"This way of talking and socializing is just exhausting," Ron grumbled under his breath after seeing the Carrows off.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he heard Draco's sharp voice: "Oh, Mr. Ronniekins, isn't your dream to become the Minister for Magic? If you can't even handle this kind of socializing, what's the point?"
Ron's dream was to be the Minister for Magic—a fact Draco, as his best frenemy, knew all too well.
"You should know, without Brother D here, most of those people wouldn't even have given us the time of day."
"Even Fudge is better at this than you are."
While the first few barbs didn't get much of a reaction from the apathetic Ron, that last one was a direct insult.
Ron's eyes narrowed.
Worse than Fudge? Who are you calling worse than Fudge?
"What about the great Mr. Malfoy?" Ron retorted defiantly.
He expected Draco to be furious, but instead, Draco calmly admitted, "Of course. Unless I become the head of the Malfoy family."
Draco was very clear on this. The group of wizards they'd just seen, despite their young age, were the most talented and promising from their pure-blood families. They were either the current heads of their houses or would soon be.
As long as Draco wasn't the head of the Malfoy family, they would always see him as just a child.
Draco's honesty made Ron feel as though he'd punched a pillow—all his force and effort came to nothing.
Draco's eyes twinkled as he looked at the lifeless expression on Ron's face.
"You think this is over? This is just the beginning. There will be at least a few more groups like that... Pansy and her lot are at the back of the queue."
"Bloody noble posturing." Ron grumbled, feigning indignation.
Draco looked at him seriously. "Ronniekins, if you really want to become the Minister for Magic, you'd better get used to it now."
As Draco said, it was just the beginning. Shortly after the Carrows left, a steady stream of important wizards showed up to pay their respects.
Pansy and her friends were at the end of the line.
While munching on some freshly baked cookies, Dudley watched the vendors who were constantly Apparating in and out of the camp, hawking their Quidditch World Cup souvenirs.
Hermione could bake cookies too, but hers were so brittle and fluffy they'd crumble at the slightest touch. Dudley preferred the ones Daphne made; they had a nice chew to them.
His main "chewing-stick" supplier, Hagrid, had been busy lately—for some reason he was trying to breed different magical creatures—and hadn't had time to show off his baking skills. So Dudley was left without his usual treats.
Dudley pondered that he should start selling merchandise at the next wizarding card tournament. Merchandise sales could be just as profitable as the cards themselves.
He took a small sip of tea to cut the sweetness. The fact that European desserts were so incredibly sugary was one of their most defining traits. They were almost sickeningly sweet.
Draco's father, Lucius, was also here for the Quidditch World Cup, but he wasn't in the same camp as the others. He was in the most discreet part of the grounds, talking with a few wizards in dark robes who clearly weren't up to any good.
This was why people referred to Draco as "Mr. Malfoy, Junior." It was a common way of addressing both father and son when both were alive.
The Weasleys had come as well, as this was one of the biggest sporting events in the world.
Just then, a deep, resonant gong sounded from the forest. Thousands of red and green lanterns hanging from the trees blazed to life all at once, lighting the path to the stadium.
The Quidditch match was officially about to begin.
The group left the tent and followed the crowd towards the stadium.
"Premier box, top-level skybox! Mr. Malfoy, you'll want to go all the way up to the very top," the witch at the ticket gate said respectfully, pointing to the highest section.
On a huge blackboard in the center of the stadium, golden words flashed continuously, occasionally showing an image. There were advertisements for "Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover" and "Twilfitt and Tatting's Wizarding Apparel."
The Quidditch World Cup, unlike the wizarding card tournament, wasn't profitable on its own. Much like Muggle sports, it relied on advertisements and sponsorship fees.
The inside of the box was much more spacious and comfortable than they had expected.
Vendors were selling omnioculars, a magical device that could replay footage and show it in slow motion. After all, Quidditch is a fast-paced sport, and it's easy to miss things. Even from the highest box, you needed a little help to see the whole match clearly.
Not everyone had Dudley's eyesight, which allowed him to see everything clearly from across the stadium.
In Diagon Alley, a pair of omnioculars would cost just over a Galleon, but here, they were selling them for five or six times the price—at least ten Galleons a pop.
Ron pulled out his own pair of omnioculars and started adjusting them. He'd bought them on the way here. Ron, being accustomed to little money, wasn't about to spend a single Sickle more than he had to.
"Want to go see Fudge, Romario?" Malfoy asked, pointing to the next box over. "He's right next door."
"No," Ron said, shaking his head without hesitation.
Go see Fudge? Are you mad?
While Ron and Draco were bickering, a few figures appeared outside their box.
"Well, look who it is."
"Isn't that Mr. Dursley?"
A ridiculously theatrical voice rang out. It was none other than Fudge, the very person Ron and Draco had just been talking about.
Ron hadn't gone to see Fudge, so Fudge had come to them instead.
"Dear Minister Fudge, what a pleasure to see you," Dudley replied with an equally theatrical tone.
"What a coincidence to run into you here."
Fudge wasn't alone. He was followed by several other Ministry officials.
"Mr. Dursley, allow me to introduce you," Fudge said, gesturing to the woman in pink standing close by.
"This is Madam Dolores Umbridge, our Senior Undersecretary."
"It's so lovely to meet you," Umbridge said, her voice dripping with an unpleasantly high-pitched sweetness. It was the forced voice of a grown woman trying to sound like a little girl.
She, however, clearly thought it was charming.
"And this is... Mr. Barty Crouch, the Head of our Department of International Magical Cooperation."
The man Fudge introduced was a balding man with short, gray hair.
"And this is Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
This was a burly man with short blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a perpetually rosy face. You might have mistaken him for a Muggle rugby player.
The Ministry of Magic didn't have many departments, so all of these people were high-ranking officials.
After Fudge introduced Dudley, Bagman seemed to want to say something, but in the end, he didn't.