Okay, so my parents decided to have an impromptu trip to Donegal, and we don't have internet there, so I'm only uploading this now.
Hope you enjoy it! Please R&R!
Chapter Five
The crowd erupted. The huge blackboard stopped showing advertisements and spelt out – Bulgaria: 0, Ireland: 0.
"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce…the Bulgarian Team Mascots!"
The scarlet side of the stadium roared in appreciation.
"I wonder what they've brought?" Antonio mused, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" He pulled his glasses off and polished them on his jumper. "Veela!"
About a hundred Veela glided onto the pitch. They were beautiful in an inhuman sort of way, hauntingly so, but there was a sort of…menace…for want of a better word…behind their faces. I didn't trust them..
The music started and the Veela started to dance. All of the boys had a dazed expression from the start. I caught Maria's eye and we both shook our heads and rolled our eyes before leaning back in our seats with our arms and legs crossed, and thoroughly un-amused looks on our faces.
The Veela eventually stopped dancing and angry yells filled the stadium as they left the pitch. I scoffed. "Honestly!" The boys blinked blearily at me and Maria hit Ricardo, who was closest to her, and I smacked Rai, who was next to me, upside the head.
"And now," Ludo Bagman's voice roared, bringing everyone's attention back to him, "kindly put your wands in the air…for the Irish National Team Mascots!"
A green-and-gold blur zoomed into the stadium, and did a complete circuit before splitting into two, each heading towards a goalpost. A rainbow arced between them, across the length of the pitch, and then the two blurs merged to form a glittering green shamrock, which soared over the stands, raining galleons.
"Leprechauns!"
The shamrock eventually dissolved, and the leprechauns drifted down and settled at the opposite end of the pitch from the Veela to watch the match.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome – the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you – Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaaand Krum!" The crowd cheered as seven scarlet-clad figures shot out onto the pitch, the cheers increasing as the last figure shot out.
"Who's that?" I asked, wondering what the hype was all about.
"That's Viktor Krum." Carlos pointed out.
"He's the second best seeker in the world!" The twins said in unison.
"Second best? Then who's the best?" If he was second best, would there really be all this hype?
They all stared at me incredulously. "You, of course!" Rai grinned.
I shook my head, smiling, and turned my attention back to Mr Bagman. "And now, please greet – the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting – Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaaaand – Lynch!" The seven green blurs shot out and through my omnioculars, I could see the word 'Firebolt' on each of their broomsticks.
The referee entered the pitch and released the four balls. "Theeeeey're off!" screamed Bagman. "It's Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!" The speed of the game was incredible! It was the sort of speed that I had always kinda wished we could play it at school – probably my Xiaolin instincts talking.
Troy scored the first goal for Ireland and as he did a lap of honour, the leprechauns rose, once again, into a glittering shamrock, as the Veela watched sulkily.
The Irish chasers were spectacular! Far better than Bulgaria, who seemed to have decided that their best chance lay in preventing them from using their best moves by pelting bludgers at them. That was how Bulgaria managed to score a goal. "Fingers in your ears, boys!" bellowed Antonio, as the Veela began to dance in victory.
"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova – oh, I say!"
Krum and Lynch tore through the chasers at full speed, heading straight for the ground.
"They're gonna crash!" gasped Clay, and he was half-right. At the last moment, Krum pulled out and Lynch slammed into the ground.
"Fool!" We all moaned. "Krum was feinting!"
"It's time out!" yelled Bagman. "As trained medi-wizards hurry onto the pitch to examine Aidan Lynch!"
"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed." Carlos reassured Maria, who was hanging over the edge of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course…"
I quickly pressed 'replay' and 'play-by-play' on my omnioculars and watched the move again in slow motion, the words 'Wronski Feint – dangerous Seeker diversion' splashed across the lens. I've got to try that some time…
Lynch got to his feet, amid cheers, mounted his Firebolt and kicked off. When the whistle blew again, the Irish team played faster and more skilfully than before. After fifteen minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals, and were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten.
The game started to get dirtier too. As Mullet shot towards the goalposts clutching the quaffle, Zograf, the Bulgarian keeper, flew out to meet her. Almost instantly, Mostafa – the referee – gave a long shrill whistle blast as a scream of rage rose from the Irish crowd.
"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian keeper to task for cobbling – excessive use of elbows! And – yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"
The leprechauns had risen angrily into the air when Mullet had been fouled, but they now formed the words 'ha ha ha'. On the other side of the pitch, the Veela leapt to their feet and started dancing again, tossing their hair angrily.
The boys stuffed their fingers in their ears again, but I soon pulled Rai's out, giggling. "Look at the referee!" He had landed before the Veela and was flexing his muscles and smoothing his moustache.
"Now, we can't have that!" called Bagman, sounding highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!" A medi-wizard came tearing across the pitch, fingers in his ears, and kicked Mostafa hard on the shin. He came to his senses – looking exceptionally embarrassed – and began shouting at the Veela, who had stopped dancing. Now they looked mutinous.
"And unless I'm very much mistaken," Bagman's voice could be heard over our laughter. "Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian Team Mascots! Now there's something we haven't seen before…oh, this could turn nasty…"
Oh, it did.
The Bulgarian beaters landed on either side of Mostafa, arguing furiously with him, and indicating the leprechauns, who had now formed 'hee hee hee' in the air. Mostafa wasn't at all interested in their arguments and jabbed his finger in the air, clearly telling them to resume play, and when they didn't, he gave two short blasts on his whistle – two penalties for Ireland.
The game got even more viscous, especially on Bulgaria's side. Both sides' beaters were acting without mercy, but the Bulgarians – Vulchanov and Volkov – didn't seem to care whether their clubs made contact with a bludger or a person.
The Irish supporters screamed "Foul!" standing up in a wave of green as Dimitrov shot straight at Moran – currently in possession of the quaffle – nearly knocking her off her broom. The officials agreed and Ireland got another penalty, prompting the leprechauns to rise into the air, forming a hand, which was making a particularly rude sign at the Veela.
Then all hell broke loose.
The Veela lost control, launching themselves across the pitch and throwing handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Huh. Kinda reminds me of someone…
Rai heard that last thought and turned to me with raised eyebrows. I shrugged with a grin and turned back to watch the drama unfolding on the pitch. Ministry wizards were flooding the pitch in an attempt to separate the leprechauns and the Veela – who, it seems, I had been right about. They weren't even remotely beautiful now – they had sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, scaly wings and were emitting feral shrieks.
"And that, boys, is why you never go for looks alone!"
Meanwhile, the quaffle changed hands at the speed of a bullet – it was riveting! The Irish beater, Quigley, shot a bludger at Krum, breaking his nose. Mostafa didn't notice – he was too busy trying to put out the fire on his broom tail.
"Time out!" Rai yelled at him. "Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him-"
"Look at Lynch!" I cut across him excitedly, as the Irish seeker had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, and this was no Wronski Feint. "He's seen the snitch!" I squealed. "I see it! Look at him go!" The crowd seemed to realise what was happening and the Irish were on their feet. The Bulgarians got up too as Krum drew level with Lynch, and the pair hurtled towards the ground.
"They're going to crash!" Maria shrieked.
"They're not!" roared Rai.
"Lynch is!" I yelled, wincing as Lynch hit the ground and was immediately stampeded by a group of angry Veela.
"The snitch!" Carlos bellowed. "But where's the snitch!"
"He's got it – Krum's got it – it's all over!" I shouted, for Krum was steadily rising, snitch in hand,
The scoreboard flashed – Bulgaria: 160, Ireland: 170.
The Irish screamed in delight as they realised what had happened. "IRELAND WIN!" shouted Bagman, taken aback by the abrupt end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH – BUT IRELAND WIN – good lord, I don't think any of us expected that!" Well, the twins did. No wonder they're looking so happy.
"What did he catch the snitch for?" Rai bellowed, even as he screamed himself hoarse for the Irish. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"
"He knew they were never going to catch up," I yelled as my hands began to burn from all the clapping. "The Irish are too good…he just wanted to end it on his own terms."
The Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold from their mascots as the Veela sulked.
"Well, we fought bravely." A heavily accented voice said gloomily from behind. I turned to see Fudge staring at the Bulgarian Minister.
"You can speak English!" he demanded, outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"
"Well, it was very funny." The Bulgarian Minister shrugged and I had to stifle a giggle at the expression on Fudge's face.
The Top Box was suddenly illuminated as the Cup was brought up. "Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers – Bulgaria!" The Bulgarians entered amid much applause, and I saw many omnioculars lenses flash in our direction.
Then came the Irish. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Quigley, as he second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused.
A quick glance and we all understood. The four of us simultaneously cast our healing magic at him and he recovered immediately, turning to see where it had come from, his eyes widened when he recognised us, but he winked in thanks.
At last, after the Irish had raised the Cup to thunderous approval from the crowd, and after they had left for their lap of honour, Mr Bagman pointed his wand at his throat. "Quietus." His voice was hoarse but he still grinned. "They'll be talking about this one for years! A really unexpected twist, that…shame it couldn't have lasted longer… oh yes…yes, I owe you…how much?"
Fernando and Ricardo had scrambled out of their seats and were now standing before Ludo Bagman with their hands outstretched and broad grins on their faces.
Yay! Ireland win! I'm Irish, and I'm proud to be! Hooray!