madnovel Chapter 336 That Empty Seat
Chapter 336 That Empty Seat
Chapter 336 That Empty Seat (6.3K) (1/2)
Fudge and Lynch exchanged pleasantries, nothing more than praising the grand scale of the event, wishing the competition a great success, and emphasizing the symbolic significance of this grand event for the unity of the wizarding world—all standard clichés for public occasions.
However, Fouchina's overly enthusiastic, even fawning, attitude aroused suspicion among many uninformed officials and nobles in the private room.
They sized up Lynch—young, with a cool demeanor, and not a regular visitor to the ancient family—and began to speculate about his background.
Is he Fudge's close friend? Or a low-profile foreign dignitary? Various speculations arose in the silent exchange of glances.
Sirius, surrounded by enemies, saw Lynch and Mr. Weasley and his eyes lit up. But seeing that Fudge was talking to Lynch, he suppressed his eagerness and continued to deal with the people around him for the time being.
Fudge and Lynch exchanged a few more words, and only when someone else approached did he reluctantly shake Lynch's hand firmly: "Well then, Mr. Lynch, we must find an opportunity to discuss this in detail later!"
"Of course, Mr. Minister." Lynch nodded slightly.
Fudge then turned around and re-engaged in his social circle.
Sirius, who was surrounded, finally seized the opportunity to escape.
He quickly said "Excuse me, I've met an old friend" to the old wizard who was still lamenting the "restoration of the Black family's glory," and then strode towards Lynch and Mr. Weasley as if fleeing a fire, his face showing a much more genuine expression that was a mixture of helplessness and relief.
"Arthur! Lynch!" he called out, his voice clear in the relatively quiet corner. "Thank goodness you're here. I was about to be drowned in compliments. It was more unbearable than the Dementors of Azkaban—at least they don't force you to talk."
Lin Qi looked at him, a very faint smile on his lips: "It seems that the responsibilities of a special guest are more arduous than I imagined."
"It's pure torture," Sirius complained, then immediately turned to Arthur and asked with concern, "Where's Harry?"
Is everything alright? Have we arrived yet?
Mr. Weasley smiled with relief: "That's good. He's with our boys in Lynch's box, and they've been thinking about the game and snacks all along."
As Sirius Black and Mr. Weasley were talking, Lynch's gaze once again swept across the entire box, almost unintentionally, assessing the people and their movements—a subconscious habit when in a complex environment.
Just then, his gaze stopped on a slightly dimly lit corner at the back of the private room.
He noticed a small discordant element that he had overlooked when he entered the private room due to the crowd.
There sat a house-elf.
She wore an immaculate tea towel and was shifting nervously, her slender fingers covering her large, bulbous eyes. Her entire posture was one of extreme fear, as if she were struggling to complete a daunting task. Her demeanor was completely out of place among the well-dressed, chatting wizards around her, like a jarring, old patch of color in a magnificent oil painting.
Lynch recognized her.
During the previous investigation of Barty Crouch, his detailed file contained records and images of this particular house-elf, Sparkle, the Crouch family's ancestral house-elf, who had served the Crouch family since birth.
"What's going on?" Lin Qi's gaze didn't leave the house-elf; he simply tilted his head slightly and asked Sirius in a voice only the two of them could hear, "What's with that house-elf? How did she end up here?"
His tone carried a hint of surprise, as well as a pure curiosity.
Sirius glanced casually in the direction of his gaze, and his face immediately revealed undisguised sarcasm: "Oh, Sparkle."
Those were Barty Crouch's house-elf. That old Crouch, ever since he became the director of the International Department of Magical Cooperation, has increasingly enjoyed showing off his "busybody" and "important" status. He sends his house-elf hours early to reserve his spot, then dawdles, just to make everyone notice his tardiness and the importance of his affairs. An old trick.
His disgust for the traditional old fogies of Batty-Crouch was evident, and his tone was full of sarcasm.
Lin Qi listened quietly, his face showing no expression of agreement or disagreement. Only then did his gaze slowly...
She actually landed on the empty seat next to Shan Shan, which had been carefully reserved and covered with dark velvet.
That seat stood there all alone, standing out starkly against the backdrop of a bustling crowd and clinking glasses—and looking utterly empty.
Lynch's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, his pupils appearing even darker in the shifting light of the private room. This subtle movement was so fleeting that even Sirius beside him didn't notice it. He didn't comment on Sirius's sarcasm, nor did he raise any further questions; he simply etched this seemingly ordinary detail of "seat-saving" along with the unusually "absent" empty seat into his mind.
At that moment, a loud announcement came from the main stadium below, reminding the audience that the opening ceremony was about to officially begin.
"I'll come to your private room in a bit!" Sirius said.
Lynch and Arthur nodded to Sirius, then turned and quietly left the suffocatingly luxurious private room.
The Quidditch World Cup finals opening ceremony began amidst great anticipation.
After a series of magical fireworks and mascot flying performances, the floating podium in the center of the arena lit up.
Minister Cornelius Fudge, his round, ruddy-faced figure, appeared before the crowd, waving his wand and making his voice resound throughout the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen, friends from afar!" Fudge's voice was filled with festive joy and pride. "Welcome to the final of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup! Tonight, we will witness the highest level of speed, skill, and courage!"
After the customary welcoming remarks and thanks to the organizers, Fudge's tone shifted slightly, taking on a deliberately solemn and sentimental quality.
"Before we immerse ourselves in the passion of the competition, please allow me a moment to introduce a special gentleman. His presence not only adds significance to tonight's event but also symbolizes some of the precious qualities cherished in our magical society: resilience, the relentless pursuit of justice, and the hope of regaining innocence after darkness."
He paused, then shone the light onto the side entrance, his voice growing more fervent: "He was born into an ancient and illustrious family, yet he took a completely different path; he was imprisoned due to terrible misunderstandings and betrayals, enduring unimaginable suffering and loneliness; but he never gave up proving his innocence, and ultimately, the truth was revealed and justice was served!"
"He was a courageous Gryffindor, a loyal friend, and now, the last heir and restorer of his ancient family. He witnessed one of the deepest wounds in our society, and his freedom reminds us of the importance of tolerance..."
The importance of trust and never giving up the pursuit of the truth.
"Tonight, we are honored to have him—Mr. Sirius Black—open our final round!"
Let's welcome him with the warmest applause!
Applause, especially from the British wizarding community, rang out enthusiastically and in a complex manner.
Accompanied by low, barely suppressed murmurs.
Sirius Black, in the past year, has gone from being the most evil fugitive to a wronged hero, and now to the nominal head of the ancient Black family.
These experiences are nothing short of legendary.
Amid applause, Sirius Black walked onto the makeshift central floating stage. His dark formal robes appeared somewhat overly formal under the bright lights of the arena, creating a subtle contrast with the lingering impatience on his face and his innate arrogance.
He stopped, his gaze sweeping over the endless, brightly lit stands below, and took a deep breath.
The amplification magic made his voice clearly heard in every corner.
"Good evening." His opening was concise, his voice slightly lower than usual when he was with acquaintances, but clear and strong enough.
"I'm not good at speaking in front of so many people, especially in this kind of situation." He paused slightly, seemingly making a silent mockery of his own suit, which drew a few good-natured chuckles from the audience.
"They told me what it means for me to stand here," Sirius continued, his gray eyes slightly narrowed in the bright light. "It symbolizes forgiveness, it symbolizes that justice may be late but it will eventually come, it symbolizes that an old wound can begin to heal." His words were official, but there was a hint of bitterness and sarcasm in his tone that was not easily detected and belonged to him personally. Those who knew his story could hear the weight behind it.
"To be honest, I don't really care about these symbols." He then shifted his tone, becoming more direct, even with his usual recklessness. "I prefer to see it as a reminder. A reminder of how terrible mistakes fanaticism and credulity can make, and how silence and fear can be accomplices to these mistakes."
These words caused some Ministry of Magic officials in the boxes to change their expressions slightly, but most of the audience, especially adult wizards who had experienced or were familiar with that dark history, fell into a thoughtful silence.
"But tonight," Sirius's tone suddenly brightened, his gaze seemingly fixed on Lynch's box, his gloom replaced by a brighter light, "we're gathered here not to dwell on the past, but to celebrate the present, to celebrate passion, to celebrate the good old days when we can still cheer and shout for a thief, a Quake! So, let's forget those complicated 'symbols' for now!"
He raised his voice, waving his arm and pointing to the towering golden goalposts: "Let's cheer for the warriors about to take the field! Let's cheer for Ireland's speed and teamwork! Let's cheer for Bulgaria's resilience and the talent of a player like Viktor Krum! Let's cheer for Quidditch, this sport that gets our blood pumping!"
"I hereby declare the 422nd Quidditch World Cup Finals—now in full swing! Have a crazy and wonderful night!"
His concluding remarks were crisp and to the point, without any unnecessary embellishment.
The moment he finished speaking, he seemed to have unloaded a huge burden. Almost before the applause had fully started, he gave a cursory nod towards the audience, strode off the stage, and left the sudden, overwhelming cheers behind him.
Having completed this exhausting official mission, Sirius Black didn't linger. He refused all attempts by officials and reporters to strike up a conversation, and like a fish freed from a net, he quickly made his way through the VIP passage, heading straight for Lynch's private room.
When he arrived, the private room was filled with a relaxed atmosphere.
The match had already begun, and Ireland took the lead with a fast break, drawing cheers from the Weasleys and Harry.
Lin Qi sat on the side, his gaze fixed on the arena, his expression calm.
Sirius Black pushed open the door, bringing with him a gust of wind and the lingering tension of public life.
His gaze swept across the private room almost immediately and urgently, searching for that familiar, thin, black-haired figure.
When he saw Harry, he paused, his expression softening instantly. Harry was with Ron, half his body almost over the railing, pointing at the arena and excitedly arguing with Hermione about something. His cheeks were flushed with excitement, and his green eyes shone brightly in the arena lights, completely immersed in the intense atmosphere of the match.
Seeing how relaxed, happy, and fully engaged he was in raising his son, Sirius's last bit of stiffness in his shoulders seemed to dissipate.
A warm, almost gentle smile unconsciously curved the corners of his mouth, only to be quickly masked by his usual nonchalance.
Instead of immediately bothering Harry, he walked over to the empty chair next to Lynch, roughly loosening the collar that was making him feel suffocated.
"Merlin's lousy beard!" he grumbled, plopping down and grabbing a water glass from the table (whose glass it was, I don't know). He then let out a long sigh of relief. "Finally! Those speechwriters must have had their brains eaten away by that vixen—"
"I added a few lines myself, hoping to annoy Fudge a bit." As he said this, his gray eyes gleamed with a mischievous glint, but deep down there was still an lingering weariness from dealing with public appearances.
"The speech was a great success," Lynch said calmly, glancing at him. "At least, it was very much like Sirius."
"Who cares?" Sirius waved his hand, relaxed his body and leaned back in his chair, but his gaze unconsciously drifted towards Harry's direction. After confirming that he was still safe and happy, he slumped in his chair and truly focused his attention on the intense match below.
The atmosphere in the box was intense and focused. The Weasley twins were arguing heatedly over a controversial referee's decision. Hermione tried to mediate using the rules from Quidditch Origins, while Harry and Ron were completely absorbed in the trajectories of the high-speed Quaffle and Blink, occasionally letting out excited shouts or regretful sighs.
The match entered a heated phase, with Ireland's fast-paced offense flowing seamlessly, leaving Bulgaria utterly helpless. The Golden Snitch remained elusive. Each point triggered a deafening roar, and magically created fireworks and ribbons occasionally exploded in the night sky, illuminating the entire stadium as if it were daytime.
As the Bulgarian team's situation worsened, an unprecedented uproar and commotion erupted in the stadium!
It wasn't because of the goal, nor because of the Golden Snitch.
Suddenly, the Bulgarian team's mascots—the Veela—agreed to a complete change in the rhythm and melody of their dance. Their once graceful and captivating movements abruptly transformed into something extremely aggressive; their beautiful faces contorted, revealing sharp teeth, their hair flying like burning flames, and a powerful, chaotic, and unsettling surge of magical energy swept through the crowd. Some of the less composed male wizards in the stands began behaving strangely; some chuckled maniacally, while others attempted to climb over the railings.
The referee's whistle blew sharply, and Ministry of Magic staff rushed forward to try and control the situation. The Irish team's mascots, the goblins, were enraged and transformed the gold coins they had been scattering at the spectators into heavy anvils, which they hurled at the Veela's area, causing further chaos.
Inside the penthouse suite, the sudden surge of magical energy also had a significant impact. As the Veela's beautiful faces contorted and their violent magic swept in, the young men in the suite felt an intense, dizzying attraction.
Ron let out a muffled groan, his eyes glazed over, a silly grin on his lips, and he was about to start dancing along to the rhythm of some of the audience below. The twins weren't much better off; Fred tried to swing his binoculars like a sword, while George made strange hissing noises at the air.
Harry, however, seemed to be particularly affected.
Perhaps it was the heightened sensitivity of hormones during puberty, or perhaps it was an unexpected stirring of some deep-seated yearning for "beauty" and "extraordinariness" within him. In that instant of magic, he felt his blood rush to his head, his heart pounding wildly, and an indescribable excitement and an urge to get closer and to perform overwhelmed him.
He didn't even realize he had stood up, one foot unconsciously stepping onto the low decorative railing in front of the box. Leaning forward, his eyes were fixed intently on the frenzied figures below, as if he were about to leap over them at any moment. "Harry!"
A low shout accompanied by a firm force came from the back of his collar.
Sirius Black gripped his hand tightly, forcefully pulling him back from the railing. Harry staggered back two steps, crashing into his godfather's arms. The sudden dizziness and impulsiveness receded quickly like a tide, leaving only a chilling fear and intense embarrassment.
He steadied himself, his face burning, and dared not look up at the others in the box, especially Hermione and Professor McGonagall who were watching him. He could feel his ears were definitely bright red.
He completely lost control for a moment.
"Stand still, kid." Sirius's voice rang out above him, without reproach, but with a hint of barely perceptible amusement and understanding.
He released his grip, patted Harry on the back, and his grey eyes swept over the other teenagers who hadn't fully recovered. "Hmph, looks like the Veela—it's quite powerful. Looks like you've all been affected."
Ron shook his head, seemingly clearing his head, and awkwardly scratched his nose. The twins made faces at each other, trying to cover up their earlier blunder. Hermione took a few deep breaths, tidied her hair, and tried to regain her composure.
Harry kept his head down, feeling extremely embarrassed.
Sirius noticed Harry's embarrassment. He put his arm around Harry's shoulder and led him to a seat, then knelt down to be at Harry's eye level. Lowering his voice to a tone only the two of them could hear, he said, "Listen, Harry, there's nothing shameful about this." His eyes were serious. "The Veela's magic is notoriously powerful on young wizards, especially when they have an emotional outburst like this. This isn't a matter of willpower; it's a magical physiological reaction. Even some adult wizards make fools of themselves if they're unprepared."
He gestured toward the still-settling commotion below. "Look, there's a Ministry of Magic official over there trying to offer his hat to thin air like a flower. By comparison, you almost tried to climb over a fence and failed." He winked, trying to defuse Harry's embarrassment with a lighthearted tone.
"But—" Harry muttered softly, still feeling embarrassed.
"No buts." Sirius's tone was firm but warm. "When I was your age, the first time I saw a Veela, I almost fell off my broom. Luckily, your father caught me, and they laughed at me for a whole week afterward." He made up a half-true, half-false story, which successfully made Harry look up, a hint of surprise and curiosity flashing in his green eyes.
"real?"
"Of course." Sirius stood up and ruffled Harry's hair. "So, relax. This is just a—well, amusing little incident in the game. Look, Krum seems to have spotted something!"
Before he finished speaking, the gasps from the arena below rose again, drawing everyone's attention back to the game itself.
A swift figure flashed past amidst the chaotic magical light and shadow and the falling ribbons and anvils!
It's Bulgaria's star Seeker, Viktor Krum.
His dive was as fast as a black lightning bolt tearing through the night, creating an eerie and awe-inspiring contrast with the slow-motion chaos around him. Ireland's Seeker, Lynch, was a fraction of a second too slow, frantically turning his broom to chase after him, but it was too late.
Nearly 100,000 wizards in the stadium, along with Harry and others in the boxes, witnessed the astonishing scene—Krum, during a high-speed dive, suddenly stretched out his arm at an almost impossible angle, just a few feet above the grass, and precisely closed his five fingers!
He caught the golden thief!
However, this glorious personal victory, as reflected in the scoreboard, is filled with a tragic undertone.
The referee's whistle pierced the noise, announcing loudly: "Viktor-Krum has caught the Golden Snitch! Bulgaria scores 150 points! But—final score: Ireland, 170 points; Bulgaria, 160 points! Ireland wins!"
Krum slowly rose into the air, opened his palm, and the struggling little golden wing shimmered in his palm.
His face showed no elation, only a deep, resolute determination mixed with exhaustion and a sense of honor in defeat.
He did his best as a seeker, but still couldn't save the team from defeat.
After a brief silence, Irish supporters erupted in deafening cheers and songs that nearly lifted the roof off.
Green and gold flags and hats fluttered like a tide.
The Bulgarian fans fell into a complex silence, before applauding their heroic seeker.
Just as the Irish team lifted the trophy, green and gold fireworks illuminated the entire night sky, and the cheers nearly lifted the roof off the VIP box, Lucius Malfoy's smile was completely different from the excitement of the other Ministry of Magic officials.
The smile was precise and appropriate, but it didn't reach the eyes.
His gaze, like a cold probe, silently swept across the boiling stadium and the crowded boxes, finally landing on his son.
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