Chapter 281. Lucius's Abnormality
There were five minutes left before the mascot show began. The private box was almost full, with only a few seats still empty.
Adrian Wesson looked around and spotted several familiar faces besides Fudge.
For example, Lucius Malfoy and his family—according to Fudge, Lucius had recently donated a large sum to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, which had earned him a few tickets here.
Of course, Adrian did not care where Lucius's tickets had come from.
His attention was fixed entirely on one tiny movement: from time to time Lucius pressed his right hand to the inner side of his left forearm, as though something there was faintly aching.
If Adrian was not mistaken, that was where the Dark Mark would be branded—the sign of a Death Eater.
At the same time, the Devil's Snare within Adrian stirred restlessly; clearly, it too sensed the evil aura clinging to Lucius.
This abnormality made Adrian almost certain of one thing: Lord Voldemort had already begun to stir again.
He narrowed his eyes and watched the other people in the box without betraying a flicker of emotion.
Fortunately, apart from Lucius, no one else seemed out of the ordinary.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Ludo Bagman's booming voice filled the stadium. "Welcome to the 422nd Quidditch World Cup final!"
With his announcement, the match officially began.
First came the mascots for both teams.
The Bulgarian national team's mascots were a great throng of Veela.
The instant the Veela appeared on the pitch, the entire stadium erupted.
The wizards in the stands wore dazed, adoring expressions; some even stood up without meaning to, about to clamber over the railings and rush down—until Ministry officials had to stop them with spells.
Even the grandees seated near Adrian could not help a brief commotion—who could have predicted the Veela would appear so suddenly?
Of course, Adrian was not affected.
It was not that his will was especially iron; he had simply met plenty of Veela on his travels.
He too had once been infatuated with a Veela—until that Veela's head morphed into an ugly bird's with a sharp, gaping beak—that being what happens when a Veela is angered.
It had left a deep impression on him.
Ever since then, whenever he saw any Veela, the first thing he thought of was that bird head.
Harry, seated beside Adrian, stared glassily as he tried to lunge forward, his body tilting of its own accord.
Adrian, quick as a flash, clamped a hand on his shoulder and murmured to Hermione, "Hermione, hold him."
Hermione did so at once.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Veela," Adrian explained briefly. "No man seeing them for the first time can resist their beauty. Of course, it's actually magic—enchantment magic."
Seeing Harry in a fog, Hermione made a snap decision and slapped him.
"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, clutching his face as clarity returned to his eyes.
"You're welcome," Hermione said sweetly, then glanced at Ron.
Ron was faring much worse than Harry; he had nearly leaned out of the box, and Mrs Weasley was doing her best to haul him back, looking rather embarrassed.
The uproar rose quickly and faded just as fast. When the music stopped, everyone came back to themselves.
It was soon Ireland's turn for their mascots.
A great host of Irish leprechauns trooped out, dressed in vivid green, cheerfully showering the stands with a rain of Galleons.
The sharp-eyed quickly noticed something amiss—even the richest wizard in the world could not afford to squander money like that.
"That's leprechaun gold," Adrian warned Ron, who was busy scooping up coins. "It's fake. It'll vanish in two hours."
Ron snapped out of his excitement and looked around to find everyone eyeing him as though for amusement (or as though he were an idiot?).
"You're such a darling, little Ronnie," Fred egged him on beside him.
"Oh… I knew that, of course. I just wanted to see…" Ron said awkwardly, then tossed the coin aside.
The box filled at once with good-natured laughter.
After the mascots of the two teams finished their performances, the Quidditch match began in earnest.
Ireland and Bulgaria clashed fiercely at once.
From the starting whistle, Harry practically welded Cedric's binoculars to his face—although reluctant to admit it, he had to concede that the binoculars Cedric had made were extremely handy.
Only with the slow-motion replay could he make out the figures darting across the sky. Although those professional players were using Firebolts like his, they were clearly faster and more agile. Harry felt that if he had to face Krum, he would be beaten at once.
The match was spectacular, but Adrian's attention was nowhere near the pitch—his gaze was locked on Lucius Malfoy's every move.
"Look! That's Krum's Wronski Feint!" Ron shouted excitedly from the front row.
At that very moment, Lucius stirred—he frowned and began to shift restlessly—not, of course, because of Krum's brilliance or Ron's yelling.
After saying a few words to his wife, Narcissa, he rose and left the box.
Adrian noticed this oddity but did not rashly go out to check.
Only a few minutes later, Lucius returned, calm-faced, as if he had merely answered a call of nature.
"You sensed something, didn't you?"
Adrian spoke softly to the Devil's Snare hidden within him.
A tendril of Devil's Snare slipped from his sleeve and pointed towards Lucius.
Seeing this, Adrian felt sure: Lucius had just gone out to do something connected with dark magic.
Perhaps sensing Adrian's gaze, Lucius turned and glanced at him.
Their eyes met; Adrian gave him a friendly smile. Lucius did not respond—he simply turned his eyes back to the pitch.
Yet in that instant, Adrian suddenly read a trace of… sympathy? in his eyes.
Adrian shook his head inwardly.
It seemed something interesting might be about to happen.
The final was fiercely contested, but Bulgaria seemed to be conceding goals throughout, the gap slowly widening.
In the latter half, as most people had predicted:
Bulgaria started off on the wrong foot,
Bulgaria made blunder after blunder,
Bulgaria fell into a bitter struggle,
Bulgaria put up a dying resistance,
and now they were probably already at the point of that dying resistance.
So the next scene would be…
"Krum's caught the Golden Snitch!"
The place erupted in cheers, and the commentator's impassioned voice rang out at once: "The match is over! The score is 170 to 160—Ireland wins! Ah, what a pity—although Krum caught the Golden Snitch and won a hundred and fifty points, his team had fallen too far behind…"
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