ALL NOVEL Chapter 18: The Stadium
The previous night, as a precaution for the coming panic, I summoned the 'perfect' version of Shimmer from Zaun and gave Hermione as well as myself a light dose, just enough to last the next day. After injecting it into our bloodstreams, Hermione seems to experience slight pain due to sudden contracting of muscles, without any other serious side effects.
Nonetheless, at breakfast, the potion proved to be quite potent - Hermione had unconsciously crushed our breads to crumbs, not knowing she had been strengthened last night. Though this should've warranted scrutiny from Mr Weasley, the anticipation for the World Cup was so palpable it drowned out the caution.
As we left the tent to the main area, vibrant decorations, countless vendors and occasional loud shouts of disagreements and cheer can be heard from the surroundings. In particular, me, Ron, Hermione and Ginny who split off from everyone else as the other Weasleys greeted their acquaintances, stumbled upon a cluster of tents submerged in a thick layer of shamrocks.
Before we could get used to the bizarre sight, a familiar voice called out from behind.
"Harry! Ron! Hermione!"
Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor fourth-year, peeked out from one of the tents. His sandy-haired mother and Dean Thomas, another Gryffindor, accompanied him.
"Like the decorations?" Seamus grinned. "The Ministry's not too happy."
"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" Mrs. Finnigan chimed in. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, yes?" She eyed us keenly, and after our affirmative nods, Mrs Finnigan let us go on our way.
"I wonder how the Bulgarians decorate their tents?" Hermione pondered.
"Let's go and have a look," I suggested, pointing to a patch of tents where the Bulgarian flag fluttered in the breeze, adorned with the same poster of a surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture only blinked and scowled, yet elected gazes of pride from the Bulgarian fans.
"Krum," Ron stated quietly.
"What?" Hermione inquired quizzically.
"Krum!" Ron repeated, half-shouting. "It's Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"
"He looks really grumpy," Hermione observed quite succinctly.
"'Really grumpy?'" Ron rolled his eyes. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius; just wait until tonight, you'll see."
Ron then glared at me, not forgetting my 'disrespect' of Krum the day I came to the Burrow. It's quite a pity that there's really no way for a star like Krum to carry if his whole team is two levels beneath Ireland.
The four of us noticed two men engrossed in a heated argument. One, a very old wizard in a flowery nightgown, and the other, a frustrated Ministry wizard holding out pinstriped trousers. Hermione had to rub her eyes twice at the former out of disbelief, perhaps not comprehending this almost horror-level of fashion disaster.
"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that; the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious -", the Ministry wizard pleaded.
"I bought this in a Muggle shop," the old wizard insisted. "Muggles wear them."
"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry employee, brandishing the trousers.
"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks. "
Shaking my head in bemusement, I pulled along two who didn't understand and one who seemed to question her entire life's beliefs. After the pair was out of earshot, Hermione burst out in hysterical laughter, forcing the whole group to awkwardly stand and receive weird glances for a while.
Walking around, we encountered quite a number of familiar faces. Oliver Wood, the former captain of Griffindor's House Quidditch team, now sporting the uniform of Puddlemere United, grabbed me enthusiastically and introduced me to his parents, which was unexpectedly quite wholesome.
Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, greeted us a little farther along the way. Shortly after, we also spotted Cho Chang, the attractive Seeker from the Ravenclaw team that made this body shudder in what I assume is a boyish crush. She waved and smiled at me, who, unlike original Harry, merely returned the gesture politely.
Not wanting Hermione to my eyes resting a few seconds longer on the dark-haired beauty, I hastily pointed to a group of unfamiliar teenagers, asking a question I myself knew already, "Who do you reckon they are? They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"
"S'pose they go to some foreign school," Ron speculated. "Dad told me there are others - never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a penfriend at a school in Brazil, years and years ago, though he never got to meet since we can't afford the trip. His penfriend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. Made his ears shrivel up." Ron recalled, sounding somewhat gleeful.
Ignoring a certain stabbing gaze that most definitely saw through my diversion, we finally returned to the tent. After we came back, Fred and George have already emptied their entire savings in a bet with Ludo Bagman while Percy almost fawned over his boss, Mr Crouch.
Mr. Weasley, noting everyone's present, led us all into the wood along a lantern-lit trail, surrounded by the sounds of a bustling crowd. The excitement was infectious though I couldn't stop the sense of dread. After a brisk twenty-minute walk, we emerged near the gigantic stadium, its colossal size apparent despite only seeing a part of the gold walls.
"Seats a hundred thousand," Mr. Weasley mentioned. "Muggle Repelling Charms kept any curious Muggles at bay, the Ministry had to send out a task force for an entire year."
We headed towards the entrance, already abuzz with witches and wizards.
"Prime seats!" announced the Ministry witch, checking our tickets. We were then directed to the Top Box, and as we ascended the rich purple-carpeted stairs, the sheer scale of the stadium can be seen. A small box awaited us at the highest point, about halfway between the two sides' goal posts.
The smooth velvet field stretched below us, adorned with three hoops at each end and a flashing blackboard at eye level, displaying magical advertisements.
Turning away from the spectacle, I scanned up the empty box. Besides the 'missing' seat, a tiny creature in a makeshift toga caught my attention. It wasn't Dobby but Winky, the house-elf of Mr Crouch and the one taking care of our young Barty here, sitting Disillusioned and Petrified.
Having confirmed his location, I pulled out a prepared wand and placed it next to my hand, while putting my personal one inside my robes. 'Now,' I thought, 'we wait.'