Gwyn Swann and the Goblet of Fire
by Lady Dawson
Chapter Seven: The Quidditch World Cup
They climbed forever until they reached their seats, because they had gotten the best seats in the entire place, right in the Top Box, with the Minister and other officials. Madeline, who was working the event, waved to Gwyn as she passed, but couldn't stop what she was doing to say hello. Gwyn's heart was racing in excitement as they finally managed to track down their seats and sat down, eagerly awaiting the start of the Quidditch World Cup.
Gwyn was too busy waiting for the match to start that she didn't notice that her seer powers were buzzing. She thought that she felt a cold feeling creeping up her spine, but she was too busy talking to Harry to pay much attention to it as she gazed around the already filled stadium.
Hundreds upon hundreds of witches and wizards were crammed into the stadium, which was bigger than she ever could have imagined, bigger than any stadium than she had ever seen, bigger than anything she had ever laid her eyes on.
"Dobby?"
Gwyn pulled her attention away from admiring the stadium at Harry's inquiry and she turned around at the name, turning towards the house-elf that he had been talking to.
Dobby had been a house-elf who had been "trying" to save his life during their second-year. Key word on try, because all he did was end up getting Harry in trouble and almost getting him killed. She was the only one of their friends who had actually met Dobby, but she'd only caught a glimpse of him as he and his former master, Lucius Malfoy, was leaving. Harry had gone after them and had tricked Malfoy into freeing Dobby.
"Did sir just call me Dobby?" the house-elf asked, not Dobby, but clearly a house-elf. "I knows Dobby too, sir. My name is Winky, sir—and you, sir—" A small gasp escaped from her as she peered up at Harry, her gaze fixing upon the recognisable scar. "You is surely Harry Potter! Dobby talks about you all the time, sir!"
"How is he?" Harry asked, turning around in his seat to talk to give Winky his full attention. "How's freedom suiting him?"
"Meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favour, sir, when you is setting him free," Winky said, shaking her head dismally. Her words made Gwyn frown; what could possibly be wrong about letting someone be free to choose their own path?
"Why?" Harry asked, his expression undoubtedly mirroring hers. He exchanged a surprised look with Gwyn. "What's wrong with him?"
"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir," Winky said dejectedly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir. He is wanting paying for his work, sir."
"What's wrong with that?" Gwyn asked, cocking her head. "He should be able to get paid if that's what he wants."
Once the words were out of her mouth, she knew that she probably shouldn't have said anything, because Winky looked revolted.
"House-elves are not paid, miss!" she squeaked. "No, no, no, I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir," she added, looking at Harry now, "what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures like some common goblin."
"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," Harry reasoned, but Winky just shook her head wildly.
"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter," she said fiercely, but she was hiding her head in her hands. "House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter, but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir." She gave the box around them a frightened look, looking positively terrified.
"Why would he send you up here, if he knows that you don't like heights?" Harry asked.
"Master—master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy. Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf." Without another word, she buried her face into her hands to avoid looking at the thousands of feet below her. Gwyn couldn't blame her for that
"So, that's a house-elf?" Ron asked quietly when they had turned back in their seats. "Weird things, aren't they?"
"Dobby was weirder," Harry returned, shaking his head as the time for the match to start began drawing closer and closer and Ministry officials began to draw into the box.
Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, arrived in the Box, pulled Harry away from Gwyn and introduced him to several of the foreign ministers. Gwyn was busy paying attention to the crowds below her in interest, thinking seriously about following in Madeline's footsteps and working in the Department of Magical Sports and Games, when she heard the Minister say, "Ah, and here's Lucius!"
Her head snapped around so fast that her teeth shattered and she found herself looking directly at the Malfoy family. The patriarch Lucius, his wife Narcissa, and their son Draco were standing right behind them. Sirius's eyes narrowed in extreme dislike as he looked at Narcissa, who acted as though she didn't see him. Draco sent a repulsive look towards Gwyn and his mother turned up her nose as the sight of her.
Gwyn was all too familiar as to what that was about. Her mother had been a pureblood, daughter of one of the highest pureblood families in England, and she had chosen to marry a Muggle, turning her back on everything that her family had taught her, and in return, she was cast out, rejected, and scorned. The only family members of her mother's side that she had met were her two cousins, Alaric and Morgause, and they acted as though she were scum. Thankfully, this was Alaric's last year, so she only had to put up with him for this last year and then, it was only Morgause.
"Good lord, Arthur," Mr. Malfoy said while the Minster was busy making introductions, his eyes sweeping across the group in front of them. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much."
"Lucius has just made a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's," Fudge said, clearly not having heard the exchange. "He's here as my guest."
"How nice," Mr. Weasley said, keeping his voice even and Gwyn felt for her wand in her pocket in case something happened. She hadn't forgotten their last meeting, in which the bookstore in Diagon Alley had been completely wrecked due to a brawl.
Thankfully, however, the Malfoys were not going to cause a scene right under the Minister's nose, because they just continued down to their seats and waited for the match to begin. Gwyn shook her head, glancing at her boyfriend as the Minister and Bagman finally began the match.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!" Bagman announced once he had made his voice magnify a hundred times its natural tone. "And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce . . . the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!" Gwyn leaned forward in anticipation as a group of women, veela, that were exquisitely beautiful women that she'd ever seen. She clapped politely as they began to dance. Most of the men around her plugged their ears, but Harry and Ron and some of the younger Weasleys, unaware of what damage the veela could do, were left vulnerable to their charm. Gwyn had to hold on to Harry to keep him from jumping out of the box, keeping a firm grip on him so hold him in his seat.
Once the veela were finished dancing, Bagman continued, "And now, kindly put your wands in the air . . . for the Irish National Team Mascot!"
Green and gold comets whizzed around the stadium, hitting the goalposts and releasing a rainbow that dazzled across the stadium. As it disappeared, a shamrock appeared above the stadium, compromised of hundreds of leprechauns, and Galleons started tumbling down around them.
Gwyn laughed, covering her head so she wouldn't get hit by any of it. Ron, however, caught some of it and shoved it into Harry's hands as a payment for the Omnioculars that he had bought the four of them before the match. Finally, it stopped raining Galleons and the leprechauns settled down on the opposite side of the veela so they, too, could watch the match.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome—the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you—Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! And Krum!" Gwyn rolled her eyes as the stadium went ballistic as Bagman said the last name. If he wasn't famous, then most of them wouldn't even give him a second glance, she reasoned as she glimpsed the Bulgarian Seeker. He wasn't unattractive, but he wasn't incredible handsome either.
As the excitement from Krum settled down and people were back in their seats, Bagman continued, "And now, please greet the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting—Connelly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! And Lynch!" The applause was tremendous, but not as much as it had been from Krum and when they had relaxed, the match finally began. "And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"
Pushing her Omnioculars to her eyes, Gwyn watched in delight as the game began. Even though she had gone to ever school match that they'd had—except for the ones when one of her friends had been in the hospital—Gwyn had never seen one like this before. It was . . . well, it was professional. Every play was keeping her on the edge of her seat, unsure of what was going to happen next.
The Irish players were incredible, playing at a speed that she had never seen before and making moves that she had only read about. The Bulgarians couldn't even keep up with them and in only twenty or so minutes, they had already scored thirty points, forcing the game to become more aggressive. Gwyn winced as both players tried to annihilate the others.
"Note to self, never try and go for professional Quidditch," she muttered under her breath. She hadn't even really played Quidditch before, not a real game, anyway, just recreationally. But if this was what a professional game was like, she definitely wasn't going to go for that.
Gwyn gasped as the two Seekers began speeding towards the ground. Frantically, she looked for the Snitch, but couldn't find any sign of it anywhere. She frowned; where was it?
At the very last possible second, Krum pulled himself out of the dive and Lynch hit the ground with an enormous thud. Gwyn winced at the sound of it; that had to hurt a lot, she thought as the medics came out onto the field as a time-out was called.
Once Lynch was back in the game, the game grew more and more violent as Ireland scored and scored, leaving Bulgaria behind. And then, finally, they caught sight of what all of them had been holding their breath for since the match had begun: The Golden Snitch.
Lynch was diving towards the Snitch while Krum was keeping up, despite the fact that he was injured and had flecks of blood trailing after him. Both of them were hurtling towards the ground again. Gwyn watched in fascination as Lynch, for the second time, hit the ground and Krum, with little to no effort, grabbed the Snitch, gripping it in his hand as he rose into the air, his face triumphant.
Gwyn didn't need to look at the scoreboard; she had already known what was going to happen before the match had even begun. The twins turned to look at her incredulously, but obviously thrilled. She smiled at them, giving them an innocent smile as she cheered for Ireland.
"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" Bagman roared as the cup was carried into the box and handed over to Fudge as the Irish began their descent into the box to claim their victory.
Even as she clapped and laughed for Ireland, even though she was happier than she was in the longest time, Gwyn had the peculiar feeling that something was going to happen.
Something that none of them were going to be able to stop. And with the events of tonight, the consequences that would follow would lead all of them to their destinies.
But only time would tell what those destinies might be.
