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Aurora Areli
WITH MR WEASLEY IN the lead, we all hurried to follow the lantern-lit trail into the wood. Sounds of thousands of people moving around us could be heard from all sides; shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious, and I couldn't have stopped grinning if I tried.
We walked through the wood for about 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. Even though I could only see a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the pitch, I could tell that ten cathedrals could fit comfortably inside it.
"Seats a hundred thousand," Mr Weasley said to Harry, who had a completely awestruck look on his face. "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 to the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.
"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance upon checking our 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 upwards with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to our left and right. Our party kept climbing for what seemed like forever until 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 goalposts. There were about twenty purple-and-gilt chairs standing in two rows, and as I filed into the front seats with the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione, I looked down upon a spectacular scene.
At least a hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats which rose in levels around the long oval pitch. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light that seemed to be coming from the pitch itself. From our lofty position, the pitch looked as smooth as velvet, and at either end of it stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high. Right opposite us, at about eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand was scrawling upon it and then wiping it off again; as I watched it, I saw that it was 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! . . .
