In the private box, Ron was holding up a pair of Omnioculars, peering out at the stadium field.
These Omnioculars had been purchased with Mrs. Weasley's approval, though, of course, she'd only bought one.
Fortunately, Bill and Charlie both felt that as the eldest brothers, they should act the part, so they didn't fight Ron for it.
As for Percy… well, Percy wasn't interested in the match at all. He believed he shouldn't even be here, but rather in his office at the Ministry of Magic, tackling the issue of cauldron standardization.
Meanwhile, the Weasley twins each had their own pair of Omnioculars and had even gotten one for Ginny.
They'd bought them just earlier, because after making a tidy sum, the Weasley family's unwritten rule was to spend it as soon as it was earned.
Ron fiddled with the Omnioculars for a while before turning them toward the crowd on the opposite side of the stadium.
"Brilliant!" he said, twirling the replay knob on the side. "I can make that old bloke over there pick his nose again… and again… and again…"
"You're awful, Ron," Ginny said, mimicking his posture as she too watched the old man. "Aren't you worried he'll ruin his nose, doing that?"
At that moment, Hermione was eagerly flipping through her velvet-covered, tassel-fringed program.
"There'll be a display of team mascots before the match," she read aloud.
"Oh, that's always worth watching," Mr. Weasley said. "You know, each national team brings some peculiar magical creatures from their homeland for a performance."
"What'll it be?" Hermione looked up, intrigued. "I know Ireland's mascot is the banshee. Professor Lockhart—oh, no, I mean Professor Rosier—mentioned it in class. Are they really bringing banshees? Really, really?"
Her face practically glowed with the excitement of someone ready to see chaos unfold, clearly eager for a glimpse of a banshee.
"No, Hermione," Bill said. "That wouldn't be legal."
Hermione's face fell in disappointment. She glanced at her parents, who were also peering through Omnioculars.
Mr. Granger, in particular, was fascinated, marveling at the wonders of the magical world. He couldn't help but remark that if he'd had Omnioculars like these at the Muggle World Cup—football, that is—he might've gotten a clear view of Baggio's face.
Yes, despite being English, Mr. Granger was an avid Italy supporter when England wasn't playing.
Of course, he didn't go so far as to shout, "Long live Italy, the great Italian left-back!" or anything like that.
Their box wasn't exclusive, and soon enough, more people began trickling in.
Among them were the Malfoys and the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge.
As these were all important figures, Mr. Weasley had to stand and shake hands.
When Cornelius Fudge himself entered, Percy bowed so low that his glasses slipped off and shattered on the floor.
Mortified, he quickly repaired the lenses with his wand and sat back down, frozen in embarrassment.
After greeting Sirius and Mr. Weasley, Fudge warmly clasped Harry's hand, asking after him with enthusiasm before introducing him to the wizard seated nearby.
"Harry Potter, you know," he said loudly to the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, who was dressed in splendid gold-trimmed black velvet robes and clearly didn't understand a word of English. "Harry Potter… oh, come on now, you must know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who… surely you know!"
The Bulgarian wizard suddenly noticed the scar on Harry's forehead and, pointing at it excitedly, began jabbering loudly in his own language.
"Oh…" Fudge's face twitched with an awkward expression. "I'm really no good with foreign languages. That's supposed to be old Barty Crouch's job, but where's he off to now?"
Before he could finish, the box door opened again, and a few more people entered.
Leading them was the Austrian Minister for Magic, Madam Vinda Rosier.
Following her was Veratia, dressed in an elegant women's suit.
She even wore gold-rimmed glasses today, looking more like a corporate queen than a witch.
Upon seeing Madam Rosier, both the Bulgarian Minister and Fudge rose to greet her.
"Once again, welcome to Britain, Madam," Fudge said with utmost courtesy. "It's an honor to have you here."
After exchanging pleasantries, Madam Rosier greeted the students, even teasing the Weasley twins a bit.
Fudge, observing this, raised an eyebrow slightly, mentally elevating the Weasley family's status by a couple of notches.
"I thought you wouldn't show up," Cassandra said, unable to resist a jab as Veratia took her seat.
"I missed you, my dear little apple," Veratia replied.
Then, to Cassandra's astonishment, Veratia leaned down and planted a light kiss on her forehead.
Cassandra froze for a long moment before snapping out of it. Acting as if something filthy had touched her, she grabbed Harry's sleeve and furiously rubbed her forehead against it.
Her forehead turned bright red, but she refused to stop.
By now, Ron had returned to his Omnioculars, scanning the field. Suddenly, he pointed to the other side. "Oi! What's that group over there whispering about? They don't look like good news…"
"Where?" The twins, always eager for a spectacle, immediately turned their Omnioculars in the direction Ron indicated.
"Look," Ron said, pointing. "See them? A bunch of people in black robes, wearing skull-shaped masks…"
"Shut it, Ronald!" Mr. Weasley snapped.
Ron turned to see his father shaking his head. Glancing sideways, he noticed his father's boss, Cornelius Fudge, looking distinctly uncomfortable, glaring at him.
Realizing his mistake, Ron quickly backtracked. "Oh, I saw it wrong—must be some country's mascot, yeah? Maybe clowns?"
Fudge's expression softened at Ron's clumsy save.
Turning to the Bulgarian Minister and Madam Rosier, he explained, "Seems the boy got it wrong, haha… A grand event like this has very strict security measures, after all."
The Bulgarian Minister, clearly not understanding a word, just stared at Fudge with a blank, duck-like expression.
Madam Rosier, however, understood perfectly but said nothing, merely watching Fudge with an amused, leisurely gaze.
When Fudge looked away, she turned to Veratia and said casually, "See that? The British Empire's four-stage strategy for handling unexpected situations."
"Oh yes, the four-stage strategy," Veratia replied with a faint smile. "I think I've seen it in some TV drama, but this is the first time I've seen it in action."
Madam Rosier smiled. "Indeed, my dear—I've seen a lot in my years, especially firsthand."
"Four-stage strategy?" Cassandra, who'd been eavesdropping, whispered in confusion. "What's that?"
"The British Ministry of Magic's standard crisis response strategy," Hermione said suddenly, looking up from her Quidditch guide. "I know this one—"
Since they were seated on the other side of the box and Fudge was distracted by the newly arrived Malfoys, he couldn't hear their conversation.
"Stage one," Hermione began, "we say nothing is happening."
"Stage two, we say something might be happening, but we shouldn't do anything about it."
"Stage three, we say maybe we should act, but there's nothing we can do."
"Stage four, we say maybe we could've done something, but it's too late now."
At Hermione's explanation, Veratia pressed the back of her hand to her lips, stifling a laugh.
Madam Rosier clapped lightly for Hermione. "You're as sharp as ever when it comes to questions I pose," she praised.
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said with a shy smile, then quickly corrected herself. "Oh, sorry, Madam Minister…"
"I'd rather you call me Professor than Minister," Madam Rosier said warmly.
"Alright, Professor," Hermione replied happily.
At that moment, the Weasley twins nudged each other.
"You know," Fred said to George, "if Percy were here, he'd be all, 'Professor? I've told you a hundred times, it's her title!'"
"Right, Title Weatherby," George said with a wink.
The two burst into cheerful laughter, completely unbothered by the presence of so many high-ranking officials in the box.
After all, they had no intention of pursuing a career in the Ministry. Freedom was their style.
"They're utterly shameless, sorry you had to see that," Mr. Weasley said to Fudge, trying to smooth things over.
Fudge waved it off, too focused on schmoozing with the Bulgarian Minister and Madam Rosier.
"I'm not too late, am I?" Draco said, managing a single sentence to Harry before his father grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
Lucius gave Harry an apologetic smile and dragged Draco to sit far away.
Say what you will about Lucius, but his knack for reading the room was unmatched. The message was clear: Your great-aunt is bonding with Harry—what kind of idiot are you to interrupt?
The Malfoys settled near Fudge, engaging in conversation with the Bulgarian Minister and Madam Rosier.
Harry caught snippets of their talk but couldn't quite make out whether the Bulgarian Minister's name was Blanqik or Obalonsk.
Whatever. It didn't matter to him.
"Who do you think'll win?" he asked Veratia, fishing for something to say.
"I bet on Ireland winning, but Viktor Krum will catch the Golden Snitch," Veratia said with a gentle smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
That simple gesture, combined with her poised appearance, made Harry's heart skip a beat.
Seeing his reaction, Veratia smiled, pleased.
Hmph.
Just then, Ludo Bagman burst into the box.
"Everyone ready?" Mr. Bagman's round face gleamed like a giant wheel of cheese. "Minister—can we start?"
"Go ahead, Ludo," Fudge said affably.
Ludo drew his wand, pointed it at his throat, and said, "Sonorus!"
His voice thundered through the packed stadium, echoing overhead and carrying clearly to every corner of the stands.
"Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the 422nd Quidditch World Cup Final!"
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, thousands of flags waving as a chaotic mix of national anthems filled the air. The atmosphere was electric.
The Grangers, seated at the back, clapped enthusiastically, marveling at the spectacle. It was their first time witnessing a voice amplified so clearly without Muggle equipment.
"I don't get it—why are they singing Muggle national anthems?" Harry asked Veratia, turning back curiously.
"Simple," Veratia replied with a bright smile. "A good number of wizards come from the Muggle world, so it's not surprising they feel a sense of belonging to their Muggle nationalities."
Her eyes flickered for a moment.
Hmm… I hope the wizards in the German magical community don't feel too attached to their Muggle nation.
At that moment, the scoreboard opposite them erased its final advertisement (Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans—Every Bite an Adventure!) and now displayed: Bulgaria: 0, Ireland: 0.
"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian National Team's mascot!" Ludo announced.
The right side of the stands, a sea of scarlet, exploded in cheers.
"No idea what they've brought," Mr. Weasley said, leaning forward eagerly.
"Oh!" He suddenly yanked off his glasses, sat back stiffly like a wooden statue, and muttered, "It's Veela!"
"Veela?" Harry stood up, curious, and looked toward the field.
He knew what Veela were, of course, but a hundred Veela gathered together? That was new.
After a glance, he found it rather underwhelming.
"Are they impressive?" Veratia and Cassandra asked in unison, their voices ringing in his ears.
"Not really," Harry said, sitting back down. He slung his left arm over Cassandra's shoulders and his right around Veratia's slender waist.
Both girls were visibly pleased with his response.
"You'll get a reward tonight," Veratia whispered, so softly only Harry could hear.
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