Chapter 510: Prophecy and the Wild Man
Chapter 510: Prophecy and the Wild Man
"The Bulgarian team wins!"
Ludo Bagman announced with a solemn face, "Krum caught the Golden Snitch... his final flying maneuver was beyond spectacular. This first-time World Cup Seeker displayed a remarkable talent..."
His tone didn't quite match the jubilant atmosphere in the stadium, but no one paid much attention to that. Only Bagman himself, as he used a magical amplification charm to announce the end of the semifinal, felt his heart sinking.
Before the match, he had been promoting the Bulgarian team's high chances of winning, but deep down, he had a different opinion.
Bagman had once been a professional player for the Wimbourne Wasps. Even now, he still enjoyed wearing the team's uniform, and he took more pride in being a Quidditch player than in his position as the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry of Magic.
In short, Bagman was very confident in his judgment. He believed that a young player like Krum, only eighteen years old and playing in such a major competition for the first time, would lack the mental fortitude to handle it. Yet, the result was a victory.
As Bagman calculated the amount of money he had lost, his mind buzzed with distress. He almost stumbled as he walked down the stairs.
While some were elated, others were disheartened. In a private box several floors away, Sybill Trelawney was counting her winnings, her mouth stretched in a wide grin.
She pulled up her wide, colorful shawl to cover her mouth, laughing silently for a moment before regaining her composure. Her eyes misty and her voice ethereal, she said:
"This is the guidance of fate; my third eye has foreseen this moment... Ah, let me see, let me see the shadow under the moon..."
The people in the box watched the "great" seer with reverence. Only a few glanced up at the sun rising above the clouds, their faces showing a hint of skepticism.
Trelawney spoke whatever came to mind, regardless of whether it was relevant. Since she had already determined the outcome, she could make up the rest as she went along.
"I see... a shattered tower, great turmoil is approaching... I hear the crows' caws and the howls of the black dog..."
Trelawney trembled, extending her thin arms as if trying to touch an invisible presence in the air.
The women around her stared wide-eyed, holding their breath, not daring to disturb her divination.
Suddenly, Trelawney began to shake violently, collapsing into an armchair and covering her eyes with her hands, as if she had seen something unspeakable.
After a while, a round-faced witch whispered, "What happened, Professor Trelawney? Is it... is it that... Grindelwald is going to attack Britain?"
She had intended to ask this, but before she could finish, Trelawney lowered her hands and swept her gaze over the group with a compassionate look.
"Poor souls, you will understand one day... fate does not lie..."
"What did you see, Professor?" another older woman asked, her voice trembling.
Trelawney smiled mysteriously and said, "I saw the end, and I saw the result of the final match..."
The group fell silent for a moment.
It sounded so serious, as if the end of the world was coming. Was it really just the outcome of the final match?
They found it hard to take her seriously, but remembering how some had doubted Trelawney before and missed out on a chance to make money, they began to see a certain logic in her unique style of expression.
"Do you still want to place a bet with me?" Sybill Trelawney gazed into the distance with her ethereal eyes. "You can doubt, but fate only favors its true believers..."
The crowd no longer hesitated, pulling out their money pouches, and the table quickly piled up with galleons.
...
The crowd surged out of the stadium like a tide. The match had lasted nearly fifteen hours, leaving most of the spectators who had stayed until the end utterly exhausted.
Therefore, many apparated right from the stands. Wade and the others, having had a warm breakfast, were in relatively better shape and stayed in the box for a while longer, waiting for the peak congestion to clear before heading back to the camp.
As they made their way down the stairs, they caught sight of the back of the Bulgarian team. The once formidable Viktor Krum now walked with a noticeable pigeon-toed gait, his entire demeanor gloomy, and his shoulders slumped.
He looked far less imposing now, almost a bit pathetic, and his walk was listless.
But seeing his idol, Harry had a built-in ten-level filter. He waved enthusiastically and called out loudly, "Wade... look, it's Krum!"
Krum... Krum... Krum...
The young boy's excited voice echoed through the corridor, and the entire team stopped, instinctively turning to look back.
These players had likely just taken a potion for the cold, their previously pale faces now flushed, and smoke still rising from their ears. Their expressions and eyes looked dazed.
Harry: "..."
Krum nodded at this young fan but said nothing. Another player waved back with a smile, and the group continued on their way.
"Let's go", Sirius patted Harry's shoulder and said.
Harry walked silently for a while. Once they were outside the stadium, he seemed to have recovered from the shock and moved closer to Wade, saying with a tinge of regret:
"I forgot to bring a quill... Do you think if we meet again, he might sign for me?"
"Who?" Wade, somewhat distracted, asked automatically.
"Who else? Viktor Krum, of course!" Harry emphasized: "One of the best Seekers in the world!"
"You could exchange signatures with him", Wade suggested half-heartedly. "You are Harry Potter, after all. He might want your signature too!"
"Really?" Harry asked, uncertain. "But I'm not like him. He has real talent... and he didn't say a word before he left..."
"He might have been in a hurry to rest and didn't see you clearly", Wade said. "Be more confident. By the time you're his age, you might make the national team too."
Harry fell into a new round of deep thought, muttering words like "Seeker", "Auror", and "World Cup", clearly troubled by his future career choices.
Wade, meanwhile, glanced at the fur tent. A large, wild-looking man emerged from it, holding a small tin can. A large crucible was on the fire, the water inside boiling. The man pinched some black substance from the can and sprinkled it into the crucible, clearly focused on his cooking.
Wade smiled and walked past.
In the distant forest, the giant trees swayed, their leaves rustling softly, like a whispered conversation.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
