Reward?

Upon hearing Veratia’s words, Harry didn’t know whether to feel anticipation or to run for the hills.

After all, the last ’reward’ had left his lips looking like sausages, thanks to Veratia’s handiwork.

If there was going to be another one, he’d definitely need to take a good look in the mirror before heading out.

When he turned back, he found Ron already standing by the railing, poised in a diving position on the springboard, looking like he was about to take a headfirst plunge.

Hermione was furious, her chest heaving dramatically as she muttered under her breath, "How dare he, how dare he."

The stadium was filled with roars of anger; the crowd was unwilling to let the Veela leave.

After all, the breathtaking spectacle of a hundred Veela dancing in unison in the middle of the field, striking various alluring poses, wasn’t something you could see just any day.

"You need to tone it down a bit." The Weasley twins flanked their clearly delusional younger brother, Ron.

But Ron was oblivious, staring blankly as he ripped the shamrock off his hat.

Mr. Weasley smiled, leaned over, and snatched the hat from Ron’s grasp.

"You’ll be needing this later," Mr. Weasley said, "after the Irish team’s performance is over."

"Huh?" Ron grunted, but he remained slack-jawed, staring intently at the Veela, who had now lined up along one side of the pitch.

"Stop staring." Hermione let out a loud, deliberate cough. "They’ve already left—Ronald!"

Ron glanced back at Hermione with a supremely indifferent—almost ’sigma’—look, then raised his binoculars to sneak another peek at the Veela.

"Your little friend.." Veratia murmured, pursing her lips, "seems to have quite a backbone—that’s rather uncommon, isn’t it?"

"Really?" Harry looked up, glanced confusedly at Ron, and said, "Actually, I don’t really see what’s so great about Veela. Aren’t they just creatures that are a bit prettier than most?"

"Oh? So you can resist the allure of Veela?" Veratia asked, tilting her head.

"Tch, At least you certainly can’t." Cassandra retorted swiftly. "Remember the nickname your brother gave Harry? Scarhead Veela.."

That particular jab didn’t seem to catch Veratia’s attention; instead, it was the unusual form of address that did—

"So, the relationship between you two has progressed to the point of using first names already?" Veratia teased, looking at Cassandra. "Or did you do something to Harry while I was away that caused your feelings to... intensify so rapidly?"

"A slip of the tongue." Cassandra’s expression cooled. "Don’t misunderstand, Grindelwald—I have no interest in your little boyfriend."

"Is that so." Veratia suddenly leaned close to Cassandra’s ear and whispered, "Then, is calling you ’Master’ also permissible?"

Cassandra’s expression instantly turned as red as if she’d been held over a boiling pot.

"Brilliant!"

Ron’s sudden roar drew their attention.

They looked up to see a gigantic, shimmering, glowing shamrock had risen high into the air and begun circling above the stands. Something was clattering down from it like golden raindrops.

"Leprechauns."

Cassandra picked up a gleaming gold coin from her thigh, attempting to change the subject. "These coins... Tch."

"Leprechauns?"

Ron looked up blankly, still clutching several coins in his hand.

"Leprechauns, sometimes called Clauricorns, are rather mischievous magical creatures." Hermione explained, rolling her eyes. "This is what you get for not studying properly, honestly— Leprechauns can grow up to six inches tall, are green all over, and wear simple clothes made of leaves. They live on a diet of leaves. They are smarter than fairies and far less malicious than imps, pixies, or Doxies. While they love practical jokes, they have never been known to cause lasting harm to humans."

After Hermione finished her explanation, Cassandra added, "I suggest you throw those coins away and refrain from doing anything foolish, Weasley."

"Why?" Ron asked, not stopping his frantic gathering of coins.

Hermione sighed.

"Leprechauns can generate a substance very similar to gold, but it vanishes after a few hours, which they find highly amusing — These coins will most likely disappear after the match ends."

Upon hearing this, the Grangers, who had been bending down to collect coins, immediately straightened up and subtly tucked the coins they’d gathered into the crevices of the nearby seats.

Ron looked at the coins in his hand and finally tossed them aside.

Forget it, no point collecting this stuff if it’s just going to vanish.

As they were talking, the giant shamrock vanished, and the Leprechauns descended, settling onto the pitch opposite the Veela, crossing their legs and preparing to watch the match.

Harry also raised his Omnioculars to his eyes, intending to get a better look at the action below.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome—he Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I present to you—Dimitrov!"

A figure in red, mounted on a broomstick, shot onto the field from an entrance below, so fast he was barely a blur, earning wild cheers from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second figure in scarlet robes zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaand — Krum!"

"It’s him, it’s him!" Ron yelled, tracking Krum with his Omnioculars.

Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large, curved nose, thick black eyebrows, and the look of a brooding, overgrown bird of prey.

When Harry saw him, a thought crossed his mind.

He’s eighteen?

He looked like he could easily be twenty-eight though, maybe it was just Slavs aging faster?

"And now, please welcome—the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Bagman boomed. "Presenting Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaaand — Lynch!"

Seven blurry green shapes shot onto the pitch. Harry twisted a knob on the side of his Omnioculars to slow the players’ actions, making out the ’Firebolt’ logos on their brooms and the silver embroidery of their names on their backs.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, the acclaimed Chairman of the International Association of Quidditch — Hassan Mostafa!"

A small, skinny wizard, dressed in plain golden robes that matched the stadium, strode onto the pitch. He was completely bald but had a mustache so enormous it could rival Uncle Vernon’s. A silver whistle protruded from beneath it. He carried a large wooden crate under one arm and his broomstick under the other.

Harry readjusted his Omnioculars to normal speed and watched as Mostafa mounted his broom, kicked open the crate — and four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, two black Bludgers, and the tiny, winged Golden Snitch.

With a blast of his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

It had to be said, being the Quidditch World Cup final, the level of play was simply on another plane compared to the Hogwarts house cup matches.

The intensity and ferocity were enough to captivate anyone.

Seeing Krum get injured, Harry lowered his Omnioculars and turned to Veratia, only to find her wearing glasses and reading a book resting on her lap.

"Aren’t you watching the match?"

Harry asked Veratia amidst the shouts of "Foul!"

"I’m not interested in this sort of match." Veratia turned a page without looking up.

"Then why do you never miss any of my Quidditch matches?" Harry asked, perplexed.

Veratia looked up, pushed her glasses up her nose.

"Because those are matches with you in them."

Having said that, she lowered her head and continued reading the book on her lap.

Beside them, Cassandra let out a very forceful "Hmph!", expressing her displeasure with this woman who was far too skilled at charming men.

For a brief moment, Harry felt that maybe watching this match wasn’t all that important after all.

He coughed twice, glanced around at everyone else engrossed in the game, then walked back and sat down between Veratia and Cassandra.

"Where’s Poppy?" Veratia asked.

"Poppy isn’t interested in this kind of match, so she didn’t come." Harry said, picking up and putting down his Omnioculars repeatedly. "But I think Professor Scamander needed her for something else, so she couldn’t make it."

"Oh, right." Harry added, "Actually, Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were invited too, but they had some matters to attend to as well, so they didn’t come to watch the match either."

"What a shame."

Veratia said the words, but Harry didn’t detect any hint of actual regret in her tone.

"So, who do you think will win?" Harry continued, making small talk. "Looking at the current situation, the Irish team has a clear advantage. I can’t see any way for Bulgaria to turn this around, unless Viktor Krum can catch the Snitch while the point difference is less than one hundred and fifty."

"But you know that’s impossible." Veratia said, still looking down. "Trust my judgment. Ireland will win the match, and Viktor Krum will catch the Snitch —meaning, he’ll only catch it after the point gap has widened to more than one hundred and fifty."

"Sounds like you’re very confident." Harry said.

"I’m always confident." Veratia curled her lips into a smile. "Care to make a bet, Harry?"

Cassandra, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke up, trying to stop Veratia from conning the child.

"While I’m very reluctant to admit it," she said, "I’d advise you not to bet with her."

Harry then remembered that Veratia also possessed some prophetic abilities. Perhaps she had already predicted the World Cup outcome, which was why she had only symbolically placed a bet with the twins..

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk far too much nowadays."

Veratia said this, but her expression showed not a trace of displeasure.

"Heh." Cassandra folded her arms. "That’s still better than you swindling a child."

"I am not a child!" Harry attempted to protest against both of them.

But after he spoke, Veratia looked up, and Cassandra turned towards him. They both looked at Harry, then their gazes drifted downwards in unison.

"Heh."

They both laughed out loud.

Harry took a deep breath...

Unacceptable!

"Save those words for a couple of years from now, my dear." Veratia laughed, her body shaking with mirth, as she leaned close to Harry’s ear and whispered, "But right now, it’s quite clear you’re still a child..."

"Indeed, you are still a minor." Cassandra looked at him with pitying eyes. "Don’t say ’I’m not a child’ in front of your older sisters—"

Just at that moment, Mr. Bagman’s roar echoed throughout the stadium.

"He’s got it — Krum’s got it the match is over! But Ireland wins, one hundred and seventy to one hundred and sixty!"

Just from the sound of his voice, you could tell Mr. Bagman was absolutely delighted.

Everyone assumed he was overjoyed because Ireland had won, but only the twins, Mr. Bagman himself, and Harry’s group knew the real reason for his elation.

How could he not be elated?

He had bet on the correct outcome; this meant a massive fortune for him.

"Vell, vee fought bravely," said a gloomy voice nearby.

Harry turned and saw it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

"You can speak English!" said Fudge, sounding outraged. "And I’ve been wasting my time, gesticulating all day for nothing!"

"Vell, it vos very funny," said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging.

Beside Harry, Veratia said softly, "Who would think that a Minister of Magic couldn’t speak English? For wizards, learning an additional language isn’t particularly difficult."

"Only that buffoon would assume such a thing." Cassandra murmured in agreement, joining Veratia in the critique.

It was clear that neither of them held any fondness for Fudge.

"I must take my leave now, gentlemen." The Bulgarian Minister shrugged. "I need to be with my boys now. They fought bravely enough, and now they need some appropriate encouragement."

With that, he bowed to those around him and left the top box.

Fudge was still looking rather put out, having spent the entire day gesticulating wildly, trying to make the Bulgarian Minister understand what he was saying.

He felt like a fool, which, to be fair, he was.

"You should probably head down as well, Minister." Mr. Malfoy interjected at just the right moment. "As the host nation, it is fitting for the Minister of Magic to present the trophy to the winning team."

"Yes, oh, yes." Fudge’s face brightened. "I really should be down there. Very well, we shall meet again later."

After Fudge had left, Mr. Malfoy let out a sigh.

"If this continues, the British wizarding world will become a laughingstock to the entire world!"

--

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