looked like a monstrous structure of many vertical, horizontal, transverse beams. Of course, my gaze caught on some moments in the construction, from which a kind dwarf would spit and swear obscenely for a very long time, and possibly even forever, but one word changed everything—"Magic". It is capable of leveling any structural shortcomings, and perhaps, precisely the realization of such a thing helped not to be distracted by the dwarf shard—no one and never would have forced a bearded shorty to climb to the top of such a structure.
We climbed higher and higher, fans were already filling the stadium, everything around was buzzing from many voices mixed into one cacophony of sounds.
"And what kind of seats do we have that we were even praised?" I asked Cedric walking nearby.
"In the Minister's box."
"Wow. Are we birds of that flight?"
"I wouldn't say so. The box was designed for a large number of important visiting guests," Cedric had to speak loudly enough so that his words were audible in the hum of the stadium. "But, for one reason or another, a lot of guests didn't show up."
"I see."
"Nah, that's not all."
We climbed higher and higher. If at the first levels, to get from the stairs to the seats, one had to walk a decent distance deep into the stadium, now these places were becoming closer and closer to us—it seems the structure of the stadium here is in the form of a kind of Colosseum, a bowl.
"Seats for invited guests are free," Cedric continued the thought, smiling. "Get it?"
"Belong, in fact, to the Ministry. Can be sold, given as gratitude for something, or debts returned."
"The latter is especially popular, and only then—the second."
"Debts? To the Ministry?"
"No, Hector. To its employees. Ludo Bagman is an avid gambler. It is not easy to find someone from whom he would not try to borrow at least once or somehow encourage to adventure."
"And isn't he by chance the Head of the Department of Sports and something else," I twisted my hand in the air, covering all this "else".
"Something else?" Cedric smirked, turning to me for a moment when we passed another flight of stairs.
"Yes in our Ministry there are so many different departments that a full set of manuals for a potioneer 'From basics to mastery' will seem like a pathetic article compared to the list of these departments. Will we have a department for monitoring and supervising the thickness of cauldrons?"
"And there is one."
"What, really? I'm just, as they say, finger in the sky."
"Yeah."
"Yeah..."
"So Mr. Bagman sold tickets. Or gave them just like that in payment of debts."
"And often borrows?"
"Often enough. But gives back, sometimes, even if not with money, but with something much more valuable. Much. It's like a win-win lottery—you don't know what you will get, when you will get it, but you will definitely get it, and it will be much more expensive and important than those few Galleons."
"Is that so. Like, an interesting investment?"
"Exactly."
Another flight of stairs, the stream of wizards with whom we walked became noticeably smaller, the crowding disappeared.
"But you know, Cedric..."
"Yes?"
"I don't think that a single ticket went without the knowledge of the Minister for Magic. Imagine yourself in his place—you enter the box, introduce important guests to each other, introduce the right people to them, and here, bam, sits a bunch of some drunks, political opponents, some intolerant to other countries, and so on-so on-so on."
"You say everything correctly. I also wonder why the Minister approved your candidacy. Although, you are becoming quite famous now."
"Yes? I didn't notice."
"Just need to read the relevant periodicals."
Here we have already risen to a decent height. Several times we had to wait for Mr. Diggory with comrades—they are not young, and not athletes. A couple of minutes later we stopped at the entrance to a covered box separated from other places. Several rows of purple-gilded armchairs could accommodate about three dozen visitors with great comfort, and some of them were already here. For example, Mr. Weasley, the twins, Ron, Harry and Hermione. A couple of guests, six people, dressed clearly in something national, pretentious, but it is visible that they put this on themselves not out of the blue. My acquaintances, obviously, had a not very pleasant meeting with the Malfoys, and the Minister, a plump gray-haired man in a very expensive suit, robe and with a bowler hat on his head, joyfully broadcasts something to everyone in general.
"Well, guys," Cedric's father turned to us and patted us on the shoulders. "Go ahead. Your seats are here."
"And you?" Cedric asked immediately.
"Oh, don't worry," Mr. Diggory waved it off. "My friends and I sit nearby, right here."
Mr. Diggory pointed his hand to the seats near the Minister's box.
"But... I thought we would be at the match together."
"We already spent the whole holidays together, son. Fishing alone is worth something! Ha-ha," Cedric's father laughed cheerfully and looked into the box. "And there, whom haven't I seen? And you should already start acquiring familiar adults not only from our house. And I know myself how sometimes it is important to get rid of an annoying dad, right?"
"Well what are you saying?"
However, both were clearly pleased with the situation, which helped me a lot morally, because I did not want to feel like the reason that father and son would not be able to watch the match together.
Cedric and I entered the Minister's box, which did not go unnoticed. The Minister immediately smiled and gestured for us to approach.
"Oh, young people!" He spoke loudly, drawing the attention of others to us, although he addressed these "others". "Allow me to introduce to everyone our most promising Quidditch player, Hector Granger and his no less talented comrade, Cedric Diggory. Mr. Diggory, by the way, shows very, very significant success in Transfiguration, and generally, in sorcery. Talented people are talented in everything, aren't they?"
Then began the standard introduction of important and necessary people in the Minister's opinion, among whom were the Ministers of Bulgaria and France, representatives of a couple of international firms, and so on. A man in a strict suit, coat and with a white scarf, a strict short haircut and a mustache, who arrived just before the start, turned out to be Mr. Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. From various newspaper clippings I can say that he had a hard, difficult life. Mr. Weasley with the guys did not need introduction, as did Mr. Malfoy with his wife and son. Ten minutes went to small talk about the weather, and I glanced at the stadium out of the corner of my eye—the view from here was gorgeous.
The stadium was built really huge. The Quidditch pitch was a third larger than the school one, but the hoops were at the same height of fifteen meters. The height of the stands was clearly higher than a twenty-story house, or maybe even thirty—it is difficult to feel the exact proportions. Along the perimeter of the highest row of stands there were bright floodlights, flooding everything with daylight, but not blinding. Right opposite our box was a huge black scoreboard, along which advertisements ran, and what surprised me—everything was read clearly, information was not lost in the stadium lighting.
Seats here were divided into three sections, but this means nothing—purely for convenience. Our seats were in the second row of the middle section. The Minister sat here, to his right—Mr. Malfoy, then Draco, and then Lady Malfoy—spectacular, as always, and it was difficult not to admire her. To her right was my place, and Cedric turned out to be the closing one in the row. Amusing in all this I consider that in the first row in front of us sat Mr. Weasley with his children and Hermione, but, it seems, they managed to express their "Phi" to the Malfoys and now do not turn in our direction.
"Cedric..."
"Yes?"
We spoke quietly—here, possibly due to charms, the noise of the stadium did not interfere with talking and hearing the interlocutor, although this hum of fans remained clear and loud enough not to feel outside the "sports atmosphere".
"Was my flying and playing skills really enough for my presence here?"
"You underestimate the importance of Quidditch for the entire world community. It is damn popular even in Arab countries, where brooms finally came about a hundred years ago. But the problem is that there are not so many world-class players in countries."
"Yes? But a whole bunch of teams."
"That's true," Cedric nodded, looking at the stadium. "But take, for example, the Irish national team. They have a team of one and a half squads. And even then, reserve players are much inferior to the main squad. There are no more players in the country of the necessary level of skills capable of proving themselves at the world level. Approximately the same story with England, Scotland, and the same Bulgaria."
"Is it so important?"
"Successful players can achieve a lot if they try. And you, believe me, are very promising. Now you will look at the game, and understand everything."
Chuckling, I spoke:
"I am not very interested in Quidditch in this regard."
"Just don't tell the Minister that," Cedric smiled, and I saw out of the corner of my eye how Lady Malfoy turned her head in my direction.
"In any case..."
"Oh, I see, everyone has already gathered!" a plump, tall, but strong man in a robe, with a round reddened face flew into the box, and interrupted all conversations with his appearance. "Minister Fudge! Teams are ready, mascots are ready, pyrotechnics, in general, everything is excellent. Starting?"
"Of course, Mr. Bagman, be so kind," favorably, but with notes of irritation, the Minister nodded.
Bagman immediately stood in front of the fence, looking at the stands and the endless multitude of wizards on them, put his wand to his throat and conjured Sonorus.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Bagman's voice spread through the stadium. "Welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
The audience burst into shouts, applause, various sports paraphernalia like various whistles went into action, flags of national teams fluttered, and the advertisement on the huge scoreboard changed to a zero score Ireland—Bulgaria.
"And now, without long prefaces, allow me to present to you the mascots of the Bulgarian national team!"
"Wonder what will be this time," Cedric leaned forward a little, but almost immediately sharply lowered his head so as not to see what was happening. "Veelas."
"Hm?" and I, on the contrary, decided to look.
And there was something to look at. Many blond girls in the same type of closed light dresses ran out onto the field and began to dance slowly to the music. Their movements and images caused a rather curious magical effect, resembling the singing of sirens or dances and sad songs of gyans. The first lured sailors to eat, and the second grieved about their unenviable fate of monogamous spirits, among whom there are almost no men. In general, the goal and essence of such an impact is quite obvious, and considering the little that I knew about Veelas, among whom there are no men in principle, there are absolutely no doubts about the purpose of this amusing natural magical mechanism.
"Hope," Cedric spoke quietly, continuing to look down so that the field did not fall into the field of vision, "I won't have to drag him away..."
"Do I need to?" I turned my head to Cedric, while settling more comfortably in the chair.
The prefect, as I used to call him, barely restrained himself from looking at me, because if he did this, Veelas would fall into his field of vision, and, apparently, this is undesirable.
"They don't affect you?"
"Oh, no, very much affect," I looked at the Veelas accelerating the dance again.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the interested look of Lady Malfoy, expecting the continuation of my speech. Mr. Malfoy held on well, looked straight, but squeezed his cane until his knuckles turned white, as well as the armrest with the other hand. Other men and boys who did not look away or secure themselves in another way turned into drooling idiots at worst, and at best—reached there, to the field.
"Yeah," looking around, I chuckled, being impressed by the abilities of these creatures and simultaneously racking my brains with the supposed reasons for my conditional stability.
Why conditional?
"I am perfectly aware of what desires prompt these creatures, what literary and not very images. Well and, of course, I am aware of what, how and with whom I want to do because of this impact. In detail..."
"Hector!" blushed Cedric was indignant.
"Ha-ha-ha," I couldn't restrain myself, examining the people around again.
Hermione tried to get through to the stupefied comrades. Mr. Weasley found examining the buttons of his suit extremely entertaining, the twins froze altogether—only their backs of heads were visible to me, and I wondered what their faces were like at that moment. In general, very many, young and old, fell under the influence of Veelas. Draco, sitting to the left of Lady Malfoy, between her and his father, looked no better, his face lost all traces of intellect, consciousness was somewhere in dreams and it's good that drool didn't flow. But at least he didn't rush forward.
"Hmm, interesting," I began to speak, which again caused Lady Malfoy's gaze on me. "Is Draco unaware of safety measures when meeting Veelas, or decided to test his endurance?"
"My son at least doesn't try to jump out of the box," Lady Malfoy said proudly, although a fleeting glance at her son expressed disapproval. "And talking about such a thing is at least indecent."
"Fair," I nodded, watching how Hermione grabbed Ron and Harry by the clothes to hold back from rash impulses, because they could really jump out of the box.
Suddenly the dance of Veelas broke off, the audience began to come to their senses, resented the stop of the spectacle, and someone even tore off Irish paraphernalia from themselves.
"And now," Bagman's magically amplified voice thundered, "Before us are the mascots of the Irish national team!"
Unexpectedly, a huge green comet flew onto the field, and my sharp eye allowed me to easily make out that this comet consists of many tiny bearded little men in green camisoles.
"Leprechauns," joyfully and with obvious relief, Cedric returned to watching the show.
"Yeah," I nodded.
The comet split into two, they flew through the hoops of both teams, and a rainbow appeared over the field. Fans were happy, and I was glad that I was among quite calm spectators in the person of the Malfoys and other important guests. Well, the Weasleys, of course, do not burden themselves much with restraint, and therefore rejoiced sincerely and openly.
The balls merged again over the center of the field and transformed into a giant soaring shamrock, from which a stream of gold coins poured. This generally led many to ecstasy, and I saw with peripheral vision how the whole Malfoy family grimaced. A couple of coins also fell under my feet, and one just into my hand.
"Leprechaun gold," with the look of a connoisseur Cedric nodded smiling, holding one of the coins in his hands. "Will disappear in ten hours, maybe earlier."
This was known to me, but seeing how people collected coins from thirst for easy money... Simultaneously both funny and unpleasant.
"Just a festival of vices," I declared with a smile, and Lady Malfoy looked at me with a silent question in her eyes, and I decided to explain. "Gluttony in the camp, where wizards literally gorged themselves on everything they could reach. Envy at the entrance, when employees envied tickets. Lust—literally recently. Thirst for money, greed—right now. Ready to bet, soon we will see pride, and after the match—despondency, developing into anger."
"Interesting position," Lady Malfoy chuckled, and Draco, who heard the conversation, grimaced even more, immediately receiving a cane on the leg from his father, and parting words "behave decently".
"And here is pride," I smiled, looking through Lady Malfoy at Draco.
"I don't think such a comparison is appropriate."
"Oh, with me, I give you my word of honor, absolutely anyone at Hogwarts will agree."
But our conversations faded into the background when Bagman began to introduce the participants of the Bulgarian national team. They, in red clothes, one by one flew out of the passage on their side of the field, but the greatest attention and ovation of the crowd was torn by Viktor Krum. Even I, not particularly interested in Quidditch, although playing it, know this surname—a talented young Seeker who has not yet graduated from school. His appearance is severe, nose predatory, gaze sharp, himself seems somewhat awkward, but as if born with a broom in his hands—such an impression he creates.
Then the Irish were released onto the field, and the match began.
"Feel the difference?" Cedric watched the game with a smile.
"Yeah. Everything is somewhat faster."
Players, and Bludgers too, flew really faster. They had noticeably more space, they were sharper, speeds higher, and maneuvers more dangerous. An obvious difference was also that unlike the school field, here the game is not limited to a strictly vertical area above it, when at any height you cannot leave the boundaries of the field—here the entire bowl of the stadium is a playing space. No need to talk about how much this increases the area and volume of the playing space, and what freedoms it gives to players.
And there was something to see. A multitude of blonde girls in identical, modest, light dresses ran onto the field and began to dance slowly to the music. Their movements and images evoked a rather curious magical effect, reminiscent of the singing of sirens or the dances and sad songs of the Giane. The former lured sailors to devour them, while the latter mourned their unenviable fate as monogamous spirits among whom there are almost no men. In general, the goal and essence of such an influence are quite obvious, and given the little I knew about Veela, among whom there are no men in principle, there are no doubts at all about the purpose of this amusing natural magical mechanism.
"I hope," Cedric spoke quietly, continuing to look down so that the field did not fall into his field of vision, "I won't have to drag him away..."
"Is it necessary?" I turned my head to Cedric, settling more comfortably in the chair.
The Prefect, as I got used to calling him, barely restrained himself from looking at me, because if he had done so, the Veela would have fallen into his field of vision, and apparently, this was undesirable.
"They don't affect you?"
"Oh, no, they affect me very much," I looked at the Veela again, speeding up the dance.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the interested look of Lady Malfoy, expecting a continuation of my speech. Mr. Malfoy held on well, looked straight ahead, but gripped his cane until his knuckles turned white, as well as the armrest with his other hand. The rest of the men and boys, who did not look away or secure themselves in another way, turned into drooling idiots in the worst case, and in the best—reached out there, to the field.
"Yeah," looking around, I smirked, being impressed by the abilities of these creatures and simultaneously racking my brains over the alleged reasons for my conditional resistance. Why conditional? "I am perfectly aware of what desires these creatures arouse, what literary and not-so-literary images. Well, and of course, I am aware of what, how, and with whom I want to do because of this influence. In detail..."
"Hector!" blushed Cedric was indignant.
"Ha-ha-ha," I couldn't help myself, examining the people around once more.
Hermione tried to reach out to her stupefied comrades. Mr. Weasley found examining the buttons of his suit extremely fascinating, the twins froze altogether—I could only see the backs of their heads, and I wondered what their faces looked like at that moment. In general, very many, young and old, fell under the influence of the Veela. Draco, sitting to the left of Lady Malfoy, between her and his father, looked no better, his face lost all traces of intellect, his consciousness resided somewhere in dreams, and it's good that he wasn't drooling. But at least he wasn't tearing forward.
"Hmm, interesting," I began to speak, which again drew Lady Malfoy's gaze to me. "Is Draco unaware of safety measures when meeting Veela, or did he decide to test his endurance?"
"My son at least isn't trying to jump out of the box," Lady Malfoy said proudly, although a fleeting glance at her son expressed disapproval. "And talking about such things is at least indecent."
"Fair point," I nodded, watching Hermione grab Ron and Harry by their clothes to restrain them from rash impulses, because they could really jump out of the box.
Suddenly the Veela dance broke off, the audience began to come to their senses, indignant at the stop of the spectacle, and some even tore off Irish paraphernalia.
"And now," Bagman's magically amplified voice thundered, "Before us are the mascots of the Irish National Team!"
Unexpectedly, a huge green comet flew onto the field, and my sharp eye allowed me to easily see that this comet consisted of many tiny bearded little men in green camisoles.
"Leprechauns," joyfully and with clear relief, Cedric returned to watching the show.
"Yep," I nodded.
The comet split into two, they flew through the hoops of both teams, and a rainbow appeared over the field. The fans were happy, and I was glad that I ended up among rather calm spectators in the person of the Malfoys and other important guests. Well, the Weasleys, of course, do not burden themselves much with restraint, and therefore rejoiced sincerely and openly.
The balls merged again over the center of the field and transformed into a giant soaring shamrock, from which a stream of gold coins poured. This generally brought many to ecstasy, and I saw with my peripheral vision how the entire Malfoy family grimaced. A couple of coins fell under my feet too, and one right into my hand.
"Leprechaun gold," smiling Cedric nodded with the look of a connoisseur, holding one of the coins in his hands. "Will disappear in ten hours, maybe sooner."
This was known to me, but seeing how people collected coins out of thirst for easy money... Simultaneously amusing and unpleasant.
"A regular festival of vices," I declared with a smile, and Lady Malfoy looked at me with a silent question in her eyes, and I decided to explain. "Gluttony in the camp, where wizards literally gorged themselves on everything they could reach. Envy at the entrance, when employees envied tickets. Lust—just recently. Thirst for money, greed—right now. Willing to bet, soon we will see pride, and after the match—despondency, growing into wrath."
"Interesting position," Lady Malfoy chuckled, and Draco, who heard the conversation, grimaced even more, immediately receiving a cane to the leg from his father, and an instruction to "behave decently."
"And here is pride," I smiled, looking past Lady Malfoy at Draco. "I don't think such a comparison is appropriate." "Oh, absolutely anyone at Hogwarts will agree with me, I give you my word."
But our conversations faded into the background when Bagman began introducing the participants of the Bulgarian national team. They, in red robes, flew out one by one from the passage on their side of the field, but Viktor Krum stole the most attention and applause of the crowd. Even I, not particularly interested in Quidditch, although playing it, know this surname—a talented young Seeker who hasn't finished school yet. His appearance is severe, his nose predatory, his gaze sharp, he himself seems somewhat awkward, but as if born with a broom in his hands—such an impression he creates.
Then the Irish were released onto the field, and the match began.
"Feel the difference?" Cedric watched the game with a smile.
"Yep. Everything is somewhat faster."
The players, and the Bludgers, flew really faster. They had noticeably more space, they were sharper, the speeds higher, and the maneuvers more dangerous. An obvious difference was also that unlike the school field, here the game is not limited to a strictly vertical area above it, when at any height one cannot leave the boundaries of the field—here the entire bowl of the stadium is the playing space. No need to say how much this increases the area and volume of the playing space, and what freedoms it gives the players.
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