Chappie 4:
Lucius Malfoy's cold gray eyes swept over Mr. Weasley, then up and down the box, noting how many had come with him.
"Good lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?" The trio and the twins glared at the Malfoys.
"Slimy gits," Ron muttered as he, Harry, and Hermione turned to face the field again. Alfred turned their attention back to the box, however.
"Ditto," he snarled. He then drew more breath, about to begin ranting about how rude annoying the whole family was, but before his eyes could even gain a hint of a reddish tinge, Ludo Bagman charged into the box. No one had noticed he had sneaked out of the box a little while back, which was certainly a first.
Normally, Ludo announced everything as loudly as possible, just as he was about to do now. "Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming. "Minister— ready to go?"
"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably, sinking back into his chair. Turning his voice into a mega-mega-megaphone with "Sonorus!", Ludo spoke over the chattering crowd of a hundred-thousand, and welcomed them.
"Ladies and gentlemen. . . welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
"It's actually the five hundred and sixty-ninth, but what's a hundred and forty-seven less huh?" whispered Alfred to his brother. "Remember the first one, Mattie?"
"I do," Canada answered, also whispering. It was a miracle they could hear each other, seeing as the Bulgarian mascots, Veela, had just gotten off the field and everyone was shouting their protests.
"I especially remember that I had thought the brooms were hockey sticks and tried to hit the Quaffle with them, eh." Matthew was a little embarrassed and cringed at the memory. It had been a great broom for its time, destroyed within seconds.
By now, the Irish mascots, Leprechauns, were done with showering the crowd with gold coins, and drifted off to the side of the field, opposite from where the Veela stood.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome— the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you — Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand — KRUM!" The scarlet-clad supporters screamed and wolf-whistled loudly as the team shot out onto the field from an entrance far below. People magically lifted up signs of Krum's glaring, dark, and sallow-skinned face.
"And now, please greet — the Irish National Quidditch team!" Bagman yelled. "Presenting — Connoly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaaaand welcome back — KIRKLAND!" The cheers for the Irish definitely surpassed that of the Bulgarians.
"Kirkland showed up!" Ron shouted into Harry's ear.
Alfred was shouting "IGGY FOR THE WIN, DUDES!" again, and this time Matthew joined him, although in a softer tone. People waved their badges, picked up their hats, waved signs, and did everything they could to let others know that they were supporting Ireland wholeheartedcly.
A chant then picked up. "KIRK-LAND—KIRK-LAND—KIRK-LAND—KIRK-LAND!"
The Bulgarians tried to out-shout the Ireland supporters. "KRUM—KRUM—KRUM—KRUM!" but it was in vain. There was no way they could make themselves heard.
The crowd quieted a bit as small, skinny, completely bald, and mustached man walked onto the field. The referee.
He carried a wooden crate of the various Quidditch balls under one arm, and his broom in the other. Mounting his broomstick, he kicked open the crate, and each one of them shot out. Giving a short blast of his silver whistle shot after the balls and up into get air.
"Theeeeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"
Harry had never seen Quidditch played like this before in his life. He pressed his Omnioculars to his glasses, and they cut into his nose. The chasers caught and passed so quickly that Bagman only had time to say their names.
"TROY SCORES!" roared Bagman, and the stadium vibrated with cheers and stomping. "Ten zero to Ireland!"
Within ten minutes, Ireland had scored two more times, making the score 30-0. The match became faster and more brutal now. The Bulgarian beaters whacked Bludgers as fiercely as possible at Ireland's Chasers, preventing them from using some of their best moves.
"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova — oh I say!" Bagman shouted. Krum had dived towards the ground, appearing as to have seen the Snitch. But Kirkland didn't follow.
"IS HE MENTAL?" Ron shouted angrily. But as he said that, Krum pulled up without a little golden ball held in his hands. He had tried to fake Kirkland into crashing into the ground, and Kirkland didn't fall for it. The Wronski Feint never worked on him. He'd seen it far too much.
"THAT is how good Iggy is," Alfred leaned forward and told the trio, Matthew nodding at his side. The game was now getting really bloody. Krum's nose was broken, Bludgers were attacking Chasers every two seconds, and it was really a miracle nothing worse happened than someone getting knocked out! But Ireland was still gaining points and was now far ahead.
Suddenly, both Krum and Kirkland dived, and everyone knew that this time, the dive was real.
"He's seen it, he's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted, watching in exhilaration as the two Seekers dived, neck in neck.
"They're going to crash!" Hermione screamed.
"They both are, if they don't pull up," Ron yelled back. But at the last second, Krum pulled out of the dive, while Arthur Kirkland reached out and caught the Snitch, crashing onto the ground and rolling onto his back, the wind knocked out of him. But he held up his right hand, the golden Snitch flapping it's wings feebly.
The crowd exploded.