章 433: 0432 The Game begins (Bonus Chapter)
Harry's eyes were glued to Krum as the Bulgarian Seeker made his entrance. The player who was driving Ron to such heights of frenzy was dark and thin, with sallow skin. His large, hooked nose and thick black eyebrows gave him the appearance of an oversized Eagle. It was difficult for Harry to accept the fact that this fierce-looking competitor was just eighteen years old, just a few years older than himself.
Before the crowd had even begun to settle, Bagman's voice rang out once more, somehow managing to inject even more enthusiasm into his announcement. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome... the Irish National Quidditch Team!
Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaand - Lynch!"
Seven green blurs swept onto the field. Harry twisted a dial on the side of his Omnioculars, slowing down their movements to a more manageable speed. With the enhanced view, he could clearly read the word 'Firebolt' emblazoned on each of their top-of-the-line racing brooms, and make out their names, embroidered in shimmering silver thread on the backs of their emerald robes.
The anticipation in the stadium reached a fever pitch as Hassan Mostafa, the renowned chairman of the International Association of Quidditch, made his entrance onto the field. He was a small, skinny wizard wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium. His presence signaled that the match was just few moments away from beginning.
As the players took their positions, Harry felt a surge of excitement unlike anything he had ever experienced. Despite being the Seeker for the Gryffindor team at Hogwarts and having been through many tough games, he suddenly realized just how vast the gulf was between the Hogwarts House Cup and professional Quidditch. This was the World Cup final, the pinnacle of the sport, and he was about to witness it firsthand.
From the moment the whistle blew, it was clear that this match was in a league of its own. The players moved with a speed that was almost beyond belief. The Quaffle changed hands so rapidly that Bagman, despite his best efforts, could barely keep up with announcing the players' names.
Within minutes of the start, Ireland had already broken through Bulgaria's supposedly impenetrable defense, scoring the first ten points of the match.
The stadium erupted in cheers and applause. The Top Box became a sea of frenzied excitement, with Ginny and Hermione jumping up and down, waving their arms wildly. Harry couldn't help but grin at the sight of Hermione, usually so composed, caught up in the thrill of the match.
Ron's reaction was equally enthusiastic, but after coming to his senses, he immediately fixed his gaze on Ludo, who was commentating, his eyes full of eager anticipation.
At the edge of the field, the leprechauns brought by the Irish team were celebrating in their own unique way. They rose into the air once more, forming a giant, glittering shamrock that sparkled magnificently against the night sky. On the opposite side of the field, the veela watched this with gloomy expressions.
The Irish team was living up to the high expectations placed upon them. Far from becoming complacent after taking the early lead, they pressed on relentlessly, expanding their advantage with incredibly fast attacks and breathtaking teamwork that left the crowd gasping in awe. Within just ten minutes, the towering scoreboard opposite the Top Box displayed a score of 30-0 in favor of Ireland.
As the match progressed, it became increasingly intense and brutal.
The Bulgarian players, despite the setback, showed remarkable tenacity and grit. Though they were mostly aware that their primary hope of victory lay with their genius Seeker, Viktor Krum, they refused to shy away from engaging in a fierce scoring battle with Ireland. Their determination paid off when Bulgaria finally managed to get on the scoreboard, igniting a roar of approval from their supporters.
"You'd better cover your ears, kids!" Sirius suddenly shouted, his sharp eyes catching sight of the veela beginning to dance in celebration of Bulgaria's goal. Harry, heeding the advice of his godfather, quickly clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut. While he was curious about the veela's entrancing dance he preferred to keep his sanity and focus on the ongoing match.
Just as Harry was about to uncover his ears, a shout from Ron caught his attention. "Blimey, Harry! Look at Krum! I think he's spotted the Snitch!"
In an instant, the entire stadium's attention shifted from the valiant efforts of the Chasers to the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch. The pair had suddenly broken away from the main group of players hovering in midair and were now plummeting towards the ground at breakneck speed. Their fall was so rapid and steep that they resembled a pair of skydivers who had forgotten their parachutes.
The crowd held its breath as Krum and Lynch dashed downward with absolute focus. It seemed as though they were determined to either catch the Golden Snitch or crash spectacularly into the ground in the attempt.
"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked, her voice tight with fear as she clutched at Harry's robes.
As it turned out, Hermione was only half right in her prediction. At the very last possible second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive with a display of skill that left Harry breathless with admiration. The gust from Krum's broom as he pulled up flattened a large patch of grass before he soared back into the sky, unscathed.
Lynch, however, was not so fortunate. He hit the ground with a sickening thud that echoed throughout the stadium, audible even over the gasps and cries of the spectators. A collective groan rose from the Irish supporters' seats, tinged with concern for their Seeker.
"Merlin's beard, what a fool!" Mr. Weasley lamented, shaking his head in a mixture of admiration and dismay. "Krum was just feinting!"
"Time out!" Bagman's voice roared over the commotion, signaling a brief pause in the action.
In response to the call, a team of well-trained mediwizards rushed onto the field with practiced efficiency.
Charlie, noticing the distress on his sister's face, quickly moved to reassure her. "Don't worry, Ginny," he said, his voice calm and steady. "Lynch is alright, just got the wind knocked out of him is all. These players are tougher than they look."
Hermione, meanwhile, had not loosened her grip on Harry's robes. Her face was pale, and she seemed unable to look directly at the field. Harry, for his part, was using his Omnioculars to replay the recent scene, analyzing every detail of Krum's masterful feint.
"Of course, this is exactly what Krum wanted to achieve," Sirius commented, having moved to stand next to Harry. There was a hint of nostalgia in his voice as he continued, "The Wronski Feint - it's used to take out dangerous opposing Seekers. An extremely difficult move to pull off successfully. Apart from your father, James, I've never seen a Seeker execute it so flawlessly in a real match."
After only a few minutes, Lynch got to his feet. A resounding cheer erupted from his green-clad supporters as he unsteadily mounted his Firebolt, kicked off from the ground, and shot back into the air to rejoin the match. His recovery seemed to inject renewed confidence into the Irish team. When the referee's whistle pierced the air once more, signaling the resumption of play, the Irish Chasers quickly organized their attack with a level of skill and coordination that left Harry, despite his own Quidditch experience, utterly awestruck.
The next fifteen minutes of play were breathtaking. The Irish team, seemingly stimulated by Lynch's brush with disaster, went on an offensive rampage. They scored ten more goals in rapid succession. The scoreboard now showed a lead of 130 to 10 in favor of Ireland.
Ron, who had been caught up in the excitement of the match, seemed to have finally snapped out of his Quidditch-induced trance. He realized that the game was unfolding exactly as he had boldly predicted to Ludo Bagman. His eyes darted nervously between the action on the field and Bagman himself, who appeared blissfully unaware that he was potentially on the verge of losing a substantial sum of money. In a gesture that was part superstition and part desperate hope, Ron pulled Professor Watson's Merlin commemorative coin from his pocket, clutching it tightly as if it were a charm of good fortune.
Harry couldn't help but grin at Ron's antics. If the match result turned out as Ron had predicted, Harry too stood to win a tidy sum of gold. His mind raced with the possibilities - perhaps he could finally buy himself that broomstick servicing kit he'd been eyeing for ages, a luxury he had previously been unable to justify purchasing.
Just as Harry was about to turn his full attention back to the thrilling match unfolding before them, something caught his eye. He glanced casually around their Top Box, taking in the reactions of the other spectators. Most were on their feet, necks craned towards the field, completely engrossed in the action and unwilling to miss even a split second of this exciting match.
The Bulgarian Minister of Magic was wide-eyed as he watched his nation's team struggling against the Irish attack. Next to him, Fudge, out of courtesy, was trying to offer words of comfort to him.
This wasn't unusual, but then—
It was then that Harry noticed something odd. Lucius Malfoy was leading his wife Narcissa and their son Draco towards the exit of the box while no one was paying attention!
Harry blinked, unsure if he was seeing things correctly. The match was at its most intense point - why would anyone, let alone the Malfoys, choose this moment to leave? As he watched more closely, he noticed that Lucius and Narcissa both wore expressions of barely concealed anxiety, tinged with a sense of urgency that seemed entirely at odds with the celebratory atmosphere around them.
It was as if they couldn't wait to leave. While their son, Draco, looked confused. Although he followed behind his parents, his eyes, fixed on their backs, were full of reluctance and bewilderment.
Under the cover of the intense match, with everyone's attention firmly fixed on the match, no one except Harry seemed to notice this strange scene.
Lucius paused briefly at the box door. He glanced at Fudge inside the box, and after confirming that Fudge hadn't noticed his impending departure, his gaze swept over to Sirius. In the dim light, there was a hint of coldness in his eyes.
As Harry watched the Malfoy family disappear from view, a sudden chill ran through his body.
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章 434: 0433 Quidditch World Cup Final
As the Malfoy family disappeared through the doorframe of the top box, an inexplicable sense of unease welled up in Harry's heart. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a chill ran down his spine. Unable to shake this ominous feeling, he immediately shared his discovery with Sirius.
"Sirius," Harry whispered urgently, tugging at Sirius's sleeve, "The Malfoys left without watching the entire match. Don't you think that's odd?"
Sirius, still immersed in the increasingly intense game unfolding before them, took several long seconds to calm himself and process what Harry was saying. His eyes, previously burning with excitement, now darted towards the luxurious seats reserved for the Malfoy family. True to Harry's word, they were empty. Sirius's brow furrowed deeply, as lines of concern appeared across his forehead.
"What urgent matter could possibly make them leave before the World Cup match ends?" Sirius thought aloud, his voice low and hoarse. "It's not like Lucius to miss an opportunity to schmooze with the bigwigs here."
"I don't know!" Harry exclaimed, his voice rising with a mixture of frustration and worry. The hostile glance Lucius Malfoy had given Sirius upon entering and leaving the box weighed on his mind like a heavy stone, causing him great concern. "Sirius, I can't shake the feeling that the Malfoys are plotting something... possibly against you!"
"I can't rule out that possibility, Harry--" Sirius began, his voice trailing off as he considered the implications.
Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw Sirius, a veteran of the wizarding war, seriously considering his words and agreeing with his opinion. However, Sirius's grey eyes flicked towards Fudge and the Bulgarian Minister of Magic who looked thoroughly confused by the fast-paced game, and the other bigwigs of the Wizarding world scattered throughout the box. After a moment of contemplation, Sirius spoke again.
"I'll be careful, Harry," he said, his voice low and reassuring, "but I don't think Malfoy has the guts to cause trouble at the World Cup. Unless, of course, he wants to face the wrath of the entire Ministry of Magic, not to mention the international magical community gathered here."
Harry followed Sirius's gaze, taking in the gathered dignitaries and acknowledging the logic in his godfather's judgment. But, Harry couldn't fully shake his unease.
"We'll discuss this after the match, Harry," Sirius added, his tone softening as he saw the worry still etched on Harry's face. "For now, you should focus on watching the game! It's not every day you get to see a Quidditch World Cup final, after all."
Sirius reminded Harry with a warm smile, reaching out to ruffle the boy's messy black hair affectionately.
Harry nodded, trying to push his concerns to the back of his mind. He turned his attention back to the match, where the action had intensified to a fever pitch.
Hermione and Ron, seated on either side of Harry, hadn't noticed their hushed conversation. They were utterly engrossed in the match as they followed the blur of players zooming across the pitch. Ron, his freckled face flushed with excitement, even burst into laughter at some unseen play.
"What happened?" Harry eagerly leaned back over the railing, his earlier worries momentarily forgotten in the face of his curiosity. "What did I miss?" he asked anxiously, his green eyes darting back and forth across the pitch, trying to catch up on the action.
Neither Ron nor Hermione answered Harry's question, both too engrossed in the unfolding spectacle to tear their attention away. Realizing he'd have to see for himself, Harry fumbled for his Omnioculars, pressing them to his glasses as he scanned the pitch.
For some inexplicable reason, the leprechauns brought by the Irish team had risen into the air like a swarm of glittering, emerald bumblebees. They swirled and danced in intricate patterns before suddenly merging to form giant shining letters spelling out "HA! HA! HA!"
Across the field, the veela, not to be outdone, jumped to their feet in a synchronous motion with grace. Without warning, they began to dance again, their movements so alluring and hypnotic that Harry felt himself being drawn in despite his best efforts.
Harry was about to clap his hands over his ears, a defense mechanism he'd learned from previous encounters with the veela's enchanting dance, when Hermione tugged insistently at his arm. He turned to face her, noting the amused glint in her eyes and the way she was trying to suppress a giggle. She impatiently pulled his fingers from his ears.
"Look at the referee!" she said through barely contained laughter, pointing towards the center of the pitch.
Harry followed her gaze, his jaw dropping at the sight that met him. Hassan Mostafa, the referee who had been flying above the pitch had suddenly landed right in front of the dancing veela. His behavior was beyond odd - it was downright comical. The usually stern-faced man was now flexing his muscles like a bodybuilder, puffing out his chest and excitedly stroking his mustache.
"Now, we can't have that!" Ludo Bagman's magically amplified voice boomed through the stadium, though he sounded more amused than concerned. He chuckled heartily, clearly finding the scene quite entertaining. "Somebody slap the referee!"
A mediwizard, shaking his head in exasperation, rushed onto the field. With a resounding smack that echoed through the stadium, he brought the referee back to his senses. Mostafa looked around in confusion, his face reddening as he realized what had happened.
From this point on, the match gradually descended into a state of barely controlled chaos, becoming fiercer and more intense than anyone had ever witnessed in years. The crowd's excitement reached a fever pitch, with spectators on the edge of their seats, gasping and cheering at every turn.
The Beaters on both sides showed absolutely no mercy. Volkov and Vulchanov from Bulgaria were particularly brutal in their tactics. They didn't seem to care whether their clubs hit the Bludger or an opposing player, swinging wildly with all their might.
In a particularly vicious play, Dimitrov, one of Bulgaria's Chasers, flew straight at Moran as she attempted to score. His eyes were narrowed, focused solely on the Irish Chaser as he barreled towards her at breakneck speed. At the last possible second, Moran rolled to avoid the collision, nearly losing her grip on her broom. The crowd collectively gasped as she swayed precariously for a heart-stopping moment before managing to balance herself.
"Foul!" The enraged shouts of the crowd shook the Quidditch stadium. Without a moment's hesitation, the referee's whistle shrieked through the air, and Ireland was awarded two penalty shots, which they easily converted.
As if sensing the rising tensions, the leprechauns seized the spotlight for the third time that night. This time, they formed a giant, glittering green hand in the air. With a cheeky flourish, the hand made a very rude gesture towards the veela on the other side of the field. The crowd erupted into a mixture of gasps and wild laughter.
Seeing this blatant provocation, the veela completely lost control. Their beauty melted away revealing their true, terrifying form. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the pitch with incredible speed. As they flew, they hurled what looked like handfuls of fire at the leprechauns.
Harry peered through his Omnioculars for a closer look. What he saw made his breath catch in his throat. The veela were no longer the epitome of beauty that had entranced the crowd earlier. On the contrary, their faces had elongated into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, their delicate features twisted into masks of rage. Long, scaly wings burst from their shoulders as they soared across the pitch.
"Good heavens!" Harry cried out in panic, a memory suddenly surfacing in his mind. "I've seen them before! Professor Watson showed me veela!"
"Oh?" Mr. Weasley, who had been lecturing the children about not judging by appearances, heard Harry's exclamation and leaned in with interest. "Can you tell us more about that, Harry?"
Harry turned his head to find Hermione also staring at him intently, seemingly waiting for an explanation.
"I'll tell you later, Hermione--" Harry shrank his neck nervously, knowing that anything involving Professor Watson required careful consideration before being shared.
"KRUMM!" Ron's excited shout allowed Hermione to temporarily back down, refocusing her attention on the match.
Krum wasn't flying as erratically fast as he had been at the start of the match. Instead, he was now weaving unsteadily close to the ground. Ron, who had placed a substantial bet on the outcome of the match, was stomping his feet anxiously - whether or not he would win his wager now depended entirely on Krum pulling off a miracle.
But there was something wrong with Krum, something that most of the spectators hadn't noticed yet. During an earlier encounter with a particularly vicious Bludger, Krum had been injured.
"They should pause the match, Krum's injured!" Ron shouted at Bagman, his face red with indignation. He didn't care whether the commentator could hear him or not over the roar of the crowd. In any case, Bagman gave no indication to the referee, continuing his enthusiastic commentary as if nothing was wrong.
Just as Ron was about to leave his seat and approach Bagman directly, a sudden hush fell over the stadium. Krum had abruptly accelerated on the pitch, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance. At the same time, Lynch dove sharply from a position level with the goal hoops.
Harry's heart leapt into his throat as he realized what was happening. This time, Lynch wasn't imitating Krum's Wronski Feint - they, including himself, had all seen the Golden Snitch.
Many spectators had realized what was happening. Another wave of anticipation swept through the stadium as everyone watched the two Seekers draw level at some point, chasing forward together, and then--
The world fell silent as if someone had hit the pause button. No one knew how to react to the scoreboard on the giant screen opposite the goal hoops: Ireland 170, Bulgaria 160.
"We won..." Ron was the first to speak in the box, breaking the stunned silence. He looked dazedly at Bagman, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he couldn't quite believe what had just happened. "Can you believe it, Harry? We won... a whole...Five Hundred Galleons each--"
"But why?" Hermione looked utterly confused, her brow furrowed in concentration as she stared at the hook-nosed player hovering and panting in midair on the pitch. "He caught the Snitch when Bulgaria was 160 points behind. Isn't that stupid? He should have interfered with Lynch, made him lose track of the Snitch--"
"Because Krum knew," Harry's excited shout was drowned out by the thunderous roar from outside the box. "They could never catch up to the Irish team!"
At this moment, many things were happening simultaneously. Fudge looking slightly flustered, was attempting to console the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, who appeared to be on the verge of tears. Ron and the twins were stumbling towards Ludo Bagman, who was shouting the match results with all his might. Sirius, Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie were all standing on their chairs cheering for the unexpected result.
Hermione stared at the genius Seeker who was circling the pitch to acknowledge the crowd, beginning to understand why so many people were crazy about him. On the Quidditch pitch, Viktor Krum could indeed be considered a valiant warrior.
Outside the box, things were much more chaotic. The aftermath of the match had sparked a powder keg of emotions, and now the stadium was erupting into barely controlled mayhem. Needless to say, the Irish leprechauns and Bulgarian veela were at each other's throats again.
The veela, now fully transformed into their true, terrifying form, were even more ferocious than before. Their bird-like faces were twisted with rage, their scaly wings beating furiously as they launched themselves at their opponents. They not only attacked the leprechauns but also showered flames on the Irish supporters celebrating in the lower tiers, causing panicked screams to rise from the crowd.
The leprechauns, for their part, were using their magic to create illusions and distractions, confusing and infuriating the veela further. Golden coins rained down on the crowd, only to vanish moments later, adding to the chaos as spectators scrambled to grab the illusory wealth.
Fan conflicts were expected by the Ministry of Magic, but the scale of this altercation seemed to have caught them off guard. Many Ministry officials rushed to the conflict points, their wands out as they tried to separate the angry supporters.
"People will talk about this match for years to come, Harry!" Sirius exclaimed; his voice hoarse from cheering. He was still applauding wildly for the players on the field, but somehow, his expression suddenly dimmed. He stared at Harry's back as he talked to Ron and a glimmer of light flashed in his grey eyes.
Ron and the twins each received a money bag from Bagman. Ron numbly held out the bag to Harry, his lips quivering slightly. It was hard to tell whether he was crying or laughing at this moment.
Mr. Weasley stared at the money bags in his three children's hands. He knew they contained nearly two thousand Galleons, a considerable sum.
"Children, if you'd like, I can help you open a vault at Gringotts. It's not safe to keep such a large amount of money with you, especially in this crowd." He paused, a flicker of worry crossing his face before he added, "And if your mother finds out..."
"No!" Ron suddenly snapped back to his senses, clutching the money bag so tightly his knuckles turned white. His eyes were wide with a mixture of excitement and fear - fear of losing this unexpected windfall, perhaps. "Half of this money is Harry's. I'd rather keep it in Harry's vault!"
"We have other plans, Dad!" Fred and George chimed in simultaneously, matching mischievous grins spreading across their faces. Mr. Weasley could only smile bitterly at this.
"Let's go, Harry--" Sirius patted the shoulder of Harry, who still hadn't calmed down. His voice softened considerably, "It won't be quick or easy for a hundred thousand people to leave. Let's get going before everyone else reacts."
Sirius's suggestion was wise. Harry nodded, ready to call his friends to leave. Despite the late hour, he knew they probably wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, but just then--
BOOM--
A sudden, violent explosion came from below the pitch, the sound was so loud it momentarily drowned out even the chaotic noise of the celebrating crowd. Harry's words died in his throat as he instinctively ducked, his seeker reflexes kicking in.
But it wasn't just one explosion. A series of blasts followed in quick succession; Harry could even feel the floor beneath his feet trembling.
"What's going on? Haven't these people calmed down yet?" Charlie said with a frown as he jumped down from his chair.
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