Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: Okay, first off, apologies for the long wait between updates. Life simply got in the way. Also, I've re-written the first chapter. In terms of what happens it's mostly the same, but I've cleaned it up a bit, removed some things that made me cringe, and added bits I felt were needed. And lastly, a huge thanks to silentclock for all his help on not only this chapter, but the first chapter as well.
Chapter Six
The next day found Harry lounging in the chair, his feet up on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles. He smiled as his eager audience of three looked at him expectantly, clearly getting frustrated.
"Well?" Sirius demanded from the edge of his chair, blowing his hair away from his cheek.
"Well what?" Harry asked, feigning confusion as he sipped his water.
"You know damn well what I mean!"
Harry chuckled softly to himself.
Before Sirius could try his hand at murder once again, the sound of footsteps coming from above made them all pause. Harry simply raised his eyebrow at the questioning looks sent his way from Seamus and Tonks. Sirius craned his neck towards the stairs in a futile and ultimately worthless attempt to catch the first glimpse of who he hoped to see.
Seconds later, bare feet touched the stairs. A pair of tanned legs came into view, followed by the hem of a crinkled dress that had been immaculate the night before. Anna smiled a touch nervously when she noticed the stares, brushing her messy hair over her shoulder. A pair of heels swung by her side as she hurried over to Harry, her eyes purposefully set on him as she vainly attempted to ignore the knowing smiles.
"Here," Anna said, stuffing a small, folded piece of parchment into Harry's hand. She kissed him soundly on the lips, hard enough that it hurt for a moment, before she pulled back. "Don't be a stranger, Harry. Keep in touch, won't you?"
"You can count on it," Harry replied with a firm nod.
Anna released a grateful, perhaps even a relieved, sigh and planted another forceful kiss on Harry's lips.
She pulled back again, barely an inch from his face. "Thank you."
Harry nodded silently.
"I'd, err, best be going," Anna said after a moment, quickly standing upright. She reached the door, opened it, and was halfway outside when she paused and looked back over her shoulder. "It was- err… it was nice to meet you all."
When the door clicked shut, Harry sat back with a satisfied grin on his lips.
"I'm impressed, I have to admit," Tonks said, breaking the silence. She looked at Harry, chewing on her bottom lip as she studied him, as if she was trying to work out why anyone would ever go anywhere near him.
"How'd you manage it, Potter?" Seamus asked with narrowed eyes.
Harry shrugged. "My natural charm?"
Seamus snorted mockingly. "I reckon some kind of charm was involved."
"You dropped the notice-me-not charm, didn't you?" Sirius asked, his questioning look turning to delight when Harry shrugged a tad guiltily.
"That's just blatantly cheating," Seamus grumbled.
"I wasn't aware it was a game," Harry said haughtily.
"Tell me what you would've – or could have – done," Tonks said bluntly. "Harry's very name gets him a girl like that, I doubt you would've stood a chance."
"That's why it's just cheating when he pulls the name card," Seamus protested.
"And you wouldn't?" Harry asked, highly amused with Seamus's antics.
Seamus paused in thought. "Well, some of us don't need to be famous in the first place, so I doubt I'd need it anyway."
"From your jealousy, I take it I've done well?"
"Couldn't have done much better," Seamus muttered.
Sirius sniffed, winking at Harry and appearing to be quite proud. "Well done, kid."
"Err… thanks," Harry muttered as he lifted himself off the chair. "Anyway, what's the plan for today? As much I'd love to see Seamus sulk all morning, how about checking out this pool?"
"I do not sulk." Seamus sulked.
Tonks was the only one to decline the offer, instead heading out to meet Remus for an early lunch. The others hurried upstairs when she left. Seamus started banging on the doors to wake Neville and Dean, and Harry quietly slipped into his room.
Behind his door, Harry unfolded the parchment and took in the looped letters and neat handwriting. He was sure his eyes started to sparkle when he read the address underneath Anna's name.
Just as the sun started to set, thousands of wizards and witches emerged, all of them starting to make their way towards the stadium. Hundreds of people were still Apparating or Portkeying to the island, many with tickets, some hoping for tickets, and a fair few there just for the carnival atmosphere.
In other words, there was a party tonight and no one wanted to miss it.
It wasn't long before Harry spotted the colossal building looming in the distance. Many believed it to be the finest arena in Europe, if not the world. It stood as tall as many Muggle skyscrapers, as beautiful as any architectural feat ever produced, and it boasted a history spanning centuries.
The stadium was special; there was no other word for it. The walls were made of ancient stone and marble, and its smooth curves sparkled beautifully from all angles.
"More than one ego has taken a dent here," Sirius said reverently, eyeing the stadium up and down. "Jimmy Spencer said you could feel the history when you stepped onto the pitch. He retired after playing here, saying he didn't deserve to be in the company of greats. Weird man, now I come to think of it."
Dean nudged Harry. "What's with the looks of awe and all the whispering?"
"The history," Remus answered promptly. "This is probably the most historic stadium in the world, at least in terms of Quidditch."
"Yeah, doesn't that just mean it's going to fall apart any day now?" Dean asked.
Remus glared at the teenager. "If you discount the fact that this stadium was built with the best charms and runes of its day, yes. Not to mention the constant maintenance."
Judging by the distasteful look on his face, Dean wasn't won over. "Are there even seats inside? Or are we expected to sit on rocks?"
"Seats were put in sometime in the seventeen hundreds," Harry answered.
"They've changed with the times, don't worry," Sirius assured Dean, although he was looking a little worryingly at Remus. "When have you become so concerned with Quidditch stadiums, Moony? Finally fallen in love with the game?"
Remus rubbed his temples lightly. "As you know, I've never hated Quidditch. Never been a fanatic, like some, but I'm able to enjoy it from time to time."
"That still doesn't explain why you're acting like it's your time of the month," Seamus muttered.
Harry and Sirius glanced at each other a little uncomfortably, although more than a little amused. Remus went slightly wide-eyed.
"You know, a new herb was found a few years back," Neville spoke up.
"Merlin!" Sirius jumped and whipped his head in Neville's direction. "You scared the shit out of me! Why are you so bloody quiet?"
"Blame my Grandmother," Neville said dryly. "As I was saying, experiments have been taking place recently. They reckon they're close to a potion that will soothe, err, that type of pain."
"In my experience, don't girls usually take Pain-Rel-"
"Really, Sirius?" Harry asked, a little bemused. "I've heard enough girls complain about that potion to know it's next to worthless."
"Well," Sirius said with a shrug, "I don't tend to stick around during that particular time. I like them feisty, but your mother used to get downright vicious."
Harry closed his eyes at the image. "That's my mother, Sirius!"
Sirius nodded. "Yep. Prongs used to say-"
"No," Harry said, holding out a hand to stop Sirius. "No, I don't want to know."
"Suit yourself." Sirius shrugged, and everyone else seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
The group moved closer to the stadium, each of them oddly silent.
"What was I talking about?" Remus asked after a few minutes.
"Your sudden and unexpected love for all things Quidditch," Sirius offered.
"Oh, yes." Remus glanced at Dean. "It's more a love for architectural design than the Quidditch, but mostly it's my affection for history. You'll be filled with a sense of awe if you stare long enough into the past, but you'll be completely horrified at what has always lurked beneath the surface. Thankfully, this stadium has no such mysterious deaths hanging over it."
"Simply fascinating," Dean said slowly. "Tell me, are you married?"
"No…"
"You really need to find yourself a girl, mate," Dean said.
Sirius snorted. "I've been telling him that since I broke out. You'll be surprised to know he didn't actually do too badly back in the day. You used to hold your own, didn't you, Moony?"
"Yes, well," Remus muttered, fiddling with the ticket in his hand as he tried and failed to hide a grin. "I've tried my hand over the years, but no one's stuck around."
"Maybe you should ask Tonks," Neville suggested innocently, already moving towards Harry before he'd finished the sentence.
"Are you mad?" Sirius demanded, whirling around to where Neville had been a moment ago. He soon caught sight of Neville again, standing next to Harry. "Maybe if he was ten years younger! He's old enough to be her father. It's just wrong."
"Not exactly…" Harry said, working out the age difference in his head. "Well, unless he was a young bloomer."
"By the time your father and Sirius were thirteen, they'd had one or two girlfriends, so it isn't impossible," Remus muttered. "Of course, they never lasted more than a week, and I don't think it ever went any further than kissing behind Hagrid's hut."
Harry wondered, not for the first time, just what the Marauders had actually been like back in the day. The way people talked about his dad and Sirius together was something that intrigued him. Little revelations seemed to sneak up on him from time to time, some that he'd expected, and some that completely surprised him.
"Where is Tonks, anyway?" Seamus asked, turning around in a full circle to look for her.
The group seemed to frown as one as they looked through the sea of thousands of nameless faces.
"There she- oh. Oh…" Dean chuckled to himself. "Looks like you've lost out, Remus. Tonks appears to be doing just fine without you."
Harry looked to where Dean had pointed, soon spotting Tonks' red hair as it fell onto the back of her white England shirt. She was talking to a tall, dark-haired man. His features couldn't quite be made out, but Harry never figured Tonks would go for someone so generic.
"Someone go and get her," Sirius said as they moved within a hundred yards of the gates.
"My pleasure," Seamus said, and he was pushing his way through the crowd a second later, earning his fair share of disgruntled looks.
Harry watched the situation play out, fairly amused by Tonks' reaction when she realised Seamus was behind her. The two arrived back just in time. After showing the officials their tickets, they made their way inside and climbed the hundreds of steps towards their seats. The stadium had five tiers, and with a glance at the tickets, Harry realised they were in the third.
"Front row. Nice," Seamus said. He slid his hand along the gold railings as the group took their seats. "Can't thank you enough for these tickets, Potter."
"Not a problem," Harry said, and he couldn't agree more with Seamus's assessment of the stadium.
They were sat in the middle, at eye-level with the rings, which meant they'd get one of the best views and see where most of the action was likely to take place. Continuing to look around the stadium, Harry noticed it was slowly starting to fill up.
Directly opposite to where Harry was sat, the Bulgarians were setting up their stall. A giant piece of cloth was being unfurled from the top tier. Harry watched as it unravelled, stopping at the very bottom of the first tier, and he wasn't at all surprised to be greeted with the scowling face of Viktor Krum.
"That boy really has got some bushy brows," Sirius said. "He looks like a grumpy bastard as well."
"Just look at Harry," Tonks said lightly. "It just goes to show you don't need good looks if you've got fame."
"At least I don't have to hide behind fake appearances," Harry hit back.
"Ah, but you can't deny you'd love it if you could," Tonks said.
"Is he really ugly?" Neville asked, looking taken aback. "Harry, I mean."
Remus's earlier mention of egos taking a knock came to mind.
"Well, Prongs was always called handsome and never had a problem, and Harry looks just like him, so…" Sirius shrugged. "Prongs was taller, though."
Harry completely ignored the conversation involving his looks, turning to Dean and Seamus instead. "Well, what do you think?"
"It's pretty impressive," Dean admitted sourly.
"Still think Muggles build the better stadiums?" Harry asked.
Dean grunted. He'd argued that his beloved Upton Park, home to the 'mighty' West Ham, despite being significantly smaller than a lot of other football stadiums, was something to be admired. For the atmosphere, he'd insisted, and something to do with forever blowing bubbles. Harry may have been brought up in the Muggle world, and he may have lived in the same dorm with Dean for seven years, but he was still clueless. The only thing he knew about blowing bubbles was an old song he'd learnt in school, but he very much doubted that hard-core football fans would sing that during a game.
"What the hell are these?" Sirius asked, holding up a small object between his forefinger and thumb. The fleshy-looking item was about the size of a peanut and had a piece of string extending from one end.
"Hang on," Tonks said as she flicked open a booklet. "They're… earpieces, apparently."
After reaching under his seat, Harry, like many inside the stadium, immediately started to fiddle with the new toy. It felt almost like flesh under his fingers, but more slippery.
"Have you seen how many settings these have?" Sirius asked, waving his own earpiece in Harry's face. "They must have every language in the world!"
"You're right," Remus said, also playing with his earpiece. "After the last World Cup, people complained because they couldn't understand a thing that was being shouted at them. Can you imagine watching this match with Greek commentary?"
"How do you change the settings?" Harry asked.
"Squeeze it and say what language you want." Remus demonstrated, pushing the earpiece into his ear and pulling a face as it slipped inside.
Harry and Sirius quickly adjusted their earpiece settings to English. Harry remembered when Vernon and Dudley had watched a football match in a foreign language. They'd complained through the entire thing, as the commentator shouted with deafening speed through the TV. Why they hadn't turned the volume down was anyone's guess, but Harry figured watching a game without any sound made the game ten times less interesting.
"Just don't go messing about with it or you'll end up missing the whole match," Tonks said distractedly, too engrossed in her booklet to look up. At further inspection, Harry realised it was the programme for the final.
"Where the hell did you get that?" Seamus asked, having noticed as well.
"Hmm?" Tonks muttered. "Oh, they were selling them hours ago. Remus and I bought one when you lot decided to try out the swimming pool."
"We'll grab some later," Sirius said to Harry. "The programme for the last final England appeared in went to auction last year. It sold for thousands."
The stadium continued to fill up over the next half an hour. Thousands of people had made the journey from all four corners of the world, many just to watch the one match. Hundreds of flags, English and Bulgarian alike, were waved enthusiastically. Banners were held high with pride, slogans and encouragements charmed to flash and stand out. Sirius had been to the toilet twice, but he'd also been to the bar and brought a tray of drinks back with him each time.
Harry glanced at his watch as the sheer anticipation hit him for the first time, along with the nerves and excitement. It was a little over seven, which meant it was just under half an hour until the game would get underway.
Up on the forth tier, the commentator for those inside the stadium had started to speak, his words sounding very fast and meaningless to Harry.
Harry stuffed the earpiece back in his ear, and the translation to English came through a few seconds later. Along Harry's row, most people were doing the same. It was almost like sitting around a Wireless, and Harry wished once again the magical world could project matches and events like the Muggle world was able to do.
"…since the last World Cup. The Bulgarians have spotted the weaknesses in their team and built upon them, making a formidable Chaser line-up. The English have the edge when it comes to Keepers, though, with Oliver Wood's record-breaking season giving him the status as world's best Keeper. A remarkable achievement for one so young.
"We all know that a final is usually won by Seekers, and we have two very impressive men lining up out there. Stewart Ackerley continues to get better, but will it be enough tonight? We all know who the other Seeker is. He's the world's best player, and many critics are saying this game is Krum's to win or lose. England will be trying to do what Ireland did four years ago, which was simply score one-hundred-and-sixty points before Krum gets the Snitch, but it won't be easy."
"Fifty Galleons that England will win after Ackerley makes the catch," Sirius said immediately, holding out his hand for any takers.
"Make it a hundred and I'm in," Seamus said. "Krum to end the match, giving Bulgaria the win."
"Deal." Sirius looked at Harry challengingly. "What about you? You in?"
Harry snorted cynically. "I might not think we're going to win, but I'm not exactly going to bet against us."
"Anyone else?" Sirius asked the group at large, looking hopeful.
Remus tittered from next to him. "I'll bet a Galleon that Padfoot loses."
Tonks and Harry immediately agreed with him. After a moment, Neville did as well.
Sirius frowned. "If you're betting on me to lose, and I'm betting that England will win, doesn't that mean you're betting on England losing?"
"No," Harry said, dismissing Sirius's correct reasoning.
Sirius huffed and grumbled something, muttering to Neville. For his part, Neville didn't seem to mind, although he had a perpetual look of bemusement on his face.
A few minutes later, Harry wasn't at all surprised in which direction the conversation had gone.
"…ultimate team?" Seamus scoffed. "That's easy. You can't look past Troy, Mullet, and Moran for the Chaser line. They work together better than anyone."
"It was a shock they didn't make it to the finals, and I suppose they've steamrolled most teams in the last few years," Sirius conceded. "What about Seeker, then? Would you pick Krum over Wronski?"
"Oh, Sirius," Harry said, shaking his head in disappointment.
"What?" Sirius asked defensively.
"As good as Wronski was, and trust me, I'm not denying he was brilliant, he wasn't as consistent as Krum is," Harry said. More than one person looked at Harry like he was crazy. "Honestly, just look over his stats and records, or actually read the reports on his games. He was mad, and I mean bat-shit crazy."
Remus nodded in agreement. "He's right. I once read an article on Wronski. Most of his games ended with a trip to the Healer."
"See?" Harry said smugly. "Wronski didn't seem to care about his safety. It was all or nothing."
The group stared at Harry, all of them looking faintly amused.
"What?" Harry asked warily.
"Does that remind you of anyone?" Tonks asked slowly.
"Not really…" Harry said, more confused than anything. "You'd be hard pressed to find another player as good and as nuts as he was."
Harry noticed as the minutes ticked by that the air had cooled considerably inside the stadium. The sun had yet to disappear from the sky, as it was far too early for nightfall, but it had disappeared behind the towering walls of the stadium.
The stadium was now packed to the rafters. The English fans were singing a song about Ackerley, although Harry didn't recognise it. He briefly wondered if his name would ever be sung by the fans with such gusto, and then wondered if it was arrogant of him to even think about such things.
The commentator was still building up the atmosphere, but Harry had taken his earpiece out and didn't understand a word. He didn't need to understand Greek to know what was about to happen, though.
The Bulgarians had brought along a treat, it seemed.
Harry could vividly remember the Veela that had descended upon England in the last World Cup final. If anything, the Veela parading along the pitch seemed to be far more beautiful than the ones he could remember. Harry gazed at them as they almost glided along the grass, wearing next to nothing. Tonks' bikini had been revealing on the beach, but she'd practically been wearing robes in comparison. Every inch of Veela skin, which always looked so delicate, so unblemished and perfect, was very nearly all on display.
Harry forcefully shook his head to clear those thoughts, suddenly finding that his legs were tensed and his hands were gripping his seat.
"Very nice control there, Potter," Tonks said, highly amused.
"I wasn't expecting that," Harry muttered, his mouth dry.
The Veela paraded across the pitch to the joy of thousands of men, but it was over before it had really got going. The Bulgarians had clearly learnt their lesson from the last time, when the Veela had nearly started a riot with the leprechauns. Loud groans accompanied the Veela off the pitch, and Harry wasn't embarrassed to say his voice joined in with the others.
"Whoever sorted out the entertainment is a pervert," Tonks declared, although she didn't appear to be at all insulted. If anything, she seemed to find the whole show amusing.
Then, a guttural growl seemed to shake the very foundations of the stadium. Harry's first thought was that the commentator had been a bit too enthusiastic over the Veela. He was proved to be mistaken a few seconds later, when a huge creature sauntered across the pitch, tearing the perfect grass to shreds and kicking up dirt without abandon.
"What is that?" Neville asked, peering down.
"That's an Alphyn," Remus breathed in awe.
"A what?" Seamus asked.
"An Alphyn paraded the pitch in the last final England appeared in," Sirius said. "And we all know how long ago that was."
"Ninety-eight years," Harry answered, his voice joined by more than one other. "It's ruining the bloody pitch, though."
"We have wands, Harry," Sirius stated.
"Yeah, what's your point?"
"They can fix this is in flash, don't worry."
The Alphyn didn't care one iota that it was making Harry cringe with every footstep it took. It strutted along, continuing to dig up the pitch with its sharp talons. Its forefeet looked like they'd come straight from an eagle, Harry noticed as he looked through his Omnioculars, except they were considerably larger.
"Take a picture and send it to Hagrid," Harry said. "He'll love one of these."
Tonks nodded, raising her camera to her eyes.
Harry couldn't deny the Alphyn had a certain majesty about it. Every few seconds it would raise its large, wolf-like head and roar its approval, before ripping into the chunks of meat being thrown at it from its handlers. Its thick mane was grey with hints of red and gold, and also reminiscent of a lion were its tail and hind legs. Its body seemed to be a mixture of a wolf and, as odd as it seemed, a dragon. It had thick coat of fur, but its underbelly looked incredibly scaly.
"Why does it roar?" Seamus asked, after the Alphyn had let loose a sound so loud it had managed to drown out the entire stadium.
"Nobody knows," Remus answered. "It can also breathe fire, although it isn't as hot or as deadly as dragon fire. Did you know its name comes from the Germanic word for chaser, or wolf?"
Harry hadn't even heard of the creature before. The Alphyn was thrown another chunk of meat. It was devoured in seconds. Nobody could argue with the sheer ferocity the animal showed. It tucked into and finished its meal with the use of a row of sharp teeth, but what also appeared to be a pointy tongue.
"Trust the English to ruin the light entertainment with a monstrous, man-eating beast," Seamus said. "One minute I'm thinking about asking that girl two rows behind if she fancies a drink later on, and the next minute I'm worried-"
"Oh, will you shut up," Harry said. "Did you hear me complaining when your Leprechauns started pelting me in the head with money?"
"It was money!" Seamus protested.
"It was fake money."
"Then you should've spent it when you had the chance," Seamus said stubbornly.
"You know," Tonks said, "I have to wonder if any of you actually get along. Have you ever actually complimented each other on anything?"
"Sure," Harry said, glancing at Seamus for confirmation. "Err, I taught you that spell to turn water into rum, didn't I? I complimented you when you perfected it, even if it is the only spell you've ever really nailed."
"See what I mean?" Tonks said. "You can't say anything nice without adding an insult."
"All right," Dean said. "What about when Harry used to win us the Quidditch Cup, we congratulated him then."
Tonks opened her mouth to reply, realised she couldn't argue that point, and went back to reading her programme, ignoring the jeers.
The sudden roar made Harry jump. He turned to the pitch, only to notice the Alphyn was leaving. He'd forgotten all about the creature. With the entertainment over, the crowd sensed the start of the game was near. The Bulgarian section of the stadium was getting noisier. Krum's enormous head was still scowling – Harry realised the cloth must have been charmed, otherwise most of the fans in that section would effectively be blind.
Harry glanced at his watch in anticipation, before reaching into the pocket of his jeans. His arm continued inside, going so far as his bicep, before he found what he was looking for. A moment later, he pulled out a notebook that Hermione had bought him one Christmas, along with a Self-Inking quill he had left over from school.
Seamus lifted an eyebrow in question.
"Taking notes," Harry muttered.
"Why?"
Harry shrugged. "I need to learn. You might be watching me in a final one day, you know."
"You wish."
"I do."
"I thought you hated taking notes, Harry," Sirius said.
Harry sighed, wondering why it was such a big deal. "Well, it might not even work. I don't even know what to write, but I need something. I got destroyed in my trial."
"You work better off instinct and practise," Sirius said matter-of-factly. "You can't learn Quidditch from a book."
"I did," Remus pointed out.
"Yeah, but you can't play for shit," Sirius said derisively.
Remus didn't attempt to argue that point – he really did look like new-born bird trying to fly whenever he was forced on a broom.
The commentator cleared his throat over the microphone. "Welcome, one and all, to what is surely going to be a final that will live up to the expectations. After four years leading up to this, and five weeks to decide our finalists, we're finally at the hour. The teams have been announced, everyone's been talking about this for days, so get your drinks in, get ready, and good luck.
"If you would please welcome our referee for this final, from Portugal, Eligius Andrade."
"Dirty, corrupt bastard," Seamus said with a growl.
"It's not his fault the Irish were outplayed," Sirius said.
"We weren't outplayed," Seamus said stubbornly. "If you remember, Krum caught the Snitch before we could get over the one-fifty mark. Our Chasers were in complete control for the entire game."
The referee appeared to polite applause. He was wearing fine gold robes, carrying a Firebolt under one arm, and under his other arm was the crate containing the Quaffle, Bludgers, and the Snitch. He stopped in the middle of the pitch and placed the crate onto the ground, before slowly turning in a circle to inspect the quality of the grass.
"Always amazes me," Sirius muttered. "The grass is never used, why does he need to do that?"
"At least it's been fixed," Harry said.
Andrade was obviously pleased, and nodded in the direction from where he'd appeared.
"Here we go, ladies and gentlemen," the commentator said in a low voice.
The stadium waited.
"We have Zograf!" the commentator suddenly bellowed and the Bulgarian section of the crowd seemed to swell as one, suddenly roaring their support.
Zograf's scarlet robes were a blur as he bulleted from the entrance below.
"And he's followed by Chernozemski, Slovensky and Levski! And here come the Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov! And here he is – Viktor Krum!"
Krum was the only one who wasn't flying at breakneck speed. He eased his broom into the air, ignoring what his team were doing; they looked like they were trying to get rid of some last minute nerves with death-defying stunts. The roar for the team had been deafening already, but it simply increased when Krum stepped out. Even Englishmen stood up to applaud him.
"Now that's respect, isn't it?" Seamus said.
Krum picked up speed as he circled the pitch, rising to each tier on every pass, as though he was trying to feel his way around every inch of the stadium.
Harry watched the superstar Seeker through his Omnioculars. Krum's face was emotionless. He wasn't looking at the crowd – Harry doubted his old friend even noticed his own face staring down at him from the large banner.
Harry opened his notebook and penned a quick few words.
By the time Krum's teammates had landed next to the referee, Krum was still flying, and now he was pushing the Firebolt a little more. Even through his Omnioculars, Harry was struggling to keep up. Krum's broom seemed to react to his thoughts, his flying was seamless and looked incredibly easy. When he finally landed, he immediately called his team around him. He was the captain, an honour which he took seriously.
"And here come the English," the commentator said, and Harry watched with a feeling of pride. "Wood! Maddock! Bragge! Watkins!"
Harry watched his old Captain bolt into the air, leading the Chasers in a criss-cross formation around the stadium. Sirius was cheering, and Harry rose to his feet as well. Maddock, England's Captain and Harry's Captain at Puddlemere, was already starting to let his opinions be heard.
"And here come- wait, what's happened?" the commentator stumbled over his words as England's Beaters emerged, only the familiar red hair Harry expected to see wasn't to be found. "Karl and Kevin Broadmoor!"
"What?" Harry demanded, incensed. "Fred and George were picked. You can't just drop them!"
Sirius fervently agreed. "Just what the fuck does Sawbridge think he's playing at? Sack the bastard in the morning!"
"Calm down," Remus said, although he looked a little peeved that the Weasley twins weren't playing. "The Broadmoor twins have proven themselves before."
"They're not as good, Moony!" Sirius raged, and the crowd joined him, directing their disapproval and anger towards Sawbridge, the England Manager.
Harry missed Ackerley's arrival, but he turned around in time to watch the teams take their positions in the air. He couldn't escape the feeling that Fred and George had been cheated out of an opportunity they may never get again. Since their childhood, it had been a dream of theirs to play for their country in a World Cup final. It was one of the reasons they'd thrown themselves into Quidditch and not pursued their other dream of making a living from pranks and practical jokes. The pair had started every other game in the World Cup. They would be sat with the other players somewhere inside the stadium. Some of their family had made the trip.
Doing his best to keep his anger under control, Harry directed his Omnioculars at the players he knew. Krum wasn't letting any emotion show. Oliver Wood's face was set in grim determination, but he couldn't stop fidgeting from in front of his goalposts. He was looking around a little wide-eyed, as if he couldn't believe where he was and how far he'd come in such a short space of time.
"They look nervous out there," Remus observed.
"You can feel it, can't you?" Harry said in disgust. "What kind of idiot changes the team selection in a final?"
The referee released the Snitch; a moment later the Bludgers were free, and all hell broke loose half a second after the Quaffle had left Andrade's hands. The three Chasers from both sides dived in for the Quaffle, and before anyone could work out what was going on, Levski emerged from the mess in possession of the Quaffle.
"Get him!" Sirius demanded, his cries echoed by thousands of other Englishmen.
Levski roared down the pitch, dodging two Bludgers, only to find he was one-on-one with Oliver Wood. Harry's hands gripped the railings just as Levski shot to the right. Wood went the right way, his fingertips clawing at the Quaffle, but Bulgaria's fans were suddenly celebrating.
"What happened?" Sirius demanded, looking at Harry. "Rewind the Omnioculars."
Luckily, Harry had watched the start of the match through them, and quickly watched what had happened, this time with time slowed down to a crawl. Krum had started to advance as soon as the Snitch was released, and when the Quaffle had been thrown, he'd darted into Watkins path. Bragge and Maddock had attempted to stop Levski, but they'd only clutched harmlessly at scarlet robes.
Sirius only pulled a face of disgust when he heard, but Harry wrote another line down in his notebook.
"Where was Ackerley? Why did no-one pick up Krum?" Dean asked furiously. "This is basic defending!"
The game continued despite the number of cries from the crowd, and Harry turned back to watch the game. England's Chasers were throwing the Quaffle back and forth, attempting to feel their way into the game.
"Bragge! Watkins, and back to Bragge, and-" the commentator suddenly paused. "Chernozemski steals it! Slovensky – Chernozemski-" Harry couldn't help but notice the commentator was forced to start speaking faster, "-Levski! Chernozemski! Levski, to Slovensky, and back to Chernozemski again!"
Harry watched in fascination as England forced Bulgaria to pass backwards, but the play was becoming faster. Bulgaria didn't appear to be sticking to one formation – they were mixing it up, completely at random, or so it seemed. England's defence was solid – Maddock was playing slightly behind Bragge and Watkins, and they were pressing the Bulgarians into a mistake.
Then Krum screamed something to his team, and every player in the air seemed to react. The Bulgarian Chasers suddenly grouped together. Volkov and Vulchanov – their Beaters – appeared on either side of their Chasers, and Krum hovered above them, urging his team forward.
Maddock bellowed something, and Harry thought he must have ordered a retreat, because England suddenly found themselves on the back foot, desperately trying to maintain their shape. The Broadmoor twins were waiting for a Bludger attack, but none were forthcoming.
Ackerley rocketed down, coming from nowhere, in an attempt to disrupt the play. He nearly collided with Levski, but the Bulgarian Chaser expertly swerved around England's Seeker, only to find he was facing Bragge. Volkov finally swung at a Bludger, and his aim was precise as Bragge had to duck to avoid having his head taken off. Levski had already let go of the Quaffle by the time Bragge looked up.
The Quaffle was picked up by Chernozemski, who thought he was in luck. Maddock had other ideas, and gripped the neck of Chernozemski's robes, nearly ripping the Bulgarian Chaser off his broom and out of his clothes.
The shrill whistle from the referee came a moment later.
"Oh, come on!" Sirius bellowed his anger at the referee. He turned to Harry in shocked outrage. "How can you be allowed to smash people, get away with punching them now and then, but you get penalised for pulling a robe?"
"Rules are rules," Remus answered.
"LEVSKI SCORES!" the commentator bellowed.
As long as neither team had pulled too far in front, Harry was more concerned with the Seekers. Ever since his trial, he'd been looking forward to seeing just how Ackerley would go about handling Krum. There would be a game plan in place to stop him, which would've been reworked and re-thought numerous times over, but it was one thing to come up a plan and something else entirely to pull it off.
Ackerley had yet to come within a few meters of his rival Seeker, though. Instead, he was weaving in-between his Chasers, trying to help them set up attacks as well as prevent Bulgaria from attacking.
Krum's plan appeared to be something different. The most exciting player on the pitch was above most of the action, and he was directing his Chasers, calling out plays to them. Harry knew, from being Captain for Gryffindor, just how difficult it was when all of your concentration wasn't on doing your main job. It was the main argument against Seekers being Captain.
Five minutes passed and the score hadn't changed – Bulgaria still led by twenty.
Krum suddenly moved faster than he had all game, and the excitement level inside the stadium rose with him. Ackerley bolted from his Chasers, desperately trying to catch up. The Broadmoor twins tried to follow, but knew they weren't fast enough, and sent two Bludgers instead – they missed their target.
"Oh! What a diversion by Krum!" Seamus declared.
Harry tore his gaze away from the Seekers, only to see Bulgaria's Chasers advancing on Wood. England's Chasers had been left behind. Wood spread his arms and legs, coming out to meet the oncoming Chaser, but Levski buried his – and Bulgaria's – third shot.
Sirius glanced over at Harry, eyebrows raised and lips parted slightly. Harry just shrugged in reply, somehow conveying that he wasn't at all surprised.
He wrote again in his notebook.
England finally seemed to realise they were in a match – a match that they were losing, no less – after Bulgaria scored once again. The Broadmoor twins were flexing their muscles, attempting to bring control to England with a show of strength, but their Bludgers were missing their targets. The Bulgarian Chasers were too fast. They passed the Quaffle with speed nearing the bar set by the Irish Chasers, and they were frustrating England's Beaters.
Egos were beginning to flare. If England didn't do something soon, they'd be playing for pride and they knew it.
The score suddenly flashed high in the sky, spelling out the words: BULGARIA 40 – 0 ENGLAND.
"We're getting humiliated," Neville stated, earning a rather stern glare from Sirius, which the younger man pointedly ignored.
Nobody was quite sure how it happened, but Bragge suddenly found himself with more space around him than he'd had all match, and the Quaffle was tucked under his arm. He headed straight for the goalposts, only to leave the Quaffle behind him as he flew over the Bulgarian Keeper's head. Watkins was on the same wavelength, and her shot pierced the left ring.
Harry was cheering as hard as any other English fan. Zograf, as well as his team, looked quite bewildered at the unexpected turn of events.
England's resurgence didn't stop there. Bulgaria immediately tried to counter, but Wood stopped the powerful shot from Slovensky and threw the Quaffle; it arced high over the heads of most of the players. Watkins was on the end of the sublime pass, and she made no mistake in turning straight towards Bulgaria's goalposts. Karl Broadmoor pummelled a Quaffle into Chernozemski's path, and Watkins was one-on-one–
"YES!" Sirius bellowed.
The scoreboard flashed again: BULGARIA 40 – 20 ENGLAND.
Five minutes passed and England had scored three more times, and they suddenly looked the better team. Nobody could quite believe what was happening. Watkins and Bragge were refusing to lose possession of the Quaffle, and Ackerley was making darts and dives, although Krum was having none of it so far.
Watkins sped towards Zograf yet again–
"ENGLAND SCORE! They've scored again, and it's now sixty-forty in their favour! And Krum calls for a time-out," the commentator announced quickly, his excitement rising as well.
Harry scribbled another sentence down in his notebook, noticing his hand was slightly shaking.
Krum's face was more animated than Harry had ever seen, especially on a Quidditch pitch. His eyes were bulging out and his hands were gesturing wildly as he demanded something, and a few moments later the team had re-joined the English in the air.
"And play is underway again, and- WAIT!" The commentator had everyone inside the stadium looking straight towards the Seekers, and everyone inside the stadium was right to look their way.
Krum looked like he was beckoning for Ackerley to follow him – it almost looked too obvious. Ackerley hesitated, surely noticing that Krum wasn't rushing for the catch.
"What's he playing at?" Sirius laughed. "Best player in the world, eh? Hah! What a load of-"
"I don't believe it!" The commentator almost couldn't contain his exhilaration. "Krum's seen the Snitch! He's after it, and Ackerley now tries to catch up."
Harry watched with baited breath as Krum whizzed past his position in the stands, scarlet robes a blur. Krum turned on his side, dropping straight towards the ground – Ackerley followed seconds later, and it was surely going to be over any minute now.
The Bulgarian fans were cheering louder and stamping their feet as one, urging Krum on. Ackerley caught a lucky break as Krum was forced into a sharp turn, and the two Seekers suddenly found themselves side by side. Harry winced before it happened - Krum led with his elbow, swinging it as he barged into Ackerley's smaller frame.
"Credit where it's due!" Seamus shouted over the deafening noise.
Harry couldn't agree more. Ackerley had been forced behind, but he hadn't pulled up. The omnioculars were jammed against Harry's eyes, and he watched Krum's eyes almost cross, the Snitch barely a meter away from his crooked nose.
Krum released one hand from his broom, when the Broadmoor twins suddenly appeared in front of him. With a look of utter determination, Karl hit and hoped, and the Bludger travelled the few yards from his bat to Krum's jaw. Harry flinched as Krum was upended, but the Broadmoor twins weren't done with their assault. Kevin rushed in, lunging at Krum. He led with his elbow, much like Krum had done minutes before on Ackerley. They both lost control of their brooms, and they appeared to stay in the air for ages, before finally landing with two loud thuds on the hard earth beneath them.
In the ensuing chaos, the Snitch had escaped, but no one cared; everyone was far too busy watching as Kevin Broadmoor and Viktor Krum rolled across the grass. There was a flurry of elbows and fists. Andrade was blowing into his whistle as hard as he could; players from either side were rushing in to break up the fight – or to get involved, it was hard to tell – and the crowd couldn't get enough.
"This is fucking brutal!" Sirius laughed.
Maddock ripped Kevin off of Krum with a large hand, almost pulling him to his feet in one movement by the scruff of his neck. Alasdair Maddock thumped his Beater on the back for good measure. Krum stood back up, looking a little shaky and spitting blood from his mouth. His jaw was at an odd angle, but he nodded at Kevin Broadmoor, before letting the fidgeting mediwizards treat him.
"And that's a penalty to Bulgaria, which will be taken when Krum returns to play," the commentator said, sounding a little hoarse.
Krum re-joined his team and Levski scored the penalty, meaning Bulgaria only needed to score once more to equal the game.
England had other ideas, though. Watkins continued her charge, notching up another three shots in the space of a few minutes, two of which sailed through the hoops to give England a thirty point lead.
"Bulgaria's getting restless," Remus said.
"I can't say I blame them after what happened in their last final," Harry said.
Remus was right. Watkins assisted Bragge to give England a forty point lead, and Krum was furious. He bellowed his disapproval to his team. Harry glanced at the scoreboard: BULGARIA 50 – 90 ENGLAND.
"And it's Levski again, who looks like he's trying to fly the length of the pitch on his own, and- oh! Maddock collides with him. Andrade doesn't blow for a foul, and Bragge is rushing towards Slovensky-"
Mutterings suddenly rippled around the stadium, and Harry spotted why just as the cheering started back up. Ackerley was going into a steep dive. Krum had noticed before anyone in the crowd, but he was all the way over the other side of the stadium.
Ackerley's broom was almost shaking as he cut through the air. He pulled up, barely escaping a crash, his speed hardly decreasing. Krum was suddenly right behind him. Karl Broadmoor sent a Bludger towards Krum, who dodged without even looking. Ackerley had to readjust his grip, but he managed to maintain his lead.
Not to be left out, Vulchanov decided to get in on the action. He tried to cut across the Seekers flying line, but Ackerley flew over him and Krum went under. Krum attempted to barge his opposing Seeker, but Ackerley was having none of it – he kicked out, his foot hitting Krum squarely in the forehead.
Krum lurched, yet somehow he was level with Ackerley. The two Seekers raced neck and neck down the length of the pitch – the Beaters had given up trying to get close to them – and headed straight for Oliver Wood. The Keeper watched with wide eyes, trying to scramble out of the way.
Ackerley flung out his arm for the catch, the Snitch within touching distance. Krum grabbed a hold of Ackerley's robes, but he couldn't grip properly, and suddenly Ackerley closed his hand around the Snitch and launched himself straight into Wood's arms. Wood was completely bemused for a split second, before he was suddenly cheering his head off. Ackerley was holding his hand aloft, his prize there for all to see.
"ENGLAND WIN! I don't believe it, Stewart Ackerley catches the Snitch! And Viktor Krum can only watch on in despair as the English clamber over each other."
Sirius was suddenly screaming in Harry's ear, hugging him for all he was worth. "We've won, Harry! We've done it!"
Harry couldn't believe it. Sirius was refusing to let go of him, and they were both screaming unintelligible words in each other's faces, completely elated. The sudden noise in the stadium was louder than anything he'd ever heard before. Sirius pulled away to lift Remus off his feet, but Remus was smiling as well.
"Come here, Potter!" Tonks pulled Harry into a hug, her smile bright and beaming.
Harry's cheeks were hurting as he turned to watch the team celebrating. Maddock was carrying Ackerley on his shoulders, despite still being at least fifty feet in the air. The Weasley twins were on the pitch, cheering wildly along with Wood. Bragge was so euphoric he was kissing Watkins for all he was worth, despite her having a boyfriend.
Viktor Krum touched down, hurling his broom to the floor. His head was in his hands. Harry could practically feel his frustration, but he was far too elated to care at the moment.
"Wait a minute," Seamus said, but he was mostly ignored. He was looking through the Omnioculars, rewinding them.
"Let me watch after you!" Sirius shouted.
Seamus pushed the Omnioculars into Harry's hands with a frown. "Just keep your eye on the Snitch."
Harry rolled his eyes, but he looked through the lenses anyway. He watched Ackerley suddenly turn and dive straight at the ground, all the way up the point where he jumped into Wood's arms.
"Well?" Seamus asked impatiently.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, but he noticed the referee also had a pair of Omnioculars in his hands, and he was surrounded by officials.
Harry didn't hear Seamus's reply, instead looking into the Omnioculars again. He watched Ackerley chasing the Snitch again, with time slowed down as much as possible. "Err. I'm not sure what's wrong with it."
"Just wait," Seamus said, jerking his thumb towards the pitch.
Every player was now on the ground, demanding the officials to tell them what was happening. Andrade held the Snitch in his hands, and at least five people were inspecting it closely. Ackerley was protesting, most of the English team right there alongside him, but they were ushered away.
Harry sat down after a minute had gone by. The noise levels dropped considerably as everyone waited.
"I'm not sure what's happening, but I'm sure we'll be informed soon enough," the commentator said, sounding as confused as everyone else felt.
The officials and the referee all nodded, seemingly coming to a unanimous agreement. They hurried off the pitch, and Andrade was surrounded by the players again. He blew his whistle, and the commentator cleared his throat into the microphone.
"I can't quite believe what I'm told, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "It appears Stewart Ackerley didn't catch the game's Snitch. You heard that right. The Snitch that has been caught is a fake. The game will be continued, with the scores as they were – ninety to fifty."
"What?" Sirius asked dumbly. "Whoever heard of a fake Snitch? This is bloody bullshit!"
"I told you," Seamus muttered to Harry.
The English team didn't know how to react. They were forced back into the air, but they seemed to drag themselves back onto their brooms. They looked utterly deflated, whereas the Bulgarians looked like they had a new lease of life. Maddock was trying his best to encourage his team, but it didn't seem to be working.
"And here we go again," the commentator said. "Andrade blows his whistle and we're off once again. You can't help but feel a little sorry for the English. To think you've just won the greatest prize in the sport, only to have it snatched away minutes later must be horrible."
Levski snatched the Quaffle from the air.
"Just hope that Krum doesn't see the Snitch anytime soon," Seamus said. "He won't let Ackerley anywhere near it."
Seamus's words seemed to reverberate in Harry's brain, and he couldn't get them out as he watched the Bulgarian Chasers.
"Chernozemski – Levski - Chernozemski – Bragge!" The commentator whistled into the microphone, as Bragge practically tried to hug the Bulgarian Chaser. "Andrade blows – foul. Penalty to Bulgaria."
Wood dived completely the wrong way, and Bulgaria closed the gap to thirty.
It was obvious the life had been sucked out of the English. In two minutes, Wood had faced three shots, completely missing them all.
"Bulgaria pull level," the commentator said. "We have a game on our hands now!"
Just as everyone was expecting – and the English were dreading – Krum pulled his broom into a dive. Harry could only sit with his elbows perched on the railings, his chin in his hands.
"Wronski!" Sirius yelled. Unluckily, Ackerley couldn't hear him, as England's Seeker pulled into a dive with Krum. The English were screaming at him to pull away, knowing the usual outcome.
The two Seekers were vertical to the ground, picking up speed. Harry sighed to himself. Krum effortlessly pulled out at the last second, but Ackerley wasn't so lucky. He smashed into the ground with a massive thump. A unanimous groan went around the stadium.
The mediwizards rushed onto the pitch, crowding around Ackerley. Harry couldn't find it in himself to feel bad for his soon-to-be teammate; not many others could either. There was a strange sense of inevitability in the air. It was as though the English thought they'd been robbed of glory. One minute they were celebrating, and all of a sudden they had to psych themselves back up for the biggest match of their careers. There was nothing that could have been done to prepare for what had happened.
"Has there ever been a case of a fake Snitch before?" Sirius asked, looking like he'd just been told he was about to be carted off back to Azkaban.
"Not that I can recall," Remus said slowly.
"Surely someone must have thought of it before, though?" Dean said. "It seems so obvious, doesn't it? Why weren't there wards or charms in place to stop it happening?"
Remus shrugged helplessly, but it was Harry who answered. "No one has thought of it, maybe? Even if it has happened before, it's so rare there isn't really any point. The warding would be too intricate for something as small as blocking a fake Snitch."
Ackerley managed to get back to his feet, although how he did was a bit of a mystery. He stumbled as he tried to swing his leg over his broom, and swayed as he tried to get back into the air.
"Come on!" Sirius suddenly shouted, pumping his fist in the air. "Get back up! You've beaten him once!"
Harry kept his dubious thoughts to himself – he highly doubted Ackerley could see a Bludger coming towards him, let alone a Snitch.
Bulgaria continued exactly where they'd left off, and sadly, so did England.
"This is just a waiting game now," Dean said, watching as Levski scored again, giving Bulgaria the lead.
Ackerley was flying as close as he possibly could to Krum, but it wasn't nearly close enough for the plan to work. Krum made a dash, as if he'd seen the Snitch, and Ackerley nearly rolled off his broom trying to keep up. He looked like he didn't have a clue where he was.
"It's over," Harry stated.
"Have hope, Harry!" Sirius said, although his words weren't quite as passionate as he'd probably hoped.
Vulchanov and Volkov started sending Bludgers Ackerley's way, forcing the Broadmoor twins to protect England's Seeker. Krum was free to look for the Snitch. England's Chasers could hardly get a hold of the Quaffle, but even when they did, they could keep possession for very long.
Maddock chased the Quaffle, looking desperate; he knew it was his last chance to win the World Cup. The Bulgarian Chasers were toying with him, though. Levski waited until Maddock was close to him, before lobbing it over his shoulder to Chernozemski. Maddock turned, chasing Chernozemski, who simply threw it back to Levski, who didn't hang around, lobbing the Quaffle over Bragge's head.
Slovensky caught it, turned and shot, and the Quaffle was past Wood before he could ready himself for the save.
"One hundred and ten to ninety, and Bulgaria will surely go on to lift the trophy before long," the commentator said.
If it wasn't for the Bulgarian fans, the stadium would've been silent. While they were stamping their feet and singing Krum's praises, Harry and the English fans just wanted to be put out of their misery.
And finally, Krum put on a burst of speed.
"He's seen it!" The commentator didn't need to elaborate. Everyone knew what he was talking about. "He's getting closer, and the whole of Bulgaria will be singing this man's name for years to come. He's already a national hero, and nobody can say he doesn't deserve this. He avoids clashing with Bragge, and Krum's inches away from glory, and-"
Harry closed his eyes.
"YES! KRUM'S DONE IT! BULGARIA WIN!"
A giant roar, of relief and euphoria, erupted from every fan that didn't hail from from English shores. It was as though someone had just turned the noise to full blast – Harry could feel his body vibrating as his ears were assaulted.
Harry felt utterly empty. He pressed his palms into his eyes, hearing Krum's name being chanted. He couldn't watch the Bulgarian's celebrating.
Harry sometimes despised Quidditch.