𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽 | 𝒟.𝑀.

70 | ﴾ World Cup ﴿

Deep within the megastructure of the World Cup stadium, a collection of classic Quidditch robes in differentiating colours were clustered in a large tunnel. Quite notably drafted Quidditch players merged against their opponents with riling antagonism, yet oddly equivalent respect for one another. They stood in partial discord, enticing their oppositional teams in light hearted rivalry as the fans above lost their minds at the notion of their impending appearances.

The stadium was immense in scale, and tended to bring out people's megalophobia once inside of it's inner workings. An endless sea of wooden scaffolding represented the bones of the oval amphitheater behind the face of thousands of seats, forcing fans to weave through what looked like an oversized popsicle stick project to get anywhere within.

In the champions tunnel some individuals as young as nineteen years old were shaking in their boots. The temperature was frigid due to the October breeze that was normally not the standard for the World Cup games. An icy air whipped aggressively in a swirling motion, drawing heat straight from competing bodies in a concentrated manner.

I was escorted through freezing catwalks by a guard and an event employee, staring around myself and shivering in my thin peacoat with a silvery Malfoy Crest glittering on the left shoulder. I caught a parallel glimpse of the Quidditch teams, clustered together in the long channel that led out to the launch area. Several of the men turned to hoot at me, most of which were from Durmstrang in long red robes, and I flickered my gaze in the opposite direction instinctually.

"Enough!" The employee barked at the hyper males while she encouraged me through a wooden door that opened up into an astonishingly posh changeroom, snapping her fingers ahead of herself with impatience for all of the performers including myself. A guard hovered at the doorway as she shut it behind us.

I scanned around myself with my eyes practically gyroscopically rotating in my head. The small space was littered with stage lights, pricey makeup, hundreds of dresses, backup Quidditch uniforms for each team, brooms, fireworks... Thankfully it was heated, and I found myself relaxing at the notion that I would at least be getting nude in a decent environment with carpets and wall tapestries.

The employee walked over to a dress stand and ran her fingers down a bright white and golden ballet dress, provided by none other than Madame LaGuzzini. It was shimmering like a shooting star, with what was undoubtedly actual gold filaments intertwined into the bust and skirt in feathered patterns. Hundreds of feathers were cleverly fanning away from the waist line to mimic a birdlike imagination.

I raised my eyebrows, pulling my coat tightly to my collar with my black gloves as I rotated around the remarkable magical embroidery and seam work. "It 'as wings?" I inquired, quite blown away by the large golden wings that were romantically wavering from the backside of the bust.

"And a head piece," she pointed carelessly at a solid metal feathered headpiece on the table. "With your experience I'll leave it to you to style your hair as you like. We couldn't get anyone to come in here alone with you to help, you know, with your reputation..." she scanned her eyes up and down me judgmentally before departing and slamming the door.

I spent an undesirable degree of time breaking in the provided ballet shoes for comfortability and practicality, twisting them back and forth to ensure that the slippers were flexible and adept. "With your reputation," I mocked her voice contemptuously as I changed.

I did my makeup with gold highlights and glitter to match, ensuring that my eyelashes were extravagant and black. It was an intimidating maquillage; my eyes were dramatically intensified by the paint.

I twisted my wavy hair in sections up into the golden headpiece, which took me the longest amount of time as I kept changing the design.

After tightening the ballet shoes I began to warm up, absolutely adoring the wings that they had incorporated with respect to the heritage of the dance. With every small leap the aviation artistry tugged me upwards off the ground, and soon I was electrified with Veela magic in my system that had been silenced so frequently since awakening. I had not even danced after the war concluded, and it was much overdue.