– Chapter Eight –

The Quidditch World Cup

Uncle Lucius lead them through the tents, with the rest of the thick crowd towards the wooded area near where the Weasley's camp had been. Romi was so excited she was practically skipping, holding onto Draco's hand. He was wildly excited too, but tried not to be out of control; Romi could only tell because he was gripping her hand so tightly.

They made it to the lantern-lit trail and 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. 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 Romi could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the pitch, she could tell that it was enormous.

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Charis to her daughter. "They've had five hundred people have been working on it all year. Muggle-repelling Charms all over," she said, "Thank goodness your father didn't have to do this part." She led the way towards the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Top Box!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance, when she checked their tickets. "Straight upstairs, and as high as you can go, Charis."

"Thanks, Gladys," Charis replied and glanced over her shoulder, excitement gleaming in her eyes, and led the group through.

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upwards with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through the doors into the stands to their left and right.

They didn't talk on their long climb upwards, 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 goalposts. About twenty purple and gilt chairs stood in two rows here.

The top box was almost completely full, now, and Romi immediately spotted Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys in the front row, eagerly talking with each other.

Fudge was talking to Mr Weasley as they arrived, "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat… good job, too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places… ah, and here's Lucius."

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked behind them, and Romi dropped Draco's hand, just remembering in time that she was still holding it. Draco narrowed his eyes beside her, looking at Harry.

Harry and Draco had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts; which often made it very awkward for Romi.

"Ah, Fudge," said Lucius, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister for Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge smiling and bowing to Narcissa. "Ah, Charis, lovely as always to see you," Fudge said turning to Romi's mother.

"Hello, Cornelius, good to see you again," Charis said, greeting him with a familiar hug and kiss. "I know you met Romi a long time ago," Charis said, motioning to her daughter, "but she's all grown up now."

Fudge chuckled, "Yes, we met again this morning too! She helped me out a great deal, this one will be a linguist for sure!" he said good naturedly, he turned to the Bulgarian Minister beside him, "Ah, allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblansk – Obalonsk – Mr – well, he's the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else – you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

It was a tense moment. Mr Weasley and Uncle Lucius looked at each other and Romi could vividly recall the last time they had an encounter. It had been in Flourish and Blotts almost two years ago, which had ended in quite an awkward, yet spectacular, fight. Uncle Lucius' cold grey eyes swept over Mr Weasley and then up and down the row.

"Good Lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seat in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

Unfortunately Fudge wasn't listening to what Uncle Lucius had been saying and so said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injures, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"How – how nice," replied Mr Weasley with a strained smile.

"It was the least I could do," Uncle Lucius replied, "specially knowing that my niece is hoping to go there after Hogwarts."

All faces looks at Romi and her cheeks burned, and she looked down at her shoes quickly. Uncle Lucius' eyes had returned to Hermione, who copied Romi and went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Hermione was a very smart, bright witch, but she had the unfortunate circumstance to be Muggle-born, and Uncle Lucius did not like to give notice to anyone like that.

However under the gaze of the Minister for Magic, Uncle Lucius didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr Weasley, and continued down the line to his seats. Aunt Narcissa and Draco followed him down. Romi gave a little wave and smile to Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, and then followed Draco to their seats, settling down beside him. Her mother sat beside her, with one more seat left for Hector when he arrived.

Romi looked out into the stadium, and immediately impressed with what she saw.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the 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 smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the pitch stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it and then disappearing again;

The Bluebottle: A Broom of All the Family – safe, reliable, and with In-build Anti-Burglar Buzzer… Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess-Remover: No Pain, No Stain! … Gladrags Wizardwear – London, Paris, Hogsmeade…

Draco curled his fingers around her's again, and she let him do it. A few moments later and Hector entered the top box followed by Ludo Bagman charging in. Hector flopped down to his wife, looking exhausted, he smiled at her, and took her hand.

"Everyone ready?" Ludo said to the crowd in the top box, his round face gleaming with excitement. "Minister – ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.

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 din was incredible. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message and now showed; BULGARIA: ZERO, IRELAND: ZERO.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian Team Mascots!"

The right hand-side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

"I wonder what they are?" Charis said, looking over.

"Oh, my dear," Hector said fondle, and bizarrely he let go of Charis' hand and shoved his fingers in his ears, smiling broadly.

"Hector, what on earth?" Charis started, and then she saw what was gliding out onto the pitch. "Veela," she said venomously.

Curious Romi leaned to look over at the pitch, wondering what made her mother so ticked off and saw a hundred Veela were now gliding out onto the pitch. Veela were humanoid, but their skin shone moon-bright, with white-gold hair fanning out behind them when they walked. And then the music started and the Veela started to dance. Romi could see the effects on all sides of her, Harry and the Weasley boys in the front seat seemed to have gone into a trance.

There was movement beside her, and Romi looked over to see that Draco had the same kind of listless expression on his face and he'd stood up. Jealousy fired in her. Romi grabbed the back of his shirt and slammed him back into the seat.

"What do you think you're looking at?" she said dangerously. Draco's expression hardened and he blushed.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione's irritated voice from ahead of them caused Romi to look forward again. Harry was standing with one of his legs rested on the wall of the box. Next to him, Ron was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he was about the dive off a diving board.

Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the Veela to go. Romi stared at Draco hard, and he didn't make a sound, but wouldn't look Romi in the eye.

"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 had come zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurting towards the goalposts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the pitch, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd 'ooohed' and 'ahhhed', as though at a firework 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!" Romi heard Ron yell, as the shamrock soared over their heads, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, Romi could see thousands of Leprechauns; tiny bearded men with red waistcoats, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

The applause of the crowd was tumultuous, 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 pitch 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 pitch from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaand – Krum!"

Romi focused her omnioculars on Krum, interested to see what the youngest World player looked like.

Viktor Krum was thin, dark and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an over-grown bird of prey. It was hard to believe that he was only eighteen.

"And now please greet – the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Ludo. "Presenting – Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand – Lynch!"

Seven green blurs swept onto the pitch.

"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 a moustache exploding over his face, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the pitch. A silver whistle was protruding from under the moustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open. Four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers and the Golden Snitch (though it was almost too fast to be seen at all). With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Ludo. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It was unlike any Quidditch game that Romi had seen before. The speed of the players was incredible – the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to each other so fast that Ludo only had time to say their names. They were flying at such a speed that they looked like red and green flashes of lighting. Romi gave Ludo credit for knowing which one was which. Then a green flash soared to the goal posts and threw the Quaffle.

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

Romi shouted and jumped in happiness with the rest of the people in the box, as Troy did a lap of honour of the pitch. The leprechauns had all risen into the air again, and formed the great glittering shamrock. Across the pitch, the Veela were watching them sulkily.

Romi did not know a whole lot about Quidditch, but she knew enough to know 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 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, and were starting to prevent them 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 scored Bulgaria's first goal.

The Veela started to dance again in celebration. Draco followed Hector's lead this time and stuffed his fingers in his ears. In a few seconds the Veela had stopped dancing and Bulgaria was in possession of the Quaffle again.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova! – oh, I say!" roared Ludo.

One hundred thousand wizards and witches gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the centre of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they were in complete free-fall.

There was a great gasp in the crowd as it looked like both were going to crash straight into the pitch.

At the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the drive and spiralled 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.

"Aw," Charis said, beside Romi, "Krum was feinting."

"It's time out!" yelled Ludo's voice. "As trained medi-wizards hurry onto the pitch to examine Aidan Lynch."

Romi watched Krum in the sky. She had never seen someone fly like that before. She focused her Omnioculars on him. His black eyes were darting all over the stadium, using the time while Lynch was revived to look for the Snitch.

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 unrivalled by anything Romi 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 pointes to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier.

As Mullet shot towards the goalposts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. It a sudden fast movement with a lot of elbows involved and a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, Mostafa's long shrill whistle blasted, and a foul was called.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing – excessive use of elbows!" Bagman 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 Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words, "HA HA HA!" The Veela on the other side of the pitch leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily and started to dance again.

All of the men in the Top Box seemed to stuff their fingers in their ears at once. Romi leaned over to see the pitch, and started to laugh, when she saw that the referee had started acting strangely.

"Look at the referee," Romi said, poking Draco in the ribs. Hassan Mostafa had landed next to one of the Veela and had started flexing his muscles and smoothing his moustache 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 pitch, his fingers stuffed in his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard on the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself. Romi, looking through her Omnioculars again, saw that he looked exceptionally embarrassed and was shouting at the Veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous.

"Unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian Team Mascots!" said Ludo's voice. "Now there's something we haven't seen before… oh, this could turn nasty…"

And it certainly did: the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, had landed either side of Mostafa, and began arguing furiously with him, gesturing towards the leprechauns, who had 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, clearing telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he face two short blasts on his whistle.

"Two penalties for Ireland!" shouted Ludo, 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…"

Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond 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. 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 Bagman'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 risen into the air again and, this time, they formed a giant hand, giving them the finger across the pitch towards the Veela. At this, the Veela lost control. They launched themselves across the pitch and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through her Omnioculars, Romi saw that they didn't look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders.

Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the Veela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitch battle below was nothing to the one above. The Quaffle was changing hand with the speed of a bullet.

"Leviski – Dimitrov – Moran – Troy – Mullet – Ivanova – Moran again – Moran – MORAN SCORES!"

But the cheers of the Irish supports 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; 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 hard in the face.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everyone, but Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Romi couldn't blame him; one of the Veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.

Romi wondered if anyone was going to notice that Krum had an injury, he definitely couldn't continue playing long with blood flowing into his face.

"Watch Lynch!" Draco said suddenly, grabbing Romi's arm.

Romi turned her Omnioculars on him. The Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive.

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted in front of them. "He's seen it! Look at him 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 Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Romi 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 towards the ground again.

"They're going to crash!" Romi heard Hermione shriek.

And for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force, and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry Veela.

"Where's the Snitch!" bellowed Hector standing up, looking around.

The answer became clear almost instantly. 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: ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY, IRELAND: ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realised what had happened.

Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet was revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder, erupting into screams of delight.

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

Romi jumped up and down cheering loudly, her mother and father where standing up also cheering. Romi leaned forward to look at the players on the Pitch.

Krum it seemed wouldn't let the mediwizards mop him up, and his team mates 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 were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the Veela were shrinking back into their usual beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice beside Romi. She looked around and saw that it was the Bulgarian Minister for Magic.

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

"Vell, it vos very funny," said the Bulgarian Minister, shrugging, glancing at Hector and Romi smiling. Both started laughing hard.

"You two knew!" Fudge said flabbergasted.

"It was just a bit of fun, Cornelius," Hector said in between laughing. "But of course I knew, how else do you think I've been talking to him all this time?"

Fudge looked very angry, but there was nothing he could do now. Ludo's voice just barely made it through the din of Irish supporters' screams;

"And the Irish team perform a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, as the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!"

A blinding white light suddenly dazzled Romi eyes as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting towards the entrance, Romi could see two panting wizards carrying into the box a vast golden cup, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers – Bulgaria!" Ludo shouted.

Up the stairs into the box came seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crows below were applauding appreciatively; Romi could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction, she found it highly disturbing.

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 Fudge. Krum who was last in line, looked a real mess.

Romi was itching to have the two black eyes blooming spectacularly on his bloody face fixed. He was still holding the Snitch. Romi noticed that he seemed much less co-ordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium have him a resounding, ear-splitting roar.

And then came the Irish team. Aiden 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 their approval.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honour on their brooms (Aiden Lynch on the back of Connolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Ludo pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus".

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist that… shame it couldn't have lasted longer… ah yes… yes, I owe you… how much?"

Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats, and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.