Just as Hermione and Astoria were still focused on how Draco had managed to master Occlumency, the cheers around them suddenly died away, replaced by a wave of angry shouting.
The drastic shift in atmosphere instantly drew their attention.
The Veela, who had been performing on the pitch moments earlier, had already finished their dance and vanished from sight—without Hermione or the others even realizing it.
They didn't know that at the very instant the music stopped and the Veela retreated, every wizard in the stands blinked in confusion, only for many of the men's first reaction to be hurling curses toward the field.
Whether they were shouting out of frustration at seeing the Veela leave or out of embarrassment over their own behavior moments ago was anyone's guess.
Either way, it showed just how deeply the Veela's magic had affected them.
One only had to glance at Harry Potter and the other wizards, their faces still dazed with lingering regret, to understand what had happened.
The uproar finally settled when the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, stepping in for Cornelius Fudge, rose to address the crowd.
"Now, everyone, raise your hands high and let's welcome... the mascot of the Irish National Team!!"
This was, after all, the Irish team's home ground. Though the image of the Veela still lingered in the minds of many, the atmosphere began to recover under the director's enthusiastic lead.
Meanwhile, Draco could faintly hear Cornelius Fudge nearby, muttering furious curses. No doubt the Minister of Magic was fuming over how the Veela had made a fool of him in front of everyone.
...
Compared to the Bulgarian mascots, Draco found the Irish leprechauns far less interesting. After all, leprechauns weren't exactly a rare sight.
Still, the shower of gold coins falling from the sky did catch his eye—or rather, the Galleons the leprechauns had conjured.
Noticing Draco examining one of the coins, Hermione leaned in curiously.
"If I hadn't read in the books that these are conjured, I'd think they were real. Is this Transfiguration?"
"No. Transfiguration can't make something disappear into thin air. This is probably a kind of innate leprechaun magic—like the curse within unicorn blood."
In truth, those gold coins the young wizards were now scrambling to collect would vanish into thin air within a few hours. That kind of effect clearly defied the rules of Transfiguration.
Yet as Hermione instinctively leaned closer and Draco made no move to stop her, Lucius, watching from nearby, tightened his grip on his cane, his narrowed eyes glinting coldly.
Narcissa, on the other hand, clasped her hands in front of her chest, looking thoroughly amused—as if watching a play unfold. Seeing this, Lucius's face darkened even further.
Just before Draco could notice his parents' gazes, the stars of the day's match finally appeared.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen... please welcome—the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!"
As each player was announced, figures in crimson robes streaked out from the tunnel below, soaring across the field on their broomsticks to the roar of the crowd.
The introductions continued until the final player...
"Next, as all you Bulgarian fans surely know!"
"It's him! It's him!!"
"The Ace! The Ace!!"
"Woooo!!"
After giving the fans time to scream themselves hoarse, the announcer continued.
"Now, let's hear it for the Bulgarian National Team's top Seeker, their shining star—Viktor... Krum!!"
The figure who emerged was tall, dark, and thin, with sallow skin, a sharp hooked nose, and thick brows—at a glance, he looked rather like a large predatory bird.
At least, that was how most Irish fans described him.
But rather than paying much attention to the "ace" Seeker, Draco found himself watching Astoria instead.
"I've noticed you've been acting strange for a while now. You're not feeling sick, are you?"
"...Really? Maybe it's just the excitement here."
Astoria gave a small shake of her head. Other than feeling a bit warm, she didn't seem unwell. She pressed her hand to her cheek as if checking her temperature, then dismissed the idea.
Draco gave her a doubtful glance. Her slightly dazed smile didn't do much to reassure him.
Something about her had seemed off since that morning—not just since they'd arrived at the stadium...
...
A Quidditch match, on average, lasts about five hours.
So by the time the Irish team's Seeker finally caught the Golden Snitch, night had already fallen without anyone noticing. The award ceremony afterward would probably take a while too.
But none of that mattered to Draco anymore. Long before the match ended, sensing that something was wrong with Astoria, he had already carried her out of the stadium.
"That cheering... did someone catch the Snitch?"
"Are we going to have dinner now?"
"..."
"..."
Draco stopped mid-step and glanced sideways at the girl on his back.
Even sick like this, and she's still thinking about food?
Her body felt feverishly warm, like a small furnace, and Draco tightened his grip before continuing toward the camp.
"Father and the others didn't seem surprised... Is it an illness that needs potions taken regularly just to keep it under control?"
Remembering how his father had come over earlier to check on her and made arrangements, Draco couldn't help feeling a wave of confusion.
He was starting to understand, too, why Snape had called Astoria into his office back at Hogwarts.
After all, Snape was a Potions Master—it was clear her condition was somehow connected to that.
"But... why did she forget to take it?"
As Draco muttered the question and lifted his head, his steps suddenly froze.
In the same instant, his hand closed around his wand.
"Tch. Too distracted by my own thoughts..."
He raised his eyes.
They were in the wrong direction—and from the shadows ahead, several figures in dark robes stepped out, swiftly surrounding him.