Can A Phoenix Love A Lion? (Hermione Granger x Male Reader)

35. The Quidditch World Cup

In the evening, Y/N and the others all hurried in the woods, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Y/N felt a grin on his face he couldn't take off.

At last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a stadium. It was gigantic. Nothing to do with Hogwarts's pitch, which seemed a park sandpit in comparison. Though Y/N could only see a fraction of the immense walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

"Seats a hundred thousand," Mr Weasley said, spotting the awestruck look on his face.

"Prime seats!" the Ministry witch said at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs and as high as you can go."

The stairs in the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They began climbing in the middle of the crowd. At some point, the group stopped in the middle of a landing. Y/N, at the back, couldn't hear what was happening. He made his way between his parents and got behind Harry and next to Hermione.

A voice that he knew too well to please him came to his ears, "Father and I are in the minister's box, by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself."

"Don't boast, Draco," came another voice that he'd have preferred not to know. "There no need with these people."

Over Harry's head, Y/N saw Mr Malfoy and his son, standing on another landing three feet under theirs, looking as arrogant as ever.

Harry began turning away, but Mr Malfoy caught his shoe with his cane. "Do enjoy yourself, won't you?" He made a crooked smile. "While you can."

Y/N kicked his cane, which slipped out of his finger and fell ten or so floors below, lost in the crowd. "If it isn't dear Mr Malfoy," he said casually.

Mr Malfoy obviously made an effort to keep calm. After a short silence, he said, "L/N. . . . I see last year has done no good to you. Not that I hoped you would have gained some dignity." He glanced behind Y/N—between his legs, actually. "You look more and more like your Muggle of a father."

"As long as I don't look like you, I don't mind," Y/N said. He turned the others. "We'd better get upstairs. I don't know about you, but I don't want to miss the beginning."

They set off again without giving Mr Malfoy time to say anything, leaving him alone with his prat of a son and without his cane.

A billion stairs later, they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here.

"Come on up," Mr Weasley said cheerfully, shouting over the crowd. "Take your seats. I told you these seats would be worth waiting for."

"Come on!" George yelled.

Y/N leaned over the guardrail. A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, at Y/N's eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again. It's going to be awesome!

Poppy got next to him. "You're going to have to explain me the ru—"

Suddenly, she lost her balance and began falling, but Y/N caught her by the arm before.