Ok. JK owns HP. I own OCs. Great talk.
So I am not very good at writing sports things because, well, I am the 90 pound weakling that needs beef cake. So...
But I hope you like it. Very clearly went by canon for this whole chapter.
Chapter 13: The Quidditch World Cup
George watched Kat and Fred both rub their heads carefully as they sat. He chuckled slightly to himself, wondering if either of them had noticed the other was mirroring them.
George didn't mind overly that he was sat at the end of the row, but there was still that all too familiar ping of jealousy in his stomach that stopped him from thoroughly enjoying the view around him.
It wasn't that Fred had ever given him a reason to be jealous, quite the opposite, actually. Fred had always gone out of his way to make sure George was on equal footing, neither of them feeling like an extra. It was just on nights like this, when his twin unknowingly thwarted an unvoiced desire of his.
Kat sat happily, her short hair mussed slightly where she had been rubbing it. She was talking to Ginny about one thing or another. He sent a look down the line of friends and family to see Boston was staring at him.
Though, it wasn't how she normally stared at him, with thinly veiled anger and contempt. This time there was a small smirk on her face.
George felt a blush creep up his neck and spread across his cheeks. He had a feeling that Boston knew, and it was only a matter of time before Kat knew too.
The sound of Kat's laugh jolted him out of his fear for a moment. It wouldn't be a bad thing if she knew.
An advertisement for Mrs. Scowar's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover flashed on the black shimmer board on the other side of the arena. Fred saw it at the same time, turning to his twin.
"You know, it would be nice to come up with something that can't be removed. You know, like joke ink. You spill it on someone, and they can't get the stain out no matter how much they try," Fred said.
"Do I need to tell you all the reasons that's a bad idea," George asked.
Fred just shook his head, his hat flopping on his head. "No no no. Hear me out. Right, so we'll make it so it doesn't get stuck to skin or anything, just sort of wrecks clothes."
"We'd have to test it on skin," George said, more thinking out loud than anything else.
"I'm sure we could find someone to test it on." George looked at his brother and shook his head, a smile creeping onto his face.
"As long as we keep it away from anyone who might kill us if it goes wrong," George said.
Fred laughed and clapped his twin on the back.
Suddenly, Ludo Baggman's voice boomed over the excited din of the stadium. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! Welcome to the final of the 422 Quidditch World Cup!"
Everyone was screaming and cheering at this. Even Boston was clapping loudly from her seat. The last advertisement was whipped from the large blackboard, Burtie Botts Every Flavored Beans, and was replaced by a scoreboard reading Ireland 0 Bulgaria 0.
"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce the Bulgarian national team mascots!"
To the right, George saw the stands where a solid wall of scarlet, the crowd started to roar louder than anyone had before.
"What do you think they brought?" Ginny asked.
"Oh shit," Kat breathed at the same time Fred said, "Veela."
100 Veela started gliding out onto the field below. They were women, but not women at the same time. No human woman looked like that. They were too perfect, too bright, they almost seemed to shine with some sort of inner light, and their hair seemed to move on a phantom wind.
George was quick to stick his fingers in his ears before the music started. He turned to Fred to make sure he did the same, only to find that Kat had not, and neither it seemed, had Ginny. It wouldn't have been a problem usually if the girls didn't, seeing as the Veela only affected people who were attracted to women. Yet, both girls seemed to be entranced, pulling themselves closer to the edge of the stands. Kat had one foot braced on the railing as if she were about to jump down again, only this time there was no platform below her, just open air.
Fred seemed to see the same thing and sprung into action, pulling Ginny off the railing before she swung a leg over. George could see his brother gritting his teeth against the music of the Veela, trying to keep hold of their little sister.
Boston herself had crawled over everyone to hold Kat and Harry back, and Hermione had a hold of Ron. An amused sort of look passed through the faces of all the other Weasleys except Percy, who seemed to think he was better than all the rest.
Soon the music died down and the Veela stopped their hypnotic dancing. Fred let go of Ginny, who had turned very red in the face.
Boston had set Kat down and was glaring, hand still gripping Harry's arm.
"You like girls?" Ginny asked Kat tentatively.
Kat looked down at the youngest ginger with a wide smile. "Course I do. What's not to like?"
Ginny fidgeted in her seat for a moment. "I thought you liked boys."
"I do," Kat said matter-of-factly.
"And that's okay?" Ginny asked.
George's chest hurt slightly, watching his baby sister be so nervous asking about this.
Kat looked at her with soft, tired eyes. "I mean, Bart and Vega don't know or anything, but I don't think it's a problem." Kat tucked a strand of hair behind her ear only for it to fall back into its original spot. "Can't really help it, you know. So, it sort of has to be okay because it's how I feel. And I know the people I love and the ones who love me won't find an issue with it."
Ginny nodded. "So it's okay if I like both?"
"Ginger. Please. You're going to have the whole of the wizarding world crawling over themselves just to get a chance with you. Of course it's okay." Kat got very excited for a moment. "Think about it this way. Now you will have twice as many people in love with you."
Ginny laughed a little and her eyes shot to Harry for a short moment. "What about Boston?" Ginny asked suddenly.
"What about her?" Kat raised her eyebrows.
Ginny shrugged. "Well, is she uncomfortable with you liking girls?"
Kat laughed. "Of course not! It would be like you being uncomfortable that your brothers like girls."
Ginny just nodded, mulling this over.
"Hey Gin," George started.
"You know we love you," Fred continued.
"No matter what," George finished.
She smiled. "Yeah, I know. Just, maybe don't tell mum?"
George knew why; Molly was not the most flexible of people when it came to changing her plans. "Course not. That's yours to tell."
Fred turned to George then. "Did you know about Ginny?" He whispered.
George shook his head. "Did you know about Kat?" He whispered back. Fred shook his head as well.
They didn't have much time to contemplate this. "And now," Ludo Baggman's voice boomed, "kindly put your wands in the air for the Irish International Team's mascots."
Coming out of the sky was a large green and gold ball of light zooming into the stands, doing a full circuit of the stadium before splitting in two, either one hurtling towards the goalposts. A rainbow arched between the two balls of light. It was almost as glorious as a fireworks display.
As the rainbow faded and fizzled, the balls of light came back together to form a tremendous shimmering shamrock in the sky. Golden rain seemed to be falling from it. It wasn't until the shamrock was over their little group, did George realize that it was actual gold coils raining from the shamrock.
"Now that's a way to gain favor," George commented with a smile. He looked over to Fred, who had flipped his hat upside down to catch more coins. Further down the line, Ron was doing the same.
"They're leprechauns!" Ginny exclaimed, pointing up at the shamrock, trying not to get pelted in the eye with coins.
George looked up as well, seeing she was right. The whole of the shamrock was comprised of tiny leprechauns in little red vests. Each one had a gold coin in its hands, and some looked as if they were deliberately throwing the coins at people's heads.
Fred slapped George on the arm and pointed towards Boston, who at that moment was glaring at the shamrock. He wondered why for a moment, only to then see a split just above her eyebrow. A coin must have done that. Fred was laughing, and George supposed it might have been a little funny if she hadn't looked so murderous.
Cedric saw it and offered to fix it for her. She just shook her head and wiped at the gash, blood smudging into her hairline. George wondered why she wouldn't let him fix it for her.
Soon the shamrock started to dissolve, and the leprechauns began to drift down onto the field, on the opposite side of the Veela.
"And now! Ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome the Bulgarian national Quidditch team! I give you, Dimitrov." Dimitrov wore the traditional scarlet robes, but he was moving so fast he was blurred as he shot out onto the field.
"Ivanova!" Baggman called as the female chaser blurred her way into the stands. "Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! And… Krum!"
The whole Bulgarian team was now circling quickly around the field, showing off to all of the fans. Krum did a few tricks, and soon the blackboard was filled with a large drawing of Viktor as he flew. It seemed as though the whole stadium was yelling, shaking the stands themselves.
George yanked the omnioculars out of Fred's hands and zoomed in on Viktor Krum. He had a very bird like face and a perpetually grumpy look about him. He was only a little older than Fred and himself, but here he was, playing quidditch in front of 100,000 witches and wizards.
"And now," Ludo Baggman's voice boomed again, "please great the Irish national Quidditch team." It was amazing. As Ludo called their names, they flew in from right above George's head. "Presenting, Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! And… Lynch!"
Fred was yelling over the railing, no longer seated. No one was sitting in their group except perhaps Percy.
"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee. Acclaimed chair wizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"
A small bald wizard with an alarmingly large mustache strode onto the field in gold robes and a silver whistle.
Mostafa brought out with him the quidditch crate and his own broom. Once he got to the middle of the field, he dropped the crate and mounted his broom. He gave the crate a quick kick, and the lid swung open, and the balls all shot into the air, the scarlet red quaffle, the two black bludgers, and the tiny golden snitch all went in different directions.
Mostafa caught the quaffle and flew to the height of the hoops in the center of the field. Mostafa had that whistle in his mouth, and it let out a shriek at the same moment he threw the quaffle even higher into the air.
"They're off!" Baggman announced. "And it's Mullet. Troy. Moran. Dimitrov. Back to Moran. Troy. Levski. Moran!"
It was Quidditch on a whole other level. George looked at Fred whose face was cracked wide open with pure joy. Ginny was wide eyed and enthralled with the speed at which this game was being played. Kat was cheering for, well George wasn't very sure what she was cheering for, but she was enjoying herself nonetheless. Further down, Boston had utterly forgotten about the cut above her eyebrow and was jumping and whistling at the game below.
Fred snatched the omnioculars back and started to spout out the names of the plays in real time.
"Hawk's Head attacking formation!" George looked at the Irish chasers as they started bearing down on the Bulgarians. Troy was in the center of the Irish chasers and a little ahead of Mullet and Moran. "Porscov Ploy," Fred called. Troy made as though to dart upward with the quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian chaser Ivanova, but instead, he dropped the quaffle to Moran.
One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, hit a passing bludger hard at Moran, but Moran was faster, ducking to avoid the bludger, and dropped the quaffle. Levski, who was soaring beneath, caught it.
"Levski. Ivanova. Moran. Mullet. Dimitrov. Troy. Levski. Troy," Baggman called over the cheers from the crowd. Troy had the quaffle and was flying fast toward the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf. "Troy scores!" The stadium shook violently with the roar of applause and cheers. "10-0 to Irland!" Troy punched the air once and the game was back on in an instant.
The Irish chasers were far better than the Bulgarian. They worked as a unit instead of individuals. He almost thought to take notes just to try and implement this for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Without Oliver Wood at school anymore they would be looking for a new captain.
Within the next ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead up to 30-0. Fred had taken to berating the Bulgarian team at that point and even throw a comment towards Boston. She simply rolled her eyes and gave him an obscene hand gesture.
George was growing slightly concerned that Fred might take his dislike for Boston too far one day and say something that Kat or Boston would hear, but seeing as Boston had the smile back on her face in an instant, he knew that she could handle any of the crap Fred threw her way.
The game became faster and more volatile. Volkov and Vulchanov were whacking the bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish chasers. It was starting to impact the Irish from using some of their best moves. Twice they were forced to scatter or be hit.
Ivanova finally was able to break through their ranks and dodge the keeper, Ryan, and scored Bulgaria's first goal.
"Fingers in your ears, boys!" George could hear his father call from all the way at the other end of their little line. This time Kat and Ginny followed suit. The Veela started to dance in celebration. After the excitement, the game continued with Bulgaria in possession of the quaffle.
"Dimitrov. Levski. Dimitrov. Ivanova. Oh! I say!" Baggman roared. 100,000 gasps filled the stadium as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the chasers. They were moving too fast. They must have seen the snitch.
"They're going to crash!" George heard Hermione scream.
She was half right. At the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A groan resounded through the fans wearing green.
"Damn! Viktor was fainting!" Kat bellowed around the same time Arthur did.
"It's timeout!" yelled Baggman's voice. "As trained medi witches run onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch."
"He'll be okay, he only got plowed," Charlie said reassuringly. "Which was what Krum was after, of course."
George and Fred looked at each other then, the same thought going through both their minds. Krum never saw the snitch. "Ronski Defensive Faint," they said together. Sure they had heard of it, but they had never seen it in action before. Krum had to be the best flyer they had ever seen.
Lynch was being given revival potions on the ground as Krum was circling up ahead. He was looking for the snitch, uninterrupted by Lynch.
Lynch got to his feet at last to loud cheers from the Ireland fans, mounted his firebolt, and kicked back off into the air.
His revival seemed to snap through the Irish team. When Mustafa blew his whistle again the chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled than anything seen so far in the game.
Fifteen intense minutes later, Ireland had made ten more goals. 130-10. It was incredible. Of course, this only made the game turn dirty.
Mullet shot towards the goal post, the quaffle under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew up to meet her. George wasn't sure what actually happened, as it was over too quickly, but a scream of rage came from those wearing green, and Mostafa's shrill whistle filled the air. A foul.
"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing. Excessive use elbows," Baggman informed the crowd. "And, yes, it's a penalty to Ireland."
The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a pissed off flock of birds when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words, "Hahaha."
The Veela on the other side of the field, lept to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again. Everyone, apart from Hermione and Boston, stuffed their fingers into their ears. It wasn't as if they had to for long as it seemed this dance was more directed at one person.
"Look at the referee," George told Kat. Kat looked down at the field to see Hassan standing in front of the Veela, flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache. Her laugh filled the air.
"Now we can't have that," Baggman said, but he didn't sound all that put out. "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 his senses. His face had become beet red as he 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 Baggman's voice. "Now, there's something we haven't seen before. Oh! This could turn nasty."
It did.
The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him. They were waving their hands towards the leprechauns who were now forming the words, "Hehehe."
Mostafa wasn't pleased with the Bulgarians' arguments however, he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again. When they refused, he gave two short blasts of his whistle.
"Two penalties for Irland," shouted Baggman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms. Yes. There they go. And Troy takes the quaffle."
Now, this was where George thought the playing got really exciting. Playing now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were now swinging without mercy. Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care if their clubs made contact with bludgers or humans as they swung them violently through the air.
Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.
"Foul!" roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.
"Foul!" echoed Ludo Baggman's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran. Deliberately flying to collide there, and it's got to be another penalty. Yes. There's the whistle."
The leprechauns had taken to the air again, but this time they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude gesture that George had seen Boston make earlier.
At this, the Veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what looked like fire that came from their hands at the leprechauns. It didn't take the omnioculars to see that the Veela were no longer beautiful. Instead, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel, beaked bird heads, and long scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders.
"And that boys," Arthur yelled, "is why you should never go for looks alone."
Ministry wizards were flooding into the field to separate the Veela and the leprechauns, but with little success. Meanwhile, the pitch battle below was nothing compared to the one taking place above. George's head was darting back and forth, trying to follow the quaffle as it changed hands at the speed of one of Boston's hexes.
"Levski. Dimitrov. Moran. Troy. Mullet. Ivanova. Moran again. Moran. Moran scores!" But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the Veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry officials' wands, and the furious roars from the Bulgarians.
The game recemenced immediately. Now Levski had the quaffle. Now Dimitrov. The Irish Beater, Quigley, swung heavily at a passing bludger and hit it as hard as possible towards Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face. There was a deafening groan from the ground and a gagging sound coming from Kat. Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere.
Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted and George didn't really blame him all that much. One of the Veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broomtail alight.
"He's injured!" Fred bellowed next to him.
George was right there with him, even though they were supporting Irland. Viktor Krum was the most exciting player on the field.
Ron could be heard yelling, "Time out! Oh come on! He can't play like that! Look at him!"
Boston had a strange look about her. George knew she supported Krum and was probably angry about him not being seen to, but there was something unreadable in her eyes.
"Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled.
The Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive and George was quite sure that this was no Ronski Faint. This was the real thing.
"He's seen the snitch!" Harry declared. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"
Half the crowd seemed to have realized it as well. The Irish supporters stood again in that great sea of green, cheering their Seeker on. But Krum was on his tail. How he could see with all that blood in his face, George would never know. He was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled towards the ground.
"They're going to crash!" shrieked Hermione.
"They're not!" roared Ron.
"Lynch is!" yelled Harry.
And he was right. For the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by an angry hoard of Veela.
"The snitch! Where's the snitch?" bellowed Charlie down the row.
"He's got it! Viktor's got it!" shouted Kat.
"It's all over!" yelled Ginny.
Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently in the air, his fists in the air, a glint of gold in one. The scoreboard was flashing Bulgaria 160 Ireland 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to realize what happened. Then slowly, the grumbling from the Irish supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delite.
"Ireland wins!" Baggman shouted, who, like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the outcome. "Krum gets the snitch. But Irland wins! Good lord. I don't think any of us expected that!"
"Georgie!" Kat called. "Freddie! Do you know what this means?" Fred looked a bit confused but realization dawned on George.
"We won," George breathed.
"Of course we won," Ginny started.
"No, we won the bet!" George explained.
"What'd he catch the snitch for?" Ron bellowed from down the row, but George was too caught up in winning this bet that he didn't hear anything above the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
Boston had rushed over to Kat, a large smile on her face and they did some sort of strange jumping thing where they held hands and bounced in place.
"We'll have to go to the Minister's box to talk to Ludo," Kat was saying. She started pulling Boston towards the stairs, hitting her head on the beam again. Fred and George followed as they made their way, down and around towards the Minister's Box where Ludo Baggman was announcing from.
The four teens had made it to the top box by the time the teams had been announced and they were now both shaking hands with all the important people.
Baggman put his wand to his throat and said, "Quietis," then spoke in a normal volume to the four of them. "They'll be talking about this one for years," he said horsley. "A really unexpected twist. Shame it couldn't have lasted longer. Ah yes. Yes. I own you...how much?"
George and his twin wore identically wide grins and their hands where outstretched. Boston looked harshly at Ludo, still not happy with him it seemed, and Kat just smirked at him. George had seen that very smirk on Malfoy plenty of times.
By the end of the engagement, all four teens had bags full of gold that they had to lug all the way down the stairs.
"Bye Draco! See you soon, yeah?" Kat called before they left. George didn't wait to hear the rest of the conversation, neither did Boston, who had a pinched look about her.
"You don't like them much either do you?" George asked the scowling girl.
Boston shook her head.
"It's the one downside to Kat. She's attached to them," George commented.
Boston nodded.
George noticed a few stray hairs had come out of that ponytail of hers. "It'll get better when we leave school and she doesn't have to do all the pureblood things."
Boston snorted, then panicked. She shot George an apologetic look and moved faster down the stairs, leaving him to wonder what all that was about.
Wonder what that was about.
