I am having a rough week — I feel like I get sick every other week. I'm going to post the next two chapters — all madness from the World Cup anyway — because I've got not much else to do on this couch LOL.
Readerfaye: George is the BIGGEST sweetie. And to think of how stupid he was being last year. Unbelievable. Also, the suit conversation…absolutely needed. Suits wizard robes at any point. Thank you for always reviewing! I appreciate you more than you know!
Bookcozy: As a an older sister, I enjoy writing older sibling teasing. Plus Fred and George are such brats most of the time, they probably need some ribbing LOL. And no worries about the reviews! I appreciate them always, of course, but I had COVID a few years back and it was quite horrible.
Chapter Five
A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretense 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.
Nessa had walked around for a bit with Tori, but she hadn't bought anything, seeing as she wasn't particularly invested in the match much herself and could hardly care who won the Cup, although she enjoyed the atmosphere a great deal. The twins had disappeared with Lee for a few hours, doing God only knew what, but she didn't ask when they returned. Neither of them bought souvenirs, either, considering they'd given all of their gold to Bagman, but neither one of them seemed particularly concerned about it. They were both still very nonchalant about the entire thing.
"I want a rosette, Fred," Tori whined at him from her position next to him.
Fred rolled his eyes for at least the third time since they'd returned from whatever they'd been off doing with Lee, and Bill and Charlie sniggered at him from the other side of the fire. The conversation had started immediately when Bill, Charlie, and Ginny had returned with green rosettes of their own. Tori's eye had snagged on them immediately and, despite refusing to buy one earlier, the temptation of them seemed to call to her after seeing someone else wearing them.
Nessa had refused to get up again to go with her, no matter how much she'd griped at her, and told Tori under no uncertain terms that she should have gotten one when they'd gone out the first time. Her feet hurt and she was in no mood to go walking around for ages looking for a stupid rosette. She'd then tried to convince the twins to go with her instead. They'd refused as well, and both of them clearly meant it, but Tori was well aware of which of them she could convince to go with her. Nessa found it amusing that Fred did not appear to realize the same thing himself.
"Victoria —"
"Don't call me that!" she snapped immediately.
Nessa smirked when the two of them glared at each other for a long moment. Fred, of course, was the one who broke first.
"Why didn't you get one when you were out wandering around with Nessa?" he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"I didn't want one then," she said simply. "I want one now."
Fred gaped at her.
"What in the bloody —" he stopped midway and took a deep breath, looking at her with what little patience he was clearly able to muster. "Tori, that makes no sense."
"It doesn't have to make sense to be true," Tori said stubbornly, crossing her arms across her chest and giving him a petulant look. Nessa smirked when Fred only stared at her for a long moment, and Tori changed tactics entirely; sticking her lip out at him and pouting. Nessa knew by the immediate tension in Fred's shoulders as she looked at him that Tori was going to get exactly what she wanted. Based on the twinkle in Tori's eye, she knew she would as well. "Please, Fred. I'll never ask for anything again."
Nessa snorted, and Tori shot her a withering look in response, before placing her pleading eyes back on Fred. He stared at her for a long moment, debating between sticking to his decision — it was a dangerous precedent to set with Victoria to cave to her whims — or giving her what she wanted to get her to stop whining at him. Nessa grinned at the two of them, knowing very well which of the decisions would win out, even though Fred knew very well that Tori would be asking him for something else at least five minutes after they'd gotten her the rosette.
"For Merlin's sake," Fred said with a huff. Tori grinned immediately, squealing excitedly, as if the words alone were answer enough. Fred rolled his eyes to the sky and stood up, shooting George a look that clearly conveyed how much he hated himself in that moment.
"You're such a sucker," Nessa said, sniggering. "I can't believe that actually worked."
"Let's go before I change my mind," Fred grumbled.
Tori shot up from the ground immediately and grabbed his wrist to pull him toward the crowd of vendors. As they passed, Fred leaned down and smacked the bottom of Nessa's cup as she was in the middle of taking a drink — in retaliation for her earlier comment about him — , causing her to spill half the glass of water down her front. The others roared with laughter as she spluttered indignantly.
"I'm going to kill you while you sleep tonight, Fred!" she shouted after him angrily.
His cackling could be heard even as Tori pulled him hastily through the crowd gathering around a man selling green socks that had dancing shamrocks on them. Nessa was tempted to go and kill him now for the cackling alone, but getting up felt like too much work.
"Thank you," she murmured to Bill when he waved his wand and the water dried. "Stupid prat," she muttered to herself, glaring in the direction Fred had disappeared.
George chuckled from beside her.
"I don't know what you expected he'd do, love," he said, grinning when she turned to point a finger at him seriously.
"Don't you take his side, George Weasley," she said sharply. "You should be — be defending my honor or something like that."
He smirked at her.
"I'll bear that in mind for next time, then, shall I?" he said, eyes twinkling and clearly having no intention of doing any such thing.
She rolled her eyes at him.
"Ridiculous, the both of you," she said. "Completely unhinged."
"Careful, love," George warned, still smirking at her. "You're going to start sounding like Mum."
She rolled her eyes and gave him a sharp look that he merely snorted at. Huffing, she studied him in interest. He hadn't been angry since they'd gotten here, as though the events of this morning had been washed away by the atmosphere of the Cup, but she'd still seen how happy he and Fred had been when Bagman had complimented their handiwork and she hadn't been able to stop thinking about it since then. They'd always been prideful of their work, of course, but having someone praise them outright had clearly given them a sort of spring to their step since. The fact that their mother did not recognize the same talent as Bagman did — ridiculous and irresponsible as the man might be — made her chest ache for him.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he said suddenly, giving her an odd look.
She startled and cleared her throat.
"Sorry, I was just thinking," she said hastily, scolding herself internally for letting the emotions show on her face. When he raised an eyebrow, she sighed and looked across the fire to the rest of his family, who were deep in their own conversations and clearly paying the two of them no mind. "Nothing, really. I just — I was thinking about this morning, that's all."
George's face darkened immediately at the reminder and she wished like hell she'd taken Tori's advice not to bring it up with either of them. Neither of the twins were entirely forthcoming about how much their mother's distaste for their dream bothered them, and she'd never mentioned it herself. The two of them, instead, seemed hellbent on pretending as though her disappointment didn't bother them. She might have believed it, except for the fact that the Weasleys had always been so family-oriented and she had not known Fred and George to be any different.
"It's nothing we weren't expecting," he said eventually, his tone taking on a resentful note. "I should have been better about hiding them."
Nessa wasn't entirely certain that that was the point, but she thought better of saying so.
"Tori said she destroyed all of your order forms," she said as casually as she could muster.
George snorted angrily and looked off into the woods beside them instead of making eye contact with her.
"She's been…difficult to handle this summer," he admitted. "Only getting three O.W.L.s apiece really set her off. Tori warned us it would, and we already knew that, of course, but she has this idea in her head of what Fred and I should be doing after school, you know. She seemed to think the whole thing was just a — a phase, I think she called it."
"A phase?"
"Yeah," he said, still not looking at her. She had a hard time determining why he was avoiding her gaze, but since he was clearly having a conversation with her that he didn't particularly want to be having, she chose not to push him. "The pranks and the jokes, the letters from McGonagall, the disregard for our classes. When we told her we wanted to open a joke shop, you'd have thought we'd told her that we wanted to become serial murderers."
Nessa was entirely certain that that wasn't an exaggeration. She'd only heard Mrs. Weasley's disapproval on a few occasions since she'd been back, but both times had seemed a bit…over reactive. She tried to consider it from Mrs. Weasley's point of view for a moment, if only to somehow figure out a way to comfort her boyfriend.
She supposed that it was true that most people found success in the real world to be parallel to success in their schoolwork, even if it was clear that Fred and George had brains with or without obtaining more O.W.L.s. And Mrs. Weasley was a tad old-fashioned, so Nessa was entirely certain that she'd have assumed the same. Mrs. Weasley was also a bit…unimaginative, for lack of a better word. She didn't push the limits of society or think outside the box. She was comfortable within the place she'd carved out for herself in the world. Fred and George were the opposite and Nessa thought that if they were forced to maintain some semblance of what other people considered to be 'normal,' they'd surely die of boredom or depression. Or both.
"She worries," Nessa said, as though this were not clearly obvious. "Opening a joke shop is…risky. There's no guarantee that it will work out. Going into the Ministry is safe."
He looked at her then, but he was glaring at her.
"So you agree with her then?"
"Is that what I said?" Nessa snapped back at him, rolling her eyes. "On the contrary, I think the idea of you and Fred working at the Ministry is laughable at best. And likely a threat to national security."
His expression lightened a little and he grimaced at her in apology.
"Sorry," he muttered sheepishly.
"You should be," she said, rolling her eyes. He snorted, lips twitching as if he would laugh despite her obvious irritation with him. "I'm just saying that your mother isn't exactly the type to take that sort of risk, is all. I don't think she much understands you and Fred wanting something more."
"I know," he muttered, sighing heavily. "It'd still be nice not to have her tell us over and over how we're throwing our lives away. She acts like no one in the world has ever opened a joke shop before."
"Does your mother even tell jokes?" she said and George grinned at her. "Look, George, who cares what she thinks? She's never going to like it because it's not something she would do herself. And the two of you have never cared what anyone thought of you. Even when you really, really should." He grinned at her and opened his mouth to make what she was sure would be a snide remark, but she continued before he could. "If there's anyone on the planet who can make your mother eat her own words, it's the two of you."
George stared at her for a long moment, something like vulnerability softening the blue of his eyes. She braced herself for whatever he was going to say to her next because she'd seen that look of vulnerability on only a handful of occasions.
"Do you think we can do it?" he said, so quietly she almost couldn't hear him over the noise of the crowd around them. "Open a joke shop, I mean."
She stared at him for a long moment, watching the expression on his face carefully. She was certain that no matter what she said, he'd continue on the path to his joke shop regardless, but she was entirely certain the question was not because he had any doubt that he could do it. He would do it, no matter what any of them thought.
The question was vulnerable because he was looking for someone — outside his own twin — who believed for half of a moment that he was more than just some childish trickster with a refusal to grow up.
The fact that he felt the need to even ask her that question made her chest tighten, but she knew her answer without needing to consider it much at all. So, she met his eyes directly and raised an eyebrow in challenge.
"There's not a doubt in my mind, George Weasley," she said sincerely.
The grin was slow to spread across his face, as if the sincerity behind the words had taken him completely by surprise. His eyes roved over every part of her face, as if he were looking for a flicker of doubt across her features, but there was none. She'd always thought the twins had been serious about their joke shop and the passion behind their products and the way they spoke about it had always made it abundantly clear to her that they would succeed. She'd never doubted the two of them since the day they'd mentioned what they wanted.
She rolled her eyes at him when he kept grinning at her stupidly, her own grin surely making the two of them look as if they'd gone mad. He was looking at her almost as though he couldn't believe she'd said the words at all, as if he were waiting for her to say she was joking. And then he was laughing happily, his expression softening in the same way it had when she'd been helping his father work out how to use the matches to light the fire. Her breath caught in her throat in the same way it had when he'd looked at her that way earlier, her entire body locking up as she stared at him. The intensity behind his gaze made her breathing quicken and that sparkle was there again, so deep in the blue of his eyes that she was certain she'd drown in them in an attempt to figure out whatever emotion it was he was looking at her with.
No one in her entire life had ever looked at her the way George Weasley was looking at her now.
His eyes roved over her face one more time, and he was shaking his head, more to himself than to her, but then he paused suddenly and breathed, "Oh, to hell with it."
She barely had any time to brace herself before his lips crashed with hers and she gasped at the contact, partially in surprise that he'd kissed her when he'd said he wanted to keep this to themselves for a little bit longer, and partially because this kiss felt…different, somehow.
Every time he'd kissed her before had been leisurely, as if he'd known precisely what he wanted and been thinking about it for a great deal of time, and was in no rush to end it. This one was full of barely restrained emotion, his lips slanting over hers as if he might die at any moment and have no idea what it would be like to kiss her. The hand he had resting against her cheek was pulling her toward him as if any amount of distance between them was painful to him and he poured every ounce of gratitude and respect he had for her into this one kiss, as if he had no other way to convey to her exactly what her words meant to him.
She'd have drowned in him, she was certain, if her brother's irritated voice didn't pull them away from each other.
"Oh, not this again."
George rested his forehead against hers, grinning at her wide-eyed expression as she came slowly back to her senses. Her cheeks were already flushed, but he watched them darken when she realized where they were. He tightened his hold when she made to dart away from him and brushed his lips with hers again before brushing them against each of her cheeks.
"I think I might be sick," said Ron from where he stood next to Harry, the three younger Gryffindors clearly having just returned to the campsite, holding souvenirs.
"Yeah, absolutely disgusting," Ginny said, though she was grinning widely.
"Sod off, the whole lot of you," George said, still looking at her as if he hardly cared about their audience.
Nessa had not a clue how he always managed to do that when he kissed her — distract her from where they were and who was around — but it was starting to become a pattern for her, and not one she necessarily felt all that guilty about. Although, truth be told, it might be a tad less embarrassing if he'd waited until they were alone.
Mr. Weasley was eyeing the two of them over his glasses, smiling as if he'd already suspected as much, even though neither of them had said anything.
"Maybe now they'll stop mooning at each other, eh?" Charlie said to Bill.
"If you're talking about Nessa and George, they won't," Fred said, as he and Tori reappeared from the crowd. Fred was clearly attempting to look as irritated as he had been when he'd left with Tori to get the rosette, but the sparkle in his eye when he looked at her was a direct contrast to the scowl on his face. Tori was grinning widely in triumph as she plopped back into her spot on the grass. "They've been mooning at each other since they met. It's disgusting."
Nessa huffed at him and George laughed, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and leaning forward to whisper in her ear.
"Hard not to, love. You're so very beautiful when you blush like that."
She pushed him away from her immediately, and he chuckled, smirking at her confidently when the words had their intended effect, pinkening her cheeks almost immediately.
"Stop that."
"If you two are quite finished," Tori said as George winked at Nessa in response. "I got you some rosettes."
She chucked one at each of them and Nessa snorted when George's nearly hit him in the face.
"Did you buy them just to get Fred to stop pouting?" Nessa queried, pinning it to her T-shirt as it shouted the names of each of the Irish players on a loop.
"He's being dramatic," said Tori dismissively. "He stopped pouting after we passed some veela on the way to the vendor. He's just trying to save face in front of Bill and Charlie."
"Save face?" Fred exclaimed indignantly at the same time that Nessa said, "Sorry, but what's a veela?"
"Harpies," said Tori peevishly. "That's what they are —"
George snorted.
"They aren't harpies," he said at Nessa's confused expression. "They're women —"
"Very beautiful women, he means," Fred amended with a smirk at Tori's noise of derision. "Georgie just won't say that to you because he likes his bollocks where they are, I expect."
George grinned, but did not disagree. Nessa rolled her eyes at him.
"If they're just women, why are they called veela?"
"They aren't just women, munchkin," Fred said as if her saying so was of great offense to him. "They're very beautiful women —"
"Yes, you said that, Fred," Tori snapped, scowling at him.
Fred raised an eyebrow at her and opened his mouth to say something, but Nessa stomped on his foot and gave him a warning look. He'd made it very clear that riling her gave him a great deal of satisfaction, but waxing poetic about other women was a dangerous game to play with Victoria.
Fred rolled his eyes.
" — they've got some sort of magical…allure."
"What does that mean?"
"They dance and all the boys come running," Tori said with an eye roll. "Like flocks of birds to their deaths."
Nessa gaped at her.
"Like a siren?"
The three of them looked at her in confusion.
"What?" they said at once.
"A siren," she explained. "They're muggle myths. Beautiful women who would sing to sailors to lure them out to their deaths — drag them under water to drown, make their ships sink by hitting rocks, you know that kind of thing."
"As…disturbing as that is," Fred said after a pregnant pause. "She was exaggerating. They don't actually lead men to their deaths. They just mesmerize them, you know. Make them act a bit stupid."
"How would you know?" Tori said, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.
Nessa rolled her eyes at how much Fred was clearly enjoying Tori's irritation at his continued talk about veela. George was looking between the two of them with narrowed eyes.
"I read —" Fred began pompously, but Tori snorted loudly.
"You don't know how to read, Fred," she said with an eye roll.
"I know how to read!" he said indignantly, causing Bill and Charlie to look up from their conversation and snicker at him. "It's just boring."
Tori rolled her eyes and crossed her arms petulantly.
"What's going on with the two of you?" George said suddenly.
"Nothing," they answered in unison, still glaring at each other.
"Very convincing," George said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Nessa huffed a laugh, but before either Tori or Fred could snap a retort, 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 one, let's go!"
Argument forgotten, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail, Mr. Weasley in the lead. Nessa could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly contagious; Harry couldn't stop grinning, shooting his sister excited glances every two minutes; Tori was practically skipping; Nessa was laughing at the horribly botched version of the Irish National Anthem the twins were attempting to sing. 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 Nessa could only see a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, even with her head craned as far back as possible. It could have fit several football fields comfortably inside it.
"Wicked," the twins said, identical grins spreading across their faces.
"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr. Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on Nessa and Harry's faces. "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 swarmed with shouting witches and wizards.
"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "Top Box! 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 goalposts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Nessa, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down and tried very hard not to throw up.
She took a hasty step backward at the drop in front of her, even if there was a railing in front of her. They were so high up her hands started shaking and she tried very hard to remind herself that she was not going to fall to her death up here. Thinking it did not help, however. The drop was so steep, more than fifty feet — quite possibly double that, no it had to be triple, quadruple, even. She was going to throw up.
"Nessa!" Tori shouted in alarm, grabbing onto her arm and pretending like she was going to shove her over the railing.
Nessa screamed in reflex, grabbing onto Tori's shirt so quickly that she actually nearly did send them both toppling. Everyone laughed as Nessa glared at her best friend, who was laughing so hard, she was clutching her stomach.
"What is the matter with you?"
"Oh, Merlin — you should have seen your face," Tori gasped through her laughter, clearly not at all concerned by the murderous expression on Nessa's face. "Why would you ever even believe I would do that?"
Nessa grumbled, her heart pounding in her chest, as she sat between her and George, Fred on Tori's other side. They were still laughing at her when she took a cautious look forward over the railing.
It was a scene the likes of which she 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. Nessa watched the words in interest, her eyes glued to the clearly magical advertisements in disbelief.
The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family — Safe, Reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer…Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!...Gladrags Wizardwear — London, Paris, Hogsmeade…
Nessa jumped, pulling her gaze away from the screen, at the sound of a high-pitched, grating voice a few seats down and a row behind her. Her brother, Harry, and Ron were turned all the way around, talking to a tiny creature with enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a tomato. The elf had abnormally long fingers and large, drooping ears. It wasn't Dobby, but the voice was so high-pitched that Nessa was certain it was a female, though it was hard to tell for sure.
"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 scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"
"Yeah, I am," Harry said.
"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck. "Yous and —" her eyes scanned the group of them and landed on Nessa sitting between George and Tori and her eyes widened again. "Miss Vanessa."
Hearing her name, and sensing her distraction, her three friends turned to follow her attention. Nessa smiled kindly at the small house-elf, who was clearly terrified and shaking, although she wasn't entirely certain why.
"Hello, Winky," she said gently.
"How is he?" Harry said, bringing the elf's attention back toward him. "How's freedom suiting him?"
"Ah, sir," said Winky, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free."
"Why?" Harry said, taken aback. "What's wrong with him?"
"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir," said Winky sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."
"Why not?"
Winky lowered her voice by half an octave and whispered scandalously, "He is wanting paying for his work, sir."
Nessa rolled her eyes.
"God forbid," she muttered to herself.
Tori stomped on her foot hard when Winky looked over at her curiously. Nessa swore harshly and glared at her best friend.
"Don't enrage the house-elves, Vanessa," Tori warned seriously.
"They deserve to be enraged," Nessa hissed back heatedly, careful to keep her voice down so that Winky couldn't hear her. "It's ridiculous! Wizards can do their own cleaning for God's sake. Even Muggles pay people to clean for them!"
"She doesn't sound all that pressed about it, does she?" Fred said, nodding back toward Winky again.
"House-elves is not paid, sir! No, no, no. House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter," Winky said firmly from behind her hands. "House-elves does as they is told." — Nessa made a disgusted noise — "I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter," — Winky glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped, and Nessa felt a pang of sympathy in her chest because she knew precisely how the elf was feeling. — "but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."
Only Harry and Nessa seemed concerned about these words.
"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" said Harry, frowning.
Tori stomped on Nessa's foot again and Nessa, irritated, stomped back in retaliation.
"Master — master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy," said Winky, tilting her head toward the empty seat 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."
Winky gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid her eyes completely again. She shared a look with Harry before Tori pulled her back to look in front of her.
"Don't even think about it," she said firmly.
"What?" Nessa said defensively.
Tori gave her a hard look and didn't respond. Nessa crossed her arms and glared in front of her. Disgusting, the entire thing. She could care less what the twins and Tori thought.
The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour, Nessa's foul mood after her brother's conversation with her brother beginning to fade as she watched more and more people flood the box. Mr. Weasley 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. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered, sending the twins and Tori into fits of giggles. Nessa rolled her eyes. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained seated, throwing her brother jealous looks when Fudge greeted him like an old friend.
"Vanessa, good to see you, good to see you," Fudge said, grinning to her as well, and shaking her hand heartily. "How are you? It's been some time since I've seen the two of you, hasn't it?"
"Fine, Minister," she said as her brother awkwardly murmured the same. Percy was glaring at her as though she'd said she was planning on running off with Sirius Black. "How are you?"
"Couldn't be better, my dear, couldn't be better," he said jovially, spinning his bowler hat in his hands as he normally did and bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet. "A most exciting year ahead, I daresay. Oh, yes, right, I should introduce you to the Bulgarian minister," he said, turning to the man on his right. Percy was glowering at her and Harry by this point. Nessa watched in amusement as Fudge attempted to mime to the Bulgarian minister who she and Harry were. It took a long moment before the man started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at her brother's scar. "Knew we'd get there in the end," he told the two of them wearily. " I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, and here's Lucius!"
Nessa turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley was none other than Lucius Malfoy, his son, Draco, and a woman Nessa assumed was Draco's mother.
She didn't spend much time thinking about Draco Malfoy, but her brother despised him, and she was not a fan herself. He greatly resembled his father and one look at his mother told Nessa she wouldn't much like her either. She was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.
"Ah, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"
Nessa settled back into her seat now that Fudge was occupied and was very careful to keep the sneer off her face as she eyed the Malfoys and their clearly slimy behavior, although it seemed unclear to the Minister.
"Good lord, Arthur," Mr. Malfoy said softly when the Minister clearly was not listening. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"
Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."
"How – how nice," said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile.
Mr. Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Nessa could barely suppress her snarl at the way Mr. Malfoy's lip curled at the sight of Hermione among their group. The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods and had always considered anyone of Muggle descent as second-class. The last time he had expressed this belief in front of Arthur Weasley, it had resulted in a fist fight in the middle of Flourish and Blotts. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, flinching a little when Nessa leaned around George to grin at him in greeting, waving her fingers in a mocking sort of greeting. Malfoy's fear of her was of a great deal of amusement to her.
"Smarmy git," Fred muttered a few seats down from her, but Nessa was too busy smirking at Percy who was still pouting a few seats down from her.
"I can introduce you, if you'd like, you know," she said casually to him. The twins and Tori were looking at her incredulously, but Percy straightened immediately, looking giddy. "Are you going by Weasley today or Weatherby?"
Even Bill and Charlie were forced to cough to cover their laughter when Percy glowered at her, just as Ludo Bagman charged into the box, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam.
"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably from his position next to Mr. Malfoy.
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 (an advertisement for Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans) 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," said Mr. Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly. "Veela!"
Fred cackled with glee at Tori's noise of irritation, but Nessa leaned forward with interest to get a look at the women that had nearly been the cause of Tori strangling Fred before the game could even start. Nessa supposed they were incredibly beautiful. All of them were tall and slim, their legs and arms moving in such a way that it almost looked as though they were traveling on air. Their skin was…oddly shiny, moonbright in a way that certainly wasn't human, and their features were soft and delicate. They all had white-gold hair that was somehow fanning out behind them without wind.
Nessa turned to say something to Tori, but paused to stare at Fred and George, who were clearly having some difficulty controlling their reactions at the sight of them. Tori was slouching back in her chair, scowling petulantly at Fred and crossing her arms across her chest. Nessa, herself, could not decide if she found George's sudden tension irritating or amusing. Although, at least he wasn't gaping like her brother…or had his tongue lolling half out of his mouth like Ron.
But then the veela started to dance, and Nessa watched in mild surprise as every thought appeared to fall completely out of their heads, all of their expressions going completely blank. Fred and George gripped the arms of their chairs very tightly and Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie were making a great deal of effort to avoid looking at the veela altogether. Ginny met Nessa's eye incredulously and she snorted in response, rolling her eyes.
Nessa didn't know what the fuss was about, personally. Sure they were skinny as twigs, and they had very nice features, absolutely alluring, but they weren't dancing in any provocative sort of way and the music was hardly all that impressive. But Fred and George were clearly working very hard to prevent themselves from doing something stupid. They'd just appeared to have lost the battle, jolting up suddenly as if they were going to run down to the field, when the music suddenly stopped and the veela stopped dancing.
"Harry, what are you doing?" said Hermione from down the aisle and Nessa looked over at her brother and made a noise that was half-alarm, half-laugh.
Her brother had his leg resting on the wall of the box, as though he had every intention of taking a leap down to the field. Ron was standing very still next to him as if he were about to dive from a springboard. Tori sniggered at them before grabbing the back of Fred's shirt and pulling him back down to his seat.
"Are you kidding me, with this?" she said, her irritation quickly clouding over her previous amusement with Harry and Ron.
Fred and George cleared their throats simultaneously, blinking rapidly as if trying to get their vision to clear. Angry yells were filling the stadium as the veela made their way off the field and George took his seat again, grimacing a little and avoiding the raised eyebrow Nessa was giving him.
"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 goalposts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaahed, 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 —
Nessa shouted in alarm as it bounced off her head and seats as the shamrock soared over them. It wasn't rain at all; it was a plethora of huge, heavy gold coins being thrown by tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green in order to form the shamrock shape.
"Leprechauns!" Tori yelled happily. "Don't bother with the money; it disappears!"
Nessa thought this made the most sense, considering how much money they were throwing would have been a fortune otherwise. 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! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand — Krum!"
It was Fred's turn to scowl as Tori jumped up excitedly, grabbing hold of the railing and leaning over it slightly to get a look at the players not far below them. Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He was not attractive at all — he looked like an overgrown bird of prey — and he certainly wasn't Tori's type, but Nessa smirked at Fred's pouting anyway.
"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, their names embroidered in silver along their backs. The excitement from the Weasleys was palpable and Nessa nearly forgot her fear of heights as she gripped the railing in front of her to watch the players below.
"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"
He was a small and skinny wizard, completely bald with a mustache to rival Uncle Vernon's, 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. With a sharp blast of his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.
"Theeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"
Nessa had never seen Quidditch like this. 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. Tori watched, awestruck, beside her, as if she'd never seen something so incredible with her own eyes before. Although, truthfully, it was a tad difficult to watch with their own eyes. They were nearly blurs, the Quaffle just one among many blurry movements, and Nessa had to focus abnormally hard in an attempt to keep track of what was happening in front of her.
"TROY SCORES!" roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to Ireland!"
Nessa laughed in delight when the leprechauns rose up into the air again, forming the great, glittering shamrock again, as Troy did a victory lap around the field. Across from the Irish mascots, the veela were watching sulkily.
She did not know much about Quidditch, but even she could tell that the Irish Chasers were superb. They worked together so seamlessly that it was like they were of one mind, their movements and positioning so well coordinated that it looked almost innate. 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 stadium. All decorum was lost to Nessa and Tori as they kept scoring, their cheering and jumping so excited that both Fred and George had had to take a step to the side to avoid being hit by them.
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 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.
Tori and Nessa both booed so loudly that they didn't hear Mr. Weasley warn the boys to cover their ears as the veela started to dance in celebration. Nessa saw George hastily put his fingers in his ears before whatever magic the veela possessed could take hold again. It helped a little, but his eyes still looked a little glazed. She did not miss the breath of relief that he shared with his twin over her and Tori's heads, nor did she miss Tori's scathing look at Fred. The veela stopped dancing and Bulgaria was once again in possession of the Quaffle.
"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova — oh I say!" roared Bagman.
Nessa's gasp blended in with a hundred thousand others as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so quickly that it looked as though they'd fallen out of airplanes without parachutes. Forgetting her anxiety almost entirely, Nessa leaned so far forward to watch that George swore behind her and grabbed her waist with one of his hands. Nessa watched, breathless with horror, as the two Seekers continued to soar for the ground, neither of them slowing their pace at all as the ground neared.
Nessa groaned loudly in sympathy when, at the last minute, Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off, but Lynch hit the ground with a small thud that echoed throughout the stadium. Tori, despite shaking her head in disappointment, was laughing excitedly.
"The Wronski Feint!" she said, watching Krum fly off with a look of amazement.
"The what?" Nessa said in confusion.
"Wronski Feint," George said into her ear. He'd moved to stand directly behind her, his hands gripping the railing on either side of her, clearly assuming that her first attempt at leaning too far forward would not be the last during the game. "He didn't really see the Snitch. He just wanted to distract him."
"Distract him or kill him?" she said, staring pointedly at Lynch who was being revived by mediwizards with cups of potion.
George chuckled and pointed at Krum, who was circling above Lynch.
"Distract," he said. "He's looking for the Snitch while they revive him."
Sure enough, she watched as his head darted around quickly, clearly looking for the Snitch without any interference. She'd never seen such a tactic used before.
Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into 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 Nessa had seen so far. After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals, now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten. The game was starting to get dirtier and Nessa's throat was hoarse from cheering so much.
As Mullet shot toward the goalposts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened next was a flurry of elbows and Tori screamed with rage at the missed opportunity for an Ireland goal. Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast signaled the foul.
"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing — excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informed the enraged 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 field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again. George's hands disappeared from next to hers immediately as he stuffed his fingers in his ears. Tori gave her a long suffering look, but Ginny's giggling and pointing pulled their attention back to the field. Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed — flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.
"Now we can't have that!" said Ludo Bagman, as Tori and Nessa dissolved into a fit of laughter at the sight before them, 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 and 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 nasty…"
It did: The Bulgarian Beaters landed on either side of Mustafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward 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, 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. "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 anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov andVulchanov 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!" Tori roared furiously, stepping up on the ledge below the railing and gesticulating furiously as if it would get Mostafa's attention despite the fact that they were at least a hundred feet up.
"Foul!" echoed Ludo Bagman's voice, and Tori let out a triumphant yell. "Dimitrov skins Moran — deliberately flying to collide there!"
The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Nessa reared back in surprise when they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. They did not look remotely beautiful anymore. Their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders —
Tori whirled with a triumphant noise, pointing a finger down at the field as she smirked at Fred.
"Harpies," she said smugly.
Fred rolled his eyes, but said nothing as the game continued. The mascots were fighting below, as Ministry wizards flooded the field to separate them, but the game above did not pause.
"Levski — Dimitrov — Moran — Troy — Mullet — Ivanova — Moran again — Moran — MORAN SCORES!"
Their cheers were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roar 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 toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face. There was blood everywhere and his nose looked broken, but the referee did not blow the whistle for a foul. He was distracted by one of the veela setting his broom tail alight.
Nessa felt a little bad for him that no one noticed he was injured, but she was quickly distracted by Lynch diving suddenly for the field. Tori was screaming at him to keep going, and Nessa gaped at him as he flew toward the ground, leaning forward again so that George was forced to hold onto her waist again. Krum was on Lynch's tail, flecks of blood flything through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again —
"Pull up, pull up!" Fred roared at Lynch.
But it was no use. 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!" Harry shouted down at him.
Krum was rising, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, his fist held high, a glint of gold barely visible in his large hand. Tori and Nessa raised both arms in the air, shouting in triumph when the scoreboard reflected BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170.
"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?"