Realising he'd been played, Fudge's face flickered like an electric kaleidoscope of shifting moods.
Yet before so many witnesses, he couldn't possibly confront the Bulgarian Minister directly.
That would appear even more petty.
Seeing the Bulgarian Minister still pestering Wayne to sell him more equipment, Fudge snorted angrily and pushed his way in.
"Obalonsk, you'll just have to wait your turn. The British Ministry of Magic's orders haven't been fully delivered yet. Mr Lawrence has no time to entertain you."
Obalonsk waved dismissively. "Your ministry is large and prosperous. Missing a few dozen sets hardly matters. Minister Fudge, as the Minister for Magic of a great nation, I've always considered you most magnanimous – surely you understand the difficulties of smaller nations like ours."
Flattered by such praise, Fudge unconsciously puffed out his chest, making Wayne inwardly shake his head.
Unsteady principles, unremarkable viewpoints, dull thinking.
Fudge possessed all these 'virtues', making him an excellent puppet to manipulate.
But unfortunately, Fudge had one fatal flaw.
He was stupid without realising it – in fact, he considered himself quite clever.
A few casual compliments and he'd immediately become smug.
This temperament made him easily influenced. A few honeyed words from those around him, and Fudge could be thoroughly hoodwinked.
Wayne suspected his later hostility towards Dumbledore owed much to Umbridge's influence – no doubt she'd whispered many poisonous suggestions.
Ugh.
Umbridge's poisonous whispers.
Faced with the two ministers crowding him, Wayne maintained a polite smile while secretly extending three fingers in Fudge's blind spot.
The Bulgarian Minister noticed and returned a knowing look.
Here's a little historical footnote.
Decades ago, during the S2 season, Bulgaria had allied with Germany. Projected onto the wizarding world, that meant they were old Grindelwald supporters.
Though Wayne didn't know this Minister personally, among the old men at the Paris security conference was this man's grandfather.
They were loosely allies.
Unaware that the two had already struck a shady deal behind his back, Fudge kept fussing over Wayne with solicitous small talk, making Percy burn with envy.
When the Crouches and Malfoys finally entered the box, the match was about to begin. Wayne exchanged greetings with Malfoy before leaving.
Watching Wayne depart, Lucius's eyes filled with wariness.
He wouldn't dare mention blood purity around that youth now – not just because of last time's fright, but because he'd learned more...
Though not in the Ministry, Lucius had excellent sources. He knew what the Lawrence name signified in today's Ministry.
"Draco, next term you must cultivate better relations with Lawrence," Lucius suddenly told his son.
Draco didn't understand his father's meaning, but nodded anyway. "Lawrence and I have always been on decent terms."
To be honest, Malfoy rather liked Wayne. Not for any particular reason, but simply because Wayne was fair.
He never showed favouritism during tutoring sessions just because he was closer to Harry, treating both boys equally. For Malfoy, that was enough.
Lucius nodded in satisfaction, admiring his son's keen instincts.
After all, the Malfoy Family had endured and grown in influence precisely because of their ability to adapt to shifting allegiances.
Clearly, his son had inherited this trait.
...
Meanwhile, Wayne returned to his private box.
The blackboard behind the goalposts suddenly lit up, displaying line after line of text:
[Cornflower: The flying broomstick for the whole family—safe, reliable, with built-in anti-theft buzzer... Madam Scower's Magical Mess Remover: Effortlessly removes stains... Gladrags Wizardwear—London, Paris, Hogsmeade...]
[Celia Store—If you imagine it, we sell it. London, Paris, Berlin...]
Hermione gasped. "Wayne, did you arrange an advert for Celia Store?"
The boy shook his head. "Don't ask me. Nagini handles all that."
All eyes turned to Nagini, who was pouring tea.
The serpentine woman smiled faintly. "Well, we've just opened two new branches in Paris and Berlin. A little advertising never hurts."
Deep down, Nagini marvelled at how unpredictable life could be.
Once hunted by Grindelwald's followers, an enemy of the man himself—who could have imagined that decades later, she'd be running a business alongside them?
The Paris branch was managed by Corvus Rosier, while the Berlin store was overseen by that terrifyingly rigid old man Wayne had met in Paris.
"How much does an advert like this cost?" Cho asked curiously.
Nagini replied coolly, "For just these few minutes? Twenty thousand Galleons."
The girls fell silent at the astronomical sum. Ginny's head spun slightly...
Twenty thousand Galleons... Her father hadn't earned that much in her entire lifetime.
Wayne clicked his tongue—not out of shock at the number, but at the realisation that he'd been misled.
Fudge had always claimed the World Cup wasn't profitable. But between ticket sales and advertising revenue alone, the Ministry of Magic must be rolling in gold...
Then, the adverts vanished from the screen, replaced by Bagman's booming, exuberant voice:
"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
"Without further ado, allow me to present... the mascots of the Bulgarian National Team!"
The right-hand stands erupted in cheers, a sea of vibrant red.
Soon, all eyes were drawn to the spectacle unfolding below.
A hundred Veela glided onto the pitch—women, breathtakingly beautiful women, their skin glowing, hair flowing effortlessly behind them, radiating an intoxicating allure. Especially when they danced, their charm effortlessly ensnared the entire stadium's attention.
Particularly the men's.
Many men's minds had gone completely blank, their bodies acting on pure instinct. They stood up, desperately clawing at the railings in front of them, with some even jumping straight down.
Beside them, Cedric and Harry had already assumed diving positions, only to be held back firmly by Sirius, while Ron was rubbing himself against the floor repeatedly.
The girls in the box frowned at this sight, then smiled again when they noticed Wayne's complete indifference.
The contrast couldn't have been more striking.
Wayne also noticed the girls' reactions and curled his lips disdainfully.
As if he, a man who could charm Veelas, would ever be charmed by them?
If not for constantly suppressing his Witch Heart's innate allure, Wayne Lawrence would be the most devastatingly attractive existence in this world.
Finally, as the music stopped, the men gradually returned to normal—though their minds still seemed elsewhere.
Bagman didn't give them much time to recover. After the Veelas' exit, he immediately announced: "Now, raise your wands to the sky... and welcome the Irish National Team's mascots!"
With a whoosh, a gigantic green-and-gold sphere flew into the stadium, circling the pitch and morphing into various shapes before finally forming an enormous shamrock.
A shower of glittering gold objects rained from the sky.
"Galleons!" Ginny exclaimed excitedly, removing her hat to catch the falling coins.
"Don't bother," Wayne advised. "Those are Leprechaun gold. They'll vanish in a few hours."
Hearing this, Ginny returned to her seat dejectedly, muttering, "That's fraud!"
"Can they be preserved with magic?" Tomoyo asked curiously. "I'd like to take some as souvenirs."
"Let me try."
Wayne reached out, and a handful of coins flew into their box.
After some tinkering, the gold gleamed even brighter.
He distributed the coins among the girls: "Though they're easily distinguishable from Galleons, they make decent souvenirs."
"Thank you, Wayne."
Sakura and Tomoyo accepted them politely before storing them in their bags.
With both teams' mascots having made their appearances, the players entered next. As each flew past, their enormous projections appeared in the sky, eliciting waves of cheers.
When the sullen-faced Viktor Krum made his entrance last, the roar of the crowd reached new heights.
"He's incredibly popular," Astoria remarked.
"That's only natural," Hermione said, producing a pamphlet. "Statistics show Krum single-handedly carried Bulgaria to the finals."
"They defeated England 160-140 in the quarter-finals, then Hungary 150-130 in the semis... Many say even their grandmothers could win a championship just by riding Krum's coattails."
These statistics left everyone speechless.
The match began.
Both national teams displayed extraordinary skill, moving so fast that only their silhouettes were visible against the streaks of red and green light crisscrossing the pitch.
Fortunately, the commentator Bagman maintained his high standards, managing to call out the players' names and tactics in time.
"Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Moran! Moran scores!"
"A simple triangular attack creating an unstoppable situation—this is the skill of the world's top Chaser team!"
Wayne sat up slightly. The match was genuinely interesting, with both teams operating at a level far beyond school teams, whether in tactical awareness or flying speed.
"I feel like... the Bludgers have gotten much faster?" Hermione said uncertainly.
"Exactly. The match balls are all specially made this time, 30% faster than usual."
Sakura kept her eyes fixed on the pitch as she explained to Hermione: "The Firebolt's specs are too high. If the Golden Snitch and Bludgers weren't sped up, the match would end too quickly and lose its spectacle."
As she spoke, she couldn't help glancing at Wayne.
Ever since learning that the Firebolt was produced by Wayne's company, Sakura still hadn't fully processed the information. Every time she remembered, it felt surreal.
Soon, Ireland took a 30-0 lead. Against them, Bulgaria's Chasers looked utterly foolish.
Bagman suddenly shouted, "Krum and Lynch! The two Seekers are tangled up! Lynch crashes to the ground—he's been fooled! Match paused!"
Medics rushed onto the pitch to check Lynch's condition.
Many Seekers recognised the famous Wronski Feint, marvelling at Krum's skill. He'd been mere feet from the ground—an incredibly close call.
Sakura leaned toward Wayne. "You fly just as well as Krum. Why don't you join the national team?"
"Uh..." Wayne hadn't expected this question but answered anyway:
"I'm not that interested in Quidditch. But if it's a match against you, I'd be there in a heartbeat."
Sakura blushed crimson and hid behind Tomoyo.
The match resumed after Lynch recovered briefly and took off again. Fifteen intense minutes later, Ireland extended their lead, and tensions between the teams rose.
A minor incident occurred when the referee, Mustaf, flew into the Veela contingent and began preening until a sharp kick snapped him out of it. Humiliated, he angrily expelled the Veela from the pitch.
A terrifying sight followed—the Veela were furious, their beauty gone.
Their faces elongated into bird-like heads, scales and wings sprouting from their bodies, turning many men pale.
They hurled balls of fire at the Leprechauns, who retaliated by showering handfuls of gold coins.
Wayne and Astoria watched eagerly through their binoculars, even offering commentary, much to everyone's amusement.
The thrilling match earlier hadn't held their attention, but a brawl had them electrified.
Honestly, what could one even say?
Dozens of Ministry of Magic officials swarmed the scene, trying to separate the mascots, with little success. The match continued unabated amidst the chaos.
Krum took a hit, his nose crooked, but he ignored it to keep playing.
Ireland's Lynch suddenly dove downward, with Krum swiftly following suit—they'd truly spotted the Golden Snitch this time. Blood sprayed through the air as Krum accelerated rapidly, overtaking Lynch.
"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked.
"Lynch will!" Cho and Sakura cried in unison.
As predicted, only Lynch crashed onto the ground again, while a group of furious Veela swarmed forward. Krum raised his arm high, yet his face bore no smile—only a deepening gloom that made him seem far older than his seventeen years.
"Match over!"
"One hundred seventy to one hundred sixty! Ireland wins the World Cup!"
After a brief moment of stunned silence, the crowd finally grasped what had happened. Irish supporters erupted into deafening cheers.
Just two seconds before Krum caught the Golden Snitch, Ireland had scored another goal, taking the lead in total points.
"Why did he catch the Snitch?" Astoria asked, perplexed. "He lost the moment he caught it."
Cho nodded sympathetically and explained, "Dragging it out would've meant losing anyway. Better to end it quickly and spare himself further torment."
That feeling... she understood it all too well.
...
The match concluded, and on their way back to the campsite, Wayne and the others listened as the Quidditch players in their group dissected the tactics and spectacular goals from the game.
No one mocked defeated Bulgaria, nor the humiliated Lynch.
Both teams had played brilliantly—Ireland had simply been in better form. Had that final goal come two seconds later, catching the Snitch would have secured victory even with a tied score.
Back at the tents, they held another barbecue feast before retiring for the night, ready to depart the next day.
By midnight, the campsite had quieted, save for the faint, distant strains of celebratory songs—likely Irish supporters still revelling in their triumph.
Yet it didn't disturb anyone's sleep.
Until, at two in the morning, a growing commotion erupted.
Wayne's eyes snapped open.