Dark Pasts { A Harry Potter Story }

Chapter 2 - The Quidditch World Cup

We all hurried into the woods, 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.

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

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. We walked upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to our left and right. We 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. The seats were all empty but for a small House-elf sitting at the front.

"Dobby?" Harry said.

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" the House-Elf squeaked curiously.

"Sorry," Harry told the elf, "I just thought you were someone Iknew."

"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf. "My name is Winky, sir — and you, sir —" Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, I am," Harry said.

"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck.

"How is he?" Harry asked. "How's freedom suiting him?"

"Who's Dobby?" I whispered to Hermione.

"A House-Elf Harry freed," Hermione said and I looked at her in shock.

The two of us then began to look through the velvet-covered, tasselled program.

" 'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,' " I read aloud.

"Oh that's always worth watching," Mr. Weasley said. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put ona bit of a show."

The box filled gradually around us over the next half hour. My dad and Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy kept jumping on his feet to greet them. 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 remained glued to his seat, looking jealously at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge, to my surprise, had greeted like an old friend.

Three others entered the box next, and I recognized Draco Malfoy with his father and mother.

"Ah, Fudge," Mr. Malfoy said as he held out his hand. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr.Oblansk — Obalonsk — Mr. — well, he's the Bulgarian Ministerof Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And Gregory Rosier, you know him of course. And let's see who else — you know Arthur Weasley, I dare say?"

"Good lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

I frowned. Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."