Beauxbatons [Charlie Weasley]

Cup

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

The stairs into the stadium are carpeted in rich purple. They clamber upwards with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filters away through doors into the stands to their left and right. Isabelle and the rest keep climbing, and at last they reach the top of the staircase, and find themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goalposts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stand in two rows here, and Isabelle, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looks down upon a scene the like of which she never could have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards are taking their places in the seats which rise in levels around the long oval pitch. Everything is suffused with a mysterious golden light that seems to come from the stadium itself. The pitch looks smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the pitch stand three goals hoops, fifty-feet high; right opposite them, almost at Isabelle's eye level, is a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing keeps dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand is scrawling upon it and then wiping it off again; watching it, Isabelle sees that it's flashing advertisements across the pitch.

The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family — safe, reliable and with In-built Anti-Burglar Buzzer... Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess-Remover: No Pain, No Stain!... Gladrags Wizardwear — London, Paris, Hogsmeade...

The box fills gradually around them over the next half hour. Arthur keeps shaking hands with people are are obviously very important wizards. Percy jumps to his feet so often that he looks as though he's trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself, arrives, Percy bows so low that his glasses fall off and shatter. Highly embarrassed he repairs them with his wand, and thereafter remains in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Fudge greeted like an old friend.

Next moment, Bagman charges into the box. "Everyone ready?" he says, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister — ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," Fudge says comfortably.

Bagman whips out his wand, directs it to his own throat and says, "Sonorus!" and then speaks over the roar of sound that is now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoes over them, booming into every corner of the stands: "Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators scream and clap. Thousands of flags wave, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them is wiped clear of its last message and now shows BULGARIA: ZERO, IRELAND: ZERO.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgaria Team Mascots!"

The right-hand side of the stands, which is a solid block of scarlet, roars its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought?" Charlie says, leaning forwards in his seat. "Ahh— Veela!"

A hundred Veela are now gliding out onto the pitch — they're the most beautiful women Isabelle's ever seen... except they're not entirely human; their skin shines moon-bright, their white-gold hair fans out behind them without wind. And then the music starts, and Isabelle stops thinking about anything at all.

The Veela start to dance, and Isabelle's mind goes completely and blissfully blank. The Veela dance faster and faster, and Isabelle's eyes grow wider and wider—

"I think you liked them more than I did," Charlie muses, raising an eyebrow at Isabelle as the music stops.

The golden-haired girl shrugs, smiling, as angry yells fill the stadium; the crowd don't want the Veela to go.