Chapter Sixteen: The World Cup Final

CRACK!

Harry opened his eyes, which he'd squeezed shut. He shoved his wand in the back of his jeans and immediately began to grope at himself, hoping he hadn't left any part of him behind in London. He gave a huge sigh of relief to see that all his limbs were intact; his eyes were in place. His hands wandered to his crotch...

"Thank god," he said out loud.

He was standing just outside a huge stadium. Other wizards and witches around him were Apparating with loud pops and crowds were filing slowly into the stands. Harry's eyes scanned the crowd desperately-if he could find Ron or the other Weasleys he wouldn't have to worry about sneaking in.

"Come on, come on," he muttered, looking for a sign of red hair. Then he sighed out loud with relief. Ron was a hundred feet ahead of him, and Harry was thrilled beyond words at that moment that his best mate was so tall, red-haired and easy to spot.

"Ron!" Harry yelled. "RON!!!"

Ron turned, his eyes scanning the crowd, as Harry jogged toward him, weaving in and out of clusters of people.

"Harry?"

"Ron!" Harry panted, catching up.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to watch the match," said Harry. "What's it look like I'm doing here?"

"I thought you were with Cho," said Ron, his eyes narrowing.

"Dammit, Ron, I'm in love with your sister and Cho went home and I really hope you have my ticket because I came here to watch Ginny fly!"

Ron stared at Harry for a moment, and then comprehension crossed his face, and he grinned.

"Right, then," said Ron, reaching into the pocket of his own jeans and producing a crumpled World Cup ticket.

"Thanks," said Harry, taking the ticket and resisting the urge to hug Ron right there.

"I told you Cho was all wrong for you," Ron said as they started toward the stands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hi, Harry!" Hermione threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. "You made it! What happened to Cho?"

"I'll tell you later," said Harry under his breath. "Or better yet let Ron explain."

She nodded and took her seat next to Ron.

"Harry, how are you, mate?" Fred and George Weasley both clapped him heartily on the back; they were wearing black leather pants and had on elegant silk shirts.

"Nice clothes," said Harry. "Are you going to a Quidditch match or a rock concert?"

"Somebody has to hold up the family name when it comes to fashion," said George loftily, flopping into his seat. "Bill's turned out to be such a disappointment."

"Bugger off, Fred," said Bill, laughing and shaking Harry's hand.

"I'm George, you long-haired git," said George.

"Hey, Harry," said Charlie, patting Harry on the back. "Glad you made it."

"Me, too," said Harry.

"Hi, Harry," said Percy, leaning on his cane and shaking Harry's hand. "Lovely evening for a Quidditch match, isn't it?"

"Oh, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley crushed him in a hug. "I'm so happy to see you here!"

"Hullo, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, shaking Harry's hand when Mrs. Weasley had let go of him.

"Hi," said Harry. "Wow, you must be really proud of Ginny."

Mrs. Weasley burst into tears. "It's wonderful!" she bawled.

Fred and George rolled their eyes.

"Get a grip, Mum," said Fred, leading her to her seat and winking at Harry.

"My little girl," said Mr. Weasley, his own eyes misting over. "Who would have thought? My little girl's a champion Quidditch player!" He took his seat next to Mrs. Weasley and the two of them held hands and read over the program.

"I can't believe it," said Ron, as Harry sat down next to him. "My sister. My kid sister. Playing Quidditch in the World Cup."

"Don't tell me you're going to start crying, too," said Harry.

"He might," said George.

"I'm getting a little weepy myself," said Fred.

"Now, now, Fred," said George. "Save the waterworks for-AH!"

George pointed up at the banners rounding the stadium. Fred gave a hoot.

"There it is!" said George, clasping a hand to his chest dramatically as he gazed upon a large advertisement for the joke shop. "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the Number One Joke Shop in all Britain! Oh, it brings a tear to the very eye!"

"Today the U.K., tomorrow, the world!" Fred rhapsodized.

"Nice ad," said Harry, grinning.

"These two haven't shut up about that bloody ad since they told us three weeks ago," said Bill.

"It's almost as bad as when I yammered on and on about cauldron thickness, isn't it?" mused Percy.

"Worse," said Charlie.

"Shut up," said the twins.

"Will you lot be QUIET!" Mrs. Weasley hissed. "The match is about to start!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the final match of the four hundred twenty-sixth Quidditch World Cup!"

"Blimey, is that Ludo Bagman commentating?" Fred asked, peering through a very fancy pair of Omnioculars.

"Do you know that git STILL hasn't paid us back the money he owes?" George said indignantly.

"Hush!" Mr. Weasley hissed. The huge banner showing Fred and George's ad wiped itself clean and became a scoreboard that read ENGLAND: ZERO, SCOTLAND: ZERO.

"And now I must ask for silence, please, ladies and gentlemen," said Bagman, "as we welcome the Scottish Team Mascots!"

In the next instant about a hundred assorted performers-all of the men, all wearing kilts and sashes in various tartans-appeared on the pitch. There were about twenty bagpipers; still others were banging on various drums. Then there were about fifty sword dancers, doing a rather wild sort of jig, swinging gold swords that flashed against the bright setting sun. Next came a procession of men carrying a St. Andrew's flag, followed by still more who were wearing a huge costume that, Harry thought, must be the Loch Ness Monster.

"I wonder if those blokes are wearing kilts in the traditional fashion?" Mrs. Weasley mused.

"What's the traditional fashion?" Ron asked, peering through his Omnioculars as one of the sword dancers lit the blade of his sword on fire and began to twirl it wildly like a baton.

"No knickers underneath," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Ew!" said Ron, Fred and George at once.

The show ended, however, with none of the Scotsmen displaying anything other than very good dancing and very fine bagpipe playing.

"And now, the English National Team Mascots!"

A parade of men dressed as Buckingham Palace Guards came onto the pitch, carrying a huge Union Jack. Behind them was a kind of marching band, made up of various brass horns and drums, playing "God Save the Queen." Behind them were female acrobats wearing rather skimpy versions of the traditional "Beefeater" costumes. Harry, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley men sat up straighter and gazed happily down at the very nimble young women, who were in the midst of performing all sorts of rather flexible and dangerous acrobatics.

"Close your mouth, Ron," said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

Behind them came a huge float and, Harry saw (when he tore his eyes away from the acrobats), a witch wearing an elaborate beaded gown with a sash and a massive jeweled crown on her head. She had a sceptre in her hand and was waving beatifically at the crowd. She looked rather like the real Queen, right down to the several fat Corgi dogs circling and barking frantically at her feet.

"They really went all out, didn't they?" said Mrs. Weasley appreciatively.

"Can't blame them," said Fred. "England hasn't made it to the finals in ages."

"And now, please welcome the Scottish National Team: MacLaren, MacGregor, MacDonald, McGrady, MacMillan, Wallace and Boyd!"

"Lot of Macs on that team," Ron said dryly.

"MacMillan-Ernie MacMillan?" Harry asked.

"Nah," said Fred. "Ernie's older brother, Angus." The Scottish team was dressed in sky blue and white and their cloaks bore the St. Andrew's flag on the back. Cheers went up in the stands and the bagpipers played a quick tune.

"And now," Bagman shouted, "please greet the English National Team: St. James, Stimson, Radcliffe, Lynton, Clyde, Bodwell aaaaand Weasley!"

Harry leapt to his feet, along with Hermione and the Weasleys, and hooted and cheered as Ginny appeared in the air. England was wearing navy blue robes with red trim; the back of their cloaks were imprinted with the Union Jack. Harry looked at Ginny through his swallowed. Ginny looked incredibly small and vulnerable compared to the other players, all of whom were men. Her hair was pulled in a tight plait and she looked nervous, but determined.

"Virginia Weasley joins England tonight, filling in for Chaser Philip Ashford, who has fallen ill," Bagman boomed. "Now let's say hello to our referee, all the way from Cairo, Egypt, the chair of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

Harry recognized Mostafa at once; a dark-skinned, smooth-pated man with a thick black mustache. He wore silver robes and carried a broomstick in one hand and a box under his other arm. He swung himself over his broom, hovered for a moment, then kicked open the box and released the Quaffle, two Bludgers, and the tiny Golden Snitch.

"And they're off!" Bagman screeched. "It's...MacMillan, MacLaren, MacDonald- ooooh, MacDonald takes a Bludger to the shoulder. And it's...Weasley, Lynton, back to Weasley. Look at that girl fly! Nice Bludger dodge. Weasley passes to Lynton, who passes to Bodwell who passes back to Weasley-OUCH! Bodwell takes a Bludger to the chin-he looks all right though. Weasley dives, then it's-oops, bad luck there, Weasley-MacLaren has the Quaffle, passes to MacDonald, who passes to MacMillan and...ANOTHER Bludger...and, it's Weasley in possession again. She's putting on speed-whoa, NICE dodge there-beautiful Sloth Grip Roll-she's heading for goal, passes to Lynton, to Bodwell, to Weasley and-she SCORES! Ten points to England!"

"Yeah!" Harry yelled, not even bothering to sit down anymore, his head moving in every direction as he tried to follow Ginny's movements through his Omnioculars. Her face was screwed up in concentration but she allowed herself half a second to relish her score, then got right back into it.

The match got faster, and as in the last World Cup Harry had been to, Bagman had been reduced almost entirely to simply calling out the names of the Chasers as they passed the Quaffle back and forth. The match also got rougher. Harry felt a rush of fear for Ginny-the Scottish Chasers were now brutally crashing into the English Chasers, trying to knock them from their brooms. Ginny had only avoided being hit so far thanks to her tremendous speed and skill with her flying. But one good hit by a Scottish Chaser-all of whom had to outweigh her by a good hundred pounds-and she would go flying off her broom.

"Oh, dear!" Mrs. Weasley screamed, gripping Mr. Weasley's arm, as Ginny shot upward and narrowly missed colliding with a Scottish Chaser who'd barreled toward her. She was in possession of the Quaffle again, hurtling toward the goal, dodging another Bludger, jerking out of the way of yet another Scottish Chaser.

"Come on, Ginny," Harry muttered, clenching his fists tightly, praying she wouldn't get hurt. He peered through the Omnioculars again; after fifteen minutes of play Ginny's face was covered in sweat and her jaw was set. She dropped just as another Bludger zoomed past, nearly crashing into her head, and then shot upward, avoiding another Scottish Chaser; she passed to Lynton, who zoomed around the back of one of Scotland's goal posts. The Scottish Keeper moved slightly to his left; Lynton hurled the Quaffle at Ginny, and she threw it through the far right hoop with all her strength.

"Another goal for Weasley!" Bagman hollered.

"All right, Ginny!" Harry and Ron yelled. But in the next instant a gasp went up in the crowd as MacDonald plowed right into Ginny. Harry felt his heart leap into his throat as Ginny-hit from behind-went flying off her broom.

"GINNY!" Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys screamed as one.

Harry yanked his wand out of his pocket to stop her fall, but in the next instant he saw that he didn't need to. Somehow, she had managed to hold onto her broom with one hand. She caught herself; the crowd gasped as she dangled, sixty feet in the air, clinging to her broom with one hand.

"TIME OUT!" Mostafa screamed, blowing his whistle. "FOUL!"

"It's a foul to Scotland!" Bagman bellowed, as Ginny reached up with her other hand and gripped her broom. Lynton and Bodwell zoomed to Ginny's side; Bodwell grabbed Ginny round the waist as Lynton gripped the handle of her broom, and together they hoisted her back on. A cheer of relief went up in the stands.

Harry watched through his Omnioculars, his heart pounding, his hands trembling. Ginny's two teammates seemed to be asking her if she was okay; she nodded and grinned at them and wiped her sweaty brow, but she was white- faced and looked genuinely shaken.

"She's okay!" Charlie yelled, watching her through his own Omnioculars.

"Dear god," Mrs. Weasley whimpered. "I don't know if I can take much more of this! Those horrible men, they're...they're trying to hurt my baby!"

"Easy, Mum," said Charlie, putting a hand on her arm. "Ginny's tougher than she looks. And anyway, she's a girl playing a man's sport-she's got to take her lumps, just like everyone else."

Harry glanced at Charlie, who winked at him. Harry nodded but said nothing; he didn't the idea of Ginny "taking lumps." Part of him couldn't help but feel protective, even though he knew Ginny would be furious if she knew; she had always hated being small, had always hated the idea that boys were stronger and faster at many physical things; so she had pushed herself hard at Quidditch and became a better player than most anyone, male or female. She was a true equal on a broom.

Except that now she wasn't. She was the only girl-and a small one at that- facing an enemy team made up of huge, Crabbe and Goyle-like men who clearly didn't feel any sort of chivalry toward their female opponent. If anything, they seemed even more determined to go after Ginny, as if to prove she couldn't take what they dished out.

Harry didn't have time to reflect on these thoughts, though, for the match had started again. The Scottish players resumed their brutal play, but England responded in kind; Harry was wildly impressed with the two English Beaters, Clyde and St. James. At least they were playing defense for the Chasers.

England scored four more goals-two of them by Ginny. The score was sixty to zero. Scotland got even nastier. The three Chasers closed ranks and tightened formations, making it nearly impossible for the English Chasers to snatch the Quaffle away. Ginny was making several daring attempts to zoom in and through the Scottish formations, which made Harry's stomach clench in fear every time-but she was so small and nimble on her broom that she always managed to get away before any of them could smash into her. The problem was that she couldn't get anywhere near the Quaffle.

"MacMillan to MacDonald, back to MacMillan, heading for goal, and...he SCORES! Ten to Scotland."

English Keeper Stimson pounded the air with his fist in frustration. Harry glanced around for the Seekers; Radcliffe was circling the pitch; Boyd circled in the opposite direction. Neither of them seemed to be able to find the Snitch.

Harry, however, spotted it almost at once, and wished he were out there playing, wished he was going after the Snitch and ending the match once and for all so that the three huge Scottish Chasers couldn't make any more attempts to unseat Ginny and sent her tumbling.

"It's over there, you stupid git," Harry muttered. "Turn to your left. Your LEFT."

As if hearing Harry's words, Radcliffe snapped his head to the left and his eyes fell on the tiny Snitch. He whirled around and sped after it.

"Radcliffe's making a move; Boyd's following," Bagman screamed. "What's this...Weasley has the Quaffle-how did she break the Scottish formation!?"

Harry's eyes shot back to the Chasers; the three Scotsmen looked furious and pelted after Ginny as one as she raced away from them toward the Scottish goal hoops.

She was fast, but the Chasers were gaining. Harry sucked in his breath. Suddenly the three Chasers broke formation-MacDonald stayed on Ginny's tail but the other two flew off in opposite directions at breakneck speed.

"Oh, no," Harry whispered, as MacMillan and MacLaren each circled round and zoomed toward Ginny, flanking her.

"They're going to smash into her!" Hermione screamed. Ginny whipped her head to both sides and saw MacMillan and then MacLaren racing toward her. MacDonald, meanwhile, had closed the distance and was reaching out, trying to get a hold of Ginny's broom. The English Chasers swerved toward Ginny but then Lynton took a Bludger to the gut and nearly fell off his own broom.

Several things then happened all at once. Ginny put on one last burst of speed, shot upward, and hurled the Quaffle away, where it was caught by Bodwell. MacMillan, MacLaren and MacDonald-all of them shocked that their quarry had gotten away-were going too fast to stop; MacLaren managed just barely to jerk his broom away but MacMillan and MacDonald collided, hard, sending their brooms spinning; MacDonald held on but MacMillen slipped back and nearly fell, catching himself only at the last second. Bodwell swerved around just behind the Scottish keeper Wallace, swerved back around to the right and swatted Wallace's broom with the end of his own, then swung the Quaffle hard through the center goal hoop. Radcliffe, meanwhile, went into a dive, which Boyd copied. Radcliffe added speed and reached out, the Snitch just inches away from his fingers.

"Come on, COME ON!" Ron and Harry yelled. Hermione was gripping Ron's arm tightly; Mrs. Weasley gripped her husband's; both were silent and white faced. The other Weasleys were stock-still.

Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Ginny catch the Quaffle and fly low, out of the way of the Scottish Chasers, who were still recovering from their collision and-in MacLaren's case-near miss.

Radcliffe dove even faster, then pulled up just in time and zoomed after the Snitch, only a few feet above the ground now. Boyd wasn't so lucky; he waited a split second longer, then pulled up, but the end of his broom handle caught the dirt, and Boyd went flying over his broom, hitting the ground and skidding to a halt.

Radcliffe leaned forward a little further, his fingers touched the Snitch...

WHAM! A Bludger caught Radcliffe hard in the side of his face. A scream went up from the crowd, but Radcliffe leaned forward and by some miracle, his fingers closed around the Snitch. Clutching the Snitch in his hand, Radcliffe looked up, a huge ugly bruise forming on his face; his jaw looked broken. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, his broom slowed, and he rolled right off, landing on the ground a few feet below. Mostafa blew his whistle.

A roar went up from the crowd as Bagman screamed "IT'S OVER! RADCLIFFE CAUGHT THE SNITCH! MEDICAL UNITS ARE RACING ONTO THE PITCH-"

Ginny circled round and flew low toward Radcliffe, still clutching the Quaffle under her arm, screaming with delight even as her eyes fixed on the unconscious form of her teammate, when MacLaren pounded into her.

"FOUL!" Mostafa screamed.

"GINNY!" Harry croaked.

Ginny was only seven feet above the ground, at most, but Harry felt his heart leap into his throat again when she grunted, dropped the Quaffle, and fell from her broom. She landed hard, on her side, and lay still.

"Oh my god!" Mrs. Weasley screamed. As one, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione leapt from their seats.