Title: Truth behind the name and the lies pt.4
Pairing: DracoxHarry, OliverxPercy, twincest, growing RemusxSeverus,
Fandom : HP
Notes: An abused boy finds out he's a wizard and a hero; his tormented mind rebels. One person sees through the misconceptions to the real Harry and treats him the way he deserves. How does this change them both and those around them
Pairings: DracoxHarry, twincest, OliverxPercy, RemusxSeverus, BlaisexCharlie, future BillxFleur, Stalker Ginny! implied Seamus and Colin *hides* new pairing coming in in chapter 17?
Chapter 3- The World Cup Quidditch Match
A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretence disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.
Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes - green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria - which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.
"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Fred told Harry as they strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though the twins purchased a dancing shamrock hat, a scarf and a large green rosette.
Hermione couldn't help herself, she bought a Bulgarian scarf and an Irish rosette that blinked various pro-Irish sayings .
Draco bought an Irish scarf and a Bulgarian flag, Harry had an Irish flag and a Bulgarian Scarf.
Blaisé was Irish from head to toe with a hat, scarf, flag, rosette.
"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials.
"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action… slow everything down… and they flash up a play-by- play breakdown if you need it. Bargain - ten Galleons each."
"Wish I hadn't bought this now," George said longingly, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.
"five pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.
"No - don't bother," Fred bit his lip, going red.
"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry tease him, thrusting Omnioculars into everyone's. "For about ten years, mind."
"Fair enough," George and Fred said, grinning.
"Oooh, thanks, Harry," Hermione said. "I'll get us some programs, look -"
Their money bags considerably lighter, they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny, were all sporting green rosettes too, Severus was wearing an Irish scarf himself and so was Lucius and Remus, while Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag.
Then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.
"It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"
Clutching their purchases, Lucius 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; Harry 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 Harry could see only 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," Mr. Weasley said, spotting the awestruck look on Harry's face. "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 with the Minister! 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 small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined.
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 Harry's 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, Harry saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field
The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family - safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burgler Buzzer…
Mrs. Shower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!…
Gladrags Wizardwear - London, Paris, Hogsmeade…
Harry tore his eyes away from the sign and looked over his shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with them. Besides, Madam Bones, the new Minister for Magic and her family a good six or seven people. The only other occupant was a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them. The creature, whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, batlike ears were oddly familiar…
"Dobby?" Harry asked incredulously, he was sure they'd left Dobby in the tent
The tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It wasn't Dobby – it was, however, unmistakably a house-elf, Harry knew house elves. They had them at Hogwarts, at Wisteria Meadows and at the Manor, he'd lived with them serving them since he was 12 and was released from St. Mungos'.
"Did sir just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Dobby's, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and Harry suspected though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf, that this one might just be female like Dippy.
"Sorry," Harry told the elf, "I just thought you were our house elf for a second."
"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though 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 face. "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.
"Oh." Harry said, not that he enjoyed being the topic of gossip amoung anyone much less house elves.
Winky said firmly, from behind her hands. "A good house-elf 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 hid her eyes completely again.
Harry turned back to the others.
Fred 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's always worth watching," Lucius said, "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."
The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour.
Mr. Weasley and Lucius 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 that even Oliver was chuckling at him. Percy was so eager to please and was anxious not to embarrass Lucius. When Percy noticed Madam Bones, the Minister of Magic herself had 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.
Harry had met Madam Bones before twice, and Amelia shook Harry's hand in a motherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the wizards on either side of her.
"This is Harry Potter," she told the Bulgarian minister rapidly in what must be Bulgarian, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English but she was kind enough to address in his own language, "Harry Potter, the boy who survived You-Know-Who. He is quite an adorable boy." she switched back to English, "How are you doing Harry? You look healthier then when I first saw you."
Harry snuggled, "I am. Papa takes good care of me. Remus does too. He saved my life. Draco takes care of me too."
Draco covered Harry's tiny hand with his own, "I've always taken care of you and I intend to continue to do that."
She smiled, "I'm glad you came." then ushered off the Bulgarian Minister to his seats in the large box.
Mr. Weasley and Lucius seemed to be trying to talk cordially.
Ron shot Harry, Draco, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his sister and Bill.
Blaisé had taken a seat next to Charlie, there was a faint shimmer around Blaisé's hand, was he using a glamour? Blaisé was probably running his talons over Charlie's arm again. None of Blaisé's friends had ever seen him this taken with anyone before, normally he ignored others if they weren't professors or members of their group. He wasn't very social or outgoing. Blaisé was highly loyal to Draco and their companions but he preferred his books to people. Now he was being very flirtatious and acting far older then he was. You would assume he was closer to Fred and George's age if you didn't know he was merely a Fourth Year.
Ron was scowling and muttering under his breath, "Slimy gits."
Bill seemed to be trying to talk to Percy and Oliver.
Ginny, the youngest Weasley was trying not to get caught bit kept staring at Harry with a sort of longing look in her eye that irritated Draco.
Ron smacked her, "Don't even think about it. He's not good enough. I won't have my little sister liking that trash."
Bill grabbed Ron by the ear and hissed, "We're in the Minister's box. Behave. Or I swear I'll take you straight home to Mum. If I have to miss any of the World Cup because of you I will not forgive you. You've already gotten yourself expelled, how much more do you want to embarrass this family? In front of the Minister, two professors and Percy's boss no less."
"I don't enjoying being around good for nothing poofs. That Harry Potter is an arrogant git." Ron hissed back.
"Don't you know that we got these seats because of Percy, Fred and George?"
"What did they do? Suck pricks for them?"
Bill grabbed him by the collar, "You want to go home and miss the match?"
Next moment, a good looking, muscular wizard charged into the box.
"Everyone ready?" he asked, his round face gleaming. "Minister - ready to go?"
"Ready when you are, Ludo," Amelia said comfortably.
Hermione shook her head, "So that's Ludo Bagman."
"Yeah the one who has been flouting Muggle security by talking about Quidditch." Draco nodded.
Lucius poked him, from behind them, "He was a very good player, probably the most enthusiastic head of the Department of Magical Sports and Games. Now be quiet. It's about to start."
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 gentlemen… 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, IRELAND: 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," Mr. Weasley said, leaning forward in his seat.
Blaisé sniffed, "I see. Should have expected it.!"
Mr. Weasley suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes.
Blaisé muttered, "Veela!"
Even Lucius straightened a bit in his seat.
But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry blinked.
These Veela were women…the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen. Their hair reminded him of Draco's… except that they didn't look anything like Blaisé. This puzzled Harry for a moment while he tried hard not to compare them to his dark-skinned friend; what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind. Then the music started, and Harry stopped worrying about them not being human, he was rather confused because of some of the other males' reactions to these Veela.
The veela had started to dance, Lucius seemed to gasp behind them, Arthur, Bill and Ron seemed to be the only ones affected.
"Ron, what are you doing?" Ginny asked in a quiet voice.
The music stopped. Ron blinked. He was standing up, and one of his legs was resting on the wall of the box.
Next to him, Bill was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard.
Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go.
Blaisé smirked, Charlie hadn't been affected by the female Veela. He moved closer, he hadn't touched Charlie with his allure yet but Charlie did seem to have eyes only for him. He leaned up, "Mine." pressing his lips to the Dragon Tamer's.
Ron, meanwhile, was absentmindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. .
Bill, smiling slightly, having finally calmed down himself leaned over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands "You'll be wanting that," he said, "once Ireland have had their say."
"Huh?" said Ron, staring openmouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field.
Hermione rolled her eyes, she had never seen males made such a fool of themselves. Her friends hadn't reacted at all the shimmering, dancing women. "Honestly!" she said, could it be because he friends were bent and preferred males to females so those Veela couldn't affect them?
"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish National Team Mascots!"
Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it –
"Excellent!" Fred and George yelled as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats.
Squinting up at the shamrock, using his Omnioculars, Harry realized that it was actually comprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.
"Leprechauns!" 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.
The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! 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! Aaaaaaand - Krum!"
"That's him! Krum." Draco tugged on Harry's sleeve, following Krum with his Omnioculars., "The only person whose flying comes close to yours."
Harry quickly focused his own.
Viktor Krum was thin, dark-haired and had tan-skin, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey- a crow or a raven was Draco's first thought. Was this the person Blaisé was talking about in his prophecy? It was hard to believe he was only eighteen.
"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand - Lynch!"
Seven green blurs swept onto the field; Harry spun a small dial on the side of his Omnioculars and slowed the players down enough to read the word "Firebolt" on each of their brooms and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs.
"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 an impressive mustache , was 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.
Harry spun the speed dial on his Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and Harry saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight, the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.
"They're OFF!" screamed Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy!
Levski! Moran!"
It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose. The speed of the players was incredible - the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names.
"HAWKSHEAD ATTACKING FORMATION", Draco muttered as they watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Troy in the center, slightly ahead of Mullet and Moran, bearing down upon the Bulgarians.
"Porskoff Ploy." Draco told them as Troy made as though to dart upward with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova and dropping the Quaffle to Moran. One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swung hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran's path; Moran ducked to avoid the Bludger and dropped the Quaffle; and Levski, soaring beneath, caught it.
After Levski scored, Ireland had the Quaffle. Dodging Bludgers and Bulgarians, Moran passed to Troy and Troy tossed the Quaffle towards the nearest golden hoop.
"TROY SCORES!" roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to Ireland!"
Hermione knew enough about Quidditch to see that the Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team- better then Gryffindor, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette on her chest kept squeaking their names: "Troy - Mullet - Moran!" And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the Green-clad supporters.
The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers- they were almost most intense then protective Fred and George, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal.
"Fingers in your ears!" Lucius ordered as the veela started to dance in celebration.
Harry wasn't affected by the Veela so he ignored the instruction; he could keep his mind on the game.
The veela were dancing, and Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle.
"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!" roared Bagman. One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes.
Was that part of flying on a Firebolt? Harry almost wished he hadn't given it up but it helped get Oliver on his first choice Quidditch team.
Harry followed their descent through his Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was.
"They're going to crash!" screamed Hermione, her heart in her throat.
"Why are they flying like that? There's no snitch." Harry tugged Draco's sleeve.
"It's a feint. The Wronki Defense Feint. It's a dangerous Seeker Diversion ." Draco wrapped an arm around his waist.
Hermione was half right - at the very last second, 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 huge groan rose from the Irish seats.
"Fool!" Mr. Weasley moaned. "Krum was feinting!"
"It's a time-out!" Bagman yelled, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"
"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringly to Blaisé, who shocked. "Which is what Krum was after, of course…"
Hermione hastily pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on her Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to her eyes. He watched as Krum and Lynch dived again in slow motion. WRONSKI FEINT- DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION read the shining purple lettering across hER lenses. She saw Krum's face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lynch was flattened, and she understood what Harry meant when the two Seeker dove. Krum hadn't seen the Snitch at all, he was just making Lynch copy him.
Harry had never seen anyone fly like that; Krum hardly looked as though he was using a broomstick at all; he moved so easily through the air that he looked unsupported and weightless.
Draco caught his eye and spoke in Harry's mind, "Told you. He's the only Seeker I've ever heard of who is anything like you. You're a hell of a flyer Adder."
Hermione turned her Omnioculars back to normal and refocused them on Krum. He was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by mediwizards with cups of potion.
She turned pink as she focused still more closely upon Krum's face, saw his dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below. He seemed to be using the time while Lynch was revived to look for the Snitch without interference. Sneaky but brilliant, if Lynch had been quicker he might not have gotten hurt. She could see last Quidditch match of the year, Harry or Draco using the Wronski Feint, only they would both be able to pull out before they could crash. Having seen them both fly for two years, Hermione who didn't play, knew that Draco was a better flyer then Lynch, but Harry was almost as good as Krum.
Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything Harry had seen so far.
After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier. As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over so quickly, Harry didn't catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd.
Blaisé hissed, "He elbowed her. That can't be legal."
Charlie covered his hand, "Of course it isn't."
Through the cries of rage came Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast, them it had been a foul.
"Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing, that's excessive use of elbows for those who haven't memorize all 700 fouls! Most of which all occurred at the very first World Cup." Bagman informed the roaring spectators. "Yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"
The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together 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.
Lucius, Mr. Weasley, Bill and Ron stuck their fingers in their ears, the rest of their party didn't bother.
Hermione, who hadn't bothered anymore then her bent wizard friends, was soon tugging on Harry's arm.
He turned to look at her, "What?"
"Look at the referee!" she said, giggling.
Harry looked down at the field. Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed. 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.
Harry, watching through the Omnioculars again, 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 rathernasty…"
It did.
The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him while gesturing toward the leprechauns.
The Irish mascots were now gleefully formed the words "HEE, HEE, HEE."
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 Ireland!" shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. "Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms. Yes, there they go. Troy takes the Quaffle."
Play had now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen.
The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy, Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. They were playing like Crabbe and Goyle probably would.
Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.
"Foul!" the Irish supporters roared as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.
"Foul!" echoed Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran. A deliberate flying to collide there. It has to be another penalty. Yes, there's the whistle!"
The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed at the female Veela across the field. At this, these Veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns.
Watching through his Omnioculars, Harry saw that they didn't look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp beaked bird heads, and long, scaly yet feathered wings were bursting from their shoulders. Harry glanced at Blaisé who shrugged and then curled up more against Charlie.
"And that, boys," Mr. Weasley yelled over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"
Blaisé glared at him slightly.
Harry asked Draco, "Can Blaisé do that? Turn into that bird thing?"
Draco nodded, "Only saw him in full-Veela form once. It was impressive. He was protecting me so I wasn't afraid. He's very gentle actually, but he has a protective streak." he glanced at Charlie, "I hope the twins' brother knows what he's getting into. You know the phrase, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?' it was originally from a wizard who ran afoul of a Veela. I've never seen Blaisé so taken with anyone. I've never seen a Veela with a destined Mate, Blaisé's reactions and abilities around him can only point to Charlie.
"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 members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians.
The game recommenced immediately after the referee's whistle; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov - The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face.
Hermione's breath caught and she felt faint.
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, and Harry couldn't blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.
"Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled.
For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Harry knew this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing.
Why? Because Harry had seen the snitch himself. "He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"
Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on… but Krum was on his tail.
How he could see where he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again.
"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked.
"They're not!" Draco shook his head.
"Lynch will!" Harry insisted, the Irish Seeker wouldn't have the reflex to pull up after his previous crash.
And he was right - for the second time, Lynch 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!" shouted Harry.
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, IRELAND: 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 Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.
"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH! BUT IRELAND WINS! good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"
"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron the idiot bellowed even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head.
Hermione asked, leaned over to Draco and Harry, "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, why?"
"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly.
"Yeah," Draco seconded, "The Irish Chasers were too good. He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all." Draco smirked at Harry, "Would have done the same thing if we were playing against each other."
"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione asked, trying not to appear affected by the rugged Bulgarian Seeker, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess…"
Blaise sighed, "Insulting a large amount of Veela is foolish." he didn't seem to know if he was embarrassed at his kind's behavior or angry at their treatment. He looked at Charlie and the confusion was forgotten, all that mattered was his mate.
"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind Harry, near the rear of their box. He looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.
Amelia walked toward them and held her hand out to him, "You did play well. I didn't realize you spoke English. It was a very good game. Probably one of the World Cup's finest."
They shook hands.
"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman.
Harry's eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light.
Blaise whimpered slightly, blinded and hid his face in Charlie's shirt. Sometimes, having keener senses was unpleasant.
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 Amelia Bones.
"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers - Bulgaria!" Bagman shouted.
Landing in the box were the seven defeated Bulgarian players.
The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; Harry 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 Amelia who was beside them.
Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess; his black eyes were shining spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch.
Harry noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly pigeon-toed and hunched over.
When Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar.
Then came the Irish team, Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval.
Harry's hands were numb with clapping.
At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms. Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way.
One of the Bulgarians turned to their group, it was Krum. He asked in his deep voice, "Madam Minister, vho vis vhis? Vhis аhrел…"
Amelia turned to follow his light of sight, "Oh that is Miss Granger. She is a very brave and talented witch. I expect great things from her."
Krum took Hermione's hand, bowed over it before lightly pressing his lips to her knuckles. A slight flush in his features. "Mz. Granger. It vis an honor to met you." he said in broke English.
Hermione stammered, "Hermione please…"
"Heer mee oneee." he tried to sound out.
Ron grumbled, his fists clenching.
Draco chuckled nudging her, "Found your raven huh?"
Hermione stepped on his foot, "You were very brave. I was impressed with your flying." she said slowly, wanting him to hear her.
Viktor used his wand to sign the snitch in his hand, "To the Ahren. Your servant Viktor." he placed the Snitch in her palm and closed her fingers over it. "Hogwarts?" he asked awkwardly.
Hermione smiled nodding, her cheeks pink, "Yes."
"Then, I should see you soon. I eagerly await our next meeting Ahren." Viktor brushed her hand with his lips before leaping on his broom and flying off towards the most Bulgarian team's tents most likely.
Amelia glanced at her in shock, "Did he just give you the snitch?"
Hermione opened her hand, in it was the tiny golden Snitch. She silently read the words to herself and then asked, "What does ahren mean…"
The Bulgarian Minister chuckled, "Angel. It means angel. He seems quite taken with you. Don't worry. I am sure you'll see him sooner then you think."
Hermione clutched the snitch to her heart, "But…"
Amelia laughed, "You have an admirer Ms. Granger. Such a gentleman too. Not many girls can say they received an autographed snitch from young Mr. Krum."