Feeling as they did the weight of The Duty, the Agents bowed to its demands, proceeding to follow the Sue’s entourage of Weasleys to, with a ray of canon shining through, the seats acquired by Mr. Weasley. The crush of witches and wizards, most decked in their cheeriest robes of support, for their favoured team, served to conceal Cris and her partner well. It also provided the most perfect opportunity for observation, and she stole a glance at her compatriot, who had, in the interim, undergone as puzzling a transformation of gender as she herself had not so long ago. It seemed to her, however, to be indelicate to enquire further.
Thankfully the majesty of the stadium was little dimmed or twisted by the Sue. However, that pleasant peace was not to last--Mr. Bromia swiftly place a restraining arm around her shoulders, even as Cris fought to keep down an expression of fury entirely unbecoming of a gentlewoman. ‘And she dares to call that Elvish?’
‘Elfish, more like,’ her partner corrected. ‘At least, so I would assume, from the notes given at the outset of this travesty.’
His words prompted her to check their progress. Small blessing though it was, they had at last arrived at the final instalment. Saying as much to Mr. Bromia, she noted the look of unvarnished, yet oddly cheerful, vicious pleasure at the reminder, for it meant that shortly they could administer justice. The realization itself served to remind them that they had not yet discussed an appropriate method, with which to dispose of the Sue. He began to discuss it--arguing that, with the discussion between Mr. Potter and the house elf Winky proceeding unchecked, the time was ripe to plan.
Cris, however, overrode him--not to put off the discussion, but by her continuing observations of the abuse of Canon, the first of which noting, in a surprising turn of events, that young Harry briefly held the author’s attention. The rare pleasure was soon abandoned, however, in favour of absolute drivel.
‘This cannot be serious!’ she burst out. ‘I will leave that she needs to guess she--the great beauty who has replaced a Veela herself in Mr. William’s affections--is different from the diminutive Winky, without remark--’
‘Were it not improper, I would note that you have indeed remarked upon it,’ her partner murmured.
‘--but this theory of the evolution of the house elves seems utterly preposterous!’ Even for the universe of Ms. Rowling’s construction, which was at time nearly as nonsensical, as the Suefics themselves could be, such a history seemed beyond the pale. Whether for good or for ill, the author--all too predictably--neglected to explore this with further depth, and the connection between the canonical elves and the superfluous Sue creations, though briefly described as male, passed quietly as the conversation at last turned to the events at hand.
The next half-hour passed in merciful uneventfulness. The respite allowed the Agents to at last discuss their plans for the creature purporting to be a Miss Aliena Everlight of elfish descent, and her painful and imminent demise. Their attention was unavoidably recaptured, with the arrival of the Malfoy family.
At the misuse of ‘there’ in place of ‘their,’ Mr. Bromia muttered with disappointment. He found it a pity indeed that the instance did not yield any interesting--much less entertaining--side effects. ‘However, one could argue that to be the greatest charge of all. There is nothing interesting left. And,’ he added after a moment’s thought, ‘that there is no easily accessible source of burritos.’
‘You might have eaten a little in the Weasley kitchen,’ Miss Wirewood reminded him.
‘And abused Mrs. Weasley’s unknowing hospitality? Hardly!’ he protested. ‘Besides, I am not certain I could trust myself to know which might have been... altered, shall we says, by Messurs Frederick and George?’
Though about to agree with the sentiment, a piece of the narration became unexpectedly distracting. ‘‘Suddenly?’’ Cris exclaimed with incredulity. ‘Surely the enmity with the Malfoys would come as no surprise to one claiming to be romantically attached to the eldest of the Weasley children!’ As she said it, the scene shifted into a sequence almost directly mirroring those of the books, and both Agents sighed with released tension.
Mr. Bromia observed that, for all the suffering employment with the PPC necessarily entailed, nonetheless it occasioned its own relief--rare as such times might be--for how many could claim witness to such an historic competition as that between Bulgaria and Ireland, during the years of the second great Wizarding War?
Cris glanced through the words briefly. ‘And the Sue deigns to spare us from further truly horrifying transgressions, for the duration of the event,’ she agreed with satisfaction. ‘I believe we may amuse ourselves with impunity.’
With such exchanges of delight, the pair located a small opening from which to observe events unfolding. Though--the great numbers of spectators having taken all the seats--they could only squeeze into close standing quarters, they hardly noticed either the discomfort or the impropriety of their situation. The Sue dismissed with almost casual insignificance the grandeur of the pageants and the excitement of the game--yet as such, only her most unimportant opinions and slight actions marred Canon’s natural beauty. For those hours of the game, Miss Wirewood was free to revel in the rush of the moment, and the heady emotions of the crowd, for once afforded a nearly-unscarred happiness, which came so rarely in the endless battle against the Sues.
[As we finally near the conclusion to the pain we have endured, the author now humbly offers up the prompt of spy thriller.]