SPITFIRE ✷ Cedric Diggory.

𝐈𝐈𝐈. irish for the win

it was so clear what they were (leprechauns!) that nova laughed out loud and caught a coin that fell straight into her cupped hands. of course, she knew it was stupid to go crazy over the gold — by tomorrow, it'd be gone just like the last slice of nova's blueberry pie that elliot swore he didn't eat.

people around her (including her father) began scooping piles upon piles of the faulty gold with giant grins on their faces. nova had the restraining urge to laugh extremely loud and tell elliot that the coins were as real as fool's gold (because he was a fool, and would believe anything he's told) but decided against it as she watched his face lit in pure joy.

"AND NOW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, KINDLY WELCOME — THE BULGARIAN NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM!" the voice of ludo bagman, a former quidditch player himself, sounded deafeningly loud throughout the stadium, and nova trained her eyes to the pitch.

"I GIVE YOU — DIMITROV!"

the bulgarian supporters clapped wildly as a blur of scarlet on a broom zoomed onto the field. nova wished she'd bought a pair of omnioculars because all she could see was a speck in the giant field (but then again, they were so unreasonably expensive, and she wasn't about to spend money on an object with a one-time use).

"IVANOVA!"

the second player of the bulgarian team flew out and joined the first.

"ZOGRAF! LEVSKI! VULCHANOV! VOLKOV! AAAAAAAAAAND — KRUM!"

at the final name, the crowd's cheers seemed to multiply by the dozen. in nova's opinion, krum looked sort of like a vulture with his thick black eyebrows. his head was basically shaven and his eyes were sort of dark and empty. wow, and this guy's eighteen?

"AND NOW, PLEASE GREET — THE IRISH NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM!" yelled bagman.

the half of the stadium decked in green cheered so loud nova though her ears might bleed. she was sure that by tomorrow she'd awake to find her voice a mere scratchy whisper.

"PRESENTING — CONNOLLY! RYAN! TROY! MULLET! MORAN! QUIGLEY! AAAAAAAND — LYNCH!"

this time the seven figures were dressed in green with their names embroidered in silver upon their backs.

"AND HERE, ALL THE WAY FROM EGYPT, OR REFEREE, ACCLAIMED CHAIRWIZARD OF THE INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF QUIDDITCH... HASSAN MOSTAFA!"

another wizard, this time small and skinny with robes of gold (to match the stadium, obviously) stepped onto the pitch holding his broom, both sides of the stadium clapping for him. around his neck was a shiny whistle, and in his free arm was a crate of all the balls needed to start the game.

in a moment, mostafa was aboard his broom, releasing the straps holding the box closed. a quaffle, two bludgers, and a snitch erupted from the crate before zooming out onto the pitch.

"THEEEEEEEEEY'RE OFF!" screamed bagman. "AND IT'S MULLET! TROY! MORAN! DIMITROV! BACK TO MULLET! TROY! LEVSKI! MORAN!"

the irish made the hawkshead attacking formation (nova was very familiar with quidditch plays and formations) before troy did the porskoff ploy and dropped the quaffle to moran, who made a goal.

"TROY SCORES!" roared bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "TEN ZERO TO IRELAND!"

and the game only got better for the irish as their flawless teamwork flowed greatly, leaving bulgaria with little to no chance of breaking into their ranks. nova watched with awe (and some deeply buried envy for the players on brooms. she tried picturing herself on one wistfully, but the thought of ever looking down from that altitude made her stomach churn) as the bludgers were whacked around by the beaters, constantly moving.