"I can't believe we're about to do this," Rose muttered under her breath as she, Fred, and George tiptoed past the security and slipped into the desolate Bulgarian team's tent.
Fred sported a crooked grin as he took a look around the extended space, equipped with showers, benches, Healer medicines and kits, broomsticks - all the possible necessities for a Quidditch game. "Believe it now, Rose. This is where internationally famous Quidditch teams have gathered, not just Bulgaria. Doesn't it bring tears to your eyes?"
A deep breath left her lips at the thought of all of the legendary players that once stood, or will stand in the future, on the same ground she was stepping. "Bloody hell, is that something to think about..."
"Don't doddle too much on it, your mind might explode."
"It may already have."
The Weasley twins devised earlier that day an ingenious plan to gather more funds for their prank shop, as well as acquire souvenir money (since all their money was taken back in the tent) when they arrived at their camp. The mission was to sneak into the Bulgarian team's marquee, acquire items of value - yet things one wouldn't easily note to be missing - to sell to screaming teenage girls and raging Quidditch fathers, and sneak back out unnoticed. Rosalie was quick to join in on their mischief, not even giving it second thought when the idea was repeated to her.
"Not that this is a bad idea or anything, but personally I fancy sneaking into the Irish tent more. It's a shame the Bulgarian team seems to be the most popular this year."
Rosalie rolled her eyes and began to walk around, heading towards the bags on the benches. "Perhaps the Irish are on the other side of the rainbow?" She noticed a sticky piece of white bandage and twisted her face in disgust. "Reckon anyone's crazy enough to buy a used bandage?"
"It'd be more valuable if we could put a name on it," George sighed. "But who knows? These days anything sells to admirers."
She decided against picking up the gross and used gauge, instead moving on to admire the broomsticks. "Did we even establish how much time we have to do all of this?" She wondered.
Fred shrugged as he rummaged through the wardrobes. "Pfft, not at all - our focus is on getting in and getting out as fast as we can - Ooh, Zograf's shirt? Must snatch that..."
"Did you know Bulgaria's mascots are veelas this year?" George recalled as he duplicated the signature of one of the Beaters on different pieces of parchment and shoved them into his sack. "Watch them distract themselves mid-game with the pretty ladies!"
"They will not," the eldest Potter huffed in defense, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at the twin. "If anything, Ireland should watch their pots of gold."
"You're just a sucker for Viktor Krum."
"Ooh, Viktor!" Fred teased, pretending to swoon as he pulled out one of his jerseys and began to dance around with it. "You're so dreamy!"
"That's not how I-"
"Viktor, look at your muscles!" George joined in, putting his hands over his face and imitating a squeal. The twins began to laugh and Fred tossed Rosalie the jersey, which she caught with her hands with a scoff.
"I only admire him for his Seeking skills, alright? My dad used to be a Seeker - it's only natural I look up to one of the best Seekers in any of the national teams."
"Keep telling yourself that, Rose," Fred hummed.
"You two are unbelievable!" She complained, although she couldn't stop the wide smile that cracked in her expression.
"You know you love us - but seriously, try it on!" George urged, motioning to Krum's jersey. "You only get to say you did this once in your lifetime!"
She rolled her eyes and slipped the clothing on. It was quite obviously massive on her short and slim figure, reaching almost to the middle of her thighs. It smelled unfortunately strong of sweat and musk, exactly what she expected from a masculine Quidditch star. "I don't look too bad in it, I think."
"Viktor Krum should feel honored now," Fred teased. "The Rosalie Potter herself has worn his jersey."
"Too bad he'll never know the legend," Rosalie agreed, wiping a fake tear from under her eye.
They spent another two minutes searching the place from top to bottom. They knew they didn't have much time left until the team gathered back to prepare for the match, or for someone in their family and friends to notice their elongated absence (Rosalie, Fred and George had snuck away from the group before they began climbing to their seats).
"Are we done here?" Rosalie asked as she handed George a half-emptied water bottle with Chaser Vasily Dimitrov's name scribbled on the front. "The game's gonna start and we're going to miss it!"
"Let's call it a wrap then," he agreed, closing up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Put the jersey back where you found it, flower."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it!"
Rosalie tugged on them hem of the jersey and pulled it over her head and off. Fred and George followed behind her as she stepped toward the closet it was originally hung up, when the sound of the tent door being pulled back alerted them, followed with crunching footsteps on grass. She looked up and caught a glimpse of an utterly baffled and cautious Viktor Krum for half a second before the twins had her hand and yanked her out of the tent, the jersey still in her hand.
"Holy shit!" She exclaimed as they took off running toward the crowd of eager witches and wizards climbing the stairs to their spots. They could hear the player coming after them, but they were soon lost in the crowd, drowned out by arising shouts at the sight of the Bulgarian Seeker.
As they climbed the steps, they exchanged glances and burst into loud laughter, startling a couple of people. They shoved each other playfully and exchanged high-fives.
"Mission success!" The twins cried in victory, throwing their arms up in the air.
"That is officially the craziest thing we will ever do!" Rosalie giggled. "You are crazy!"
"Us?! You stole Viktor Krum's jersey!" Fred accused pointedly as the girl quickly stuffed it away from wandering eyesight.
"Not intentionally," she hotly defended. "He was gonna catch us if we didn't run!"
"I've got to give it to us, that was the most suave getaway we've ever accomplished," George admitted with a proud nod of his head. "I don't even think he saw our faces!"
"Not like we'll be seeing him again anyways," Rosalie laughed, shrugging. "I've got myself an original Krum jersey! How many fans can say they've got that?"
"Only you, thanks to us!"
"Yes, thank us, worship us - although it won't change the fact that I'm still disappointed in you for choosing Bulgaria over Ireland," Fred (for the fifth time today) dramatically complained, fanning his face as they sped up the pace of their ascent.
She groaned. "What do you even have to compare the Ireland team to?" Rosalie argued, crossing her arms. "I mean, sure, their Chasers are amazing, and there's no denying it. But one goal is only ten points. Krum is the best bloody Seeker in the whole wizarding world - the Snitch is worth 150 points, and ends the game. His Seeking skills will outshine Lynch's for sure."
"But what if the Irish were to gain enough goals to beat the Bulgarians even if Krum caught the Snitch?" George interrogated, only for Rosalie to scoff, knowing exactly what he was referring to as the face of the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports popped into her head. It was thanks to this peculiar and oddly-eccentric man named Ludo Bagman, whom everyone had met earlier, that the kids were getting spots in the best available - the Ministry's top box. However, it was also thanks to this man and a certain gamble he had agreed to that Fred and George wouldn't shut up about the Irish team.
"What makes you so confident?" Rosalie wondered. "Let me recall your prediction for a moment - Krum catches the Snitch but Ireland wins? That's a pretty bold statement. What happens if you lose?"
"We won't lose," Fred interjected with complete confidence.
"We know our Quidditch, flower," George boasted.
"But that doesn't erase the probability, you idiots," Rose scoffed. "It's not like you're Seers. I'll laugh my ass off if you two end up losing the bet and have to scrape off all your prank shop savings to pay back the man."
"You know, she's right. We're not Seers. We should have asked our little Rosalie to conjure us up a vision, then," George mumbled, swinging an arm around the girl, only for her to gasp and swat his arm.
"Shut up! Have you forgotten we're in public?!" She hissed. "Besides, why would I? That ruins the fun of coming to actually see the game."
"I think you're the one ruining the fun here, Rose," Fred began, only to also receive a harsh smack on his shoulder. "Oi!"
"All I'm saying is, you should prepare to lose just as you're preparing to win-" Rose began, only for Fred to huff in response.
"We will not lose!"
"Well right now, what we are losing is time - the game's almost starting, so put a step in it, Irish boy!"
"We're walking, don't push it!" The twins complained at the same time with an amused chuckle at Rosalie's suddenly bossy shift-of-mood. She rolled her eyes but couldn't help giggling along with them.
They were climbing for what seemed ages, yet the excitement coursing through her veins like electricity refrained the exercise from feeling anywhere near as exhausting as the climb up Stoatshead. The adrenaline from their run earlier, the thrill at the match they'd be witnessing within an hour, along with the hundred thousand other witches and wizards gathered from around the world for the big event, overpowered any other emotion. Not only did she have the miraculous opportunity to come to the match, her seats were located in the most prestigious section of the ample stadium, with only the most prestigious of wizards. For once, she felt gratitude toward the Ministry for something.
It took them near a half hour until the three made it to the top box. Immediately, they were greeted with witches and wizards dressed in sophisticated robes, dresses, and blazers - clearly uncomfortable attire for a hot summer evening sports game. Considering the Weasley, Potters, and Hermione all had painted faces and festive clothes, they appeared flashy in comparison to everyone else, minus the one or two children who were also dressed to the occasion. Despite the lack of fan culture in the Minister's box, however, the view out of the stadium was fantastic - they were high enough to be at level with the flying players, and could perfectly see everyone else who waved colorful banners and showed off their team pride.
Clueless as to where to start looking, they began to stroll around with sharp eyes for a large gathering of redheads to signal their spots. They pushed past the swarm of chattering others and circled around the area in search. It was then that Rosalie spotted two familiar male heads of white blonde hair and a woman with reflective black roots and an equally pale hairstyle pulled into a fancy updo. Rosalie scowled in distaste and almost walked away, when she noticed they were standing with smirks on their faces in front of a quite frustrated Arthur Weasley, and bitter-looking children.
She warily approached the group, coming up behind the Malfoys to stand beside her brother. Her eyes narrowed at Lucius's glare. "What's going on here?"
"If it isn't Rosalie Potter," the older man drawled, his lips curling up into a nasty smile. "You've missed out on all the fun."
"Had to go beg to keep your spots here?" Their son, Draco Malfoy, snobbily scoffed. "No surprise you were dragged in by that lunatic Bagman - we were just mentioning how father and I were invited personally by Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic."
"Well, it just so happens that Rosalie was with the one and only Viktor Krum-" Fred began, boasting the lie.
"We had to go get her, they couldn't keep their hands off each other, and the game has to start-"
Lucius grimaced. Draco, Hermione, Harry, and Ron blinked in shock and disbelief. Arthur appeared just as surprised, ears turning pink in embarrassment for something that probably wasn't for his ears.
Rosalie opened her mouth to rebut - the last thing she needed was a rumor - but George continued to feed the fire by snatching the jersey. "See? He gave her this to remember him by. How romantic..."
Draco, in attempts to fix the situation for their favor, scoffed and let out a pitiful chuckle. "Krum has no authority compared to the Minister of Magic. Why is it such a big deal if Rosalie and Krum were off somewhere in the sunset? He didn't bring her here, meanwhile Fudge escorted us-"
"I wonder how much you had to pay the poor old bloke to convince him," Ron murmured.
Draco, who heard the snide comment, sneered. "How much did you have to pay? Surely your house won't fetch you this-"
"Now, now, Draco," Lucius sarcastically scolded, pressing his serpent-headed walking stick to his son's chest as he raised an eyebrow at the large group. "We're in public, and there's no need with these people."
"Then I suggest you find another family to mingle with, Lucius," Arthur stepped in, placing his hands on Ginny and Ron's backs.
"It seems we're unwanted here... Narcissa, if you'd go find us our seats," Lucius demandingly spoke, motioning with his head to where the Bulgarian Minister and Fudge were entering. His wife only nodded and beckoned for Draco, who shot the group one last cold look and followed behind his mother. "It's the talk around here that this will be an interesting match, so why not enjoy yourselves?"
"I'll gladly enjoy myself once I've rid of your sight," Rosalie snarled.
He chuckled lowly and began to step backwards. He uttered his last words, almost inaudible from the distance, before disappearing after his family. "Consider your fun beginning now, Potter."
Arthur exhaled sharply before jumping in notice of the twins. He rushed to scold and question them for their disappearance, only to be evaded. Harry chortled at the sight before glancing at Rosalie, who suddenly looked quite sour.
"Don't you ever get the urge to yank off that man's greasy white hair from his head?" He asked her. She looked up at him quizzically, as if unsure what she had just heard, and then her eyes flickered with amusement.
"I expected to see his majesty here anyways," she shrugged. "I can't decide which one of them I hate more."
Harry glanced to the twins, realizing he had forgotten about his worries thanks to the unwelcomed appearance of the Malfoys. "Where did you go?"
"Were you really with Viktor Krum?!" Ron exclaimed.
Rosalie laughed and reached to ruffle their hairs causing them to scrunch their noses. "Heavens, no! Fred and George just made that up on the spot, and now thanks to them, I'm sure the rumor will stick with me for the rest of my life. Harry, we just snuck into the Bulgarian team's tent to-"
"Wait.. you what?" Harry exclaimed in disbelief.
She nodded, grinning with pride as she handed him and Ron the jersey. "I had this in my hand when Krum suddenly walked in, so we took off running and now this is accidentally in my possession. Although the story of me hooking up with him sounds a lot more interesting. I can see all the girls back at Hogwarts envying me."
"The Girl Who Stole Krum's Jersey's legacy will never see the light because of The Girl Who Stole Krum's Heart," Harry taunted. "I can picture the Prophet headlines now."
Ron, still ogling the clothing item, chimed, "Did he see your face? How the hell did you guys get away?"
"The twins dragged me out of there before I could even blink, so I'd like to say no, he didn't. Although the look on his face was priceless if I do say so myself."
Her brother shook his head, still snickering at the thought of his mischievous older sister running away from a baffled and buff Quidditch star. It was then that Arthur waved them over to the balcony where everyone was beginning to gather. The blackboard switched from advertisements to show the team names and scores. The stadium roared to life as wizards and witches began to chant anthems and frantically wave their banners. Harry and Rosalie ran to the edge, holding onto the railing as they stared out at the vast expanse of playing field.
Ludo Bagman pressed his wand to his throat, mumbling an incantation before his voice echoed to life for all to hear. "Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome all of you to the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
"Let's begin by introducing the Bulgarian National Team mascot!"
Just as the twins had predicted, a hundred glamorous veelas glided onto the field, immediately snatching the breaths of everyone in the audience. Their hairs shimmered in the sun like reflective golden threads, their skin shining flawlessly as if they were porcelain dolls. Music played and their hips swayed along to the rhythm. Harry was in a daze, eyes never snatching away from the gorgeous women.
"Wipe the drool of your chin," Rose mocked. Even though he flushed brighter than a thousand rubies, his eyes remained in the magnetic pull of the veelas.
When the music stopped and the veela disappeared from sight, Harry could've leaped out of the box in protest. "Thank Merlin I let you convince me into supporting Bulgaria." At this, his sister shoved his shoulder.
"Wait until Ireland come out!" George cried. "You'll be wanting a shamrock on your chest then!"
"And now... put your wands in the air for the Ireland National Team mascots!"
Green and gold zoomed across the stadium in circles before stopping parallel to one another. A rainbow arced from one end to the other, connecting the two as the spectators marveled. The amazing display didn't last long as the rainbow faded and the green merged together, taking the shape of a shamrock. Golden rain began to pour - a closer look brought Rosalie to realize it was golden coins. People began to fish around under their seats and reach out past the railings with strong eager for the tokens.
"Leprechauns!" Arthur recognized, and surely a second closer look revealed that what Harry and Rosalie thought were balls of light were small men with red hair and pale skin, cloaked in the color of grass as they danced and tossed coins.
After an enthusiastic introduction, Bagman began to call out the names of the players individually, each one swooping in from above their heads at their cue. Half of their group cheered for the red and black, while the other whistled for those clad in green and gold. The referee stepped out onto the field as the players touched ground, clutching their Firebolts and exchanging competitive gazes as they prepared for the signal. As the Egyptian man reached for the whistle around his neck, Bagman raised a hand toward the athletes.
"Let the match begin!"