Chapter 7

The Quidditch Friendly

KIARA

Clutching our purchases, with Mr Dawson in the lead, we all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. We heard the sounds of thousands of people moving around us, shouts of laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; I couldn't stop grinning. We walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last we emerged on the other side, and found ourselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though I saw only a fraction of the immense gold walls that surrounded the pitch, I could tell that ten cathedrals would have fitted comfortably inside it.

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr Dawson, spotting the awestruck look on my 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 towards the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance, once she had checked our tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Matt, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. We clambered upwards with the rest of the crowd, which slowly flittered away through the doors into the stands to our left and right. Our - Mr Dawson's - party kept climbing, and at last we reached the top of the staircase, and found ourselves in a small box, at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goalposts. About twenty people and gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Ben, Dave and I filled the front two seats with the Dawsons and Fangs, and I looked down upon a scene, the likes of which I never could have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking places in their seats which rose in levels around the long oval pitch. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light that seemed to come from the stadium itself. The pitch looked as smooth as velvet from our lofty position. At either end of the pitch stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite us, almost at my eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept flashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand was scrawling upon it and then wiped it off again; watching it, I saw that it was flashing advertisements across the pitch.

The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family - safe, reliable, and with in-built Anti-Burglar Buzzer ... Mrs Skewer's All-Purpose Magical Mess-Remover: No Pain, No Stain! ... Gladrags Wizardwear - London, Paris, Hogsmede, Dragsmede ...

I tore my eyes away from the sign and looked over my shoulder to see who else we were sharing the box with. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind us. The creature, whose legs were long and it's feet just touched the floor; it had a grubby sack over it with holes made for its arms, legs and head, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, bat-like ears were oddly familiar to me ...

"Dokey?" I said incredulously.

The tiny creature looked up and parted its fingers, revealing enormous hazel eyes and a nose the exact shape and size of a cherry tomato. It wasn't Dokey - it was, however, unmistakeably a house-elf, as my friend Dokey had been. For those of you who don't remember, I had set Dokey free from her old owners, the Malty family, in my second year.

"Did miss just call me Dokey?" squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was lower than Dokey's had been, but only just, and I suspected - though it was hard to tell with a house-elf - that this one might just be male. Chris, Sian and Chrissie spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dokey from me, they had never actually met her. Even Mr Dawson looked around in interest.

"Sorry," I told the elf, "I just thought you were someone I knew."

"But I knows Dokey too, miss!" croaked the elf. He was shielding his face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Blinky, miss - and you, miss - " his hazel eyes rounded to the size of side plates as they rested upon my scar, "you is surely Kiara Pride-Lander!"

"Yeah, I am," I said.

"But Dokey talks of you all the time, miss!" he said, lowering his hands very slightly and looking awestruck.

"How is she?" I said. "How's freedom treating her?"

"Ah, miss," said Blinky, shaking his head, "ah, miss, meaning no disrespect, miss, but I is not sure you did Dokey a favour, miss, when you is setting her free."

"Why?" I said taken aback. "What's wrong with her?"

"Freedom's going to Dokey's head, miss," said Blinky sadly. "Ideas above her station, miss. Can't get another position, miss."

"Why not?" I said.

Blinky lowered his voice by half an octave and whispered, "She is wanting paying for her work, miss."

"Paying?" I said blankly. "Well - why shouldn't she be paid?"

Blinky looked quite horrified at the idea, and closed his fingers slightly so that his face was half-hidden again.

"House-elves is not paid, miss!" he said in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no, I says to Dokey, I says go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dokey. She is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, miss, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing arounf like this, Dokey, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures like some common gremlin."

"Well, it's about time she had a bit of fun," I said.

"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Kiara Pride-Lander," said Blinky firmly from behind his hands. "House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Kiara Pride-Lander - " he glanced towards the edge of the box and gulped, " - but my mistress sends me to the Top Box and I comes, miss."

"Why are you up here if she knows you don't like heights?" I said, frowning.

"Mistress - mistress wants me to save her a seat, Kiara Pride-Lander, she is very busy," said Blinky, tilting his head towards the empty seat next to him. "Blinky wishes he was back in mistress' tent, Kiara Pride-Lander, but Blinky does what he is told, Blinky is a good house-elf."

He gave the edge of the box another frightened look, and hid his eyes completely again. I turned back to the others.

"So that's a house-elf?" Chrissie muttered. "Weird things, aren't they?"

"Dokey was weirder," I said fervently.

Chris 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 button on the side. "I can make that old bird down there bite her nail again ... and again ... and again ..."

Sian, meanwhile, skimmed through her velvet-covered, tasselled programme.

" "A display from the team mascots will precede the match"," she read aloud.

"Oh, that's always worth watching," said Mr Dawson. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

The box filled gradually around us over the next half hour. Mr Dawson kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Perdy jumped to her feet so often that she looked as though she was trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelia Sweets, the Minister for Magic herself arrived, Perdy curtseyed so low that her glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, she repaired them with her wand, and thereafter remained in her seat, throwing jealous looks at me, whom Cornelia Sweets had greeted like an old friend. We had met before, and Sweets shook my hand in a motherly fashion, asked me how I was and introduced me to the wizards on either side of her.

"Kiara Pride-Lander, you know," she told the South African Minister, who wore splendid robes of red velvet trimmed with gold, and didn't seem to understand a word of English. "Kiara Pride-Lander ... oh, come on now, you know who she is ... the girl who survived She-You-Know ... you do know who she is ..."

The South African witch suddenly spotted my scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Sweets wearily to me. "I'm no great shake-out with languages, I need Bea Clutch with this sort of thing. Ah, I see her house-elf's saving her a seat ... good job too, these South African blighters have been trying to cage all the best places ... ah, and here's Narissa!"

Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I turned quickly. Edging along the second row to four empty seats right behind Mr Dawson were none other than Dokey the house-elf's old owners - Narissa Malty, her daughter, Dani, niece, Keziah and a man I presumed had to be Keziah's uncle and Dani's father.

Dani Malty and Keziah Rae-Bradley had both been my enemies (and I theirs) ever since our very first day at Dragon Mort. Dani was pale with a pointed face and white-blonde hair, whereas Keziah had a more roundish face and full-blonde hair - anyhoo, Dani greatly resembled her mother. Her father was a blonde, too, and was tall and slim. He would have been nice looking if he hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under his nose.

"Ah, Sweets," said Mrs Malty, holding out her hand as she reached the Minister for Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my husband, Lucian? My daughter, Dani? Or my niece, Keziah?"

"How do you do? How do you do? How do you do?" said Sweets, smiling and curtseying to Mr Malty. "And allow me to introduce you to Mrs Dovansk - Obvanska - Mrs - well, she's the South African Minister for Magic, and she can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - I daresay you know Matthew Dawson?"

It was a very tense moment. Mr Dawson and Mrs Malty looked at each other and I vividly recalled the last time they had come face to face; it had been in Flourish and Blotts bookshop, and they had had a fight. Mrs Malty's cold grey eyes swept over Mr Dawson, and then up and down the row.

"Good Lord, Matthew," she said softly. "How many Dark wizards did you have to lock up to get seats in the Top Box? Surely all of the Death Eaters have been locked up by now, haven't they?"

Sweets, who wasn't listening, said, "Narissa had just given a very generous contribution to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Matt. She's here as my special guest."

"How - how nice," said Mr Dawson, with a very strained smile.

Mrs Malty's eyes returned to Sian (and I admire her for what she did even now), who looked Mrs Malty in the eye, and brought back one side of her mouth in a snarl and put it down again. I knew exactly what made Mrs Malty's lip curl. The Malty's prided themselves on being Half-Wits; in other words, they considered anyone with a bright brain, like Sian, second-class. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mrs Malty didn't dare say anything. She nodded sneeringly to Mr Dawson, and continued down the line to her seats. Dani and Keziah both shot Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I contemptuous looks, before they settled themselves down between Mr and Mrs Malty.

"Evil toerags," Chrissie muttered, as she, Chris, Sian and I turned to face the pitch again. Next moment, Lynn Baxter charged into the box.

"Everyone ready?" she said, her round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister - ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Lynn," said Sweets comfortably.

Lynn whipped out her wand, directed it at her own throat and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that filled the packed stadium; her voice echoed over us, booming into every inch of the stadium. Ladies and gentlemen ... welcome! Welcome to this Quidditch Friendly between Ireland and South Africa!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite us was wiped clear of its last message (All Flavour Bean's - a Risk With Every Mouthful!) and showed IRELAND: ZERO, SOUTH AFRICA: ZERO.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce ... the South African Team Mascots!"

"I wonder what they've brought?" said Mr Dawson, leaning forwards in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly stared more fixedly at the scene on the pitch below. "Coltees!"

"What are Colt - ?"

But a hundred Coltess glided out onto the pitch, and my question was answered for me. Coltees were men ... the most handsome men I had ever seen (sorry, Chris) ... except that they weren't ... they couldn't be ... human. This puzzled me for a moment, while I tried to guess exactly what they were; what made their skin shine slightly dimmer than the sun so as not to harm the eyes, or their black-silver hair fan out behind them without wind ... but then the music started, and I stopped worrying about them not being human - in fact, I stopped worrying about anything at all, for that matter.

The Coltees started to dance, and I remember that my mind had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that I kept watching the Coltees, because if they stopped dancing, I thought that terrible things would happen ...

And as the Coltees started to dance faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing each other through my mind. I wanted to do something very impressive at that moment, foolish as it sounds, but I was too under their spell at that moment to care whether what I was doing at that moment was foolish or not. Anyhoo, jumping from the stadium seemed a good idea ... but would it be good enough?

"Kiara, what are you doing?" said Chris' voice from a long way off.

The music stopped. I blinked rapidly a few times, trying to clear my head. I was standing up, and one of my legs was resting on the wall of the box. Next to me, Chrissie was frozen in an attitude that looked as though she was about to dive from a spring board, and Sian had her arms held aloft, and, judging from the way her eyes sparkled and how open her mouth was, lokked like she was about to sing opera.

Angry yells filled the stadium. The crowd didn't want the Coltees to go, and I yelled with them; I was, of course, supporting South Africa, so I then wondered why I had a large green shamrock pinned to my chest. Sian, meanwhile, was shaking her head in disgust of her acting, which was made more obvious by her face, which became very red, which was out of embarrassment and shame; for after all, we all remember how Sian feels about beauty (remember Giselle Gold?). Chrissie, on the other hand, was shredding the shamrocks on her hat. Mr Dawson, smiling slightly, leant over to Chrissie and tugged the hat out of her hands.

"You'll be wanting that," he said, "once Ireland have had their say."

"Huh?" said Chrissie, who stared open-mouthed at the Coltees, who had lined up along one side of the pitch.

Chris merely rolled his eyes. He reached up and pulled me back into my seat. "Honestly!" he said.

"And now," roared Lynn Baxter'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 towards the goalposts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the pitch, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd "oooohed" and "aaaaahed", as though they were at a firework display. Then 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 falling rain seemed to be falling from it -

"Excellent!" yelled Chrissie, as the shamrock soared over our heads, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off our heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrocks, I realised that it was actually composed of tiny little bearded men with red waistcoats, and each of them carried a miniature lamp of gold or green.

"Leprechauns!" said Mr Dawson, over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.

"There you go!" Chrissie yelled happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into my hands. "For the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!"

The great shamrock then dissolved, and the leprechauns drifted down onto the pitch on the side opposite to the Coltees, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the South African National Quidditch Team! I give you - Danjuma!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast that it was blurred, shot out onto the pitch from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the South African supporters.

"Iweala!"

A second scarlet-robed figure zoomed out.

"Yar'Adua! Kone! Ohakim! Okiro! Aaaaaaand - Outsider!"

"That's him, that's him!" Chris and Chrissie yelled simultaneously, following Outsider with their Omnioculars. I quickly focused my own on him.

Kovu Outsider was tall, muscular and dark skinned, with a large nose and lips, and had a thick mane of black hair which was tied back. He had a large quiff which hung low over his forehead, so low that it almost covered his eyes, which made me wonder how he could see. He had thick black eyebrows. He looked like a lion crouched on a branch from the way he positioned himself on his broom. It was hard for me to believe that he was only eighteen.

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Baxter. "Presenting - Connell! Roche! Teagan! Mullen! Macguire! Dempsey! Aaaaaaand - Lane!"

Seven green blurs swept onto the pitch: I spun a small dial on the side of my Omnioculars, and slowed the players down enough to read the word "Firecracker" 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, Nephthys Bennu!"

A small, slight and skinny witch, whose face was framed by a bob of black hair, who wore robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the pitch. A silver whistle protruded from her lips, and she carried a large wooden crate under one arm, and her broomstick under the other. I spun the dial on my Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Bennu mounted her broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers and (I saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the miniscule, winged, Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast of her whistle, Bennu shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Baxter. "And it's Mullen! Teagan! Dempsey! Danjuma! Back to Mullen! Tagan! Kone! Dempsey!"

It was Quidditch as I had never seen it played before. I pressed my Omnioculars so hard to my eyes, that I was pretty sure that if I pushed them any further, they would have been stuck to my face. The speed of the players was unbelievable - the Chasers threw the Quaffle to each other so fast that Baxter only had time to say their names. I spun the "slow" dial on the right of my Omnioculars again, pressed the "play-by-play" button on the top and was immediately watching in slow motion, while glittering purple letters flashed across the lenses, and the noise of the crowd pounded against my eardrums.

"Hawkshead Attacking Formation" I read, as I watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Teagan in the centre, slightly ahead of Mullen and Dempsey, bearing down upon the South Africans. "Porskoff Play" flashed up next, as Teagan made as though to dart upwards with the Quaffle, drawing away the South African Chaser Iweala, and dropping the Quaffle to Mullen. One of the South African Beaters, Okiro, swung hard at a passing Bludger with her small club, knocking itinto Mullen's path; Mullen ducked to avoid the Bludger and dropped the Quaffle; and Kone, soaring beneath, caught it -

"TEAGAN SCORES!" roared Baxter, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten-zero to Ireland!"

"What?" I yelled, looking wildly around through my Omnioculars. "But Kone's got the Quaffle!"

"Kiara, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" shouted Sian, who was dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Teagan did a lap of honour of the pitch. I looked quickly over the top of my Omnioculars, and saw that the leprechauns watching from the sidelines had all risen into the air again, and formed the great, glittering shamrock. Across the pitch, the Coltees watched them sulkily.

Furious with myself, I spun the speed dial back to normal as play resumed.

I knew enough about Quidditch to see that the Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, appearing to read each other's minds by the way they positioned themselves, and the rosette on my chest kept squeaking their names: "Teagan - Mullen - Macguire!" 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. Ohakim and Okiro, the South African Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Kone managed to break through their ranks, dodge the Keeper, Roche, and score South Africa's first goal.

"Fingers in your ears, girls!" Sian bellowed, as the Coltees started to dance in celebration. I screwed my eyes up, too; I wanted to keep my mind on the game. After a few seconds, I chanced a glance at the pitch. The Coltees had stopped dancing, and South Africa were again in possession of the Quaffle.

"Danjuma! Kone! Danjuma! Iweala - oh, I say!" roared Baxter.

One hundred thousand witches and wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Outsider and Lane, plummeted through the centre of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from aeroplanes without parachutes. I followed their decent through my Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was -

"They're going to crash!" screamed Sian next to Chrissie.

She was half-right - at the very last second, Kovu Outsider pulled out of the dive and spiralled off. Lane, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that was heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"Fool!" moaned Mr Dawson. "Outside was feinting!"

"It's time out!" yelled Baxter's voice. "As trained medi-wizards hurry onto the pitch to examine Allisson Lane!"

"She'll be OK, she only got ploughed!" Kat said reassuringly to Merida, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Outsider was going for, of course ..."

I hastily pressed the "replay" and "play-by-play" buttons on my Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to my eyes.

I watched as Outsider and Lane dived again in slow motion. "Wronski Feint - dangerous Seeker diversion" read the shining purple letters across my lenses. I saw Outsider's face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lane was flattened, and I understood - Outsider hadn't seen the Snitch at all, he just made Lane copy him. I had never seen anyone fly like that before (well, up until that point in my life, anyway); Outsider hardly looked as though he was using a broomstick at all; he moved so easily through the air that it looked as though he was unsupported and weightless. I turned my Omnioculars back to normal, and focused them on Outsider. He circled high above Lane, who was being removed by medi-wizards with cups of potion. I kept a close look on Outsider's face, as I watched his dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below. He was using the time while Lane was being revived to look for the Snitch without interference.

Lane got to her feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted her Firecracker and kicked back off into the air. Her revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Bennu blew her whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivalled by anything I 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 Mullen shot towards the goalposts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under his arm, the South African Keeper, Yar'Adua, flew out to meet him. Whatever happened was over so quickly that I didn't catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Bennu's long, shrill whistle blast, told me that it had been a foul.

"And Bennu takes the South African Keeper to task for cobbing - excessive use of elbows!" Baxter informed the roaring spectators. "And - yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullen had been fouled, now darted together to form the words "HA HA HA!". The Coltees on the other side of the pitch leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily and started to dance again.

As one, Sian, Chrissie, Beth, Kestrel, Merida, the five Fang girls and I stuffed our fingers in our ears, but Chris, who hadn't bothered, began tugging on my arm. I turned to look at him, and he pulled my fingers impatiently out of my ears.

"Look at the referee!" he said, trying hard not to laugh.

I looked down at the pitch. Nephthys Bennu had landed right in front of the dancing Coltees, and was acting very oddly indeed. She kept trying to flick her short hair back and was smiling flirtatiously.

"Now, we can't have that!" said Lynn Baxter, though she sounded highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!"

A medi-witch tore across the pitch, her fingers in her ears, and kicked Bennu hard in the shins. Bennu seemed to come to herself; as I watched through my Omnioculars again, I saw that she looked exceptionally embarrassed, and was shouting at the Coltees, who stopped dancing and looked mutinous.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Bennu is actually trying to send off the South African Team Mascots!" said Baxter's voice. "Now there's something we haven't seen before ... oh, this could turn nasty ..."

It did: the South African Beaters, Ohakim and Okiro, had landed either side of Bennu and began arguing furiously with her, gesticulating towards the leprechauns, who gleefully formed the words "HEE HEE HEE!". Bennu was not impressed by the South African's arguments, however; she was jabbing her fingers into the air, clearly telling them to fly again, and when they refused, she gave two short blasts on her whistle.

"Two penalties for Ireland!" shouted Baxter, and the South African crowd howled with anger. "And Ohakim and Okiro had better get back on those brooms ... yes ... there they go ... and Teagan takes the Quaffle ..."

Play had now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything we had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides acted without mercy. Okahim and Okiro in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human, as they swung more violently through the air. Danjuma shot straight at Dempsey, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking him off his broom.

"Foul!" roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.

"Foul!" echoed Lynn Baxter's magically magnified voice. "Danjuma skins Dempsey - deliberately flying to collide there - and it's got to be another penalty - yes, there's the whistle!"

The leprechauns rose into the air again and this time they formed a giant hand, which made a very rude hand gesture across the pitch towards the Coltees. At this, the Coltees lost control. They launched themselves across the pitch, and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fiery dirt at the leprechauns. As I watched through my Omnioculars, I saw that they didn't look remotely beautiful anymore. On the contrary, their faces elongated into long, rounded horse heads, and their arms and legs grew and their hands and feet transformed into heavy, rounded hooves. Even long, sleek tails emerged from the rear ends of their bodies, as their manes on their heads grew out, too. As they transformed, their hooves, which seemed to burn the ground, kept sending fireball of dirt at the leprechauns, who were swerving this way and that to avoid -

"And that, everyone," yelled Sian over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone! Which some of us would do well to remember - isn't that right, Rickers?"Sian finished as she turned to Chris, who was determinedly focussing on the crowd below.

While this was going on, Ministry wizards were flooding onto the pitch to separate the Coltees and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing compared to the one above. I turned this way and that, staring through my Omnioculars as the Quaffle changed hands with the speed of a bullet -

"Kone - Danjuma - Teagan - Mullen - Iweala - Mullen again - Mullen - MULLEN SCORES!"

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the Coltees, the blasts that were issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the South Africans. The game recommenced immediately; now Kone had the Quaffle, now Danjuma -

The Irish Beater Macguire swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible towards Outsider, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him hard in the face.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Outsider's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Nephthys Bennu didn't blow her whistle. She had become distracted, and I didn't blame her; one of the Coltees had kicked up dust from the ground, which hit Bennu right in the eyes. I couldn't hear it, but I imagined her screaming in pain, as she covered her eyes and fell to the floor in pain (the ground turned to ash because of the Coltees' hooves).

I wanted someone to realise that Outsider was injured; even though I was supporting Ireland as well (there's nothing wrong with supporting two teams people), Outsider was the most exciting player on the pitch. Chris and Chrissie obviously felt the same.

"Time out! Time out!" Chrissie yelled.

"I know, Chrissie!" Chris shouted back in agreement. "I mean, look at him, he can't keep playing like that - "

"Look at Lane!" I yelled.

The Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and I was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing ...

"She's seen the Snitch!" I shouted. "She's seen the Snitch! Look at her go!"

Half the crowd seemed to have realised what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in a great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on ... but Outsider was close on her tail. How he saw what was going on, I had no idea; there were great flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lane, as the pair of them lurched towards the ground again -

"They're going to crash!" Sian shrieked.

"They're not!" roared Chris and Chrissie simultaneously.

"Lane is!" I yelled.

And I was right - for the second time, Lane hit the ground with tremendous force, and was immediately stampeded by a herd of angry Coltees.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Sian along the row.

"He's got it - Outsider's got it - it's all over!" I shouted.

Outsider, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold flashing in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing SOUTH AFRICA: ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY, IRELAND: ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY across the crowd, who didn't seem to have recognised what had just happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet was revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WIN!" shouted Baxter, who, like the Irish, seemed to have been taken aback by the sudden end to the match. "OUTSIDER GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WIN - good Lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Chrissie bellowed, even as she jumped up and down, applauding with her hands over her head. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up," I shouted over all the noise, also applauding, "the Irish Chasers were too good ... he wanted to end it on his terms, that's all ..."

"Well, you have to admire his determination to catch the Snitch, even with his nose bleeding as it is," Chris yelled.

"And he was brave for doing so," Sian added, leaning forward to watch Outsider land, and the swarm of medi-wizards blasting a path through the battling leprechauns and Coltees to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess ..."

I put my Omnioculars to my eyes again. I found it hard to see what was happening below, because the leprechauns were zooming delightfully over the pitch, but I just made out Outsider, surrounded by medi-wizards. He looked surlier than ever, and refused to let them mop him up. His teammates were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags waved all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the Coltees shrunk back into their usual handsome selves, looking dispirited and forlorn.

"Well, we fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind me. I looked around; it was the South African Minister for Magic who spoke.

"You can speak English!" said Sweets, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Well, it was very funny," said the South African Minister, shrugging.

"And so," roared Baxter's voice once more, "Ireland have won this match; and there are a few more matches to go before we both teams play for their chances to be part of the Quidditch World Cup 2008!"

And as Baxter went on to say who both teams would be playing against next, I just kept thinking about the match. The thing is, though, at the time , it went so fast, that all I really remember of it now (without the aid of a Pensieve) was seeing a host of blurred images travelling through my mind at top speed, until the moment when Outsider caught the Snitch.

The crowds were already starting to leave, as Baxter finished her announcements. Once she was done, she pointed her wand at her throat and muttered, "Quietus". And then, just as she was about to say something to Mr Dawson, she noticed that Tanya and Geri had scrambled over to her with broad grins on their faces with their hands outstretched, as Baxter said, "Ah, yes, how much do I owe you?"