{18th of August, 1994}
"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! Aaaaaaand — Krum!" "That's him, that's him!" yelled Draco, following Krum with his Omnioculars.
"And now, please greet — the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting — Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand — Lynch!"
Archie and Cassiopeia gave a squeal in unison, making Sirius smile softly in their direction.
"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 moustache, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the moustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Cassie explained to Archie what Mostafa was doing while watching closely as 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!"
It was Quidditch as Cassiopeia had never seen it played before. 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, Archie read as he watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Troy in the centre, 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 from 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?" Archie yelled, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. "But Levski's got the Quaffle!"
"petit frère, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" shouted Cassiopeia, who was dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Troy did a lap of honor around the field. The leprechauns watching from the sidelines had all risen into the air again and formed the great, glittering shamrock. Across the field, the veela were watching them sulkily.
Cassiopeia 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, and the rosette on Archies chest kept squeaking their names: "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 became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal.
"Fingers in your ears!" bellowed Mr. Weasley as the veela started to dance in celebration.
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 centre of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from aeroplanes without parachutes. Cassis followed their descent covering Archie's eyes, squinting to see where the Snitch was —
"They're going to crash!" screamed Archie next to Cassiopeia.
He was half right — 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.
"Fool!" moaned Mr. Potter. "Krum was feinting!"
"It's time-out!" yelled Bagman's voice, "as trained medi wizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"
They watched as Krum and Lynch dived again in slow motion. WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT — DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION read the shining purple lettering across his lenses. They saw Krum's face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lynch was flattened, and she understood —
Krum hadn't seen the Snitch at all, he was just making Lynch copy him. They had never seen anyone fly like that (Well, Archies has never seen anyone fly); Krum hardly looked as though he was using a broomstick at all; he moved so easily through the air that he looked unsupported and weightless.
He was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by medi wizards with cups of potion. They all started focusing still more closely upon Krum's face, saw his dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below. They were 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 a new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything Cassiopeia and Draco 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.
As Mullet shot toward the goalposts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over so quickly that they didn't catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast, told him it had been a foul.
"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!"
The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted to gather to form the words "HA, HA, HA!" The veela on the other side of the field leaped to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again.
"Look at the referee Dray, At least your not the only one who can't keep their hormones under control!" Cassiopeia said, giggling.
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 medi wizard 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; Everyone saw that 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. . . ."
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 . . ."
Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. 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 indeed 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 remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders —
"And that, boys," yelled Mr. Potter over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone! I went with the brains as well and I sure got a catch"
This earned him a smack on the back of his head by none other than Lily Potter.
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.
"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.
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.
"Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him —"
"Look at Lynch!" Archie yelled.
For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Cassie was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing ...
"He's seen the Snitch!" little potter shouted. "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.; There were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him making Cassiopeia cover Archies eyes again making him grumble in Annoyance, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again —
"They're going to crash!" shrieked Draco.
"They're not!" roared Archie.
"Lynch is!" yelled Cassie.
And she was right — for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.
"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Nico, along the row.
"He's got it — Krum's got it — it's all over!" shouted little potter.
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 fellow Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.
The brothers James and Sirius, watched the young girl jump up and down in excitement, hugging her brother. Internally wishing that they could celebrate with her.
"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match.
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