The night had fully settled over Dartmoor, the golden stadium glowing like a jewel in the stars. Every wandlight, every fluttering banner, every enchanted firework contributed to the breathtaking spectacle. From their VIP box, Eira, Isabella, Fleur, and Emma watched the pitch below, where Ireland and Bulgaria were preparing to take flight. The players’ brooms glimred under the magical illumination, and the roar of the crowd made the air almost vibrate.
Fleur leaned over to Eira, her voice soft but amused. "Is this your first World Cup, Eira?"
Eira nodded, eyes bright as she looked over the sea of spectators. "Yes—it is. The noise, the colors... it’s overwhelming, but in the best way. What about you, Fleur? Is this your first as well?"
Fleur shook her head, her lips curving into a wry smile. "Non. Papa dragged to the last one. I had to sit through endless speeches, politics, and his dull comntary about broomstick regulations. It was... horribly boring."
Eira laughed, nudging her gently. "Boring? At a Quidditch World Cup? Only you, Fleur, could find the biggest match in the world dull."
Fleur giggled, tilting her head. "Well, forgive if I don’t care how many charms are on the goalposts or how polished the referee’s whistle is."
Eira grinned. "Sounds like your father tried to turn it into a history lecture. ’And here, mademoiselle Delacour, is the finest whistle ever enchanted...’"
Fleur burst into laughter, covering her mouth. "Oui! You understand perfectly."
Their giggles mingled, a sweet mont that made the roar of the crowd seem far away. For a mont, the World Cup itself was less dazzling than the joy of simply sharing the joke together.
At that mont, a familiar figure bounded into the VIP box, radiating energy and loud cheerfulness.
"Ah, Miss White! Miss Bloom! And the lovely Miss Delacour! What an absolute pleasure to see you all again!" Ludo Bagman, British Ministry of Magic Sports Departnt head, spoke to Eira warmly, then gave Isabella a friendly clap on the shoulder as if they knew each other for years. His robes were bright and a little flamboyant, and his grin made the room feel instantly livelier.
"I am absolutely delighted to see you, Lady White! And you too, Mrs. Bloom!" he said, glancing at Emma with a playful sparkle. "Thank you so much for investing in our departnt and, especially, in the Quidditch World Cup! Without your support, none of this—none of this magic—would have been possible!"
Eira returned his smile. "It’s my pleasure, Mr. Bagman. This event is truly remarkable."
Bagman leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially, but still with his signature joviality. "And now, perhaps a little excitent before the match? A friendly wager! The odds are... intriguing, I must say. I dare say you might enjoy a little flutter?"
Before Eira could answer, Isabella’s hand shot out firmly. "Thank you, Mr. Bagman, but we prefer to enjoy the ga without betting."
Bagman laughed heartily, tilting his head back. "Ah, very well! No pressure! But do keep in mind... sotis, a little wager makes the ga even more thrilling." He winked at Eira.
Eira chuckled softly. "So thrill is fine, as long as it’s one we control ourselves."
Isabella smirked. "Exactly. Soone has to keep you out of trouble."
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