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╰┈➤ ❝ [𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝐹𝑂𝑈𝑅] ❞ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
⁺⤾·˚.⃗. [ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴜᴄᴋ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ɪʀɪsʜ ] 𑁍ࠜೄ ･ﾟˊˎ
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

The Quidditch World Cup
- Devon, England
( August, 1994. )

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓. Olympia had never attended something so momentum. Though Quidditch didn't matter much to her, still despite that, she bustled with excitement.

Clutching their purchases, Mr. Weasley in the lead, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious.

Olympia reached out and grabbed her elder bother Atlas's arm for comfort - crowds made her feel awfully uncomfortable.

They walked through the wooded area 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.

"It's huge!" Roared out Atlas.

"Seats a hundred thousand," replied Mr. Weasley.

"A hundred thousand?" Olympia exclaimed, she'd never been around so many people in the entirety of her sixteen years.

"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," Mr. Weasley added fondly, he always had a love for muggles. Be lead the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of 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 goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, Olympia and Cassie stared toward into stadium in awestruck.

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 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; watching it, advertisements flashes across it: The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family - safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burgler Buzzer...Mrs. Shower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!...Gladrags Wizardwear - London, Paris, Hogsmeade...

"Oh imagine it! Imagine actually playing on a field like that!" Fred hollered out, having to just about scream to be heard over the crowd.

"Well maybe if you weren't so lousy at Quidditch." Charlie teased, knowing that Fred and George were both exceptional quidditch players. They weren't pro good, but they were good.

"Lousy!?" Fred turned, beginning to bicker back and forth with Charlie, who snickered as he relentlessly teased his younger brother.

George pulled out his Omnioculars and raised them to his eyes, peering down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium. He used his hands to adjust the knobs in the position he desired.

Olympia pulled out the velvetcovered, tasseled program, her eyes scanning the different teams and players.

"You wouldn't need that if you watched a game or two every now and then." George pointed out. "And I can't believe I have to be seen with you wearing that." He grimaced, pointing to her red and black Bulgarian hat that she wore only to tick him off.

Olympia rolled her eyes, slamming the program shut. "You love being seen with me." the flirtatious comment rolled effortlessly from her lips.

"Touché." He hummed, his attention being diverted as Fred grabbed his arm.

"Back me up here George! Tell him! Tell Charlie how good we are at quidditch!"

The three boys bickered back and forth about their skills - Olympia overhead Charlie noting how much better he was at the sport, causing the twin's to get even more frustrated.

Olympia rolled her eyes at the boy's ridiculous nature. She pulled the pamphlet from her lap, opening it back up and reading. "A display from the team mascots will precede the match," Olympia read aloud, earning the twin's attention once more.

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

"I heard something about veelas!" Bill announced.

Each of the boys, just about leapt out of their seats from excitement at the news. "Bloody hell you're kidding!" Atlas hollered.

Fred, George, Atlas, Achilles, and Charlie all scooted closer to Bill, anticipating to hear more.

"What are veelas?" Cassie asked the boys curiously. Olympia already knew what the creatures were, she knew just a little bit about everything. Always taking as many classes and reading as many books as she could. Olympia loved knowledge, it was in her opinion her best quality.

"Only the most breathtaking creatures!" Achilles mused.

Olympia rolled her eyes at their reactions, turning toward Cassie to further explain. "Veela are semi-human magical beings; beautiful women with white-gold hair and pale white skin. They have the power bewitch men and control them by dancing and singing. Oh and they are only ever female, so they often breed with wizards to pro create."

"Oh to be that lucky." Atlas gushed.

"They also turn into giant birds and shoot fire from their mouth." Olympia deadpanned toward her brother.

"Wicked." Fred and George remarked.

The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. 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. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an old friend.

They had met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the wizards on either side of him. "Harry Potter, you know," he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English.

"Harry Potter...oh come on now, you know who he is...the boy who survived You-Know-Who...you do know who he is -"

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat....Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places...ah, and here's Lucius!"

Then walked over Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco; and a woman Olympia had never seen before but guessed must've been Draco's mother. She was tall and slim, she would have been beautiful if she hadn't been wearing a look of disdain that suggested there may have been a nasty smell about.

"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?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy, and shaking Draco's hand. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. ~ well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

The moment grew tense.

Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other and Olympia briefly recalled the last time they had come face-to-face: It had been in Flourish and Blotts' bookshop, and they had had a fight.

Lucius's cold gray eyes swept over Arthur's, and then up and down the row. "Good lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much? Perhaps you sold one of your children? You have plenty to spare."

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. He placed a hand atop Charlie's shoulders to withhold him from leaping forward. Charlie was always the most irritable of all his children, even more so than Fred and Ron.

Draco shot Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered as he, Harry, and Hermione turned to face the field again. Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box.

"Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming. "Minister, ready to go?"

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

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands. "Ladies and gentlemen...welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message (Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans - A Risk With Every Mouthful!) 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. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"

"What are veel -?" Harry Potter began to question.

But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry's question was answered for him. This puzzled Harry for a moment while he tried to guess what exactly they could be; what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind...but then the music started, and Harry stopped worrying about them no being human - in fact, he stopped worrying about anything at all. As did all them.

The veela had started to dance, and the boy's minds had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that they kept watching the veela, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would happen. Each of them entirely and completely captivated, as the veela's power entailed.

The music stopped. Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go. Fred, George, Charlie, Ron, Harry, Bill, Achilles, and Atlas was with them - all captivated.

"You're all sad." Olympia insulted, "Oy George you have a little drool, right there on your chin." She taunted.

He instantly reached to his chin, believing her (he woudlnt have been surprised with himself if he had drooled.) But he wiped away nothing, sending her an irritated scowl, "oh shut it."

"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 goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, 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 -

"Excellent!" yelled Ron as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, Olympia and Cassie realized that it was actually full of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

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

Fred and George dove head first forward into the ground, scooping up as many coins as they could. Atlas, Achilles, and Cassie joined them on the ground.

"Bluthering idiots!" Olympia called out, sharing a laugh with Hermione who was judging them the same as Olympia. Her and Hermione were one in same you see, mature beyond their years.

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!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaanddddddds - Krum!"

"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. Harry quickly focused his own.

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

"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; Fred and George threw themselves atop their seats, their voices bellowing with cheers.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a mustache so large it could be seen without Omnioculars, 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. Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

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

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.

"HAWKSHEAD ATTACKING FORMATION," he read as he watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Troy in the center, slightly ahead of Mullet and Moran, bearing down upon the Bulgarians. "PORSKOFF PLOY" flashed up next, as Troy made as though to dart upward with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova and dropping the Quaffle to Moran. One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swung hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran's path; Moran ducked to avoid the Bludger and dropped the Quaffle; and Levski, soaring beneath, caught it - "TROY SCORES!" roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to Ireland!"

"What?" Harry yelled, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. "But Levski's got the Quaffle!"

Harry knew enough about Quidditch to see that the Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves. "Troy - Mullet - Moran!" And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the green-clad supporters.

The match began to become brutal, causing Olympia to anxiously tighten her grip on her velvet pamphlet.

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.

"Fingers in your ears!" warned Mr. Weasley to the boys as the veela started to dance and sing in celebration. "Unless you wanna be routing for the Bulgarians!"

Fred and George placed their hands over their ears, looking down to avoid watching the Veela and fall under their spells. They wanted the Irish to win, and didn't want their opinion swayed.

The veela had stopped dancing, and Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle. "Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!" roared Bagman.

One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes.

"They're going to crash!" screamed Hermione next to Harry.

Olympia anxiously grabbed Cassie's arm, ducking into her twin sister's side, unable to watch.

Fred and George ducked down from their seats above Cass and Olympia, "Oy Ols, it'll be alright." George offered, a soft smile on his lips.

At the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"I take it back, don't look." George breathed out, causing Olympia to quickly stand up and look to the field to make sure the player was alright. "Or look." he sighed, watching as the anxiously peered to the injured player.

"Fool!" moaned Mr. Weasley. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" yelled Bagman's voice, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, Hermione, Olympia, and Cass, who all hung over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course...."

Krum was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by mediwizards with cups of potion. Krum's dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below. He was using the time while Lynch was revived to look for the Snitch without interference.

Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything Harry had seen so far.

After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier.

"I don't like this." Olympia announced to the group, "they're going to kill each other."

"It's just a game." Fred assured, "they're have precautions."

As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing - excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informed the roaring spectators. "And - yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

"That's rubbish!" Screamed out Achilles, standing up, fuming with anger.

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.

As one, the Weasley boys' and Harry stuffed their fingers into their ears. Olympia watched the scene unfold, suddenly the referee began acting a fool.

Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.

"Now, we can't have that!" said Ludo Bagman, though he sounded highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!"

A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself; he looked exceptionally embarrassed and had 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..."

"Oh boy. You're about to see their true forms." Mr. Weasley commented.

Olympia excitedly pushed herself out of her seat, she had always wanted to see a Veela in their true form.

It did: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa 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..."

The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

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

"Foul!" echoed Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran, deliberately flying to collide there, and it's got to be another penalty - yes, there's the whistle!"

The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign, a middle finger at that, straight at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns.

They didn't look even remotely beautiful anymore.

Olympia clasped her hands together, turning around to face the twins and shooting forward toward George. "George, give me those!" She snatched the Omnioculars from his hands, pulling them to her face - the neck strap yanked him toward her, he was pulled forward, into her back, and the side of his face collided into her cheek.

Olympia was too focused on adjusting the knobs to see the Veela to care about George's face uncomfortably squashed into her cheek.

She peered at them, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders.

"And that, boys," yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"

Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above.

"Ols." George called out in a wince, hunched over and slouched over her back, his cheek stuck firmly to hers. "I'm catching a cramp in my back." He complained.

His voice was what dragged Olympia's attention from the Veela, she suddenly realized how close he was. How his back was firmly against her own, his cheek pressed to hers. "Oh, yeah," she breathed out, feeling embarrassed. She pulled the Omnioculars from her face, handing them back to him.

"If you wanted me on you, you could've just said so." George remarked flirtatiously.

"Shut up." Olympia shot back, handing the Omnioculars to him and shooing him away.

"Levski - Dimitrov - Moran - Troy - Mullet - Ivanova - Moran again - Moran - MORAN SCORES!"

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. The game recommenced immediately; "now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov -"

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

Olympia clasped her hands over her mouth to conceal her gasp, immediately looking down from the sight n

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

"Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him -" Atlas bellowed, hoping the referee would come to.

"Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled.

For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, this wasn't a faint, it wasn't a game ploy. This was the real thing... the golden snitch.

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted excitedly, "He's seen it! Look at him go!"

Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on...but Krum was on his tail. He could barely hold his broom straight, his vision blurred form the blood pooling from his broken nose. There were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again -

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Hermione, Olympia immediately covered her eyes once more.

"They're not!" roared Achilles.

"No Lynch will!" yelled Atlas.

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

Olympia shrieked in terror, "Merlin's beard this game is violent!" She cried out.

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

"He's got it - Krum's got it - it's all over!" shouted Harry.

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

The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"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!"

Fred and George were shocked that they could've actually called that. How much money was that they just won? A hell of a lot. "Holy shit!" Fred screamed out, not a care in the world that his father may hear.

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

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

"That was brave of him, Krum." Olympia said, watching Krum land, a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "He's covered in blood."

It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field.

The Bulgarians were shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice from behind, itwas the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

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

"Veil, it vos very funny," said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman.

There was a blinding light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Two panting wizards carried a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing.

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

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively. One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch.

When Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar. He was most definitely the crowd favorite.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval.

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

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

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

Ludo begrudgingly handed them what he owed. "Pleasure doing business with ya!" Fred commented, Ludo simply tipped his head to them and moped away, empty pockets and all.

Olympia glanced back at Fred and George, whom were busy counting their money, "Well I must say, that was impressive."

"Us? Oh we're flattered." Fred beamed, placing a hand on his heart.

"It a was just a lil Irish luck." George added.

Olympia rolled her eyes, "I was talking about the game."

"Sure ya were Ols, sure ya were." George laughed.