The box offered an excellent view, overlooking the entire stadium.
The deep purple seats were soft and comfortable, and the small table even thoughtfully provided panoramic binoculars for a fee.
The stands were packed with wizards from all over the world, and colorful flags and team emblems merged into a surging ocean.
"Merlin's beard!" Ron collapsed into his seat, greedily snatching the panoramic binoculars Harry had given him. "The view is amazing!"
The group looked around with the binoculars and eventually spotted many familiar faces in the stands not far away.
Professor McGonagall was also present. She wore a dark green robe, her hair in an immaculate bun. Her expression was as stern as ever, but her eyes sparkled with a pure love for the sport.
She was conversing with several other professors from Hogwarts and old acquaintances from the International Confederation of Wizards, occasionally casting a warning glance at overly boisterous students, regardless of whether they were Hogwarts students or not.
They also saw many Hogwarts classmates:
Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were arguing fiercely; judging by their lip movements and gestures, they seemed to be debating whether the Irish team's Chasers or Bulgaria's Beaters were better.
Neville nervously clutched his Chocolate Frog card, following closely behind the Longbottoms, afraid of getting lost in the crowd.
Draco Malfoy appeared at the entrance of the highest, most luxurious top-floor box, standing with his father.
Lucius Malfoy's platinum blond hair and cold face were very conspicuous in the crowd. He was conversing in low tones with some richly dressed wizards, his expression bearing his usual arrogance and a hint of well-hidden caution.
But more faces were unfamiliar: Asian wizards in oriental silk robes with mysterious smiles; South American wizards in bright feather cloaks with dark skin; Nordic wizards in heavy dragonhide coats, talking loudly in rough voices... A microcosm of the entire global magical world seemed to have gathered here, speaking different languages and dressed in strange attire, yet all united by the same passion—the fanaticism for Quidditch.
As the sky gradually darkened, giant magic lampposts illuminated the stadium as brightly as day. The atmosphere of the impending final grew thicker, the air filled with an electric sense of anticipation.
Supporters of the Irish team began to sing their team anthem in unison, and green and gold flashes almost lit up half the sky.
Before they could finish, the lights above the huge circular stadium suddenly went out.
For a moment, silence enveloped the hundred thousand spectators.
Then, a loud and passionate voice, magically amplified hundreds of times, resounded through the sky—it was Ludo Bagman!
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome! Welcome to the 422nd Quidditch World Cup Final!"
Thunderous applause and cheers almost tore through the night sky.
"And now, allow me to introduce the mascots of the Bulgarian national team—the Veela!"
A group of breathtakingly beautiful figures instantly appeared on the field.
Their skin was as fair as moonlight, their long hair flowed like waterfalls, and as they began to dance gracefully, the air became dreamlike.
A strong, unreal sense of happiness seized the hearts of almost all the male spectators.
Harry felt his troubles instantly fly away, leaving only one thought in his mind: that he would do the most ridiculous things just to earn a smile from these beings. Ron, beside him, was already half-standing, a dazed and blissful silly grin on his face, as if he wanted to jump directly from the box into the stadium.
Not far away, a middle-aged male wizard tried to use binoculars to get closer to the Veela, but accidentally tumbled off his seat and got stuck between the front-row seats, his legs flailing in the air, yet still struggling to continue watching the performance.
Further away, a group of male wizards simultaneously made proposal gestures; some even pulled out their wands to conjure wilted bouquets of roses and waved them frantically toward the stadium.
After the Veela's dance ended, the Irish team's mascots made their appearance.
With a dazzling flash of green light, a group of leprechauns whizzed onto the field like emerald shooting stars.
They formed various complex patterns in the air: giant shamrocks, frothing tankards of beer, and finally even a grimace that scorned the Veela!
Even more exciting, they showered the audience with countless Galleons like golden raindrops.
"It's Galleons!"
Ron finally awoke from the Veela's enchantment, screaming as he and the twins frantically scooped up the Galleons falling onto their robes.
After the fervent atmosphere created by the mascots reached its peak, the players from both sides finally entered the field.
"Look! It's Viktor Krum!"
A voice shrieked, and the crowd surged as if drawn by a magnet.
The Bulgarian national team's star Seeker, with a somber expression, strode quickly past, surrounded by his teammates, sparking another wave of frenzy.
After the two team captains shook hands, Bagman's passionate roar announced the start of the match.
"The match begins!"
The players' movements were dazzlingly fast.
The whistling of brooms, the fierce impacts of Bludgers, Bagman's rapid-fire commentary, and the audience's surging gasps and cheers all intertwined.
As an excellent Seeker, Harry's gaze closely followed the two Seekers—especially Viktor Krum of Bulgaria.
He knew Krum was a skilled duelist, but only today did he realize that Krum was also a national-level Quidditch master.
His flying style was fierce and erratic, always diving and twisting at almost impossible angles, narrowly dodging Bludgers time and again. Each movement drew gasps from the entire stadium.
"Look at that feint!"
Harry excitedly grabbed Ron beside him, completely engrossed in professional appreciation. "It's magnificent!"
"The Wronski Feint! His signature move!" Ron nodded excitedly.
The Irish team's Chasers, meanwhile, displayed seamless coordination, scoring so quickly that the scoreboard could barely keep up.
The Quaffle passed through the hoops again and again, accompanied by Bagman's hoarse shouts of "Another goal!!" and the deafening green wave of Irish supporters.
The formation of Irish leprechauns moved through the air like a constantly exploding green-and-gold nebula, showering down a clattering rain of Galleons.
In the distance, a fleeting glimpse of the Veela sent a large section of male wizards in the opposite stands into a daze, emitting various foolish shouts.
"Over here! Over here! We're here!"
Ron's face was flushed with excitement as he shouted at the group of Veela.
Finally, although Krum caught the Snitch with an incredibly fierce dive, ending the match at that moment, the Irish team ultimately won by a narrow margin of ten points.
There was nothing to be done; the difference between the two teams' Chasers was too great, so even Krum catching the Golden Snitch could not turn the tide.
Just as the Irish team's supporters were in a frenzy of victory, with green and gold ribbons flying everywhere, a faint sob came from the corner of the box.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned their heads almost simultaneously.
They saw a tiny figure they had never noticed before, curled up in the darkest corner of the box and sitting on a small stool that seemed to have been specially squeezed in.
It was a house-elf.
Like most house-elves, it wore a dirty old pillowcase on which a faded Hogwarts crest was printed.
Its large eyes protruded like tennis balls and were now filled with tears, which rolled down its long nose in fat drops before dripping onto its thin knees.
Its bat-like ears drooped limply, and its entire body trembled slightly with suppressed sobs.
"Oh… my goodness…" Hermione was the first to react, her voice full of sympathy. "Are you all right?"
The house-elf started at her voice and looked up suddenly, its eyes filled with fear as if it were afraid of being scolded.
It vigorously blew its nose into a corner of its pillowcase, making a loud snorting sound.
"Winky… Winky's f-fine," it stammered, its voice high-pitched and trembling. It tried to force a smile, but the expression came out strangely instead. "Winky's just… just… sad for Mast… for Mr. Krum… yes, he tried so hard… but he lost…"
Ron's eyes widened in disbelief, momentarily distracted from his excitement over the match's outcome. "You're sad for Krum? Well, it's a shame, but how exciting was that match!"
Winky seemed startled by Ron's slightly raised tone. She shrank back, and her tears flowed even more profusely. "Y-yes, sir… the match was exciting… Mr. Krum caught the Snitch, but he still lost… it's so sad…"
She sniffled again. "Winky's master… Mr. Barty Crouch… he will be very disappointed…"
"Your master is Barty Crouch?"
Harry asked in surprise, remembering the always meticulous man from before.
Just then, an impatient, cold, hard call came from the direction of the top-floor box: "Winky!"
The crying stopped abruptly.
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