Tightening the rosette in her hair, Amisty adjusted her grip on the Omnioculars and bounced along with the rest of them as they walked along the lantern-lit path.
The sound of the crowd was so cheerful she had trouble not smiling.
There was singing, laughter, shouts, and thousands of pairs of feet stomping through the trees. It took about twenty minutes before they got to the other side of the woods and to the stadium. Amisty felt her jaw drop, a sliver of gold giving a hint of what lied within.
"Seats a hundred thousand. 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," Mr. Weasley smiled, leading them toward the closest entrance.
They checked in their tickets with a Ministry witch, "Prime seats! Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."
Amisty stared down in wonder, the plush velvet stairs a rich purple and soft under her feet as they walked with the crowd that slowly but surely spread out and away from them.
Finally, they reached the top of the staircase that seemed to stretch on forever where a tiny box at the very top and halfway between the goalposts stood. Glancing around, she counted about twenty seats in total, all purple and gold.
They took their seats down in the front row, looking around. She stared down at the field, eyes wide. Everything was glowing with a faint golden sheen, the field smooth and clear, with three shining goal hoops on each end and a massive blackboard with golden writing flicking across it.
She jumped when Harry suddenly straightened and exclaimed, "Dobby?"
They all spun around, curious to see the trouble-making house elf. This houself didn't quite match Harry's description, though.
They had massive shiny brown eyes and bat-like ears.
"Did sir just call me Dobby?" The elf asked in a high pitched tone.
They seemed to be a girl.
"Sorry, I just thought you were someone I knew," Harry apologized, looking faintly disappointed.
"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" She replied squeakily, her face covered with her hands. "My name is Winky, sir -- and you, sir -- You is surely Harry Potter!"
"Yes, I am," Harry nodded, smiling slightly.
"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" Winky's eyes went very wide as her hands lowered.
"How is he? How's freedom suiting him?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Ah, sir, ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free," Winky shook her head sadly.
"Why? What's wrong with him?" Harry asked, looking downtrodden.
"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir. Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir," Winky looked down as if ashamed of him.
"Why not?" Harry asked.
Winky looked down even more, her voice very small and very quiet, "He is wanting paying for his work, sir."
Amisty blinked. What?
"Paying? Well -- why shouldn't he be paid?" Harry asked, sounding completely and utterly surprised.
"House-elves is not paid, sir! No, no no," Winky covered her face with her hands once more. "I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and the next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."
"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," Harry replied.
"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter. House-elves does what they is told," Winky shook her head, voice firm. "I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter, but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."
"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowed.
"Master -- master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy. Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf," She replied, covered her face with her hands once more.
"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered under his breath to all of them. "Weird things, aren't they?"
"Dobby was weirder," Harry replied with an air of finality. Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and tested them out, looking down at the crowds.
"Wild! I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again... and again... and again..."
Amisty wrinkled her nose, turning away and focusing her attention on Hermione, who was skimming through the program.
"'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,'" She read excitedly.
"Oh that's always worth watching. National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show," Mr. Weasley smiled.
Slowly the box started to fill up with many other very important wizards, with introductions and handshakes and lots of bowing from Percy.
His glasses shattered when he bowed to the Minister of Magic.
"Harry Potter, you know. Harry Potter... Oh come on now, you know who he is... the boy who survived You-Know-Who... you do know who he is -- " He spoke the to Bulgarian minister rather loudly, looking frustrated.
The minister suddenly pointed at Harry's scar, talking very quickly in a foreign language.
"Know we'd get there in the end. I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saved him a seat... Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places... ah, and here's Lucius!"
Amisty felt her body grow still, and she forced herself to turn around. Draco was standing there formally with his father and a woman who she assumed as his mother. She had long silvery-blonde hair and would have seemed pleasant if not for the unwelcome expression on her face.
Almost immediately she let her hair fall in front of her own face, suddenly feeling very out of place.
"Ah, Fudge. How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?" Mr. Malfoy shook hands with Fudge.
"How do you do, how do you do? And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk -- Obalonsk -- Mr. -- well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else -- " He glanced around, catching sight of their group. "You know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"
Amisty's jaw ticked as Mr. Malfoy's eyes scanned Mr. Weasley and then the group behind him.
"Good lord, Arthur. What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?" He commented quietly.
"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," Fudge beamed, not having caught the ill-intended comment.
"How -- how nice," Mr. Weasley smiled in a forced manner, his eyes unnaturally bright.
It took a warning pressure on her shoulder and a sharp glance from Draco to keep her from flying at Mr. Malfoy when his cold gaze drifted over to Hermione and his lip curled.
Clearly aware that she needed a close eye, Draco took it upon himself to sit directly behind her, right in between his two parents.
"Slimy gits," Ron muttered bitterly as they turned to face the field again. In what seemed like seconds, Mr. Bagman charged into the box.
"Everyone ready? Minister -- ready to go?" He asked, bouncing on his heels in excitement.
"Ready when you are, Ludo," Fudge replied good-naturedly.
He pulled out his wand, pointed the tip at his own throat, and whispered 'Sonorus'. Amisty almost yelped out loud when his voice boomed over the stadium, far louder than the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
"Oh dear, oh dear," Hermione whispered worriedly, glancing around in concern as she looked for a solution.
It didn't help when the crowd burst into a raucous applause. She clapped her hands over her ears, biting back a few colorful words.
Hermione ended up tugging on Mr. Weasley's robes, who saw what was happening and waved his wand discretely. Her head fell into her hands in relief, and she sat there for a while to recover as Hermione squeezed her hand reassuringly.
The blackboard across from them had gleaming golden lettering of: Bulgaria: 0, Ireland: 0.
"And now without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"
The right side of the stands roared with excitement, a massive group of bright scarlet.
"I wonder what they've brought," Mr. Weasley wondered aloud, before pulling off his glasses and wiping them on his robes. "Aaah! Veela!"
"What are veel -- " Harry started, his voice cut off as his jaw went slack.
A few hundred blonde women were gliding onto the field, their skin practically glowing and chins up so high they radiated confidence.
Amisty glanced around, feeling her toe tap impatiently at the awed expression on every single male in the box. A soft rhythm started and the veela started to dance gracefully, blinding and charming smiles on their faces.
The beat slowly picked up until they were dancing so fast their hair was almost a blur, and by then Harry and Ron were standing dangerously close to the edge of the box.
"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked sharply, looking just as annoyed as Amisty felt.
She threw a glance over her shoulder, jaw ticking at the dreamy expression on Draco's face. The crowd roared up again, this time angry.
Ron was tearing up his hat.
"You'll be wanting that once Ireland have had their say," Mr. Weasley advised, taking the hat away gently.
"Huh?" Ron murmured back, his gaze still fixated on the veela walking off the field and grouping toward the side.
"Honestly!" Hermione exclaimed, rolling her eyes and tugging them both down onto their seats.
"And now kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!"
And suddenly there was a massive ball of green and gold shooting through the stadium. It circled once, broke into two, and then a brilliant rainbow connected the two.
Slowly it faded, and the two balls rejoined and soared above the stands in the shape of a massive shamrock, showering them with gold coins.
"Excellent!" Ron cheered, catching up the coins easily.
"Leprechauns!" Mr. Weasley beamed, staring up at the shamrock as it soared away.
"There you go for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!" Ron beamed, dumping a pile of golds into Harry's hands.
The leprechauns drifted down and sat opposite the veela, legs crossed.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome -- the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you -- Dimitrov!"
One scarlet player raced out onto the field like a rocket.
"Ivanova!" And another. "Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand -- Krum!"
"That's him, that's him!" Ron yelled, his Omnioculars pressed so hard against his face Amisty could see the beginnings of imprints.
She lifted up her own, trying to get a look at the famous player. His hair was close shaved, with dark eyes and dark skin. How on earth he was eighteen, Amisty had no idea.
"And now, please greet -- the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Mr. Bagman bellowed. "Presenting -- Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand -- Lynch!"
Blurs of green shot out onto the field, all with beaming grins or shielded expressions of concentration.
"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"
A tiny wizard walked onto the field dressed is sparkling golden robes, a whistle poking out of his mouth and a case tucked under his arm.
Amisty scooted up to the edge of her seat, foot tapping. Time for the game to begin.