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Chapter 459: Bartemius Crouch
Chapter 459: Bartemius Crouch
In terms of appearance and attire, Crouch was far more presentable than Ludo Bagman, who often looked disheveled. With his neatly trimmed beard, shiny shoes, and immaculate suit, Crouch looked every bit the part of a respectable bank manager. Harry thought that even his finicky Uncle Vernon would have difficulty recognizing him.
However, Bagman didn't seem concerned at all. He was leisurely sipping tea with Mr. Weasley, showing no signs of approaching the Bulgarians. Crouch frowned, his expression turning slightly impatient.
"Mr. Crouch," Percy scurried over, hunching forward in an attempt at a bow, which made him look rather like a stooped old man. "Would you care for some tea?"
"Oh," Crouch said, his eyes flicking from the relaxed Bagman to Percy, "well... thank you, Weatherby."
Fred and George had to stifle their laughter, nearly spraying their tea back into their cups.
"The Crouch who speaks two hundred languages got Percy's last name wrong," Fred whispered to Kyle.
"Percy kept saying during the holidays that Crouch appreciated him..." George added.
"Looks like that might not be the case now," Fred snickered.
"He probably doesn't even know who Percy is!" George chimed in.
Percy's ears turned pink as he pretended to busy himself with the teapot, clearly embarrassed by his brothers' amusement at his expense.
Crouch's visit was not only about finding Bagman but also to discuss the issue of the banned flying carpets with Mr. Weasley.
There wasn't much to discuss as carpets had been defined as Muggle handicrafts and placed on the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects since the last century. In other words, it was forbidden to enchant carpets, let alone use them for flight. Anyone caught doing so would soon have the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office knocking on their door.
Kyle had reason to suspect that this regulation was definitely related to the broomstick companies, aiming to keep flying carpets out of England. After all, in terms of practicality, a flying carpet that could seat ten people was sometimes much more convenient than broomsticks, especially for family outings.
Crouch had a lot on his agenda, so after a brief chat, he left with an untouched cup of tea, taking Bagman with him.
Kyle and the others then pushed their cart towards the other side of the grounds, needing to sell the rest of their goods during this pre-game period.
Once they were a safe distance from the tent, Fred couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "Kyle, why did you stop me earlier? You heard Bagman, the odds he gave were high, we could have made a nice profit."
"I just don't think he's reliable," Kyle replied. "If you don't want to lose your pocket money, it's best to stay away from him."
"No, we think we can guess the outcome of the game this time," Fred insisted. "Trust our judgment... Ireland will definitely win, but Krum will catch the Snitch."
"That's not the point," Kyle shook his head. "Sometimes, even if you guess correctly, you may not get your money."
"You mean... he might welch on the bet?" George frowned.
"But..." Fred said after a moment's thought. "Bagman is still a celebrity, he wouldn't do such a thing, would he?"
"It's been almost a decade since his heyday," Kyle pointed out. "And with the high odds he's offering, how do you expect him to pay up in the end? Do you think the meager salary of a department head will cover it?"
Now that they thought about it, the name Ludo Bagman hadn't been heard in a long time, not since before this Quidditch World Cup.
"Phew... you're right!" Fred exhaled, "Let's forget about Bagman for now and focus on our business here."
He patted the box containing the fireworks. "At least these will bring in some solid gold coins."
"A wise decision," Cedric said with a smile.
He, too, felt that Ludo Bagman was a bit unreliable. Bagman was too exuberant, always jingling the bag of gold coins as if deliberately reminding others of his wealth.
Moreover, his father had mentioned a few days ago during a casual conversation that Bagman had once been accused of passing information to Death Eaters.
Although it was ultimately proven that he didn't intend for that information to fall into the wrong hands, the incident had occurred, and he had to make some sort of "contribution" to the Ministry of Magic to make up for his mistake and secure his release.
So, he probably didn't have much gold left to spare at the moment.
After a brief moment to calm their excitement, Fred and George stopped thinking about the matter and continued pushing their cart towards the busier areas.
By now, most ticket holders had arrived, and the grounds were significantly more crowded than they had been in the morning.
With more people came more customers.
Listening to the jingle of coins dropping into their money box, Fred and George quickly forgot their lingering regrets.
As they pushed their cart towards the middle of the campsite, they even encountered Professor McGonagall.
A loyal fan of Quidditch, she rarely missed a match, especially during the Hogwarts holidays.
There was no way she would skip this World Cup.
Moreover, Kyle had never seen Professor McGonagall like this before.
Her usual tight bun was undone, her hair clipped back with a four-leaf clover barrette, and her standard robe replaced with an Irish team uniform. She even had her face painted...
Although she wiped it off in an instant, Kyle had seen it... it was the Irish team's flag.
"Your style today is so cool, Professor McGonagall!" Kyle exclaimed, giving her a thumbs-up.
"I accept your compliment, Kyle," Professor McGonagall said with a smile. "What are you up to here?"
"Just adding a little something to the atmosphere of the game," Kyle replied, pushing the cart forward and inviting her to take her pick as their treat.
"Oh, these are nicely done," Professor McGonagall said, picking up a barrette shaped like a broomstick.
The more she looked at it, the more she liked it, and she immediately replaced her own barrette with the new one.
"Millicent, you're here... Oh, Kyle, Cho... you're here as well."
Two more professors approached from a short distance away—Professor Flitwick and Professor Aurora Sinistra, the astronomy teacher.
"Come and have a look, Filius," Professor McGonagall said happily. "You were just saying you wanted to buy a hat. I've found one for you."
"Really?" Professor Flitwick quickened his steps and peered into the cart, selecting items that caught his fancy.
(End of Chapter)
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