For the rest of the time, Cornelius Fudge stayed right beside Harry Potter, showing no sign of leaving.
Draco also noticed Percy Weasley’s behavior when he spotted the Minister of Magic. Percy greeted Fudge like an old friend, fussing over Harry’s well-being and eagerly introducing the wizards around him.
For someone so desperate to climb the ranks of power, Percy’s expression barely hid his envy.
“Harry Potter—you all know who he is.”
Fudge’s introduction prompted an excited burst of chatter from the Bulgarian wizards nearby. Barty Crouch, who was responsible for handling foreign guests, quickly translated for them.
At that, Draco looked away, turning his attention back to the stadium.
A hundred thousand wizards were filing into their seats, the stands rising in tiers that circled the vast oval pitch.
Everything shimmered beneath a faint golden light that seemed to radiate from the stadium itself. Draco could feel the magic thrumming through the air—it was said to come from a powerful, wide-area Muggle-Repelling Charm.
From their high vantage point, the pitch below looked smooth and flawless, like polished velvet.
At each end stood three goal hoops, towering over thirty meters high—the targets for the Chasers to send the Quaffle through.
To Draco’s right, level with their seats, a massive panel flickered with golden text, as if written by an invisible hand. Looking closer, Draco realized the glowing letters were advertisements for the audience: broomsticks, anti-theft charms, magical stain removers, wizard robes, and other goods, all displayed with purchasing details.
Just then, Cornelius Fudge snapped his pocket watch shut, rose from his seat, and pointed his wand at his own throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the 422nd Quidditch World Cup Final!”
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Despite the Ministry’s recent string of questionable decisions, the crowd’s cheers and applause filled the entire stadium. The sound clearly pleased Fudge, who puffed up his chest and basked in the adoration.
Thousands of flags waved at once, a sea of color and noise that swept through the stands, setting every fan alight with excitement.
“Now, allow me to introduce... the mascot of the Bulgarian National Team!”
The moment he spoke, a roar of enthusiasm erupted from the red section of the stands—the Bulgarian supporters.
“Before every professional match, there’s always a performance by the team mascots,” came a voice beside Draco.
It was Hermione, quietly flipping through a velvet-bound match program with purple tassels. At some point, she had slipped into the seat beside him, cheerfully explaining the match details.
In truth, if Lucius Malfoy hadn’t left his seat with Narcissa to greet several high-ranking Ministry officials, Hermione probably wouldn’t have had such an easy time approaching.
Draco noticed his father take a brief glance in her direction.
To his surprise, though Hermione’s cheeks flushed, she didn’t look away. She met Lucius’s gaze head-on, her expression steady and unflinching.
That boldness caught Narcissa’s attention. She studied the young witch curiously—the one who, it seemed, was growing rather close to her precious son...
“Is that... the girl you mentioned who’s close to Draco?”
“Yes. A witch from a Muggle family.”
“I see. I trust our son’s judgment.”
“Hmph. You spoil Draco far too much.”
Draco, standing some distance away, had no idea what his parents were discussing. His attention was entirely drawn to the figures now stepping onto the pitch.
To be precise, everyone’s attention was.
The Veela—the mascots of the Bulgarian national team.
As they glided gracefully into the stadium, every male wizard’s eyes widened. In an instant, the once-bustling arena fell silent.
The Veela were breathtakingly beautiful. Their skin shone with a silvery, moonlit glow, and their hair floated behind them as if stirred by an invisible breeze.
At first glance, there was nothing extraordinary about them—until one felt their power. Their allure could drive men to obsession, even madness.
Regardless of age or gender, no one could deny their beauty. In fact, they were the most stunning beings anyone had ever seen, so much so that some wondered if such creatures could truly exist, or if they were illusions too perfect to belong to reality.
Ordinarily, one Veela would be mesmerizing enough. But here, there were a hundred.
The collective charm of so many Veela was enough to send nearly every man in the stadium into a frenzy.
As they began to dance, most of the male wizards’ minds went blank. All they could feel was an overwhelming euphoria, as though nothing else in the world mattered—only the sight of the Veela before them.
They could have watched them forever.
As the tempo of the dance quickened, the wizards’ behavior grew increasingly absurd.
Harry Potter, for example, had already swung one leg over the balcony railing. Nearby, the Weasley twins had assumed poses like divers about to leap. If not for Ginny and Mrs. Weasley grabbing hold of them, they might have jumped straight down to join the Veela on the field.
Watching the scene, Hermione’s mouth twitched slightly.
“The Veela described in the books weren’t nearly this exaggerated.”
“Hmm. Perhaps the books never considered what would happen if there were this many of them,” Draco replied.
“Draco? You don’t seem affected.”
Hermione’s look was difficult to read—was that relief, or disappointment? Draco shot her a mildly irritated glance, then shifted his gaze to the chaotic scene below.
“Look closely. It’s not just me. Most of the wizards here are managing to stay composed.”
Leaving aside the rather disheveled Minister of Magic, even adult wizards like Mr. Weasley—though clearly captivated—were doing far better than the drooling men around them.
“You’re saying a Veela’s charm can be resisted? But the books never mentioned that.”
“Of course not. That’s because Occlumency isn’t something just anyone can learn.”
“Occlumency?!”
At that, both Hermione and Astoria—whose face had gone slightly pink—turned to Draco in surprise.
It was clear they both knew what kind of power that word implied...