Disclaimer: As always I still don't own anything. Harry Potter and its affiliates are the property of JKRowling and associates.

A/N: This is a response to Kamerreon's rare pairing challenge. I have it planned at 5 or 6 chapters. The pairing is Harry/Quiggley. For those who don't remember Quiggley is a Beater on the Irish Quidditch team. The title of the story comes from a line in the Irish National Anthem, in English it's sung as "Soldiers are we" however the literal translation is "We are the Warriors of Fál (Ireland)". I got the idea for this story from GoF where there is no Irish Minister of Magic present at the World Cup.

Warnings: Extremely AU. There is a big age difference however they won't be together until Harry is older. Possible violence in later chapters.

Most of the Italics comes from HPGoF chapter eight (Aust edition)

Our story starts, unsurprisingly for me, with Quidditch. Though I suppose for Harry it was a rather surprising start. There were many times when he thought he would not survive the war. I don't think he even realised he liked men when we first met. How could he? He was only fourteen. He wasn't old enough to know. Stuck in that time of development when you're no longer a child but not an adult. He wasn't old enough to vote, drink, drive, smoke, apparate, live alone, leave school, nothing. He was a child. And I hated myself.

It all started with Quidditch.

--

His Eyes are Green

--

It's an incredible sensation standing here, waiting for my name to be called, and hearing the roar of the crowd above us. A hundred thousand wizards and witches from all over the world chanting our names, waiting for us, celebrating our victories and defeats. It was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Oh we knew it would be a tough match. How could it not? But we had to believe in ourselves. We had the world's greatest Chasers, we worked as if of one mind, and our Seeker was not someone to scoff at.

'And now kindly put your wands in the air ... for the Irish National Team Mascots!'

'Get ready boys this will be the match of our lives.' Connolly was always the optimist I just wish he knew when to shut up.

I could feel my chest tightening, my heart beating a mile a minute, my palms were sweating. I could hear Lynch vomiting behind me. Ryan and Troy were praying to the goddess for protection and blessing. Moran was attempting to help Lynch and not vomit himself.

'And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome – the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you – Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand – Krum!'

The applause is astounding. Deafening. Lynch vomits again. This boy is the reason that this will be the match of our lives. He is why it was so important that our Chasers were at their best. Lynch was good but Krum ... Krum was born to fly. As if the goddess herself had graced him with wings. I remember his first international match, I sat in the stands as he played Russia, knowing that we are going up against him is as terrifying as it is exhilarating. It would be an honour, and to beat him, that would be something else. We would most likely be the only team in the world to ever beat Viktor Krum as he would only get better with age.

'And now, please greet – the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting – Connolly!'

And he's gone. Everybody is mounted. Lynch has pulled himself together.

'Ryan!'

Four

'Troy!'

Three

'Mullet!'

Two

'Moran!'

Oh goddess give me strength!

'Quigley!'

The crowd is incredible. They're focused on our every move. I can feel their eyes on me as I move, the wind is in my face, all around me, wrapping me in its cocoon. The Bulgarians are lined up, their red robes floating gracefully around them. Time has slowed down though I know that it passes swiftly to everyone else.

'Aaaaaand – Lynch!'

Poor man, I can only be glad I'm not him.

This is it. The referee is on the pitch. The case is opening. The Balls are released. I swing my bat preparing to move. I can see the boys stretching their fingers. They're incredibly tense. No doubt going through all the plays they've ever practised. Lynch is already searching the sky.

The referee throws the Quaffle into the air and launches himself after it.

'Theeeeeeeey're OFF! And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!'

I keep one ear on the commentary as I blast bludgers around the pitch. I know what play will be first. A relatively easy one to help the boys get in the mood. Hawkshead Attacking Formation coupled with the Porskoff Play. Once they score everything will become more intense and it will be all up to the boys to decide what to do.

'TROY SCORES! Ten-zero to Ireland!'

Here we go.

Duck.

Weave.

Swing.

Dive.

Aim.

Ivanova gets hit.

'Thirty-zero to Ireland!'

Volkov aims and hits. I dive towards it and blast it towards his Keeper. Vokov hits again and the pace picks up. The boys are under constant fire now and it's preventing some of their best moves.

'IVANOVA scores!'

'Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova – oh I say!'

Krum and Lynch are diving. I hit another bludger and turn back to watch. Krum's pulled up but it was too late for Lynch. He hits the ground with a dull thud and the supporters groan.

'It's time out as trained medi-wizards hurry onto the pitch to examine Aidan Lynch!'

Well that will be something to tell his grandchildren. He fell for a Wronski Feint pulled off by THE Viktor Krum. Though I don't suppose that will help him in the long term. I can see it on the boys' faces, they know as well as I do that we have no chance of catching the snitch now. Lynch was ploughed to hard. It would be up to the boys now. I catch Connolly's eyes and motion towards the Chasers, he nods and it's decided. I'd prevent Krum from finding the snitch for as long as possible and he'd look after the Chasers as best he could.

Lynch is on his feet and with the pace the boys have set its obvious they definitely know they're our only chance. Fifteen minutes and ten goals later and things start to get ugly.

'And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing – excessive use of elbows! And – yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!'

The Veela are pissed. The boys quickly look away and cover their ears as the referee descends to the pitch. At least one good thing about being gay is that I'm not affected by the Veela. I can keep an eye on everyone and not be distracted. Mostafa attempts to send the Veela off the field. I can only wince at the thought of how bad this is going to get, especially with the two additional penalties for Ireland. I'll be covered in bruises for weeks at this rate.

No mercy for the enemy.

Hit.

Swing.

Dive.

Aah! A bludger to the back but at least Moran got out of the way.

The Veela and Leprechauns are fighting now. We'll never hear the end of this from the little buggers. British wizards flood the field attempting to separate them but it will be no use. They're both to stubborn for their own good.

'Levski – Dimitrov – Moran – Troy – Mullet – Ivanova – Moran again – Moran – MORAN SCORES!'

You can't hear over the screeching and roaring and bangs. It's as if the world is at its end.

Krum is in view and a Bludger is passing. Lynch is moving. He signals us. He's seen the snitch. Sorry kid, it's been fun but the match is over. One way or another. I swing heavily at the Bludger and it goes soaring across the pitch, Krum can't hear it over the noise of the crowd and the fighting below. It hits his face and I can see the blood pouring from his nose. He's stunned but manages to shake it off. I can't help but be impressed, he definitely has the makings of a Quidditch legend. The referee doesn't notice he's too busy with his broom on fire. That's it; everything is up to Lynch now.

Lynch is diving. The Irish are standing now and screaming for him. Krum is on his tail. They're hurtling towards the ground. This is going to be painful.

Lynch hits the ground. The Veela are stampeding over him. Krum has his fist held up, the snitch's fluttering wings barely visible in his clenched fist, there's blood all over his face and robes.

The supporters seem to realise what's happened as their screams of jubilation fill the air.

'IRELAND WIN! KRUM GETS THE SNITCH – BUT IRELAND WIN – good Lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!'

That's it! The match is over and we've won. The boys will certainly deserve their bonuses after this brutality. The Leprechauns are zooming hysterically around the pitch.

We meet in the middle, the seven of us stare at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter and jumping around hugging and crying and laughing and dancing. A shower of gold pours down on us. This is it! Our moment of eternal glory! Our last time in a major match together. Lynch is sure to retire, the crashes are leaving him dazed for longer and longer and soon he won't be able to keep going. Best he get out on a high. We mount our brooms again for a lap of honour. We're trying to soak up as much of the happiness as we can.

'And as the Irish team perform a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!'

The Bulgarians names are called out as they enter the box one by one. And we're zooming over for our turn. When we get off Moran and Connolly have to hold Lynch up, he's dazed but happy. Troy and I are pushed towards the cup, here it is, what we've been working towards for the last four. Sweat, blood, tears, everything, for this moment. We lift the cup and the crowd roars. The boys pile onto our backs all reaching out to touch the coveted cup and I glance around the box for a second.

---

Do you believe in love at first sight? I hadn't until that moment. I didn't even know who he was. He could have been there for any number of reasons. A Bulgarian family member, the son of an important politician or rich Lord, a family friend of one of the other people in the box. It didn't matter. All that mattered was his eyes. Vibrant emerald green eyes.

I'm standing in the Top Box, a hundred thousand witches and wizards are watching me, I've just won the Quidditch World Cup, I'm holding it in my hands and he's all I can see. He's all that matters. It's as if in the second it takes for our eyes to meet my whole world has been rearranged. He's all that matters and I think I'm insane for even considering it. I take a second to survey the rest of him, well what I can see from where I'm standing anyway. A pale face, long black, shaggy hair, he's short from what I can tell. And young. Oh goddess he's so young.

I hate myself in that second. He's so young. But I can't help it. He's beautiful, perfect, and oh so young.

The boys are moving. It's time for another lap of honour. Time to thank the fans. I don't want to move. I want to stay here forever staring into his eyes.

I'm a fool.

I leave anyway.