Adrian examined the well-made binoculars in his hands and looked up to ask, "Did you make these yourself?"
"That's right," Cedric replied, his chest swelling with justifiable pride. "Last time, Ernie mentioned they were incredibly practical for match viewing, so I decided to create another batch with even more advanced features. I've added slow-motion capture, some match replay capabilities, more focused zoom functions that can focus on individual players..."
Adrian nodded thoughtfully, he remembered using Cedric's earlier binoculars during Hogwarts matches, and they had performed flawlessly even then.
"These are absolutely incredible," Cho breathed, raising the binoculars to her dark eyes and peering through the cabin window at the bustling campsite beyond.
Her voice held genuine amazement as she adjusted the focus, watching distant figures spring into clear detail. "The clarity is extraordinary—far superior to anything those vendors are hawking outside for outrageous prices."
"Thank you for the kind words, but I'm certainly not planning to commercialize them," Cedric laughed with characteristic modesty, though his pleasure at the compliment was obvious in his bright smile.
"They're still prototypes, far from ready for public consumption. For tonight's match specifically, I've even incorporated night vision functionality, though it probably won't be necessary, since I've heard the Quidditch World Cup stadium is illuminated so dazzlingly that it looks identical whether it's day or night."
Ron and Hermione immediately crowded closer, their curiosity piqued by this fascinating magical gadget.
Ron held his pair up to the light, marveling at the way the lenses seemed to shift and adjust automatically, while Hermione examined the runic inscriptions along the barrel with interest.
Harry observed this enthusiastic scene with a growing knot of discomfort tightening in his chest.
He stole a sneaky glance at Cho and felt his stomach drop as he noticed the way she was looking at Cedric, her expression filled with unmistakable admiration.
A sharp, acidic feeling suddenly welled up in Harry's chest, spreading through his ribs like spilled potion.
Adrian keenly caught the subtle change in the young man's expression.
'Things are certainly becoming more interesting by the minute,' Adrian thought silently, settling back in his chair to observe the unfolding romantic complications with the detached fascination of a biologist studying territorial behavior of animals.
After what felt like an eternity to Harry, Cedric and Cho finally departed from the cabin, their voices carrying back through the open door as they continued their conversation about Quidditch techniques and magical craftsmanship.
Ron remained obliviously focused on his new binoculars, turning them over in his hands. His freckled face was lit up with genuine excitement as he discovered each new feature.
"The cheapest binoculars outside those vendor stalls cost at least ten Galleons each," Ron said with obvious relish, completely unaware of the tension that had just played out in the room. "And those are the basic models without any special features. Cedric really is an exceptional person, don't you think, Harry? So generous and talented..."
Harry managed only a distracted, noncommittal hum in response, his green eyes still fixed on the spot where Cho had disappeared into the crowd, his expression was somewhat dazed and melancholic.
Ron, blissfully unaware of his best friend's emotional turmoil, continued his enthusiastic praise of Cedric with the single-minded focus that branded his personality. He said eloquent words about Cedric's appearance, his consistently excellent academic performance, his natural leadership abilities, his kindness to younger students, his Quidditch skills...
"Ron!" Hermione's sharp voice cut through his monologue as she delivered a pointed nudge to his ribs with her elbow. Her bushy hair seemed to bristle with exasperation. "Stop talking. Now."
Ron looked genuinely bewildered by this sudden attack, his blue eyes wide with confusion. "What's wrong with you, Hermione? What did I say?"
Hermione gave him a glare that could have melted steel, her eyes flashing with the particular frustration that comes from dealing with someone who is being impossibly dense.
Ron stared at her for a moment longer, then suddenly snapped his fingers as understanding emerged. "Oh! Did you get sand in your eyes from the wind outside? Do you need some eye drops or a healing charm?"
Hermione closed her eyes and drew a long, deep breath, counting to ten in what appeared to be multiple languages. When she opened them again, her expression had shifted to one of resigned defeat.
'This guy is absolutely hopeless,' She thought with weary acceptance. 'He has the emotional intelligence of a particularly dim flobberworm.'
"No, Ronald," She said with exaggerated patience, the kind usually reserved for explaining simple concepts to very young children. "I was thinking... perhaps we should venture outside for another walk around the grounds? Get some fresh air, see more of the festivities?"
"Brilliant idea!" Ron immediately sprang up from the comfortable sofa with enthusiasm, already heading toward the door with the single-minded purpose of a hunting hound.
"I was just thinking I wanted to buy one of those official Bulgaria team commemorative jerseys I saw earlier! The ones with Krum's signature woven right into the fabric! Come on, Harry!"
He paused at the threshold, looking back expectantly. "Harry? Are you coming?"
Only then did Harry seem to emerge from his reverie, blinking slowly as if waking from a particularly vivid dream. He rose from his seat with reluctant movements and followed his friends toward the door, his usual energy was absent.
Hermione lingered behind for a moment, casting a meaningful look back at Adrian.
"Ah, this is simply one of life's inevitable complications," Adrian said to her with gentle amusement,. "My advice? Try to enjoy the drama while it lasts—these moments have a way of becoming treasured memories, even the painful ones."
Hermione sighed, though whether her worry was mainly for Harry's feelings or Ron's obliviousness remained unclear even to herself.
Night fell, and the match was about to begin.
Adrian followed the Weasley family into the surging crowd, heading toward the match venue.
After passing through a grove of trees, they arrived at the final competition site—a massive golden stadium that gleamed brilliantly in the night.
Thousands upon thousands of wizards were joining on the stadium from every direction. Voices buzzed with excitement in dozens of different languages, team colors flashed everywhere.
From their current distance, Adrian could only make out the stadium's golden outer wall, but even that partial view was enough to inspire awe.
"It's absolutely massive," Ron breathed, craning his neck back to take in the full scope of the building, his limited words proving inadequate to express the wonder he felt. "I mean... it's just... huge doesn't even begin to cover it."
Mr. Weasley's voice carried back to them over the crowd noise as he waved enthusiastically from several yards ahead. "Children! Everyone! This way! Stay together—it's easy to get separated in crowds like this!"
At the ticket checkpoint, a cheerful young witch stood behind a booth decorated with moving shamrocks and tiny leprechauns that danced across the surface.
She wore an outrageously festive hat covered in emerald green and gold fabric, with dozens of Irish team badges pinned to the brim that winked and sparkled as they moved in the evening breeze.
"Arthur!" She called out warmly, her Irish accent thick as honey. "Did you bring the whole family with you this evening?"
"Indeed, I did," Mr. Weasley replied with obvious satisfaction, producing a collection of tickets from his robes. "Wouldn't miss this for the world—it's going to be legendary."
The witch examined their tickets, her eyebrows rising with impressed surprise.
"First-class seats, no less! Top box, Arthur—you've done well for yourself. Head straight up the main stairway to the very top level, and your box will be clearly marked on your right."
The entire Weasley group went through the entrance with excitement.
"You know," Mr. Weasley said quietly to Adrian as they approached the checkpoint, leaning close with a wink, "you really didn't need to purchase your own ticket. You could have simply followed us into the box—I doubt anyone would have questioned an additional guest in such a large group."
"That's very kind of you to offer," Adrian replied with appreciation, "but I don't think that's necessary."
Adrian smiled and handed his ticket to the witch.
The witch accepted Adrian's ticket and examined it closely, her expression shifting to one of surprised recognition. "Oh, my stars! A VIP box ticket—the same level as the Weasley party, sir! What excellent timing. Follow the main stairway all the way to the very top—you'll be neighbors!"
The group began their ascent of what turned to be an impressively lengthy stairway.
Adrian privately thought that in a world where magic could accomplish nearly anything, someone might have considered installing a magical elevator or perhaps enchanted stairs that moved on their own. Climbing to the stadium's uppermost level purely through physical effort seemed unnecessarily taxing.
"If you don't mind my asking," Mr. Weasley said quietly to Adrian during a brief rest on one of the landings, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard,
"How much did those VIP tickets set you back? I had to call in multiple favors from contacts throughout the Ministry just to secure our box seats. The VIP level must have cost a small fortune."
"I'm afraid that information is confidential," Adrian responded with a mysterious smile, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Besides, money becomes irrelevant when you're witnessing history in the making."
Ron, walking just behind them, listened to this exchange with barely concealed indignation. He desperately wanted to point out that money was clearly extremely relevant—if he had just one additional month's worth of allowance, he could afford several more packages of Irish team trading cards, maybe even the rare ones.
In fact, Adrian was himself somewhat surprised by the type of his ticket. The mysterious vendor in Knockturn Alley had certainly proven his worth, the shadowy marketplace truly was a place where anything could be obtained for the right price.
The old fellow who had sold Adrian the ticket had let slip, that this particular ticket had apparently originated from somewhere deep within the Ministry of Magic's own allocation. It seemed that even in the wizarding world, the secondary market for premium event tickets thrived in corners.
Soon they arrived at a luxurious box with chairs inlaid with enormous gems. Looking down, the entire pitch was visible—Adrian was sure he couldn't find a better viewing position.
The Weasley family sat in the front row, while Adrian sat in the second row with Hermione and Harry.
The box quickly filled with people, mostly important Ministry officials and their families, and a few notable businessmen who, like Adrian, had gained entry through the power of Galleons.
Mr. Weasley immediately began working the room like a seasoned politician, shaking hands enthusiastically with colleagues and former associates.
Percy spun around the box like a hyperactive spinning top, bowing respectfully to anyone who might conceivably outrank him and introducing himself with the desperate eagerness of someone climbing the career ladder.
Adrian chatted energetically with a bald man who sold shampoo—he was surprised to learn that this man's father had bought Fleamont Potter's (Harry's grandfather's) company to produce Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, and he was currently the company's head.
"Forgive my boldness, but why is all your hair gone?" Adrian asked curiously.
The bald man sighed slowly and said, "I don't want it to be... but you must understand, innovation requires sacrifice. Every day I try to improve Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and test it on myself, until one morning... it all fell onto my pillow and never grew back."
"Good heavens," Adrian murmured with sincere sympathy. "That's genuinely tragic."
"The truly ironic part," The man continued resentfully, "is that the formula that caused my permanent baldness actually works perfectly for everyone else. Sales have never been better."
At that moment, their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a familiar and somewhat pompous figure entering the VIP box with considerable fanfare.
"Ah, Professor Westeros!" Fudge exclaimed with obvious delight upon spotting Adrian among the distinguished guests. His round face beamed with the particular pleasure politicians reserve for encountering useful connections in prestigious settings. "What an absolutely delightful coincidence to find you here!"
Fudge's eyes began scanning the box, as if searching for someone specific among the crowd of dignitaries. After a moment, his expression shifted to one of mild disappointment, and he released a dramatic sigh.
"I sent Albus an invitation and premium tickets," Fudge said. "Unfortunately, he declined to attend... it's such a pity. He's not interested in such a grand event."
Adrian responded with tactful disinterest, "Perhaps the Headmaster has pressing matters requiring his attention at Hogwarts."
"Yes, yes, he is always busy with one work or another," Fudge agreed, his politician's smile sliding back into place with ease. "But I'm genuinely pleased that you decided to attend—at least now you can provide Albus with a firsthand account of what promises to be an absolutely legendary match."
"I'll be happy to share the highlights with him, Minister," Adrian assured him.
Satisfied with this response, Fudge's attention shifted to Harry Potter, and he made his way over to the young man like a politician who had spotted a valuable photo opportunity.
He began engaging Harry in what appeared to be warm conversation about trivial everyday matters.
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