Harry blinked. The list of things he didn't know grew a little longer. What he did know was that, if Ron brandished that color in public, the Unknowns, oh, Hel, say it! The Zabini clan could connect them to the failed attack earlier.

  Harry closed his eyes, pictured exactly what he needed, and cast, audibly, "Accio Gloves!"

  Miracle of miracles, something started struggling under the back of Auxiliary Auror Kyinté's robes. Forewarned by Harry's words, he did not so much as twitch.

  A pair of Auror Dress White Gloves wriggled out from under the robe's hem, and flew to Harry. Ron half-turned, looking puzzled, as Harry snapped, "Put these on!"

  Ron obeyed automatically, Dara reaching out to steady his broom. Ron's eyes widened as he spotted his decorative hand, but it did not slow him.

  Above them, Ginny's announcement was approaching peroration.

  "...and his quick-thinking fearlessness, the Chairman of the Committee is pleased to make presenta..."

  Kyinté's hands were massive, but two quick taps of Reducio fixed that.

  "...in the private box immediately below me..."

  "Broom at Ease!"

  Just in time. Reporters and photographers on brooms were swarming toward them. There was even a crew on a flying carpet. No idea where they came from.

  Harry cast a Silent Alohomora at the door, which opened just as a group of two wizards and a witch reached it. Harry assumed Wand Up At Ease, standing directly behind Ron, and cast a small Auror specialty shield spell in front of his face. The Distortion Shield would keep him from being recognized or photographed. Little though Ron may like it, this was his moment.

  "...a man I am proud to have as a brother..."

  As the three in the highly ornate robes circled to reach the front of the box, Harry Vanished the front row of seats.

  Quietly, he said, "Guard of Honor, Atten-HUT! One pace back..., March! Auror Weasley, Atten-HUT! Right..., FACE!" Ron made the move Pop!

  "...I give you The 'Quidditch Cannonball'..."

  Harry noticed the reporters were blocking the view of the crowd. He cast a powerful tubular shield through an empty spot. The far end expanded into a cone-shape, pushing them out and to the sides.

  "...RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!!"

  And the crowd went mad.

  ***

  Ginny gave them a minute to roar, then called for quiet. The last to settle down were the New Zealanders, who seemed to take a perverse pride in Ron's recognition.

  In the box, the three representatives nodded to Ron, so deeply it was almost a bow. Ron bowed slightly from the waist, in respectful acknowledgement.

  Ginny's voice boomed out again. "Our first presenter, representing the British and Irish Quidditch League, is former Chudley Cannons Manager, Ragmar Dorkins. He will be presenting, for the first time, a medal struck just for this occasion. As most of you know, the Dangerous Dai Commemorative Medal is awarded each year to the League player who has taken the most exciting and foolhardy risks during a game. Ron Weasley is being recognised as the first-ever recipient of the Dangerous Dai LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD!"

  Ron bowed his head so Dorkins could put the ribbon and medal about his neck.

  Dorkins stepped back, and clasped Ron by the shoulders, and said, "Lad, y' make a man proud to be a Cannon!" He leaned closer and whispered, "AN' we've sold enough merch to get a decent Seeker next year."

  Ron smiled at the battered old coach in his peacock finery, and quoted the team's motto, "Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best."

  Dorkins chuckled, started to turn away, then stopped and leaned back in, "An' ol' Joey Jenkins said t' thank'ee for the publicity. He's selling autographed Bats and Bludgers lik'n to a house afire!"

  Ron's smile grew wider.

  "Our next presenter is the Senior Sitting Member of the Wizengamot, Chief Witch Porpentina Esther Goldstein Scamander! She will be presenting Ron with The Order of Merlin, Second Class!"

  'Tina' Scamander was a tiny, fierce looking women, as befitted someone who had put up with her husband, Newt, for nearly a century. She sniffed, then spoke.

  "Senior Sitting Member, my Great-Aunt Salome's Whalebone Corset! There's plenty there older than me, witches and wizards both! Bend down here, you giraffe, so I can get this on you!"

  As Ron bent low to let her access his head more easily, he found three spiky-haired cat-like creatures weaving in, under, and out of his robes, brushing against his ankles.

  He spoke as he came up, "Tina, love, I hope those are your Kneazles down there."

  She glanced down. "Yep. Guess they just wanted to schmooze a bit, like another one a' my great-aunts usta say."

  "They probably smell Crookshanks on me."

  "Yep." Suddenly she reached up, snatched his ear, and pulled his face down to hers. "Look here, boy. I know my idiot husband, my idiot grandson, and his wife that is too good for him have somethin' going on. I don't know what, and I don't want to know. What I do want to know is where my great-grand-babies are, and that they're all right. Wait. Where did that Muffliato come from?"

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Harry spoke up. "They're at my place, Tina. You're welcome any time, and I would be proud to read you in. You are an Auror we could use."

  Ron said earnestly, "We're taking good care of them, and Newt, too!"

  She sniffed. "That old goat can take care of himself. Just don't arm-wrestle him. Might take you up on that, Harry."

  Ginny voice blasted through the spell. "Hey, Tina! Stop flirting with my brother! We've got a game a'waiting!"

  The Muffliato dropped. "That's m'girl! Milly! Hoppy! Mauler! Let's git! Don't take any wooden nickels, boy!"

  "And, for our final presentation... (more ironic cheers), ...please welcome Mentor Metaxas, the Chairman of the International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee!"

  The deeply tanned Greek wizard beamed at Ron, as Ginny continued.

  "The ICWQC has no award equivalents of the honors Ronald Weasley has received. They do, however, wish to present him with the Emblem of the Committee, a Winged Snitch surmounted by Three Goal Rings. This is to recognise him as a 'Friend of the Game.' He will also receive a Certificate, granting him, and his heirs, Four Seats in the Top Box for every World Cup Game, in Perpetuity!" Ginny sounded a little awed.

  The GASP that rose from the crowd reeked of pure envy. (And beer).

  The Winged Snitch on the neck chain the man held was nearly eight inches across. From the way he strained to lift the assemblage, it looked to be made of solid gold. Ron let out an involuntary Oof! as the chain dropped onto his shoulders.

  Metaxas had little to no accent in his English. He started speaking, very softly. (Harry recast the privacy spell instinctively).

  "Mister Weasley, you, your friends, and your family have been a badly needed bright spot at these games. The Committee knows that secrets are being kept, and, frankly, that is just the way we want it. I do appreciate the opportunity to thank all of your associates, through you."

  He looked to the row of guards. "This conversation never happened."

  Harry dropped his Distortion Shield. Metaxas started as he recognized him.

  "Chairman," Harry said. "I believe I can vouch for the integrity and professionalism of these Aurors. In fact, if you could second them to me for the rest of the Games, it would be a great help in resolving..., secrets."

  The Greek's gaze was penetrating for a moment, then he nodded. Harry dropped the spell.

  Ginny's amplified voice rang out. "Hey, Brother! Take a bow! A very QUICK bow!"

  Ron was turned toward the cameras and the crowd by the Chairman. He seemed at a loss. The other dignitaries lined up beside Metaxas.

  Harry said softly, "Just say what you feel. Sonorous."

  Ron felt the spell settle on him. "Thank you," he said to three people by him. Then he looked out into the stadium. "And thank all of you, for being here, and for loving the game. What I did... It had to come from a place deep inside me." He paused. "'Cause I sure don't remember a lot of it!"

  Warm chuckling spread through the crowd.

  "But I know you... all of you... You love the game, too. And I believe you would have done something, too, given the chance. Probably something smarter."

  He flashed the trademark Weasley Evil Grin. "And now, since I've already managed to piss off the Zealanders, let's add in the British and Irish team fans!"

  He raised both arms and roared, "GO, CANNONS!"

  ***

  "It's time for the Presentation of the Mascots!" Ginny said, to the cheers of the crowd. "But first, let's set the stage..."

  All around the perimeter of the stadium, dark clouds began to rise. Thick and ominous, they towered higher and higher, leaning in until they blocked the sky with a dome of roiling billows. Winds rose inside the stadium, circling the stands. Inattentive program holders found their booklets sailing away, like fluttering ships of the air. The winds rose, teasing wisps of cloud from the bottom edge of the dome of grey and darker grey. The edges trembled, then slowly gave way, mist spilling down over the stands to gather on the pitch.

  Barely, the crowd could see the bowl of the stadium start to fill, as the dome above began to sink. Soon, the mist was everywhere. It did not block vision, but, rather, made it uncertain. One moment sight was limited to just those nearby. The next, there was a hazy view of the opposite stands, but neighboring people were just thicker patches of mist.

  Pale, ethereal forms began gliding through the mist, at first just glimpses of glowing skin, then feathered wings, and gowns, also made of feathers. They showed more clearly as they swooped ever closer. And closer, until fiery eyes peered out from under blonde and red hair fluttering in the breeze. Then, they began to sing.

  Up in the box, Ron quickly stuffed his fingers in his ears, until Harry nudged him.

  "Not. Veela," Harry said, slowly and distinctly, so Ron could read his lips.

  Ginny's voice was as soft as a Sonorous would allow, taking advantage of the absolute silence of the spectators.

  "What you are seeing, and hearing, are Samodivas, the Bulgarian mascots. Unlike their distant cousins, the Veela, their songs do not inflame, but soothe."

  They were entrancing, but not in a threatening way. Their song made one feel warm, yet a little sad, because you knew, at some point, it would end.

  And, slowly it did. The Samodiva flew gradually up into the clouds, circling the stadium still, only the faint glow of their skin showing through the mist.

  "I would direct your attention to the floor of the pitch." Ginny's words were still soft.

  The mist was behaving strangely, thinning, except in regularly spaced patches. The thinning mist rose to a point where all could see the pitch, but it never completely dissipated.

  The spaced patches of mist began to pull apart into streamers and wisps. They moved outward, but did not disappear, beginning to circle the forms they came from.

  The people thus revealed had Maori features and lithe, muscular bodies. But those bodies were pale, some as pale as cream, and their hair ranged from fire red to golden blond. Neither the males nor the females had a single tattoo on their bodies.

  "Please, gently, welcome the Patupaiarehe, also known as he iwi atua, spirits of the Maori. They are going to perform a haka pōwhiri for us, a Haka of Welcoming for Guests. Some of our New Zealanders will translate in counterpoint." A susurrus of soft applause followed.

  A single leader spoke, then was answered by a chorus

  A, toia ma-i, (Ah, drag it here)

  Te waka! (The voyaging canoe!)

  Ki te urunga, (To the entry)

  Te waka! (The voyaging canoe!)

  Ki te moenga, (To the sleeping place)

  Te waka! (The voyaging canoe!)

  Then, all together:

  Ki te takotorunga i, (Up to the resting place,)

  Takoto ai, (Set it down.)

  Te waka! (The canoe!)

  Hi! (Yeah!)

  As they chanted, they danced. Synchronised movements were obviously deeply meaningful, with evocative, quivering gestures of the hands. The audience was rapt, sensing holiness, even if they could not understand why.

  After the final Hi!, the Patupaiarehe froze, unnaturally still. Then they started all over, this time without translation. As they chanted, the Samodivas swirled down from the clouds, adding their songs as a descant to the chanting. The magics mixed and merged, welcoming and warm, and the spectators... forgot to breathe.

  This time, the final word sent the Samodivas flitting away. The mists were drawn in and about the Patupaiarehe like cloaks, completely concealing them as they, too, scattered. Above the stadium, the clouds began to break.

  "And so, they must go," said Ginny, a little sadly. "For the sun is their enemy, and would destroy them utterly."