Chapter 620: Veela and Magic Resistance
"Moody?"
Sean repeated the name, tasting the weight of it.
"Aye, who doesn't know Alastor?" Grandpa Marcus said, his eyes lost in memory as
he watched the growing crowd. "He was a magnificent wizard in his day. Even I
have to admit his resolve and talent were second to none. For many of us in the
Office, he was the gold standard for an Auror... they say half the cells in
Azkaban are filled with people he personally put away.
"But he made a lot of enemies along the way. Mostly the families of the wizards
he caught. It's the occupational hazard for men like us. Lately, I hear he's
grown quite... eccentric. Paranoid, even. He doesn't trust a soul and sees a
Dark Wizard lurking behind every corner."
"Is he powerful, Grandpa? Compared to you...?" Sean asked.
He was curious about Alastor Moody's true combat level. In the original history,
for a top-tier Auror to be defeated in a surprise attack by Barty Crouch Jr. and
Wormtail seemed almost preposterous.
"Compared to me? Ah, he might even have the edge," Marcus said with a nostalgic
sigh. "But the years have been long, and our old bones haven't had a proper
stretch in a while. I suspect he's working with maybe sixty or seventy percent
of the power he had in his prime.
"An active-duty Auror and a retired one are worlds apart, Sean. You can't expect
a man who's been raising chickens on a farm to be ready to draw his wand for a
duel at any second. In a fight, a split second of distraction is all it takes
for things to turn lethal."
Sean listened, mentally categorizing Moody's strength at the very peak of the
[Master] tier. Likely at the absolute summit of that rank, yet still unable to
touch the threshold of [Legendary].
As far as Sean knew, the only wizards inhabiting the Legendary tier were
Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Voldemort. They all shared a singular trait: they
were almost impossible to ambush. Even a wizard as powerful as Snape had once
been caught off guard by Harry's Expelliarmus. But for a [Legendary] wizard,
there were virtually no such cases.
Sean believed this was due to their heightened perception—the same "awakened"
senses he was currently developing.
If I'm facing anyone below the Legendary rank, Sean thought, and I give it my
all... I have no equal.
The Top Box was suddenly filled with a flurry of footsteps as Ludo Bagman came
charging in.
"Everyone ready?" he boomed, his round face gleaming like a giant, polished
cheese. "Minister—shall we begin?"
"Whenever you're ready, Ludo," Fudge replied kindly.
Bagman pulled out his wand and pointed it at his own throat. "Sonorus!"
His voice suddenly erupted with the force of a thunderclap, echoing through the
packed stadium. It vibrated over the heads of the crowd, reaching the furthest
corners of the highest stands.
"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the 422nd Quidditch
World Cup!"
The crowd exploded into a roar of cheers and applause. Thousands of flags waved
in a frantic sea of color, accompanied by a cacophony of national anthems. On
the blackboard opposite them, the final advertisement—Bertie Bott's Every Flavor
Beans: A Risk in Every Mouthful!—was wiped away, replaced by the score:
BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0
"Now, without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian National Team
Mascots!"
A section of the stands to their right, a solid block of scarlet, let out a
deafening cheer.
"I wonder what they've brought," Mr. Weasley said, leaning over the edge of the
box. "Ah! Look!"
He snatched off his glasses and began wiping them frantically on his robes.
"Veela!"
A hundred Veela were now gliding out onto the pitch, entering Sean's field of
vision.
So, this is a Veela, Sean thought. They were women... the most beautiful women
he had ever seen... but they weren't—they couldn't be—human. Their skin shone
with a soft, silvery moon-like radiance, and their hair fanned out behind them
even though there was no wind to catch it.
Then, the music began.
Sean stopped wondering what they were because his mind suddenly went blank. For
a terrifying heartbeat, cold sweat began to prickle at the back of his neck. If
a Dark Wizard had been standing beside him at that moment, he would have been
defenseless. He would have had a hundred opportunities to kill him.
Sean stared at the dancing Veela, the sudden loss of control triggering a fear
sharper than any attraction. He had lost himself, even if only for a few
seconds. To Sean Green, that was an unacceptable failure.
He focused his mind, his brow furrowing as he fought to reclaim his own
thoughts. Within minutes, the tension in his face smoothed out.
He realized he was no longer affected.
It was a fascinating phenomenon. Veela magic worked by warping a wizard's
perception, convincing them that the Veela were the only things that mattered in
the universe. But when faced with a wizard like Sean—a man of iron-clad Will and
established internal Order—the magic shattered the moment he recognized it for
what it was.
Is this a form of 'Magic Resistance'? Sean wondered.
As the Veela's dance accelerated, the wizards in the box reacted in various
ways. Harry was standing near the edge, one leg hooked over the railing as if
preparing to climb. Beside him, Ron looked like he was about to dive off a
springboard, frozen in a state of slack-jawed trance.
Hermione remained entirely unaffected, watching a drooling Justin with a look of
mild amusement.
I suppose to Justin, they look like a tray of particularly enticing desserts,
Sean mused.
"And now!" Ludo Bagman's voice thundered again. "Wands in the air... for the
Irish National Team Mascots!"
The Irish mascots were Leprechauns. The moment they appeared, they began
"exploding" with gold coins, showering the stands. Thousands of wizards
scrambled and dove beneath their seats to snatch up the glittering treasure.
Minerva McGonagall, usually the pillar of dignity, was proving to be an outlier.
From the moment they had entered the box, she had been cheering for Ireland with
a reserved pride, but as the atmosphere reached its peak, her cheers grew
noticeably more spirited.
Sean exchanged a look with Professor Snape, who was sitting to his left. They
shared a silent, knowing look before turning their gaze back to Minerva, who was
currently cheering like an excited schoolgirl.
"And now, please welcome—the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Bagman bellowed.
"Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! And... LYNCH!"
Seven blurred green streaks shot onto the pitch. Sean, along with everyone else
in the stadium, adjusted the dial on the side of his Omnioculars. He slowed the
action down, seeing the words Firebolt branded onto the handles of their brooms
and their names embroidered in silver thread across their backs.
Sean tilted his Omnioculars slightly, shifting his focus away from the players.
He began to methodically scan the faces in the stands.
Some were screaming, some were waving, others were stomping their feet in a
rhythmic roar. Sean patiently panned across the crowd, utilizing his heightened
senses to filter the noise.
It didn't take long for him to locate the first few "unnatural" figures in the
crowd.