A/N: I don't own nothin.
Seeker, Chapter 1"C'mon Harry! We've gotta get good seats!"
Ron pulled on Harry's sleeve urgently as they entered the enormous stadium. Adrenaline pumped through the two boys' veins as they hurtled up the velvet-covered stairs. Mr. Weasley called out rather futilely to them, "They're all good seats in the Top Box!" but they were too far gone to hear him. Hermione ascended the stairs in a much more dignified fashion, rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath about the general inferiority and absolute ridiculousness of boys.
By the time the rest of the group got there, Harry and Ron had already settled into front row seats, and were gawking at the awesome spectacle playing out beneath them.
The Quidditch World Cup. Possibly one of the riskiest, most troublesome, most time – consuming events to prepare for, but in the end, it was always worth it. Harry had never seen so many people packed into one place before. Stands almost a hundred stories tall rose straight up in the air, surrounding a pitch half a mile long. The sheer size of it boggled his mind. Beneath them, a hundred thousand spectators were filing into their seats or, if they were not so well off, jostling about in the standing room only areas. Harry smiled as he saw a man lift his young son onto his shoulders so that he could see.
Harry and Ron were distracted from their wide – eyed inspection of the stadium by the arrival of the rest of their group. Hermione sat next to Harry and exclaimed at the spectacular seats. Mr. Weasley beamed with pleasure. Fred and George tried to sell some of their inventions to the other occupants of the Top Box while Percy looked on in disdain.
"He's put off because his lover, Mr. Barty Crouch, isn't here," Ron whispered to his friends, jerking his head in Percy's direction. Harry and Hermione, who had both met Mr. Crouch in the campground, snickered appreciatively.
Later on they were joined by Ludo Bagman, a rather short, stocky man with a round, boyish face and a nose that looked as if it had come off the worse in a fight with a brick wall. Being the Head of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry, and also the former Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps, he had inside information on every player on the Irish and Bulgarian teams. Harry and Ron listened in fascination as he described their strengths and weaknesses, their signature moves, their pregame rituals…
"Personally, I think that the Bulgarian team is superior, but the Irish have one advantage, and that's their Seeker," Ludo said finally.
"Remus Lupin," Ron said, sounding slightly awestruck.
"Who's that?" Harry asked curiously.
"Who's Remus Lupin? Who's Remus Lupin!"
Bagman looked appalled at Harry's ignorance.
"Only the single best flyer in the entire wizarding world! The best Seeker the world has ever seen, I reckon! Why his statistics alone are phenomenal! He's never lost a match, not with any team he's played with, did you know that?"
Ron nodded, a dreamy look of admiration plastering his face. Ludo shook his head in amazement.
"Honestly, not knowing who Remus Lupin is? Amazing… I know him personally, flown with him several times. Of course, he's far too young for us to have ever been teammates, he's only twenty or so. It's a shame, really. Had he been with us during the World Cup of '82…"
Ludo grimaced, as though he smelled something foul. But he brightened immediately.
"He's a fine lad, in any case. Never met a person who didn't like him! Except for those… Ministry types…" Ludo's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched.
Harry's brow furrowed in curiosity. "What d'you mean by that?"
The former Beater looked up, momentarily confused. "Oh, that's right, you don't know anything about him. Well, some people give him a hard time because he's…well…a werewolf."
"A werewolf?"
"Yep. Some people hate him for it of course. But he just laughs it off, like he does everything. He's the kind of guy people can't dislike for very long. I've seen him joking around with wizards I've never even seen talk before, let alone laugh!"
Harry was still bursting with questions when Bagman looked at his watch.
"Oh bugger! It's almost time to start!" He stood up, pointed his wand at his throat and muttered something. Then, with a voice amplified a hundred times louder than normal, he greeted the crowd.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the four hundred and twenty – second Quidditch World Cup!"
The crowd roared with excitement. Scarlet fireworks erupted from one side of the stadium while green ones shot into the air from the other. The occupants of the Top Box had to put their hands over their ears as Bagman shouted to be heard over the ruckus.
"Presenting the Bulgarian team! Ivanova!"
A scarlet streak entered the stadium to thunderous applause. Harry could hear Fred and George booing emphatically, and grinned. Ludo continued to announce the rest of the team as the crowd applauded.
"Dimitrov, Vulchanov, Volkov, Levski, aaaaaaaannd…. Krum!"
As the Weasley's hissed and shouted, Harry focused his Omnioculars in on Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. He was a thin, whippy young man with a dark complexion and a look in his eyes that spelled danger. Harry disliked him immediately. He looked like the kind of person who pushed opponents off their brooms without blinking an eye. Kind of like a dark – haired Malfoy.
But Harry didn't have long to think about Krum before Ludo was announcing the arrival of the Irish.
"Presenting… Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Moran! Mullett! Quigley! Aaaaaaaaannnd… Lupin!"
The Irish National team was met with much more enthusiasm from the crowd, leaving the Bulgarians looking rather dejected. Harry had a feeling that this popularity had much to do with the Irish Seeker. Lupin's image filled the enormous screens that hung from the sides of the stadium, his handsome face creased with the biggest grin Harry had ever seen. The young man, really still a boy, looked as though flying was what he lived for. His exuberance shone through like the sun. Holding onto his broom with his knees, he pumped his fists in the air and cheered, then flattened himself against the broom and sped around the sides of the stadium, silky brown hair waving in the wind. Harry and Ron gaped as he flipped, did handstands, rode his broom like a skateboard… making it all look easy. The boys had found their new idol.
The Bulgarians glared at the ecstatic Seeker with the utmost contempt as he whipped around. The referee called all the players to the center of the field to shake hands, and if looks were curses, Lupin would have had tentacles sprouting from his nose and hemorrhoids in places nobody wants to hear about. But as the players were shaking hands, something miraculous happened. As much as the Bulgarians tried to fight it, they found themselves smiling at this happy go lucky young man with the cowlick sticking up off the top of his head. It was just as Ludo Bagman had said; no one could stay angry with him for very long. Well, almost no one. The only exception, it seemed, was Krum. He still looked like he wanted to twist Lupin's head off.
Before Harry knew it, the game had begun. He had thought the Hogwarts games were brutal, but this reminded him of those cage-fighting shows Dudley always watched back at Privet Drive. It didn't take Harry long to realize that blood flowed freely, and frequently in the high stakes games of professional Quidditch. But that was what made it so exciting.
"And Mullett has the Quaffle! He's really on fire, you can barely see him! Oh, watch out Levski! Get outta the way! Oops, too late. And –oh! – that has got to hurt! Mullett drops the Quaffle by way of a Bludger from Volkov, aaaannd… Vulchanov recovers it! Going toward the Irish goalposts… he's by himself now… just Quigley at the hoops now and – wow! An amazing dive on Lupin's part there, must have scared Vulchanov out of his wits! Don't give me that look Igor, I'm just the commentator. And he drops the Quaffle, recovered by Moran, and he's off…"
It never ceased to amaze Harry how the Irish Seeker managed to play a part in every aspect of the game. He dived in front of the Bulgarian Chasers, forcing them to drop the Quaffle, he knocked Bludgers around with the end of his broom, and he still managed to pull a few "Wronski Feints", as Ron put it, on poor Victor Krum, whose face now resembled a ripe tomato. It seemed that Ludo Bagman had been correct. Remus Lupin was most definitely the best Seeker the world had ever seen. At every prank or maneuver the young man made, the crowd screamed and cheered.
Then one Wronski Feint ended badly. Krum usually managed to pull out of the dive just in time, but it seemed his luck had run out. He slammed into the ground at a breakneck speed, burying the front of his broom in the dirt and pitching him forward onto the ground.
"Ooh – ee! That did not look good!" muttered Bagman as wizamedics rushed onto the field, closely followed by the Bulgarian coach. The referee blew his whistle, stopping the game. Lupin, looking mortified, dove down again and landed next to the prone Bulgarian. He shook his shoulder gently. Shockingly, Krum was still awake, and batted the Irishman's hand away. Then he struggled to his feet, ignoring Lupin's outstretched hand. As he stumbled to his half – buried broomstick, Lupin began to clap. The crowd caught on quickly, and soon they were cheering for the miraculously unhurt Seeker. Ignoring it all, Krum jerked his broom from the ground and took off again. Lupin followed suit.
The game continued. The two teams were tied, and the action was, if possible, getting even more brutal. The Beaters were now getting as close to their targets as possible before slamming them, the Chasers were fouling each other right and left, and the Keepers were making rude gestures at each other from across the field. Lupin had upped the ante on his reckless pranks, but seemed to have removed the Wronski Feint from his pack of Aces. At least, that was what Harry thought until the Irish Seeker pulled into a screaming dive, going almost vertically downward. But when Harry craned his neck and glimpsed a shimmer of gold darting along the ground, he realized that this was no fake. Krum had seen it too, and was hot on Lupin's tail. But the Irishman wasn't called the best flyer in the world for nothing. Despite the Bulgarian Seeker's best efforts, Lupin pulled out of the dive gracefully, the Golden Snitch clutched in one raised fist.
The stands exploded. Harry jumped up with the majority of the spectators, raising his fists in the air triumphantly and screaming his head off. Only one small section of loyal Bulgarian supporters remained sitting, looking extremely disappointed.
"Lupin! Lupin!" the crowd shouted ecstatically as the young man rose high into the air, Snitch still held in one outstretched fist. His face was split by an enormous grin, his eyes alight with happiness. And then Krum was there, looking murderous. He had grabbed a Beater's club from one of his teammates and was sneaking up behind the victorious Seeker, club poised to strike. A snarl formed on his lips as he took a swing at Lupin's head.
"Look out!" Harry yelled, though he knew he was too far away to be heard. But by some miracle, or maybe it was heightened werewolf senses, he didn't know, Lupin somehow sensed what was going on behind him and dove out of the way just in time. He sped off down the field, Krum in tight pursuit. The referee blew his whistle desperately, but neither man paid the slightest attention. Lupin was leading Krum on quite a chase, through the goal hoops, up the side of the stadium, into the stands, out of the stands, down to the field where he skimmed his toes on the grass, and spiraling back up into the sky, laughing like a madman the whole way. Obviously, he was not worried in the slightest about Krum and his violent attack; in fact, he looked as though he was having the time of his life. Doggedly, Krum chased after the flamboyant flyer, with slightly less grace and precision, brandishing his club and screaming with unbridled anger. His teammates were shouting at him, obviously trying to get him to calm down, but he was beyond reasoning now. Finally, the referee decided to take decisive action. He took out his wand and pointed it at Krum's retreating back. But right before he was about to cast a spell, the Bulgarian looked back, saw what was going to happen, and dove out of the way.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The jet of purple light hit the back of Lupin's broom, stopping it in midair and sending the young man flying forward…
…right through the window of the Top Box.
Important political figures, actors, musicians, and the Weasleys shouted in alarm when the Irish Seeker crashed through the glass and landed right on top of Ludo Bagman. Shaking glass shards out of his hair, he looked down and grinned cheekily, apparently unshaken by his near death experience.
"Why Ludo! Fancy seeing you here!" His lilting Irish accent seemed to make his already happy tone absolutely jovial. Bagman was slightly less than amused.
"Fancy squashing you here, you mean," he muttered in annoyance.
"Oh, right, sorry." Lupin stood up quickly, offering his hand to his fellow Quidditch player. He hauled Bagman to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly fashion. Catching sight of the rather shaken occupants of the Top Box, he smiled sheepishly and looked down at his feet.
"Sorry for the… uh… crash landing folks. Hope everyone's okay!"
"Besides me, you mean?"
"Oh, shut up Ludo."
"Thanks for the concern."
"Here, d'you want me to kiss your boo – boos? If it'll make you feel better…"
"As a matter of fact, it will! Eew, get away from me!"
"What? You asked!"
"I was being sarcastic."
"Well, be more specific next time."
"Um, I hate to break up the party, but we need to escort Mr. Lupin out."
Three security wizards stood at the entrance to the Top Box. They made their way toward the two disheveled men through a crowd of still snickering VIPs.
"Why d'you need to escort him out? The Cup hasn't been awarded yet!"
'We're aware of that, Mr. Bagman. But somebody from the Ministry wants to see Mr. Lupin, and we'd like to keep our jobs, so we've got to take him now. You can award the Cup to the rest of the team."
Ludo looked like he wanted to protest loudly, but Lupin glared at him and stepped forward without complaint.
"So, are you going to handcuff me? Or am I going to have to pretend?"
One security wizard looked at him strangely. "Do you want handcuffs?"
Lupin shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought that if you were going to arrest me, you might as well do it properly."
The security wizard struggled to hide a smile. "You're not under arrest. They're just going to ask you a few questions."
The Irishman smiled. "Oh. So no handcuffs?"
"No handcuffs."
"Right then."
And they led him out.