36 Quidditch World Cup.

(You thought it was a double chapter, but no! It was a triple chapter release!)

The Wizarding world has many flaws, Fleur Delacour knows it more than most, but for all its faults it could never be said that it was boring.

"Grande Soeur, Je peux avoir une glace?" Asked Gabby flying around from stall to stall.

Her little sister was easy to please and easier to love. With her little white frilly robe, blue ribbons and happy go lucky smile no one be they British, French or Bulgarian could ever resist her charms.

Gabrielle Delcaour was an adorable cataclysm of pure cuteness, and she knew it.

"Tu a déjà trop mangé, si tu continues ton sang se changera en miel." Fleur chuckled, fixing her pouting sisters ruffled clothes.

Soon enough, they rejoined her parents and headed toward the newly built stadium. The British thankfully were better architects than they were cooks, even if it wasn't that great of an achievement.

She surprised herself by actually enjoying this outing. What was initially nothing but another political sortie of Senior Auror Delacour on the international level became a happy family trip, she always welcomed new memories, for the sake of her Patronus if nothing else.

Hundreds of stands, signs and tents were scattered around. Thousands of people from magical Europe convened for the sake of a sport she could hardly understand, but the mood still affected her and she found herself smiling all the while.

How couldn't she? With how much of a Quidditch Junkie her mother was, Appoline might just disown her if Fleur didn't at least some degree of enthusiast.

They rose up the enchanted stairway, ignored a couple weak willed buffoons too fragile to withstand the restrained allure of two grown Veelas and headed toward the highest box. The Entire stadium could and did welcome nearly a hundred thousand wizards, but few of them were lucky enough to have a proper seating, she was one of them.

The Top Box was reserved for the more 'prestigious' crowds; The foolish looking commentator, those purebloods lords rich enough to buy one of the twenty public seats and of course the various ministers for magic and their details.

Her family was included in the last group, officially at least. The French Minister for Magic happened to be a Quidditch nut, according to her father. A highly paranoid Quidditch nut who believed it was a good idea to invite one of his best senior aurors and his entire family to the event.

Whether he wished for even more security, or just wanted to curry favor with Sebastian, she didn't know and didn't care.

Fleur recognised a few faces, mostly thanks to her father. The British and Bulgarian ministers were 'debating', with the former making a complete fool of himself. The French Minister was here with his wife and daughter, squirming in his seat in excitement.

She saw Sirius Black, whose story flooded the French news for weeks on end and led to many old cases being reopened as the justice system was questioned. It earned her father a headache, but it was for the better.

Soon enough, the game started and she focused on the match. For all ten seconds it took to realize that the Bulgarians mascots were in fact Veela, scantily clad Veela dancing and singing like common whores with their matured allures unleashed.

At this instant she knew her mother wouldn't like this.

E+S

Freeing Sirius Black meant going to the world cup.

It was something Magnus thought about when Peter Pettigrew was still being cherished by the Weasleys, and his father rotting in Azkaban.

He did think about the ramifications, and it did factor even if slightly on the balance when he still didn't care for the old dog who sired this body. He wasn't proud of it, nor was he particularly ashamed, it was simply in his nature.

He was Magnus Black, after all.

But now that it came to it, he couldn't help but be glad he made the right choice.

"Andy, can I have some candy?" The towering form of Ted Tonk, lawyer and professional teddy bear, pleaded like a ten years old without gigantism and a hair problem.

"No, you already stuffed yourself with the marshmallows." She didn't even flinch, used by now to her husband's antics.

"And the chocolate." Magnus added, snickering at the disappointed look on his uncle's face.

"And the booze." His cousin Nymphadora, joining in on the fun.

"And the Hotdogs." Sirius came back from yet another chat with a fellow Wizengamot seat warmer. "And pretty much anything he could get away with eating."

"And some other things." Andromeda shook her head.

"It's not my fault, they shouldn't make something so colored and sweet smelling if they don't want people to eat it." He grumbled, striking a new argument he was bound to lose while they headed toward the great stadium.

Nymaphadora whistled as they neared it, the giant construction was built for the occasion. Thousands of tents were erected, hundreds of stalls and businesses and other minor entertainment contracted to please the crowds in the Final of the Quidditch World cup.

"Damn, you can say whatever about Fudge and Bagman." She clicked her tongue "But you have to admit that they know how to throw a party."

A party. A huge, obscenely costly party to keep his voters happy. Magnus couldn't help but agree with this assessment, even if it didn't stop him from enjoying it.

"A great British stadium built by the British capable of welcoming a hundred thousand wizards and witches on British soils to enjoy the finest British sports." Sirius said, mimicking Fudge's nasal voice. "Don't understand why this snowflake was elected."

That was all it took for him and Andromeda to start discussing wizarding politics, with Ted chiming in every now and then to comment and give the muggleborn perspective.

"Happy you got rid of that lordship?" Nymphadora whispered in his ear.

"Like you wouldn't believe." He smirked. "I like power and money as much as the next guy, but you couldn't pay me enough to care about this dumpster fire of a country."

"Hey!" she punched his arm, though he hardly felt it."I am an auror, kid."

"Means you know better than most just how rotten it is." Magnus shrugged, chuckling when he spotted her rubbing her pained fist, earning himself a glare.

"What are they even feeding you?" she asked, or more like grumbled. Eyeing his relatively muscled arm with hate, and a healthy dose of hunger.

Magnus wasn't that strong, but a good diet and some physical activity put him leagues above most wizards.

The vast majority came in two flavors; the fat oafs who use magic to do everything, and the sickly thin pricks who either dig the lordly appearance or can't feed themselves properly.

'The defensive enchantments also help.' He smiled internally, no one would believe it if he said every single layer of clothing he wore was enchanted so many times it would give Morganna an intellectual orgasm.

Magnus made some less than welcome comments, avoided a couple stinging curses and left a red faced Nymphadora doubting her skills as an auror. Sirius was proud to say that his son was coming along nicely, even if the young boy refused to call himself a marauder...for the moment.

'Maybe I should've become a baker, after all.' She thought, tripping on nothing one too many times.

The usual.

Going up to the top box, he couldn't help but appreciate the charm work on the stairs. This peculiar matrix of space enchantments was very hard to use, especially with so many variables.

What he appreciated way less was the fifteen other rich people minus the Weasley who bought their way into the minister's box.

"I can spot Ferret junior aka 'My father will hear about this', Lucius of the Luscious hair, professional cocksucker, dear cousin Narcissa, Nott Senior, Nott Junior and a whole lot of idiots." He whispered to his father, who barked a laugh winning the attention of a good half of the room.

Sirius hated Malfoy with passion, after all.

"Harry's also there with Gertrude and Bob." Sirius said, even now he was still shook by his godson's resemblance to James.

"Hermione and Ron, dad."

"That's what I said." He grinned, waving the green-eyed child hello.

Sirius led them to their seats, and it took little more than a few seconds for the minister to perform a very special kind of magic and reappear by his father's side, Bulgarian minister in tow.

"Ah, Mr Black, I'm glad you're here." Fudge offered his best fake smile "Meet Mr….meet the Bulgarian minister for magic, their country is smaller and very much less impressive but they still have a lot to offer."

And of course...he couldn't last ten seconds without maiming international relations.

"A pleasure." Sirius said flatly, he wasn't a fan of politics, and even less a fan of those who actually enjoyed it.

"Good morning, minister." A hushed voice came from the side, coming from the one and only Lucius Abraxas 'I kissed voldy's freaking robe' Malfoy. "...Mr. Black."

The last part was said with so much poison it could make Nagini take a second look, though it surprised no one.

Lucius wasn't particularly shy with his intentions toward the black family and its fortune, he wanted to put little Draco on the ancestral seat and use it to fuel his ambitions, bringing house Malfoy to new heights.

He would've done it too, if not for a pesky little bird coming along and ruining everything.

"This must be your son, Magnus." He said, features schooled with mind barriers. "The resemblance is….striking."

'Oh, how cute, look at Lucius hissing like his beloved master.' Magnus had a hard time repressing a chuckle, Sirius didn't even bother hiding it.

"Yes, he takes after his mother. Can't say the same about your Drogon, he looks like a clone of you." Sirius said light-heartedly "Without your inclinations and….experience, hopefully."

The poor little child sitting by his mother's side was now red in the face, while she looked just about ready to pounce on Sirius for insulting her precious pureblooded progeny.

"What do you mean by that, Black?" It seemed that Sirius struck a nerve, even his admirable occlumency couldn't hide the anger in his voice.

"We all know of your repeated exposure to the Imperius curse, Mr. Malfoy, my father was simply worried about the likelihood of Drogo sharing the same weakness of will." Magnus couldn't let the opportunity to infuriate him slide. "It might run in your blood."

For a pureblood, there was no greater insult. But Lucius Malfoy's use of the Imperius defense was legendary, and he could hardly refute the child's allegations.

The proper answer would be a duel, but the shame of challenging a fourth year heir of another house was too much even for someone as slimy as him.

Lucius was about to say something, but Sirius laughs didn't allow it. He was joined by a more discreet Tonks household and even the minister for magic. It was around this point that the illustre lady Malfoy saw fit to make her entrance, ferret in tow...if moving five meters could be called that.

"I assure you, cousin, that my Draco is nothing but the most perfect heir we could as for." She said, all elegance and more pompous than a fanfiction writer trying to better his english.

"Is that so, Dracy?" Magnus looked at the red faced ferret.

He was about to say something, but a previous year of troubles when he decided it was a good idea to try and assert his dominance on the 'upstart' might or might not have curbed his temper.

It might also have resulted in multiple deep rooted traumas forming.

Case in point, Draco developed a bad case of stutter, fainting and possible pant soiling when exposed to too much Magnus Black in one sitting. The pureblood son of Malfoy had enough sense not to speak and make a fool of himself, not in front of his father.

Magnus almost pitied him...almost.

"Cat got your tongue?" He smiled 'kindly' at his distant cousin.

What followed was a verbal clash between the older parties, Magnus made himself scarce, as it wasn't his place to comment anymore. He found a seat close to the French minister who looked more like a child in a candy store than a high ranking official.

Soon enough, the Blacks and Malfoys separated, leaving the minister looking like a child whose parents had a fight. Fudge eventually came back to his seat, dragging a very confused Bulgarian minister and his less than ideal translator with him.

The match had not yet started, both teams were presented to the public as round upon round of applause roared. They flew and saluted the crowd, basking in the glory few people could experience.

He could recognise a few players, mostly in the Irish team. Moran and Mullet's name were drilled into his mind by an overly enthusiastic transfiguration teacher who was currently attending with her family in another box.

If he didn't at least show some enthusiasm, McGonagall could and would make his life more difficult. A small price to pay for the ear of the deputy headmistress and authority in the vast and complex field of transfiguration.

And then there was Krum, whose name might just make him deaf with all the roaring coming in from the crowd.

Magnus could swear they were more passionate about a boy on a broom than with their own wives...that was a pretty accurate depiction of wizarding priorities.

He had a look at him when he flew close to the top box. It was brief, but occlumency was a thing, and reviewing recent memories was as easy as it comes.

Viktor Krum was thin and gaunt, with haunting dark beady eyes and a sallow. He was built like a seeker, no weight and all speed to catch the snitch as fast as possible. The player was tall, and his crooked nose made him look like an overgrown bird of prey to the foolish eyes.

Magnus knew better of course, birds of prey were to be gracious and deadly, certainly not so crude and ugly.

But if there was one thing about him he could respect, it was his flying. It was something he had recently gotten very intimate with, though he still hated brooms with passion.

Krum was as fast on a broom as he could get, unobstructed and almost comfortable...too comfortable for someone whose genitals were pressed on a wooden pole.

Eventually they flew off, each to their side of the pitch.

Sirius whistled, and so did most of the men in the stands when the team's mascots entered the pitch.

The leprechauns for the Irish, throwing enchanted gold everywhere while some fools rushed to pick it up, unaware of its properties and utter worthlessness in the markets.

And the Veela for the bulgarians.

Many howled and whistled while they performed their dance. He didn't fault them, these women wore next to nothing and didn't seem to mind the attention.

'Not with how much esoteric magic they're throwing.' He rolled his eyes, using his barriers to stave off the effects while his own magic cleansed the outside influence.

Hundreds, perhaps thousands of men were trying to jump off the boxes and stands to join what they saw as the love of their lives. Sirius himself had to be reminded not to enjoy the aura too much, and tap on his own occlumency to resist their allure.

It was much the same with the Weasleys' group, he could see little Harry gripping the rail before stopping when Herminone shook him.

"What happened?" He said, his clouded eyes returning to normal when the girls finally left the pitch under the howls of men and scorn of women.

Ludo Bagman got a hold of himself and informed the masses that the game would start in ten minutes, leaving them the opportunity to cool down and discuss what happened.

"Veela." Said Hermione with a frown. "They are magical creatures capable of ensnaring men with their magic."

It was a very simplified explanation, but more than most people knew about them.

Magnus himself didn't know much about them. Magical Creatures were far from his domain of predilection, he had obviously sought out ways to defend himself against their particular brand of mindfuck but beyond that was very much apathetic.

Obviously, he didn't buy in the whole pureblood wizard master race they were going for.

'Hell, Lupin wasn't that bad once he cleaned up and got rid of the metric ton of self pity he carried around.'

"That sounds horrible." Poor Harry had his sensibilities hurt, what a wonderful shonen protagonist he makes.

"I wouldn't mind getting ensnared, if you catch my meaning." Ron not so much, was it drool on his face?

"See." Sirius elbowed him, a perverse smile on his face. "That's the way a healthy teenage boy should be acting."

"I think I'll pass." Magnus deadpanned, earning himself an approving smile from Andromeda.

"How come you didn't get affected anyway? Even Dad got caught for a few seconds." Fred asked him, pausing midway to snicker at his father babbling justifications.

"I didn't think you were such a player, father of mine." George of course joined in on the fun.

"I mean...I didn't...did I? No, no, no…" A red faced Arthur salvaged what was left of his pride, before looking at his amused children "Please, don't tell your mother."

A few laughs were shared at his expanse, with Sirius and strangely enough Bagman giving the Weasley patriarch conspiring looks and winks much to his dismay.

"...you didn't tell us…" A meek voice said.

"Pardon me?" Magnus asked, looking around for who asked.

Surprisingly, it was a red faced little Ginerva Weasley who for the first time in her life spoke to him. Her brothers seemed taken aback, whether it was because of her sudden shyness or her initiative he didn't know.

"It's complicated." Magnus said, trying to make her drop the subject.

It was a mistake.

By now, they had already become the entertainment of the entire anglophone population of the box. He, in his infinite arrogance, thought it fit to fuel their curiosity and leave them hanging.

Hermione Granger was having none of that.

"Well, we have some time." She said, crossing her arms and trying to channel her inner professor McGongall.

'Good plan, bad execution.' He chuckled internally, about to reject her as smoothly as possible.

"I...I'd like to know too." Harry added, looking bothered by how helpless he was against their allure.

'Shit.'

Now Sirius activated the 'Be kind to your cousin' card. Throwing in some puppy eyes and dad privilege to get his way, troublesome old dog that he was.

'Alright, stay calm, you got this.' He thought, having found a way to get out of this uncomfortable situation without hurting his father's feelings.

"Me too." A woman said, utterly crushing his confidence.

Andromeda joined the game.

He threw her a betrayed look, she was supposed to be on his side. The woman had the audacity to shrug, looking sheepish.

"I like bragging about my nephew's achievements." She smiled.

Andromeda used wholesome fluff, it was super effective.

"I see." He coughed, ignoring his snickering father and cousin and the nonsense they were saying.

'What the fuck are they saying? Me? Blushing? I don't blush.'

"Keep in mind that I am not an expert, most of my conclusions came from educated guesses and were only partially proven today." Magnus warned them.

"From what little records I've found, the Veela have an allure; a type of magical aura capable of affecting the minds of weak willed men to do their bidding, when used in sufficient amounts, that is." He said.

"Sufficient amount?" Hermione asked him "They can control how much 'allure' they are using?"

He nodded.

"Yes, they seem to be able to regulate their output on some level. Be it a full bombardment, assisted by their dance and singing like we experienced today. Or a passive aura, barely perceptible." He explained "Ordinarily, a Veela will be nothing more than an unusually beautiful woman, which they are. Most of them aren't that liberal in the use of their powers, either assimilating themselves in society or living in isolated covens...the latter is unsustainable, since they are an all female race."

"It doesn't tell us how to fight it." Harry said, getting impatient.

"Watch your tone." Magnus warned him, making him flinch "I was getting to it."

"To fight the allure itself is simply impossible." He said enjoying the confusion on their faces.

"Ehhh, what?" said the ever eloquent Ronald.

"You can't." Magnus smiled "Fighting it would imply it is inherently harmful, which it isn't."

"Then how come we almost threw ourselves off the pitches, while you stayed there looking all proper?" Fred asked.

"You can't fight the allure, but you can deal with it. It is like alcohol, in a way." He looked for a proper analogy "You can drink it moderately, and not be affected by undesirable effects."

"I assure you getting drunk is a very desirable effect." His father chimed in.

"You can cut it with water or juice, reducing its effect, which seems to be the most efficient method." He ignored him "Or not drink it at all."

"Which one did you do?" Hermione asked, having already digested the information while the others were still thinking about it.

"At first, I didn't drink." Magnus said, thinking about his barrier. "I eventually allowed a small amount to affect me, just to test my theory, and dilute it to manageable levels."

"What can you...dilute it with?" A foreign voice asked him, and he turned around to look at a woman in her thirties with long, pale blonde hair and a perfect face.

The accent was lovely, but she was lovelier. Not to mention her daughter, the older one, Magnus wasn't a pedophile. She was a beauty by no other name and….oh, they were Veela.

It all played out in less than a second, he identified the small amount of allure affecting him and overwhelmed it swiftly.

"There are many possibilities, a man in love is known for his resistance against the allure, a grieving man will similarly be safe if he focuses on those feelings." He smiled at her "For the twins, I suggest they'd seek out the humor in the situation for maximum effects."

The two redheads looked at each other, and swiftly decided they would in fact follow this course of action.

"What about you?" Her daughter asked, translating for her younger sister all the while.

Magnus wasn't one to be impressed by looks, but allure or not, he had to admit he felt just a tiny little bit intimidated...he didn't have the time to learn about girls in his last life, after all.

'Certainly not one with such pretty eyes.' He thought, trying and failing to determine whether they were blue or green.

"Arrogance." He answered.

It was the truth, he confronted those foreign feelings and intrusive thoughts with the measure of his own pride, and they were found lacking.

Jump off his seat? They should be the ones trying to get his attention.

Howl and roar? What do they think he is? A bear?

Ask them out? He wouldn't settle for just a pretty face.

"L'arrogance." She repeated, trying to grasp his meaning.

"I am much too proud to even consider talking to women who'd degrade themselves in such a way, let alone vie for their attention." Magnus said that and nothing more, for the match had already started.

Fleur Delacour was left intrigued, and grateful that someone put a stopper to her mother's rage before it could explode.

…and he did have beautiful eyes.

------------------------

Author Note:

Hey guys! It's your favourite resuscitated daederic prince who sometimes write stories!

Uncle Sheo's back bitches!

I know, I know. It's been way too long, most of you have already forgotten the plot...but meh, I don't really care. Lots of things happened, lots of bad things, some good...but still, that's life.

I'll be posting an early access of sorts in a moment, to let you guys read three chapters ahead for free without pa**eon bullcrap getting in the way.

Peace and Cheese!