The bald man quickly lifted his head—Kern had to admire his ability to control his expression. Despite sitting in front of a row of Ministry officials with Kern's father right beside him, this guy had just kissed Kern's robe, been caught red-handed, and yet instantly acted like nothing had happened, calmly turning his attention back to the match.
He even had the nerve to glance at Edward with a look that said, "What are you babbling about? I'm just watching the game."
"You—!" Edward gritted his teeth, leaning past Kern to snarl at the bald wizard, pulling his wand from his robe pocket.
"Is everyone ready?" Ludo Bagman, buzzing with excitement for the match, completely missed the small commotion in the front side seats. He eagerly turned to Fudge. "Minister—shall we begin?"
The Weasley twins wanted to confront Bagman about their investment, but since he was now "on official business," they had no choice but to fidget in their seats, waiting for a chance to speak.
"Whenever you're ready, Ludo," Fudge muttered, distractedly rubbing the hand he'd used to touch Kern, as if worried something had been taken—or left behind.
Bagman cast a Sonorus charm on himself, and his booming voice drowned out Edward's furious muttering.
One side was stating facts, the other was stubbornly denying…
"Kern, switch seats with me," Edward said, realizing this pervert wasn't going to back down and had the audacity to meet his glare without flinching. He opted for the next best solution—physically blocking the creep from his son.
Once Edward had taken Kern's seat, the bald man grew visibly uneasy.
"Keep 'watching the match,' go on," Edward growled under his breath, leaning toward him. "Just wait till it's over—see if I don't tie you up and beat the hell out of you."
For emphasis, he let the edge of his robe drape over the bald man's seat.
Seeing the man grimace and lean away, Edward smirked in satisfaction.
Ron, now seated to Kern's right, glanced between Edward and the stranger, confused.
"Someone was harassing me," Kern muttered reluctantly. "Edward's counter-harassing him."
"Creepy—" Ron shuddered, shaking his head before lifting his Omnioculars back to his eyes.
"These things are brilliant…" Ron fiddled with the settings, testing its limits. "I can make that old bloke over there pick his nose again… and again… and again—"
"Now you seem like the bigger pervert," Kern said, his left eyelid twitching.
"No, wait—his perversion leans athletic. Yours leans corporate."
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" Bagman's magically amplified voice thundered through the box, nearly deafening everyone inside.
But Edward, having anticipated this, had already slipped earplugs into Kern's ears.
The stands erupted in cheers, thousands of flags waving like a stormy sea. The giant scoreboard overhead wiped away its previous message, now displaying:
BULGARIA: 0 | IRELAND: 0
"And now, without further ado—let me present… the Bulgarian National Team's mascots!"
The right side of the stadium roared in anticipation.
"I wonder what they've brought," Mr. Weasley said, rubbing his eyes. "Ah! Veela!"
Before Harry could ask what Veela were, they had already flooded the pitch.
A hundred stunningly beautiful women glided onto the field—though their allure was clearly magical, given how every male in the vicinity started acting like lovestruck idiots.
Harry swayed dreamily toward the box's low wall, while Ron looked ready to dive headfirst into the stands. If not for the protective enchantments, they'd have needed straitjackets.
The adult men fared slightly better—Fudge and the others shifted awkwardly in their seats, while Lucius Malfoy got a sharp pinch to the thigh from Narcissa.
Edward, though staring intently, kept himself in check.
They'd all covered their ears the moment the Veela began singing, avoiding full enchantment.
"Kern Remains Unaffected"
Veela charms didn't work on Dementors—though their souls and joy might've been tempting.
The only other unaffected man was the bald wizard (actually the silver-key assassin under Polyjuice).
"Hmph." He didn't even bother covering his ears, just scoffed at the Veela, much to the Bulgarian Minister's irritation.
Kern decided not to dwell on why…
Once the music stopped, Hermione yanked Harry and Ron back, exasperated.
"Honestly, you two!" she huffed.
"And now," Bagman boomed, "raise your wands high… for the Irish National Team's mascots!"
A green-and-gold comet shot into the stadium, circling twice before exploding into a shimmering, massive shamrock.
"Leprechauns!" someone cheered.
Then, gold rained from the sky—coins clattering onto heads. If they'd been real, the crowd below would've been buried alive.
Kern picked one up. The coins were enchanted illusions, turning solid only upon landing—no casualties, just greed.
First seduction, then bribery—both fake.
Yet the crowd ate it up, scrambling for the gold even after shamelessly begging the Veela to stay moments earlier.
As the shamrock faded, the leprechauns settled opposite the Veela, cross-legged, ready to watch.
Bagman introduced the players with dramatic flair, each performing aerial stunts at their name. Then came the referee—a skinny man with a wild, bushy beard.
The whistle blew. The Quaffle soared. The match began.
Kern wasn't much of a Quidditch player, so while fans roared around him, he mostly saw players jostling mid-air, restrained only by foul rules.
The real entertainment? The Veela-leprechaun feud.
Every Irish goal had the leprechauns forming a giant green hand to flip off the Veela—who, enraged, transformed into harpy-like creatures, hurling fireballs back.
Now the players dodged not just Bludgers, but stray flames.
"Things are getting… uncivil," Bagman commented as the referee intervened. "Penalty to Ireland—twice!"
"See, kids?" Mr. Weasley seized the teaching moment. "Never judge by appearances—"
"Should I give you a lecture too?" Edward muttered, copying the move by leaning toward Kern.
"You're asking me?" Kern sighed. "You're the one who got Veela-hypnotized."
Just then, an Irish Beater smashed a Bludger straight into Krum's face, breaking his nose.
The leprechauns celebrated by forming increasingly rude shapes in the air until the referee shut them down.
But two minutes later—before Krum could even tend to his nose—Lynch spotted the Snitch.
Krum pursued, blood streaming behind him, and after a reckless dive that sent Lynch crashing, he pulled up at the last second—snatching the Snitch.
FINAL SCORE: BULGARIA – 160 | IRELAND – 170
"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted. "But—Krum caught the Snitch! Merlin's beard, who saw that coming?"
"We fought bravely," the Bulgarian Minister said solemnly.
"You speak English?!" Fudge gaped. "And you let me mime like an idiot all day?!"
"It was fun," the Minister shrugged.
"I minister better," Kern whispered, nudging Edward toward the Bulgarian.
Fudge might've heard—he cleared his throat nervously.
The bald man definitely heard. Was this a signal? Should he strike now?
"Shh—" Edward hushed Kern. "Diplomatic courtesy, at least."
Ahem. Fudge loudly coughed. "Right! Closing remarks—award ceremony—Sonorus!"
He cast the charm on himself.
"Let's welcome the Irish team for the Cup—and Bulgaria, the valiant losers!" He stressed "valiant" with clear pettiness.
Two wizards hauled the Quidditch Cup into the box for Fudge to present.
The Irish team entered first, supporting a dazed Lynch.
Before Fudge could finish, the bald man stood.
In one fluid motion, he whipped around, wand already raised—
A blinding green jet shot toward Fudge.
Crouch, reacting instantly, tackled Fudge. The Killing Curse hit the Cup—shattering it.
Kern was almost disappointed. Aiming for the head would've been cleaner.
Multiple red beams—from Mr. Weasley, Crouch, and Edward—slammed into the assassin, launching him over the railing.
But the chaos didn't end there.
From the panicking crowd below, a voice shouted:
A sickly green spell shot skyward, forming the Dark Mark—a towering skull, serpent slithering from its jaws.
Lucius's barely concealed frown said it all—this wasn't part of the plan.
Fudge, still on the floor, paled at the sight.
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