Welcome, one and all, to the next exciting chapter of HP: The Path of Trials! Considering I had a great many issues trying to post the last chapter, and subsequently making you all wait a couple more days than planned, I decided to make up for it by posting this chapter earlier than planned! Before we can begin, however...
Disclaimer: No...ownership...at...all...save for OC's.
Now, here's...
Chapter 8: World Cup Match Commence! U.S. All-Stars vs Bulgaria!
Enjoy, everyone!
As his Quidditch Team was getting ready in the locker rooms, Percival Braxton was thinking of ways his team could beat Bulgaria. He wasn't worried about their Chasers, their Beaters, and certainly not their Keeper. In his mind, their Keeper was one of the weakest Keepers in the whole tournament. The problem was their prodigy of a Seeker, Viktor Krum.
Everyone knew that the reason Bulgaria made it to the finals of the tournament in the first place was because of Viktor Krum. Braxton knew that, to win this match, they would have to shut him down. But how?
"We've had some good times, haven't we, Harley?" said Jasper, one of his Chasers.
"Yeah, we have," said Harley, his other Chaser. "Remember the last Quidditch Camp we hosted?"
"Yes, and wee little Williams was the Captain of one of the teams," said Jasper with a smile. "Now, that was quite the match for kids their age."
It suddenly clicked for Braxton.
"YES!" said Braxton. "THAT'S IT!"
The team looked at Braxton, who they knew was in deep concentration, and Jasper said, "Um, Captain, are you feeling all right?"
"Team!" Braxton called out. "Gather 'round!"
He brought the whiteboard towards him as the team gathered together.
"I've figured out how we can win against Bulgaria!"
"You have?" said Force, the team's Seeker. "Braxton, their Seeker is phenomenal! No team has been able to shut him down!"
"No other team has implemented the strategy we're about to," said Braxton with a grin.
He then spent a minute drawing figures on the board, after which, he said, "And thank to Marcus Williams, we're going to win this match!"
The team looked at him, confused.
"Here's how it's going to work," said Braxton, pointing to the whiteboard. "Our goal is to get enough points on the board so that catching the Snitch won't matter. To do this, we have got to utilize the Bludgers at every single opportunity to shut down their Chasers. Jasper, Harley, we're going to use the most basic of moves first, then send them into disarray with our advanced moves. Ignatius, keep doing what you've been doing this whole tournament, and you'll be fine. If all goes as planned, you should hardly see any action. Force, if you are unable to catch the Snitch, you do what it takes to hold off Krum enough so that we can get those points on the board."
"Is this what I think it is?" said Ignatius with his deep voice.
"Team, we're going to implement 'The White Spear' strategy," said Braxton with a grin.
The rest of the team looked to each other, grins on their faces, and the team said, "This'll work wonders!"
"Hear that, Tyrone," said Tyler with a mischevious grin. "This match is going to be determined by us!"
"About time we got some serious action!" said Tyrone with the same grin. "I've been looking forward to blindsiding some people all tournament!"
"Team, to the tunnel!" said Braxton.
As they made their way to the tunnel, Braxton hadn't felt more confident about a match in his entire career than in that moment...
Clutching their purchases, 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 infectious; Marcus 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 Marcus could only see a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.
"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr. Weasley, spotting the awestruck looks on the young kids' faces. "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 again...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 decent size box, set at the highest point of and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About thirty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Marcus, taking a seat inbetween his Quidditch teammates, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he rarely seen.
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 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 Marcus' eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, Marcus saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field.
The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family - safe, reliable, and the Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer...Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!...Gladrags Wizardwear - London, Paris, Hogsmeade...
Marcus tore his eyes away from the sign and looked around him. Aside from his teammates, who were all conversing with each other, and his friends, it was empty, save for a house-elf...an awfully familiar house-elf whose face was turned away from him...
"What the crap is Blinky doing here?!" thought Marcus. "If my father summoned him here without my permission..."
He got out of his seat, made his way over to the house elf, and was about to tell him off when he heard Harry say in an incredulous voice, "Dobby?"
The tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomoato. Marcus knew at once it wasn't Blinky, as his nose was almost human-like, nor was it Dobby, whom Harry set free from the Malfoys, but it was unmistakably a house-elf.
"Did sir just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Dobby's and much higher than Blinky's, this elf's voice being a teeny, quivering squeak, and Marcus suspected that this elf might just be female, though it was incredibly difficult to tell just by looking. Ron and Hermione spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry and Marcus, they had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest.
"Sorry," Marcus heard Harry say to the elf, "I just thought you were someone I knew."
"But I know Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, thought the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir - and you, sir -" Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"
"Yeah, I am," said Harry.
"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck. In doing this, she saw Marcus and squeaked, "You is Marcus Williams, sir! You is B-"
"Someone who you haven't met before, I see," said Marcus, projecting his voice just enough to make Winky's voice unheard. He knew Winky was about to mention the fact that he was Blinky's master, and he didn't want everyone to know.
"Um, right, sir," said Winky, who must've realized his mistake and corrected himself.
"How is he?" said Harry. "How's freedom suiting him?"
"Ah, sir," said Winky, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free."
"Why?" said Harry. "What's wrong with him?"
"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir," said Winky sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."
"Why not?" said Harry.
Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, "He is wanting paying for his work, sir."
"Paying?" said Harry blankly. "Well - why shouldn't he be paid?"
Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again.
"House-elves is not paid, sir!" she said in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no, I say 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 what is unbecmoing to a house-efl. You goes racketing around this, Dobby, I says, and next thign I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."
"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," said Harry.
"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter," said Winky firmly, from behind her hands. "House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter" - she glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped - "but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."
"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" said Harry, frowning.
"Master - master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy," said Winky, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. "Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf."
She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and closed her eyes completely again. Marcus saw Harry to himself, Ron, and Hermione.
"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered. "Weird things, aren't they?"
"Dobby was weirder," said Harry fervently.
Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium.
"Wild!" he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again...and again...and again..."
Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvet covered, tasseled program.
"'A display from the team mascots will precede the match'," she read aloud.
"Oh that always worth watching," said Mr. Weasley. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."
"Oh, Marcus, do you think they will show?" said Ariel from her seat.
Marcus' eyes grew wide and said, "Oh, I sure hope so! That would be so awesome!"
"If what shows?" asked Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"I won't say," said Marcus. "I don't want to jinx it."
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 hedgehog. 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 Marcus and Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like old friends. They had met before, and Fudge shook the boys hands in a fatherly fashion, asked how they were, and introduced them to the wizards on either side of him.
"Harry Potter and Marcus Williams, you know," he 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, Marcus Williams... oh come on now, you know who they are...the boy who survived You-Know-Who and the boy who defeated the Dark Prince...you do know who they are -"
The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and Marcus' white hair and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at them.
"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Marcus and Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat...Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places...ah, and here's Lucius!"
Marcus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three of five still empty seats left in the Top Box were none other than Dobby the house-elf's former owners: Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco, and a woman Marcus knew was Mrs. Malfoy.
Harry and Draco Malfoy had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts, though that didn't stop Marcus from confronting Malfoy from time to time. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. His mother was blonde too; 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. Malfoy, 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, 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, making Marcus recall the last time these two men had come face-to-face, which was when they were brawling in the middle of Flourish and Blotts. Mr. Malfoy's cold gray 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?"
Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."
"How - how nice," said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile.
Marcus, who wasn't going to let Mr. Malfoy have the last word, said, "Nice to see that you're throwing around your weight in gold, Mr. Malfoy." He then softly said, "Your weight in gold and nothing else worth of value."
"Why you -" Mr. Malfoy started to say.
"Marcus Williams, keep your comments to yourself," said a very familiar voice.
Everyone turned around and saw Michael and Brynn Williams making their way into the box.
"Michael, there you are!" said Fudge. "Glad you could make it!"
"The same," said Michael. "Marcus, don't speak out of order like that, understand?"
"Yes, father," said Marcus.
"Even if it is true," Michael remarked in an undertone.
"Are you -" Mr. Malfoy began.
"You should really take your seat, Lucius," said Michael, staring him down. "You're causing quite the scene."
Mr. Malfoy, having lost against Mr. Williams, stared down Hermione who, despite turning pink at the ears, determinedly stared at him back. Marcus knew instantly why Mr. Malfoy's lips were curling the way they were: The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and to Mr. Williams before continuing down the line to his seats. Draco shot Marcus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father.
"Slimy gits," Ron muttered as he, Harry, and Hermione turned to face the field again while Marcus took to his seat inbetween Edwards and Ariel.
Marcus heard his father say, "I've been given the green light from all facets of security, Fudge. We're ready to proceed at anytime."
"Excellent, excellent!" said Mr. Fudge, satisfied by Mr. Williams' assurance.
At that moment, Ludo Bagman charged 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, booming into every corner of the stands.
"Ladies and gentleman...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 Flavor Beans - A Risk With Every Mouthful!) and now showed BULGARIA: 0, UNITED STATES: 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!"
"What are veel -?" Harry began to ask.
A hundred veela were then gliding onto the field, and out of nowhere, Marcus' eyes were flooded with energy, causing him great pain, his Negative Vision was all of a sudden present. He was looking at the veela, except they weren't human, like Marcus thought they'd be. They were these nasty, cruel-beaked creatures with wings that only seemed to add to their hideous attributes. Something about these creatures made him want to bombard the field, not out of fatuation, but out of anger, out of rage. As the veela started to dance faster, more wild, a desire to attack these monstrosities fueled him like a oil-induced wildfire.
Marcus emitted a low and dangerous growl, to which he could hear his father say, "Marcus, control yourself."
"These pure-blood veela should be wiped off the planet," Marcus growled through gritted teeth. "How dare they show up here, deceiving the people the way they are. It makes me sick!"
Knowing that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from attacking them if he continued to look at the veela, he turned toward his friends and saw that all of the guys had this misty-eyed looks on their faces, like they were nothing more than slaves to their will. The guys got themselves into a position to jump and -
"WHAT DO YOU IDIOTS THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" Marcus roared at them.
This jarred the boys back into reality. As the music stopped, his guy teammates, embarrassed, quickly resumed their seats. Harry, meanwhile, had a confused look on his face, most likely wondering how he managed to put a leg on the edge of the box, while Ron was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard.
Angry yells were filling the stadium, no doubt their protest of the veela's departure.
Marcus, however, was quite pleased that they were leaving. "Good riddance to them!"
He looked over to Ron, who was inadvertenly about to shred apart his pointed star hat. Mr. Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands.
"You'll be wanting that," he said, "once the U.S. have had their say."
"Huh?" said Ron, staring openmouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field.
As Hermione made a loud tutting noise, Marcus told Harry, "Harry, for goodness sake, take a seat!"
As Harry sat down, Hermione looked at Marcus in confusion and said, "Marcus, are you going to be okay?"
Marcus, who was taking deep breaths, said, "I will be."
Just as he finished calming down, Ludo Bagman's voice roared, "And now, kindly put your wands in the air...for the U.S. National Team Mascots!"
"Oh, I'm hoping they show!" said Peros.
"Oh, please show, please show, please show," said Ariel.
Even Marcus was saying, "Come on, please show!"
Suddenly, seven large, golden, five-pointed stars came down from the sky, swooping the upper edges of the golden stadium, looking down on the people. The U.S. fans roared in excitement, and Marcus' teammates were no exception.
"YES, YES, THEY SHOWED UP!" shouted Peros.
"ALL RIGHT! WHAT A TREAT!" shouted Ben and Jack in unison.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!" Ariel shrieked. "THEY'RE SO BEAUTIFUL!"
Hermione lowered herself to reach Marcus' ears and said, "What is everyone freaking out about?"
"These pointed star creatures are called Star Men!" shouted Marcus, his excitement evident. "Eons ago, they descended from the cosmos into what is now known as the United States! They're almost never seen and they're highly sought after! Each Star Man is able to grant one wish!"
"Blimey!" said Ron. "Grant an actual wish?!"
"Yes!" said Marcus. "Watch!"
The seven star men, standing upright with two black oval eyes on their bodies, raised their arms and, suddenly, a patriotic meteor shower zoomed overhead the stadium. As each patriotic meteor zoomed by, particles of stardust descended onto the stadium. As it got close enough to the people, it materialized into Galleons that dropped into the seats across the stadium.
"Excellent!" yelled Ron as the Galleons started to fall in the Top Box.
"Amazing! Actual Star Men!" said Mr. Weasley over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.
"There you go," Ron yelled happily to Harry, stuffing a fistful of gold coins in his hands, "for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!" Ron then turned to Marcus and said, "I see what you mean about the Star Men! This is brilliant!"
"Actually, that wasn't granting them a wish, Ron!" said Ben.
"What?!" said Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"In order to get a single wish granted from a Star Man, they must test you!" Jack yelled.
"Test you?" asked Harry. "How?"
"Well, they say if there is a big enough crowd -" said Peros.
"And the Star Men feel that there are worthy enough people in that crowd -" said Ariel.
"Then the Star Men will give those worthy people -" said Edwards.
Suddenly, the Star Men twirled once, placed their arms so that the points touched the area just below their highest point, and energy came flowing out of the seven star men.
"STAR-CHILDREN!" roared Marcus and his Quidditch Camp Team in unison.
"Quick, everyone!" said Marcus. "Cup your hands and extend them in front of you! If you have been deemed worthy, a Star Child will land on your hands!"
The seven balls of energy flew around the stadium at high speeds. One by one, each ball of energy flew to someone in the crowd, leaving -
"One left!" said Ivan. "Where's it going to go?!"
It happened quicker than Marcus could even see. The last ball of energy went into the Top Box, zoomed around a few times, then rested on his hands.
Before he knew it, the energy disappated to reveal a tiny, silver, five pointed star, stretching his pointed arms, like it just woken up from a nap. The star was no bigger than the palm of his hands.
"Oh, Marcus, you're so lucky!" said Edwards.
"That's a Star Child?!" squealed Hermione. "It's so cute!"
Marcus found himself in awe as the star child looked up at his face.
However, he said, "If it's all right with you, I'll call you Twink."
The little Star Child formed an adorable smile as it leapt up to his hair and sat on the top of his head, no doubt wanting to rest. The Star Men then shrunk to just a little bit bigger than an average human and flew to their side of the Quidditch Field, across from the Veela.
"And now, ladies and gentleman, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!" roared Bagman. "I give you - Dimitrov!"
A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.
"Ivanova!"
A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.
"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaaand - Krum!"
"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. Marcus quickly used his Omnioculars to focus on the Bulgarian Seeker.
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.
"And now, please greet - the U.S. National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting - Braxton! Jasper! Harley! Powers! Powers! Ignatius! Aaaaaand - Force!"
Seven red, white, and blue blurs swept onto the field; Marcus was able to spot each and every one of them through the Omnioculars. He saw the looks on their faces and was surprised that every one of them looked extremely confident. Marcus could only presume that they must've figured out a brilliant strategy.
"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 fantastic mustache, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Marcus watched through his Omnioculars as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and (for the briefest of a second) 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 Braxton! Jasper! Harley! Dimitrov! Back to Harley! Jasper! Braxton! Levski! Braxton again!"
Marcus noticed that the U.S. All-Stars were really playing at their best. They were more than just in unison, it was as if they were all together in body and spirit. The few times they were interrupted by the Bulgarian Chasers, a Bludger would whack them, forcing them to give up the Quaffle.
Then, suddenly, as soon as Braxton got the Quaffle again, he roared up the field, bypassing their Chasers and the Beaters.
"Oh, Marcus, here it comes!" said Edwards.
"I see it, I see it!" said Marcus, pressing his Omnioculars harder against his face.
It was one-on-one, Percival Braxton against Zograf. Sure enough, as soon as Braxton situated himself between the center and right-most goal posts, he started to execute -
"The Cyclone Psych!" yelled the members of the Quidditch Team members.
Zograf stood no chance. He went too far to the right-most goalpost, leaving Braxton an easy shot into the center goalpost.
"BRAXTON SCORES!" roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to the U.S.!"
"All right, that's the way!" said Peros.
"That's Braxton for ya!" said Ariel.
"What?" Harry yelled, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. "But Levski's got the Quaffle!"
"Harry, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" Hermione shouted to Harry, all the while dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Braxton did a lap of honor around the field. From the sidelines, the Star Men raised their arms and released more energy, which went high above the stadium and exploded into a multitude of colored fireworks.
Marcus watched as Braxton, Jasper, and Harley worked flawlessly, executing moves like the Eagle Dive Bomb and the Cannon Fire Drop, which absolutely bamboozled the Bulgarian Chasers and the Keeper. Volkov and Vulchanov, The Bulgarian Beaters, were hardly getting anything in as the Powers Twins kept blasting the Bludgers at the Bulgarian Chasers, who weren't getting much leeway at all. In ten minutes, Jasper and Harley had scored another goal a piece, putting the U.S. All-Stars above Bulgaria thirty to nothing.
The game went even faster than before, but it also got more brutal. Tired of not being able to do anything, Volkov and Vulchanov started to play way more aggressive than they normally would, managing to smack the Bludgers a couple of times. Forced to scatter, this gave Ivanova the chance Bulgaria needed. Ivanova passed the Chasers, somehow got around Ignatius (which Marcus thought was nothing short of a miracle), and scored Bulgaria's first goal.
"Fingers in your ears!" bellowed Mr. Weasley as the veela started to dance in celebration. Marcus needed to do no such thing, as his hatred against them far overpowered any possible effects the veela were producing. Luckily, the dancing didn't last too long. After they stopped, Bulgaria had possession of the Quaffle once again.
"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!" roared Bagman.
One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Force, plummeted through the center of the Chasers so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes. Marcus followed their descent through his Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch could be.
"They're going to crash!" screamed Hermione, who was sitting next to Harry.
She was half-right - at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Force, however, was not as lucky. Try as she might, she couldn't pull up in time, causing her to hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the U.S. seats.
"Fool!" moaned Mr. Weasley. "Krum was feinting!"
"It's time-out!" yelled Bagman's voice, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Penelope Force!"
"She'll be okay, she 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..."
"I don't get it," said Ariel. "I thought Penelope was smarter than that."
"She is," said Ben. "But, against Krum, she had no choice. She couldn't take the risk of Krum catching the Snitch early."
"I agree with you, Ben," said Marcus. "My guess is that she's trying to hold Krum off. Hmm...let me see something here..."
Marcus surveyed the Quidditch field using his Omnioculars until he found Braxton, who was having a serious talk with the Powers Twins.
"That's weird," said Marcus. "Guys, look at Braxton. Don't you guys find it odd that he's talking to Tyler and Tyrone Powers?"
The rest of the team looked to where Marcus was alluding to, and Edwards said, "You're right! He usually talks to Jasper and Harley! There's something different about the U.S. All-Stars tonight!"
"Yeah, not the usual M.O. at all!" Ben said out loud.
"All right, survey the U.S. All-Stars and let's see if we can figure out what they're doing before the next time there's a stop in play," Marcus told them.
"Yes, sir!" said the team.
At that moment, Force got to her feet, to loud cheer from the patriotic-clad supporters, mounted her Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. Her revival seemed to light a fire under the U.S. All-Stars. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, Braxton, Jasper, and Harley moved with such speed and power that Marcus could hardly believe it.
After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, the U.S. All-Stars had scored another ten goals, making the score one hundred and thirty points to ten and the game was starting to get dirtier.
As Braxton shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under his arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf (most likely tired of getting shamed by him), flew out to meet him. Out of nowhere, Zograf started to cobb Braxton and, while it was over quickly, it enticed the U.S. crowd to scream in rage and forced Mostafa to blow a long, shrilly blast from his whistle.
"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 the U.S.!"
The Star Men, who were starting to glow red from the Bulgarian Keeper's actions, shot out energy 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, the boys on Marcus' Quidditch Camp Team, and Harry stuffed their fingers into their ears, but Marcus and Hermione hadn't bothered. Marcus saw Hermione tugging on Harry's arm, and he looked at while she impatiently pulled his fingers out of his ears.
"Look at the referee!" she said, giggling.
Marcus looked down at the field with his Omnioculars and saw a rather strange sight: Hassan Mostafa had landed in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very strangely. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache 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; Marcus, still watching through the Omnioculars, saw that he looked exceptionally embarrassed 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..."
"Well, at least the referee has the right idea!" shouted Marcus. "Get them off the field!"
Sure enough, Bagman's prediction came true: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the Star Man, who formed an energy hand, waving its index finger like a parent would scold a child. 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 the U.S.!" 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 Braxton takes the Quaffle..."
Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. It seemed to turn into a Beaters' war in the match, as both sides were starting to act mercilessly: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with the Bludger or human as they swung them violently in the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Jasper, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.
"Foul!" roared the U.S. supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of red, white, and blue.
"Foul!" echoed Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Jasper - deliberately flying to collide there - and it's got to be another penalty - yes, there's the whistle!"
One of the Star Men, looking like he was fed up with the Bulgarian Quidditch Team's actions, zoomed very fast across the field and collided into one of the veela, making her collapse onto the ground, and zoomed back to the other Star Men. At this, the veela lost all control of themselves. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves acrosss the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the Star Men. Marcus watched through his Omnioculars as the veela were starting to reveal their true nature...all except one, who just watched the other veela attack the Star Men with a solemn look on her face. While it struck Marcus as odd, he chose to ignore it.
"And that, boys," yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"
"Hey, Marcus!" yelled Edwards. "I've figured it out! The U.S. All-Stars' strategy!"
"Yeah?" Marcus yelled.
"They're using the Powers Twins to stymie their Chasers and implementing their best moves to further send them into disarray," Edwards explained. "Sound familiar?"
"The White Spear?!" yelled Marcus. "They're using OUR strategy?!"
"Yeah, isn't it awesome?!" yelled Edwards.
"Heck yeah, it is!" yelled Marcus.
Ministry wizards were flooding to separate the veela and the Star Men, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above. Marcus turned in what he felt like all directions as the Quaffle kept changing hands at the speed of a bullet.
"Levski - Dimitrov - Harley - Jasper - Ivanova - Jasper again - Braxton - BRAXTON SCORES!"
But the cheers of the U.S. 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 -
Marcus saw that Tyler Powers rocketed a Bludger towards Krum with every fiber of his being. Unfortunately, Krum did not duck quickly enough and received the full brunt of the Bludger in the face, nearly knocking him off his broom.
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 to which Marcus couldn't blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.
Marcus, despite fully rooting for the U.S. All-Stars, wanted someone to realize that Krum was injured, as he was (much to Marcus' chagrin) the most exciting Seeker he'd ever seen play.
Ron obviously felt the same, for he yelled, "Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him -"
"Look at Force!" shouted Marcus and Harry at the same time.
For the U.S. Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Marcus was sure that she had spotted the real thing...
"She's seen the Snitch!" Marcus yelled. "She's seen it! Look at her go!"
Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the U.S. supporters rose in another great wave of red, white, and blue, screaming their Seeker on...but Krum was on her tail. Marcus found it severly impressive Krum could even see where he was going, considering the flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawling level with Force now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again -
"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked.
"They're not!" roared Ron.
"Force is!" yelled Harry, Marcus, and the Quidditch Camp Team.
And they were right - for the second time, Force 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!" Marcus heard Harry shout.
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, UNITED STATES: 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 U.S. supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.
"U.S. WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the U.S. supporters, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT U.S. WINS - good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"
While Twink was happily flying all around the Quidditch Camp Team, Marcus and the team in question were going bonkers, they were so over the moon with the U.S. All-Stars winning the World Cup.
Ron joined with them, jumping up and down, applauding with his hands over his head, but still bellowed, "What did he catch the Snitch for? He ended it when U.S. were a hundred and sixty point ahead, the idiot!"
"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly.
"The U.S. Chasers were simply too good, Ron!" Marcus shouted, who composed himself. "Krum wanted to end it on his terms, that's all..."
"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 Star Men and veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess..."
Marcus put his Omnioculars to his eyes again. It was hard to see what was happening below, because of the dust the Star Men were delightedly shooting around, but he 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 U.S. players were dancing gleefully in a shower of stardust coming from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium, the U.S. national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back to their normal selves, though looking dispirited and forlorn.
"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind Marcus. He turned around to find that the Bulgarian Minister of Magic spoke English.
"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.
"And as the U.S. team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman.
Marcus' eyes were suddenly blinded by a dazzling white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, he 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; Marcus 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. Marcus noticed that, not to his surprise, that Krum 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 U.S. All-Stars. Penelope Force was being supported by Tyler and Tyrone Powers; the second crash seemed to have done a number on her, as her eyes looked strangely unfocused. But she grinned and gave the thumbs up, letting people know she was going to be okay.
Percival Braxton spotted Marcus and shouted with a smile, "Marcus Williams, get over here!"
Marcus, shocked, walked over to Braxton, who said, "It's thanks to your 'White Spear' strategy that we were able to win the Cup, Marcus. As such, you get to hoist the Cup with us!"
Marcus, whose mind wasn't working right, felt sort of dazed himself as him, Braxton, and the rest of the U.S. All-Stars hoisted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval.
At last, when the U.S. All-Stars had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Penelope Force on the back of Renee Harley's, clutching hard around her 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, Marcus saw, 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.
And this concludes this exciting chapter of HP: The Path of Trials! Feel free to leave a review of this story, as this always helps me refine my skills as a writer. Also, if you have any questions that you want to ask me, don't hesitate to leave me a PM and, I promise, I will answer them to the best of my abilities. Until then, keep your eyes peeled for the next chapter of HP: The Path of Trials!
