Languages were never something that Harry had ever had a problem with.
Not that he'd had that many classes at school - the Primary that Uncle Vernon had sent him and Dudley to had preferred to focus on other things, more business-related things, even though Harry had been quite sure that being able to talk to someone you were dealing with would probably be useful. He'd never asked, though. He'd just assumed that it was something to do with something his uncle had said once; something about 'those bloody foreigners', and 'business is a battlefield, Dudley. You never give your opponent the advantage!'.
Seeing Mr. Bagman talking with the Bulgarian ministry official made Harry realise that in this, just like in everything else, Uncle Vernon had been very wrong.
It wasn't that he could understand everything that the foreigner was saying. He knew that it wasn't a language he'd ever learned or heard that much of. But at the same time, he could tell two things.
One was that he was making Ludo Bagman look like an idiot in front of everyone who could understand Bulgarian.
The other was that he didn't think that he should let on that he understood even this.
It wasn't, after all, something that happened with just one or two langauges. As he, Ron and Hermione made their way through the campsite, he was fairly sure he heard several dozen different ones, and every so often he'd hear something in a voice he'd recognise from having heard a moment ago saying something he couldn't understand.
"No- that's daddy's wand, put it down-"
"I don't know... if we'd just got that point in, we might-"
"Have you even seen those muggles-"
"-then Japan scored and it was like DAMN!"
"I told Sugisaki-san not to file those reports on the potions just yet, but-"
Each time, if he turned around and looked for the owner of the voice, they would fade out, and somehow back into talking 'nonsense' again. Still, while it could be kind of fun matching the snippets of conversation to the people having them, Ron and Hermione started to look at him strangely after he began to zone out while he did it.
That was the other thing. If he told them he was suddenly hearing things - even if it was just as though people were suddenly being translated when he wasn't looking at them - they'd think it was something bad. Wrong. The last time something like this had happened, it had been because he was a parselmouth, hearing the Basilisk through the walls, in the pipes...
Somehow, he knew it was nothing like that at all. It was just something he could have fun with, really, and didn't affect him all that much.
For all he knew, someone had accidentally fired an incomplete translation spell at him at some point when he wasn't looking. Of course, it wasn't as though they'd be happy with the idea that something like that had happened either. But still. It was harmless.
Even so, he was quietly relieved just as much as he was thoroughly excited when the gong sounded to tell them that the match was about to begin, and that they should make their way over to the stadium.