Kalon
/kA-lon/
(n.) Beauty that is more
than skin-deep
❝In the dark depth of her steel gaze, you can see the brightest of the stars.
She has magic in her eyes that even the stars envy.❞
"Blimey Fred, are you one of those anguished cursed poets now...
The group trailed after Arthur Weasley into the wood, following the lantern-lit path. Betelgeuse walked arm in arm with the twins, in her step a bit of excitement, foreign to the otherwise stoic Pureblood.
She could hear the noises of thousands of people moving around the group, shouts and merriment, snatches of chanting. The atmosphere of feverish activity was highly infectious; she could not stop smiling. Fred and George were grinning, bouncing on their feet, and practically dragging her towards their destination.
Betelgeuse could see her uncle march with confidence in front of her, gesturing wildly all around and fervently talking to Bill and Charlie.
They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, chatting and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Betelgeuse was mesmerised by the sheer size of the Quidditch arena in front of her unblinking grey eyes.
"Seats a hundred thousand," Mr Weasley informed. "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.
"Prime seats!" a Ministry witch informed 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 covered in rich purple. The group clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. They kept climbing, and at last, they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and located halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows there, and Betelgeuse, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which she could never have dared to imagine.
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 that seemed to come from the arena itself. The ground looked smooth as velvet from their elevated position. At either end of the pitch stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at their eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an unseen monstrous hand was scribbling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again.
