Chapter 176
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Soon, it was the day of the Quidditch World Cup. Wizards from all over the world were living in tents. Countless foreigners wandered across the open fields, chatting enthusiastically. Most of them were passionately discussing which team would become the final champion.
They had different skin colors — black, white, yellow — and wore all kinds of strange clothing. Some wore dark green grass skirts, woven with impressive craftsmanship. Some had long, fiery red feathers stuck into their hats. Others seemed to have just arrived from freezing regions and were still wrapped in thick coats.
Most of the people here were businessmen who had seized the opportunity.
They were busy attracting customers and selling all kinds of peculiar souvenirs.
Many pushed small carts filled with glowing rose-shaped badges — green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria — while shouting the names of famous players. There were tall green hats with dancing clovers, Bulgarian ribbons with roaring lions, flags that played their national anthems when waved, miniature flying Firebolts, and collectible figurines of star players that strutted proudly across your palm.
"Draco, look at this."
Pansy pulled Malfoy through the crowd and stopped in front of a stall.
The vendor stood out among the others, wrapped in a black cloak. Compared to the cart sellers, he looked like a crane among chickens. His stall was piled high with exquisitely crafted gloves, stacked into a small hill. The shimmering fabric immediately caught Pansy's attention, and she could not look away.
"How much?" Malfoy asked directly.
The cloaked man did not speak. He simply stretched a finger out from under his cloak and pointed to a sign:
One Galleon. No bargaining.
"Pick a color and hurry up. They're still waiting for us," Malfoy urged. He was helpless against Pansy's endless curiosity. Yesterday, she and her parents had "coincidentally" run into the Malfoys, and the role of guide had naturally fallen to him.
Looking at her carefree excitement, Malfoy knew she had completely forgotten what he had told her that night.
That's good, he thought. At her age, she should be carefree.
"Don't rush me. If I choose the wrong one, I'll blame you," Pansy said, biting her finger as she hesitated painfully between colors, as if giving up any option was a great loss.
"Here — this is for you."
In the end, she chose a pair of black men's gloves with silver trim and handed them to him.
The moment he touched them, Malfoy felt a faint warmth. The seller had clearly cast a small charm on them, though it would not last long. Most enchantments on equipment had limited duration.
"You have good taste," Malfoy said perfunctorily. Then he reminded her, "If we don't go in now, there might not be any good seats left. Look how many people there are."
"Then let's go!"
Pansy hurriedly paid, grabbed his hand again, and pulled him toward the stadium.
After only a few steps, she suddenly stopped and stared at him suspiciously.
"You lied to me again. We're clearly in the same private box! It's not like we're sitting in the stands."
She was annoyed at how easily she had been fooled.
"Don't you think a game like this is more exciting in the crowd?" Malfoy said with a smile.
Pansy imagined sitting with both families — speaking softly, watching her manners, constantly worrying about appearances. Compared to that, cheering freely among the roaring crowd did sound far more enjoyable.
"You… might have a point," she admitted reluctantly, unwilling to show she had been convinced.
"Then it's settled," Malfoy said firmly. "If your father asks, just blame me."
"You said it."
Pansy immediately looked excited. Watching from the stands was a completely new experience for her.
Quidditch at Hogwarts was nothing compared to this. Whether it was the level of play, the atmosphere, or the scale of the audience, the difference was like heaven and earth. Even the deafening noise outside the stadium showed how influential the sport was in the wizarding world.
Since becoming a Slytherin player, she rarely watched matches purely for enjoyment. Before, she only studied tactics.
Thousands of people surged around them. Shouting, laughter, and bursts of singing filled the air. The excitement was infectious. Even Malfoy felt his pulse quicken slightly.
Maybe this will be interesting.
But he quickly dismissed the thought.
He had more important things to do.
He needed a reasonable excuse — a way to disappear from his parents' sight.
Just as he was thinking about his next step, Pansy spoke again.
"Draco, which team are you supporting?"
"Hm?" Malfoy thought for a moment. "The Wimbourne Wasps?"
"They were eliminated in the first round!" Pansy made a face. "The final is Ireland versus Bulgaria. Don't tell me you don't even know that?"
"Of course I do," Malfoy said inwardly, though he pretended otherwise. Before approaching Ludo Bagman, he had studied Quidditch carefully for safety reasons.
He was playing dumb now because he didn't know which team Pansy supported. If they disagreed, she would nag him endlessly.
But he had miscalculated.
Pansy immediately began explaining everything he already knew — analyzing tactics, discussing key players, and predicting strategies.
Malfoy listened to her enthusiastic "lecture" all the way until they reached their destination.
The stadium was enormous, capable of holding one hundred thousand spectators. Magnificent golden walls surrounded it.
"Third-class tickets," said the witch at the entrance after checking them. "Bleachers. Follow the crowd to the right."