Chapter Fifty

The Quidditch World Cup

At nineteen, James had moved into Sirius' flat with him and the place was a tip. It's a good thing James' fiancé Lily came over so often, or they doubted you would even be able to see the floor. Or at least that's what the talking kettle often said (they were really regretting getting one that talked.)

When James came out of his room, buttoning up his dress shirt, he laughed as he was ambushed by Sirius, who whooped and put a strange pink top hat on his best friends head.

"Are you ready for you St-?" Sirius started, positively beaming.

"Don't do the joke," James said, rolling his eyes, but he too was grinning, before long his long time crush was going to be his wife. "I'm well aware of the irony of tonight."

Sirius fell silent for a moment, pouting. However, he seemed unable to help himself as the pout slowly morphed itself into a smirk and his silver eyes tinkled mischievously.

"Stag night," he finished and ducked with a laugh when James went to hit him in the head.

James glared at his best friend.

"Sirius?" he said dryly.

Immediately Sirius laughter died and his smirk vanished. James had only used the crappy pun to get back at Sirius, as James knew how much he loathed it.

"Bastard," Sirius glared, but there was no heat to it. "And to be honest you deserve a little taunting after all the stray dog jokes you made when your parents took me in a few years ago."

James abruptly laughed in recollection.

Mr Weasley in the lead, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infections; the Potter twins couldn't stop grinning.

They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though Briar could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, she could tell that it was absolutely huge.

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr Weasley and Briar turned to see he was talking to her twin, who had an awestruck look on his face. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away…bless them," he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "Top box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right.

Mr Weasley's party kept climbing, and at last they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gold chairs stood in two rows here, and Briar, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon the scene with excited awe.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself.

The field looked as smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Briar's eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard wand then wiping it off again; watching it, Briar daw that it was flashing advertisements across the field.

The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family – safe, reliable, and with Built-in-Anti-Burglar Buzzer….Mrs Shower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!...Gladrags Wizardwear – London, Paris, Hogsmeade…

Briar looked over her shoulder from her position between Fred and George to see who else was sharing the box with them. So far it was empty, except for a house elf sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them. She was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga and she had her face hidden her hands.

Briar's brows furrowed in worry for the small creature, but knew there was nothing she was able to do since she wasn't the house elf's mistress.

"It's too bad Lee's parents are muggles," Briar said as she turned back around to the twins, who were looking across at the stadium.

"I know what you mean, he loves Quidditch," nodded George.

"Even though he can't fly for dragon dung," Fred snorted.

Briar couldn't help but laugh. She had only ever seen Lee fly once and it was one of the funniest things she had ever seen. He had barely been able to hover a foot of the ground before he freaked out, making the broom jerk, and he fell off.

"'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,'" Hermione said from the other side of George, she was skimming eagerly through her velvet-covered, tasselled program.

"Oh that's always worth watching," said Mr Weasley. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Mr Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a Kneazle.

When Cornelius Fudge, the minister of magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained In his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an old friend. Briar, Fred and George discretely threw glares at the minister, all feeling extremely bitter about what he had done to Uncle Padfoot, a marauder no less.

"Harry Potter, you know," Fudge told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English. "Harry Potter…oh come on now, you know who he is…the boy who survive You-Know-Who…you know who he is-"

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly pointing at it. Briar could see the blush creeping up her twin's neck as he slumped slightly in his chair. Briar just rolled her eyes at the fact that the Minister of Magic needed a fourteen year old boy to make himself look better.

She instead looked across at the stands opposite them. There was a row of eleven wizards, completely coloured red with: VIKTOR KRUM, each letter on each of their chests, and the eleventh with an exclamation point, made to flash black and gold. Briar chuckled at the scene and pointed it out to Fred and George.

Briar hadn't been paying any attention to what Fudge had been saying, but she turned quickly when she heard him say: "…Ah, and here's Lucius!"

Briar looked over George to see that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had turned too. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr Weasley were none other than Lucius Malfoy, his son Draco and the woman she recognised as Draco's mother, Narcissa.

Harry and Draco Malfoy had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts and Briar had been enemies with him since she began to mercilessly prank the git.

A pale both with a pointed face and white blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. His mother was blonde too, which Briar found odd considering she was a Black; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.

"Ah, Fudge," said Mr Weasley, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblansk – Obalonsk – Mr – well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else – you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

It was a tense moment. Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy looked at each other and Briar vividly recalled the last time they had come face-to-face: it had been in Flourish and Blotts' bookshop, and they had had a fight. Mr Malfoy's cold grey eyes swept over Mr Weasley, and then up and down the row.

"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?"

Briar's hazel eyes narrowed in a glare and Fred and George turned around now, both tensing in anger. Briar quickly placed a calming hand on George's arm, knowing his terrible temper.

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius as just given a very generous contribution to St Mungo's Hospital for Magic Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"How – how nice," said Mr Weasley with a very strained smile.

Mr Malfoy's eyes had turned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinately back. Briar's grip tightened painfully on George's arm as her own anger sizzled further: she knew exactly what was making Mr Malfoy's lip curl like that. The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, was worthless.

However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, Hermione and Briar one contemptuous look, the himself between his mother and father.

"Bloody gits, the lot of them," Fred muttered to her darkly and Briar nodded, letting her glare linger on the family for a moment before she turned back around.

Next moment, Ludo Bagman charge into the box.

"Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming like a great excited Edam. "Minister – ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booking into every corner of the stands.

"Ladies and Gentlemen…welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message (Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans – A Risk With Every Mouthful!) and now showed: BULGARIE: 0, IRELAND: 0.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce…the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought," said Mr Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah" he suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"

Briar inwardly groaned at their mascots, knowing they were about to make every man in the stadium go mad with lust. A hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field and Briar eyed the inhumanly beautiful woman disinterestedly.

Briar looked at her best friends on either side of her. Their eyes had gone dazed, looking as though they hadn't had a care in the world. They were on the edge of their seats, dreamy eyes latched on the veela. She held their elbows firmly to stop them from doing something stupid.

She looked at the awed look on Fred's face and scowled to herself. Brilliant, now she was feeling jealous of veela and they weren't even human. This stupid crush!

"Harry, what are you doing?" a voice said.

It was Hermione. Briar looked across to her friend and saw that it was a good thing she had spoken. Harry and Ron had gotten to their feet and walked to the very edge of the box, looking about read to jump to their deaths.

"It's the Veela, they make boys into dazed idiots, they're what muggle folk call sirens," Briar explained to Hermione and the bushy haired girl looked down at the veela with new interest.

The music stopped. Fred and George stopped moving against her grip on their arms and looked around at her in confusion. They seemed to realise what they had done and smiled sheepishly as they moved back into their seats.

Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go and Briar rolled her eyes, knowing it was just from the creature's hypnotic songs.

"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice," kindly put your wands in the air…for Irish National Team Mascots!"

Briar, Fred and George cheered loudly with the green side of the stadium.

Next moment, there was a great green-and-gold blur zooming into the stadium. The blur did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two small blurs, each hurtling toward the goal posts. Squinting, Briar saw the blurs were actually thousands of Leprechauns, tiny little bearded men with red bests, each carrying a minute lamp of golf or green.

A rainbow arched suddenly across the field, connecting the two groups of Leprechauns. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed. Now the rainbow faded and the groups of Leprechauns reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it: heavy gold coins were falling down, bouncing off their heads and seats.

"Haha! Brilliant!" Briar exclaimed as the twins cheered loudly again.

"Leprechauns!" said Mr Weasley over the tumultuous applause of the crowd.

Many of the crowd were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold. Briar found the thing very amusing, knowing that it was Leprechaun gold and would disappear after a while.

"Do you reckon it will last long enough for us to buy something before anyone notices it's not real gold?" Fred asked as he held a handful of the gold.

"No way," Briar shook her head.

"Yeah, Freddie, I'm all for getting stuff for free, but I'm not too keen to spending days in Azkaban for theft," George said, ever the more thoughtful Weasley twin.

The great shamrock in the air dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome – the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you – Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-class figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand - Krum!"

"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. Which Harry had bought for him earlier.

Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen. Despite the somewhat menacing look of him on a broom, he was rather attractive.

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand - Lynch!"

Seven green blurs swept onto the field; Briar cheered as she watched the players fly quickly. She couldn't decide which Ireland player she liked the most, although she was certain it was one of the chasers.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a moustache to rival Uncle Vernon's, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the moustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other.

Briar watched closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and (Briar saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It was so much better than Quidditch at school, granted then she at least got to be part of the action since she was on the team, but everything was just so much…bigger. Although, she would admit she would have preferred Lee commentating, with all his funny, bias remarks.

The speed of the players was incredible - the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. Briar's eyes were narrowed as she tried to catch every movement, her gaze darting across the pitch as quick as she could.

One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swung hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran's path; Moran ducked to avoid the Bludger and dropped the Quaffle; and Levski, soaring beneath, caught it and then passed it to Troy. Troy sped down the pitch, ducked a passing Quaffle, swerved around a Bulgarian chaser and-

"TROY SCORES!" roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to Ireland!"

Briar screamed happily and the twins whooped at her sides. Ireland had made the first score, hopeful this was showing how the rest of the game would go. The leprechauns watching from the side-lines had all risen into the air again and formed the great, glittering shamrock. Across the field, the veela were watching them sulkily.

The Irish Chasers were superb. Briar knew she had a lot of talent as a chaser and she wasn't modest about it, but she could only hope she would grow to be as good as the Irish chasers. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette on Briar's chest kept squeaking their names: "Troy - Mullet - Mo ran!" And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the green-clad supporters.

"Yes! If they keep going how they are, we'll win the bet for sure!" Fred roared over the cheers.

"Yeah, but Krum still needs to catch the snitch in the end!" Briar shouted.

"He will, he has to!" shouted George in determination, clearly not able to even imagine him and Fred losing all their savings.

Briar grinned. Their optimism was one of the things she admired most about the twins, that and their large hearts and mischievousness.

The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal.

"Fingers in your ears!" bellowed Mr. Weasley as the veela started to dance in celebration.

Briar, Ginny and Hermione were the only ones able to watch the celebration as all the boys had put their fingers in their ears and looked away to stop from themselves from falling under their spell. Soon, the veela had stopped dancing, and Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!" roared Bagman.

One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the centre of the Chasers, faster than Briar had ever seen anyone fly. It was brilliant! Briar followed their descent, squinting to see where the Snitch was –

"No! They can't catch the snitch yet!" screamed Fred next to Briar.

"I don't think they will!" Briar shouted, eyes drew together, she couldn't catch that glint of gold of the snitch, but then again it was really far away.

Briar was right - at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiralled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"The Wronski Defensive Feint!" Briar exclaimed, beaming and dancing up and down. "That's one of the most dangerous seeker diversions. I've heard it on the Wizard Wireless, but wow!"

"Excellent, this increases Krum's chances later on if he's injured," George muttered and Briar nodded absently in agreement, still caught up in excitement at the famous move.

"Fool!" moaned Mr. Weasley. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" yelled Bagman's voice, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course... ."

Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivalled by anything Briar had ever heard of the other Quidditch games she'd listened to.

After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals and Briar's throat was starting to hurt from her shouts of celebration. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier.

As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Briar scowled when the Keeper elbowed Mullet in the face, a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mustafa's long, shrill whistle blasted, indicating the foul.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing - excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informed the roaring spectators. "And - yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words "HA, HA, HA!" The veela on the other side of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again.

As one, the Weasley boys and Harry stuffed their fingers into their ears, but Briar, who hadn't bothered, was soon tugging on the twins arms. The twins looked at her questioningly, pulling their hands out the ears as Briar pointed.

"Look at the referee!" Briar laughed, her hazel eyes twinkling.

The Weasley twins looked down at the field where Briar was pointing. Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his moustache excitedly.

"Now, we can't have that!" said Ludo Bagman, though he sounded highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!"

A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself and had started shouting at the veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!" said Bagman's voice. "Now there's something we haven't seen before…Oh this could turn nasty…"

It did: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words "HEE, HEE, HEE." Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarians' arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle.

"Two penalties for Ireland!" shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms…yes…there they go…and Troy takes the Quaffle...

Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

"Foul!" roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.

"Foul!" echoed Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran -deliberately flying to collide there - and it's got to be another penalty - yes, there's the whistle!"

The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Briar laughed delightedly at the spectacle. The veela were anything but beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders-

And "that, boys," yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"

Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above. Briar turned this way and that, as the Quaffle changed hands with the speed of a spell.

"Levski - Dimitrov - Moran - Troy - Mullet - Ivanova - Moran again - Moran - MORAN SCORES!"

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. The game recommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov -The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face.

Fred and Just heaved out simultaneous sighs of annoyance.

"This better not affect his ability to catch the snitch," Fred grumbled.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Briar couldn't blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.

"Oh, come on, heal Krum!" the twins shouted in frustration.

The twins and Briar were glaring at the mediwizards. They wanted someone to realize that Krum was injured; even though he was supporting Ireland, Krum was the most exciting player on the field and Fred and George needed him to catch the snitch to win the bet.

"Look at Lynch!" Briar heard Harry yell suddenly.

For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Briar was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing...

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"

Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on. . . but Krum was on his tail.

"Come on, Krum!" The twins yelled.

How Krum could see where he was going, Briar had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again –

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Hermione.

"They're not!" roared Ron.

"Lynch is!" yelled Harry.

"Who cares?!" Briar and the twins shouted.

Harry was right - for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Charlie, along the row.

"He's got it - Krum's got it - it's all over!" shouted Harry.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match.

"KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS - good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"We were!" Briar laughed in delight.

she and the twins were bouncing up and down in triumph, laughing and screaming, grins etched on their faces. Fred pulled her into an excited hug and Briar hugged back tightly. However, a moment later, they both realised what they were doing and jerked away from each other, their cheeks flushing red.

Briar looked away awkwardly before glancing back as Fred to see he was rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. George suddenly swept her up in a hug as Fred had done and Briar sighed in relief as he broke the awkwardness.

"WE WON THE BET!" George was screaming and Briar laughed loudly, continuing the celebration.

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. "The Irish Chasers were too good…He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all…"

"Well, he's bloody brilliant, right 'Mione?" Briar asked with a grin, she had somehow ended in between Hermione and George in the excitement as the Weasley twins wrapped their arms around each other.

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess…"

Briar raised a brow, a slow smirk blooming on her face. It seemed Hermione had a small crush on a famous Quidditch player. Briar chuckled under her breath before looking back down at the field.

It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but she could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots.

Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind Briar.

Briar looked around in surprise at the accented voice; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

"You can speak English!" said Fudge, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Vell, it vos very funny," said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging.

Briar could help but laugh, at least there was one Minister that had a sense of humour.

"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!" roared Bagman.

Briar's eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, she saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers - Bulgaria!" Bagman shouted.

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; Briar could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction.

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge.

Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. Briar noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, ear-splitting roar.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval. Briar's hands were numb with clapping.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honour on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus."

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that…shame it couldn't have lasted longer…Ah yes…yes, I owe you…how much?"

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.