Carrying their purchases, they all set off through the woods in a sea of people, chatting and laughing. Calla, Hermione and Ginny were holding hands and skipping, singing at the top of their voices. It was probably about twenty minutes before they came out on the other side of the woods, and Ginny stopped, pulling the other two back as they gaped at the stadium rising up before them.

"Woah," was all Calla could say.

"Seats a hundred thousand," Mr Weasley said, catching up to them. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year." The sheer scale, not only of the stadium but of the work put into it, astounded Calla. "There are Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have come anywhere near here all year, they've been turned away and suddenly remembered an urgent appointment." He laughed fondly. "Bless them."

He led them the way towards the nearest stadium entrance, where hundreds of witches and wizards were already shouting and talking and laughing, exchanging pleasantries and bets in a swarm of green and red. "Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance as they handed her their tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs and as high as you can go!"

The stairs into the stadium were covered in a rich purple carpeting - proving Calla's mental point that wizards did have carpets, too. They clambered upwards on the stairs with the rest of the crowd, which thinned slowly as they made their way up higher and higher. At long last, when Calla was sure her legs were half numb, they came out at the Top Box, set at the top of the stadium and halfway between the two ends of goalposts. There was a collection of people already inside there, sitting or chatting over purple and gilt chairs, and Calla stared around her as they made their way into the front row of seats.

She regretted it a bit as she looked down, seeng the swoop of the pitch so far below. A hundred thousand witches and wizards were crowded into the rest of the stadium, on seats which rose in levels all around the pitch. And the whole stadium seemed to hold a strange, warm golden light which diffused all around them, from every part of it. There were three golden goldposts at either end of the pitch, and directly across from them was a giant blackboard, which Calla assumed was for the scores later on, though now there was golden writing flashing across it, advertising a Bluebottle Broom 'for all the family'.

She imagined what the score might be, trying to project her imagination into the board, which didn't work, unsurprisingly. It could be a bit like Seeing, she supposed. If she wanted to see the scores, she could try and imagine the board clearing and then the images fitting back together as she did when she looked into crystal balls or teacups. Then again, she didn't want to spoil the match for herself; there were some things she preferred to be unknown. Some things that could be.

Harry grabbed her arm suddenly and she twisted, staring at him as he opened his mouth. "Dobby?"

"What?" Calla turned around to see a small creature with large, bat-like ears... But it wasn't Dobby.

The elf looked up at them through narrow, spindly sort of fingers. "Did sir just call me Dobby, sir?"

Both Ron and Hermione turned around now, having presumably heard a lot about Dobby from Harry. Even Mr Weasley turned around to look at the elf curiously. "Sorry," Harry said quickly. "I just thought you were someone I knew."

"But I is knowing Dobby too, sir," the house elf said. It had a higher pitched voice than Dobby, but seemed to be shaking a little, refusing to look down. Calla couldn't blame them. "My name is Winky, sir. And you-"

Their eyes widened from behind their fingers, just for a moment, and the house elf sucked in a breath. Calla knew what was coming of course. She didn't need to be a Seer to work it out. "You must bes Harry Potter!" the house elf said, attracting a couple of stares. Her eyes flickered to his scar, and then to Calla's own forehead, where they lingered. "And his sister, Calla Potter!"

"Er, yes," said Harry. "That's me. Us."

"But Dobby talks of yous all the time!" Winky said. She lowered her hands only slightly to stare between them both, looking rather awestruck. Calla shifted awkwardly, eyes drawn to the empty space beside Winky. Who had sent their house elf up here alone, presumably to save them a seat? Anyone in the Top Box would surely already know they had a good seat, and someone rich and influential enough to have a house elf would be able to have a good seat besides.

"How is Dobby?" Harry asked, as Calla turned back to him. "How's freedom suiting him?"

"Ah, sir," Winky said, shaking her head. "Ah, sir, meaning no disrespect sir, but Winky is not sure freedom was what was best for Dobby, sir. Winky is not sure you is doing Dobby a favour when you is setting him free."

"Why?" Calla asked in surprise.

"Is he alright?" Harry asked.

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir, miss," Winky said. "Ideas above his station, he has, sir. Can't get another position anywhere, miss."

"Why not?" Harry asked, seeming rather incredulous.

Winky lowered her voice and leaned forward every so slightly to whisper, "Dobby is wanting paying for his work now, sir?"

"Well why shouldn't he?" Calla asked.

Winky looked absolutely horrified at the idea. She closed her fingers tightly over her eyes again, so that Calla could barely see any of her face. "House elves is not paid, miss!" she said in a muffled yet somehow still shrill voice. "No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family somewheres Dobby and settle down and be a good house elf. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks now, sir and miss, what is unbecoming to a house elf. I says to Dobby, Dobby, yous goes racketing about this and before yous knows it, you'll be up before the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures! Like some common goblin!"

Calla had been about to ask why he could get in trouble for wanting to be paid for his work, but Winky looked awfully upset and she was worried that might set her off. "Well," Harry said before she could speak anyway, "it's about time he had a bit of fun."

"House elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter!" Winky cried, burying her face in her hands. "House elves does as they is told! I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter, no I is not, but my - my master asks me to come to the Top Box sir, and I does it!"

"Why'd he send you all the way to the Top Box if you don't like heights?"

"Master - master wants Winky to saves him a seat, Harry Potter!" She glanced at the empty seat beside her nervously, and Calla followed her gaze. "Winky is wishing she was back in master's tent, Harry Potter," she said as Calla's gaze snapped back to her, "but Winky is doings as Winky is tolds! Winky is a good house elf!"

She looked again at the edge of the box and hid her hands tightly, clearly frightened. She was still shaking a little. Calla wanted to comfort her, but thought that might just make the poor elf more upset. "I'm sure your master will be here soon, Winky," she said as gently as she could, but Winky didn't say anything in return. Calla's eyes drifted again over that empty seat, before she shook her head and turned around with the others.

"So that's a house elf, then," Ron said as they turned back to the pitch. "Weird things, aren't they?"

"Dobby was weirder," Harry said fervently.

"Don't be rude," Calla chided, and he rolled his eyes.

"He was, though."

With a sigh, she took out her Omnioculars from her bag, dropping her copy of 'I Capture the Castle' onto the floor. "You brought a book?" Harry asked her, looking incredulous.

"Mrs Weasley said it went on for five days last time," she said, flushing as she shoved the book back into her bag. "It could go on longer.

I'll need something to occupy my time!"

"Quidditch!" Harry said. "Quidditch will occupy your time!"

"Not for five days it won't," she replied. "I promise I won't take it out within twenty four hours. And besides, Hermione brought one too."

"You did not!" Ron said, turning on her. She went quite pink. "I bet you suggested it, too."

"I did not!" Hermione insisted. "And don't look at me like that, I bet you'd get bored after a day, too. Calla and I are just thinking ahead."

"No chance," he muttered, bringing his own Omnioculars up to his eyes. "This is wild!" Ron declared. "I can make that bloke on the other side of the pitch pick his nose again - and again - and again."

"That's disgusting," Calla informed him, pulling out her own Omnioculars. There obviously wasn't very much happening yet, but she fiddled with the various buttons and knobs and dials until she thought she'd gotten a grip on what everything was and what it did, before setting them down and watching as more and more people filled the Top Box. There was a group of Bulgarian wizards talking to a flustered looking Bagman, whose Bulgarian skills clearly hadn't improved. She tried not to giggle, but it died down anyway as she saw another group enter.

Lucius Malfoy, followed by Draco and then Narcissa Malfoy, who Calla remembered from the trial. She'd supported Sirius, as his cousin and representative of the Black family seat, but currently she didn't look like someone Calla wanted to be happy with at all; she was looking down her nose at everyone, haughtily, as she drifted into the box.

"Ah, Fudge," said Lucius Malfoy, simpering over to the Minister for Magic. She saw Draco's eyes drifting around the box, landing on them, and she rolled her eyes in response. While Harry hated Draco Malfoy and always had, Daphne had assured Calla that he did, apparently, have a few rare moments of not being the absolute worst person ever. Though she had yet to see the evidence of that. Harry didn't care about that, though, which was fair enough. It wasn't like Draco was a particularly nice person outside of his friendship with Daphne.

"How do you do, how do you do?" Fudge was saying enthusiastically, wringing the Malfoys' hands. "Do allow me to introduce you to the Bulgarian Minister..."

Calla's attention drifted again. The giant blackboard was now advertising a new potion for cleaning Floo fireplaces to avoid disruption and misplacement, which she thought could be rather a good idea. "You know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

Calla tensed. Introducing the Malfoys and Weasleys was very unlikely to end well. Malfoy's cold grey eyes roamed over Mr Weasley, who looked particularly unhappy at his presence. "Good Lord," Mr Malfoy said quietly. "What on earth did you have to do to get tickets for the Top Box, Weasley? Surely your house wouldn't fetch this much?"

Fudge clearly wasn't listening as he went on breezily, "Lucius has just given a rather generous donation to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my personal guest."

Of course he was. Calla tried not to pout as she looked at Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be very pleased with himself. She narrowed her eyes at him, pulling a face when Fudge couldn't see her. Draco shot her and Harry, Ron and Hermione a contemptuous look, before proceeding to join his mother and father by Fudge.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered, and Calla nodded her agreement as Ludo Bagman charged into the Top Box, beaming.

"Everyone ready?" he asked, beaming around at them all.

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

Bagman took out his wand and pointed it at his throat, saying, "Sonorus!" Calla wasn't sure quite what he'd done until he spoke over the roar of the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen... Welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty second Quidditch World Cup!"

The crowd roared their excitement, screaming and clapping. Calla joined in with a grin. The national flags were being waved too, and the national anthems were all out of sync with one another but it was still wonderful. The giant blackboard wiped off its advertisement to show the score: BULGARIA - ZERO, IRELAND - ZERO.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to welcome... The Bulgarian team mascots!"

He swept his arm and there was a rush of roaring from the crowd. Calla leaned over, trying to catch a glimpse as what seemed like a hundred people danced out of the stadium onto the pitch. They were women; very beautiful women. But they weren't ordinary women; their skin shone bright like the moon, and golden blonde hair canned out behind them without any wind. They were unnaturally beautiful, and she frowned, trying to puzzle it out. "Veela," Mr Weasley said, slightly breathlessly.

"Veela," Calla repeated. Even the word was beautiful. They'd started dancing, bodies all moving so perfectly with one another, and she was certain that this was the most beautiful thing that she'd ever seen. They danced faster and faster in something of a frenzy and Calla couldn't tear her eyes away, wasn't sure she could even if she wanted to, wasn't sure she did want to.

Her brother moved beside her and she didn't realise at first, but caught him just in time as he held himself up, trying to stand on the edge. "Harry!" she said, grabbing him and pulling him back down roughly. "What are you doing?"

"The - the Veela..." He said feebly as the music stopped and the crowd roared their disapproval as the Veela stopped their dancing.

She glanced back down at the pitch. The Veela seemed to shine with an ethereal beauty... She sighed in amazement, the breath caught in her throat. She felt awfully sad now they'd stopped, and she could see the disheartenment on Harry and Ron's faces too. Hermione looked like she couldn't care less.

"Honestly!" she said, tugging Ron and then Harry back into their seats. Calla instead leant over further. If that was what Bulgaria brought as mascots, she couldn't wait to see Ireland's.

"And now," Bagman was roaring, "please put your wands in the air... For the Irish National Team Mascots!"

A giant green comet soared into the stadium, blazing with light, and Calla rushed backwards towards her seat as it did a full lap of the stadium, before splitting in two and rushing towards either set of goalposts at the end of the pitch. She watched, transfixed, as a rainbow suddenly raced between either end, bright and glistening as though with a thousand different jewels. The rainbow faded as the two balls of light united, fizzling into a gleaming green shamrock which hung over the sky.

Something started to pour from it, like golden rain or sunbeams. Calla stared, leaning forward. "It's gold!" Ron cried, as the shamrock soared over them and coins landed on the floor and seats. He and Harry jumped up and down trying to catch them.

"Leprechauns!" Mr Weasley shouted, pointing up at the shamrock. If she squinted, she found she could make out tiny little red bearded men, all decked in green, and she burst into a grin at the sight.

The shamrock dissolved a moment later and the leprechauns leapt over to the other side of the pitch, opposite the Veela, sitting cross legged and eager to watch the match.

"And now!" Bagman was speaking once more. "Give it up for the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you... Dimitrov!"

Something red streaked onto the pitch, flying at a top speed. Calla leaned forward excitedly. "Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaand - Krum!"

This was the one she'd seen on the posters, Calla realised. He flew well, she knew enough about Quidditch to know that; but to be fair, they all flew well. She held her Omnioculars up to follow his figure around the pitch, seeing him grin a little before returning to a hardened, surly expression.

"And now, please greet, the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting: Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaand - Lynch!"

The crowd went wild and Calla made her Omnioculars track each of the Irish players as they streaked onto the pitch. There was Mullet, grinning as she lapped up the crowd's enthusiasm, cheering along with them for her team. "And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small, skinny, bald wizard jogged out onto the pitch in bright gold robes, with a whistle swinging in his chest and a large wooden crate under his arm which Calla was sure was to hold the Quidditch balls. Calla made sure her Omnioculars were at a normal speed, as she watched Mostafa mount his broom, and release the four balls into the air. He blew the whistle sharply and then soared into the air after the balls, as the match began.

"Theeey're off!" Bagman screamed. "And It's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

Even with Omnioculars Calla could barely keep up as the Quaffle was passed so quickly between the players. Words like 'Hawkshead Attacking Formation' and 'Porskoff Ploy' popped up in her vision as the players made different plays and passed. "TROY SCORES!" Bagman yelled, as the blackboard score changed to show ten-zero to Ireland. Her rosette squealed louder.

Calla might not have been a Quidditch player herself, but she knew a good set of Chasers when she saw them. And Troy, Mullet, and Moran? They were amazing. They worked seamlessly together as a true team, and within about ten minutes they had scored twice more, leading Bulgaria by thirty points to zero. "Come on, Ireland!" Calla yelled along with Fred.

The match only continued to pick up the pace and Calla wondered why she'd ever thought bringing a book would be necessary. The Bulgarian Beaters swung the Bludgers ferociously at the Irish Chasers, who dodged and blocked and dived, weaving through the sky. But she realised quickly that was the point; when they were scattered, they couldn't use their best moves, it seemed, and eventually the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova managed to break their ranks and dodge Ryan, the Keeper, to score a goal for Bulgaria.

"Fingers in your ears!" Mr Weasley shouted and Calla didn't have to be asked twice. Not just for the Veela, but for the roar that went up from the scarlet side. She was glad it was at least partially drowned out.

"Dimitrov!" Bagman yelled just as Calla took her fingers out of her ears. "Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova! Oh, I say!"

Calla scrambled for her Omnioculars to look - there on the pitch, Krum and Lynch were both plummeting between the huddle of Chasers, clearly diving for the Snitch. Her heart was in her mouth; Krum was going faster, if the Snitch was there then he would get it-

He pulled up sharply out of the dive and left Lynch to crash into the ground. "What?" she yelled, as the words Wronski Feint flashed across the Omnioculars screen.

"It's time out!" Bagman's voice yelled, as people darted onto the pitch. "As trained Mediwizards attend to injured Irish Seeker, Lynch!"

"It's okay, he just got ploughed!" Charlie was assuring Ginny, who looked very worried for Lynch as she hung over the side of the box. "Which is what Krum was after, of course..."

"Don't you do that," Calla told Harry sharply, watching him turn the dials rapturously to rewatch the move.

He looked at her sheepishly and she knew that was exactly what he was dreaming of doing. She shook her head, turning her attentions back to Lynch on the pitch, who was being given cups of some potion by the Mediwizards. Krum, on the other hand, was taking the opportunity to circle the pitch, with his eyes peeled for the Snitch. Clever, she thought.

There was a cheer and Calla turned her gaze back to Lynch, who was getting up, much to the crowd's delight. He mounted his broom and kicked off sharply, seeming to give Ireland a renewed hope; when Mostafa blew his whistle again, they all sprang into action as one, and went on to score another ten quick goals, quite astoundingly.

"They're amazing!" Calla cried, jumping up and down with excitement. "Come on, Ireland!"

Her eyes were fixed on Mullet, the Chaser. She was amazing, flying quickly but sharply too, darting across the pitch. She had the Quaffle under her arm as she shot towards the goalposts, a determined sort of grin on her face, and then Calla jumped as something else startled into the picture, an elbow shoving her roughly away. The Irish crowd roared in anger and Mostafa's whistle blew shrilly as he flew out to meet them.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for combing - that's an excessive use of elbows! And yes, that's a penalty for Ireland! Penalty for Ireland!"

The leprechauns' looked of fury turned to that of glee as they moved to spell out the letters 'HA HA HA' and Calla giggled at them, grinning. Her eyes returned to Mullet again, but then turned quickly to the Veela as they started up their song furiously.

"Look at the referee!" Hermione giggled, pulling on Calla's arm and pointing.

Hassan Mostafa had just dismounted his broom and was... Flexing his muscles, as though to impress the Veela. Calla giggled shrilly. "What's he doing?" she laughed to Hermione, staring down.

"Now we can't have that!" Bagman's voice called, laughing. "Somebody slap the referee!"

A Mediwizard came tearing across the pitch, his own fingers stuffed tightly in his ears and promptly kicked Mostafa, hard, in the shins. Calla laughed shrilly again, as Mostafa started shouting at the Veela, appearing to be highly embarrassed by his behaviour, which was hardly surprising. It was embarrassing, after all.

"And unless I'm much mistaken," Bagman was continuing on in an excited voice, "Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian Team Mascots! Now, there's something we haven't seen before! My, this could turn nasty!"

It seemed like it, Calla thought. The two Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, had come down from the sky to argue with and yell at the referee, quite ferociously. They gestured wildly towards the leprechauns, who seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely as they now moved to form the letters 'HEE HEE HEE'. Mostafa looked furious, jabbing his finger sharply into the air to tell the two Beaters to get flying again; when they refused, he blew his whistle sharply twice.

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

The game continued brutally, and the Beaters in particular seemed without any mercy. Volkov and Vulchanov swung their Beaters' bats furiously, not seeming to care if they hit Bludgers or players; Mullet had to duck in order to avoid them. Dimitrov at one point flew straight at Moran, seemingly in an attempt to make her drop the Quaffle, and nearly knocked her off her broom. "Foul!" came the cry from the rising sea of green, as the Irish supporters protested furiously.

"Foul!" Bagman echoed loudly. "Dimitrov skins Moran - deliberately flying to collide there, got to be a foul - and yes, there's the whistle!"

The leprechauns took to the air again, appearing quite delighted, and formed a giant hand in the air which sent a very rude 'V' across the pitch towards the Veela, who seemed to be losing control entirely. They seemed to be trying to throw fireballs at the leprechauns, running across the pitch, and Calla thought they didn't look so beautiful now, but rather terrifying. And their faces changed, elongating into bird beaks, and sharp wings sprouted from their backs.

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

Ministry wizards were flooding the pitch to try and get some control back between the Veela and the leprechauns. Calla watched on with bated breath through her Omnioculars as the Quaffle went quickly between hands, at a rapid speed so that she could hardly keep up. "Levski - Dimitrov - Moran - Troy - Mullet - Ivanova - Moran again - Moran - and Moran SCORED!" Calla cheered loudly, beaming as Ireland's score again ticked over. They were leading by such a margin she was sure Bulgaria would never catch up. The Veela seemed to have realised this too, as they were shrieking over the crowd's cheers, and the Ministry members were having to keep them back with their wands. Calla kept herself focused on the game. "Levski with the Quaffle - Dimitrov - OH!"

A Bludgers had just hit Krum square in the face. Calla gasped and leaned forward, staring through her Omnioculars. His face was getting covered in blood, and his nose seemed definitely broken, but the referee's broom tail had just been set on fire and he didn't seem to notice. "Get a Mediwizard on!" she shrieked, though obviously no one could hear her on the pitch.

Ron and Harry were both furious about it. "Time out!" Ron was roaring. "Come on, he can't play like that!"

"Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled, and Calla swung her Omnioculars round so she could see the Irish Seeker going into a deep dive. And - there, she could see the glint of the Snitch.

"He's going for it!" she yelled. "Look, hes seen it!"

He and Krum were both hurtling towards the ground at a rapid pace. "They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked, grabbing ahold of Calla's arm. "Look!"

"No they're not!" Ron shouted, but Calla felt like she knew what was happening.

"Lynch is!" she shouted back, but with a second long glance at the scoreboard realised it didn't matter. Ireland were too far ahead for Bulgaria to win if they got the Snitch now. Fred and George were right.

"Look!" Harry roared, just as Lynch slammed into the ground and was promptly trampled upon by a horde of angry Veela.

"Where's the Snitch?" Charlie was yelling.

"Krum!" Calla yelled.

"Krum's got it, it's all over!" Harry shouted, staring.

Despite his robes being covered in his own blood, Krum had his hand held high into the air, and there was something golden glinting in his grasp. The scoreboard was flashing: BULGARIA - ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY, IRELAND - ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY.

The crowd didn't seem to realise at first, until a roar went up from the Ireland end, growing and growing louder and louder, as they began to realise what had just happened. "IRELAND WIN!" Bagman was roaring. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH BUT IRELAND WINS! Good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that result!"

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron was bellowing, though he was cheering and jumping up and down. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry was yelling back. "He wanted to end it on his own terms, that's all!"

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land, as the Mediwizards seemed to swamp him. "Oh, but he looks a terrible mess."

"His nose must be broken," Calla said, staring down. "That was a brilliant catch though."

The leprechauns had taken to the sky and were flying about, beaming. The Irish National Anthem blared from the waving flags all around them, and Calla's rosette squealed louder and louder. Down below she could see the Veela shrinking back, looking rather forlorn, as they became their beautiful selves again without the fight in them.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind them. Calla looked around, seeing the Bulgarian Minister for Magic.

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

"Vell, it vos very funny," said the Bulgarian Minister, and Calla grinned.

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

The box was suddenly illuminated by a dazzling white light, so that everyone could see as two panting wizards carried in a giant golden cup, which was handed over to a still rather disgruntled looking Cornelius Fudge.

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

The seven Bulgarian team members traipsed into the Top Box, looking rather defeated, but the crowd still cheered for them, and Calla could see a hundred thousand pairs of Omnioculars winking and shining towards them. She watched out for Krum as the rest all filed in; he was a mess, with two very black eyes, and a bloodied face, and he was still holding the Snitch. But when his name was called, the whole stadium gave him a loud, ear splitting cheer.

And then came the Irish team. Lynch was being held up Moran and Connolly, and he looked really rather dazed as a result of his second crash. Yet he seemed to be beaming as Troy and Quigley lifted the cup into the air, and the crowd below thundered with applause. Calla couldn't stop clapping, beaming along with everybody else. At long last, once the Irish team had done another lap of honour around the pitch, Bagman held his wand to his throat and said a hoarse, "Quietus."

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said happily, beaming. "A really unexpected twist, that, shame it couldn't have gone on longer... Ah. How much do I owe you?"

For Fred and George were both beaming, holding out their hands to collect their winnings, and Calla couldn't keep a grin off her face.