Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

0430 Grandness

Even Harry, Hermione, and the others, despite their diligence in physical education classes, were out of breath by the time they reached the summit. Their legs burned, and their lungs cried out for air. The height was truly staggering, rivaling that of a modest mountain. Peering down from their vantage point, they saw waves of wizards flooding into the stadium, moving like a colony of migrating ants.

In that moment, even Sirius felt a twinge of gratitude towards Ludo Bagman for securing them such important seats.

Their designated area was a compact box directly opposite the gleaming golden goalposts— this was the best vantage point that even the deepest Gringotts vault couldn't purchase.

Given the size of their group, Mr. Weasley gently escorted the younger members to quickly enter the box and find their seats. The space was already occupied by a group of individuals who were mostly key figures from the Ministry or the wider wizarding world. Mr. Weasley moved through the crowd shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, taking every opportunity to introduce an eager Percy to his extensive network of acquaintances.

Harry trailed behind Sirius; his mind still partly preoccupied with the mysterious woman from before. He was on the verge of entering the box when he suddenly realized– Remus, who was with them throughout their journey had inexplicably vanished.

"Sirius," Harry called out, his voice raised to be heard over the sound of the excited crowd. He tugged on Sirius's sleeve just as he was about to step into the box. "Where's Remus? He was right behind us earlier, but I can't see him anywhere."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you!" Sirius turned to face Harry with complex expression and a hint of shame. "Remus... well, he can't sit with us up here. You see, Harry, at an event of this size, with so many wizards from all corners of the world in attendance, the Ministry is... shall we say, overly cautious. They want to ensure everything runs smoothly, without any... complications."

It took Harry a moment to understand what Sirius meant but when they did, Harry's face contorted with a mixture of shock and indignation, but he didn't know how to defend Remus. And Only now did he realize how difficult it was for his father's other friend to survive in the wizarding world, and he understood why Remus had invested in Fred and George's venture.

With a heavy heart and a mind clouded by conflicting emotions, Harry stepped into the box. His gaze swept over Mr. Weasley, who was still engrossed in his networking efforts, and Harry abandoned any notion of voicing his protests to him.

His eyes then sought out Hermione and Ron; Hermione was conversing with Ginny, while Ron, along with Fred and George, had their attention completely captivated by the enormous magical scoreboard that hovered in the air like a shimmering mirage. Reluctantly, Harry also abandoned the idea of sharing his frustrations about the Ministry's treatment of Remus with his best friends.

As his eyes continued to roam the dimly lit box, Harry's attention was suddenly drawn to a tiny figure huddled in the last row. The small creature's legs were so short that they stuck out comically in front of its chair, reminding Harry of a child's doll perched on adult furniture. It wore a loose-fitting robe that seemed to swallow its tiny frame, and its face was buried deep within its hands. But it was the long, bat-like ears that caught Harry's attention, resembling those of a house-elf he had encountered in the past.

"Dobby?" Harry called out in disbelief.

The house-elf, startled by the sudden address, slowly lowered its hands from its face. As its face came into view, Harry immediately realized his mistake – this was not the eager, bright-eyed Dobby he remembered.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry—" Harry quickly apologized, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. He nodded apologetically towards the unknown house-elf, explaining, "I mistook you for someone else. Um, Dobby – he's another house-elf I know."

To Harry's surprise, the house-elf's large, tennis-ball-sized eyes lit up with recognition. "But I knows Dobby too, sir!" the creature squeaked, its high-pitched voice carrying a note of excitement. The elf hadn't completely lowered its hands, still shielding its eyes as if the light in the box was too harsh for its sensitive vision. "My name is Winky, sir—and you, sir—"

As Winky's gaze traveled upwards, finally settling on Harry's forehead, her eyes – so different from Dobby's in their shape and hue – widened to an almost comical degree.

The lightning bolt scar, Harry's most 'distinguishing' feature, seemed to have the same effect on house-elves as it did on humans.

"You is Harry Potter!" Winky exclaimed, her voice a mixture of awe and reverence.

Harry, having faced this exact scenario countless times throughout the day, managed to maintain his composure and calmly nodded towards her.

"Hello, Winky. It's nice to meet you. You mentioned you know Dobby? Did you work together at some point?"

Winky drew herself up with pride, her chest puffing out slightly despite her little stature.

"Winky serves Master Barty Crouch, sir!" she said, her voice filled with unmistakable reverence for her master. However, her tone shifted as she continued, "And Dobby—begging your pardon, sir—but you set Dobby free, and I'm afraid... well, I'm afraid that hasn't done him much good, sir."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion and concern. "Why not?" he asked, genuinely surprised by this information. "What's wrong with Dobby? Is he alright?"

Winky's large eyes grew sad, and she shook her head slowly. "Freedom's going to Dobby's head, sir," she explained, her voice heavy with what sounded like a mixture of pity and disapproval. "He's getting ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir. No respectable wizarding family will hire a house-elf who wants wages and holidays!"

Harry's mind whirled at this information. His gaze instinctively flicked towards Hermione, who was still chatting with Ginny near the railing. He could already imagine her passionate reaction to such news.

Looking back at Winky, Harry's frown deepened. "Wait a moment," he said slowly, trying to process this new information, "are you saying that house-elves don't typically get paid or have holidays?"

"Of course not, sir!" she squeaked earnestly, as if explaining a basic concept in mathematics. "House-elves belongs entirely to their masters. We must obey our master's orders unconditionally, without question or hesitation. Take Winky, for instance, Harry Potter, sir—"

She paused, creating a small gap between her hands that were still partially covering her face, and glanced nervously towards the edge of the box. A visible shudder ran through her tiny body, and she let out a small gasp before continuing. "I has a terrible fear of heights, sir, but Master sent me to the top box, so here I came, sir—"

Harry's mind latched onto a crucial detail – Barty Crouch. The name stirred a memory; this was Percy's boss, the high-ranking Ministry official. But more importantly, a dimmer recollection surfaced – Barty Crouch was the man responsible for sending Sirius to Azkaban fourteen years ago without a trial.

A spark of indignation flared in Harry's chest.

"If he knew you were afraid of heights, why would he send you up here?"

Winky's eyes widened in alarm at Harry's tone. "Master—Master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter, sir. He's very busy," she explained hastily, tilting her head to indicate the empty seat beside her. "Winky wishes she could go back to Master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she's told. Winky is a good house-elf."

She cast another fearful glance towards the edge of the box, her entire body trembled slightly, before quickly covering her eyes completely once more.

Harry opened his mouth, intending to inquire further about Dobby's current situation and the apparently complex dynamics of house-elf employment, but his words were cut short by a sudden commotion at the entrance to the box. A new group of people had arrived, led by none other than Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself.

Fudge's entrance had an immediate and dramatic effect on the atmosphere within the box, like a stone thrown into a previously calm pond. The people who had been conversing with Mr. Weasley stood up one after another, approaching Fudge with fawning expressions.

With Mr. Weasley's assistance, Percy also managed to navigate through the mass of supporters and bootlickers finally reaching Fudge's side. In his excitement and nervousness, Percy bowed so low and so quickly that he accidentally smashed his horn-rimmed glasses against the floor.

Winky clearly overwhelmed by the presence of such important figures in the wizarding world, seemed to shrink even further into herself. She turned sideways in her chair, practically lying across the armrest of the seat she had diligently saved for Mr. Crouch, not daring to look at them.

"Oh ho ho, Harry, my boy!"

Fudge's jolly voice cut through the excited chatter filling the box. Politicians, it seemed, possessed an ability to spot potential photo opportunities, and Fudge's keen gaze pierced through the crowd to land straight on Harry, who was still standing at the back of the box. With a broad smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, Fudge waved enthusiastically at Harry. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here!"

Caught in the spotlight of the Minister's attention, Harry found himself unable to continue his conversation with Winky. With a mixture of reluctance and resignation, he made his way from the back of the box to the front, where Fudge was waiting for him with his hand outstretched in greeting.

As Harry approached, Fudge's chubby fingers closed around his hand in an overly firm handshake. Without releasing Harry's hand, Fudge turned slightly, using his free arm to gesture towards a wizard who had entered the box alongside him. This new figure was dressed in black velvet robes trimmed with intricate gold embroidery that spoke of both wealth and status.

"Harry," Fudge began, his voice carrying a note of barely concealed pride, "allow me to introduce you to a very distinguished guest. This is the Bulgarian Minister for Magic."

To Harry's surprise and slight discomfort, he discovered that even someone as important as a foreign Minister for Magic was not immune to the fascination his scar seemed to have in the wizarding world.

As soon as Fudge finished his introduction, the Bulgarian Minister's eyes locked onto Harry's forehead, widening with recognition and excitement. Without further ado, the foreign minister began to gesture energetically towards Harry's scar, as a stream of enthusiastic but entirely incomprehensible words poured from his mouth.

Fudge let out a weary sigh, his earlier enthusiasm noticeably diminished. "Well, it seems he's finally understood something—" he muttered to Harry in a soft voice, his exasperation evident. "We've been battling this blasted language barrier all evening. I've been reduced to miming everything like some sort of street performer. This sort of thing is really more Barty's forte. Ah, speaking of which—" Fudge's gaze flicked towards the back of the box, where Winky still trembled in her seat. "I see his house-elf has saved him a seat. How thoughtful. These Bulgarians have been trying to cadge all the best places— ah—"

Fudge's words trailed off abruptly, his attention suddenly diverted. Though he was still facing Harry, his body language shifted subtly, indicating that he had sensed someone approaching from behind. With the practiced ease of a seasoned politician, Fudge seamlessly changed his demeanor, his voice taking on a light, jovial tone as he greeted the newcomer.

"Lucius!" Fudge exclaimed, turning to face the approaching figure. "What a pleasure to see you here!"

Lucius Malfoy, along with Draco and Narcissa, whom Harry had encountered earlier that morning, appeared at the entrance of the box. Sirius's expression changed slightly. He jumped over a row of chairs to stand beside Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder while coldly staring at the Malfoy family.

"Ah, Cornelius—" Malfoy strode into the box, approaching the Minister of Magic. "I don't believe you've had the pleasure of meeting my wife, Narcissa, or our son, Draco."

Fudge plastered a broad smile across his face. His bowler hat bobbed as he nodded enthusiastically greeted Narcissa and Draco, then turning back to Lucius, Fudge's brow furrowed slightly. "You're quite late, Lucius. Did something hold you up?"

"Your perception is as keen as ever, Minister. We did encounter a... slight situation—" Lucius smiled smoothly, though his cold grey eyes held no warmth. His gaze swept the box, lingering for a moment on Sirius and Harry, filling with a contempt so palpable it seemed to lower the temperature in the already chilly box.

"What happened?" Fudge asked with concern.

Lucius's voice dropped to a theatrical whisper, perfectly adjusted to carry to every eager ear in the box.

"It wasn't me, you understand, but Narcissa and Draco. This morning, at the campsite, they had a most alarming encounter with a werewolf." He paused, allowing his words to sink in, savoring the shocked gasps that rippled through the gathered witches and wizards. "Upon learning of this, I was, naturally, deeply concerned about their psychological well-being. I took the liberty of escorting them to St. Mungo's for a thorough mental evaluation."

'Lies!'

The word blazed through Harry's mind like wildfire. He longed to shout it, to expose Lucius Malfoy's deceit to everyone present. But Sirius's grip on his shoulder tightened preventing him from reacting.

Lucius's words indeed shocked Fudge considerably. However, noticing that the Bulgarian Minister of Magic beside him also seemed deeply troubled by Lucius's words, Fudge attempted to regain control of the situation. He let out a laugh that sounded more like a wheezy cough as he said, "Oh, ha ha, what a droll little jest, Lucius. Werewolves are under the strictest control, I assure you and after Bryan executed Fenrir Greyback and his pack of bloodthirsty beasts, I'd like to see any werewolf in Britain dare to cause even the slightest disturbance."

Fudge's gaze darted around the box, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face as he continued, "Speaking of which—Bryan, like yourself, Lucius, made a rather generous donation to St. Mungo's. I had Amelia send him an invitation to join us, but curiously, the several owls we dispatched were unable to locate him." His eyes landed on Sirius, and his tone became noticeably cooler. "Sirius?"

It was clear that Fudge had recognized Sirius earlier but had deliberately ignored him, knowing their mutual dislike for each other. Now, however, the mention of Bryan forced him to address the former prisoner. "Do you happen to know of Bryan's whereabouts? If he's here to watch the match, we really ought to extend an invitation for him to join us. It would be a shame if he were stuck with anything less than a top-tier ticket."

Harry keenly observed that when Fudge mentioned Professor Watson, Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, appeared unusually tense. It was only after Sirius informed Fudge that Professor Watson had not attended the match that some color returned to his face.

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