Chosen & Hated (HP) {Book 2 of the Wild & Free Series}

6. Quidditch World Cup

Clutching our purchases, Mr. Weasley in the lead, we all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. We could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around us, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; I couldn't stop grinning. We walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last we emerged on the other side and found ourselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though I could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, I could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr. Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on our faces. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again... bless them," he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. We clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to our left and right. Our party kept climbing, and at last we reached the top of the staircase and found ourselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and I, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, Lucy, Hermione, Harry and Rowan, looked down upon a scene the likes of which I could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from our lofty position.

Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry and me, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like old friends. We had met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand and my hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how we were, and introduced us to the wizards on either side of him.

"Harry and Liana Potter, you know," he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English. "Harry and Liana Potter... oh come on now, you know who they are... the boy and the girl who survived You-Know-Who... you do know who they are —"

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and my scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at them.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Harry and me. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. These Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places... ah, and here's Lucius!"

Harry, Lucy, Ron, Hermione and I turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley were none other than Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco; and a woman I supposed must be Draco's mother.

Harry and I and Draco Malfoy had been enemies ever since our very first journey to Hogwarts. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. His mother was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.