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The group trailed after Arthur Weasley into the wood, following the lantern-lit path. Betelgeuse walked arm in arm with the twins, in her step a bit of excitement, foreign to the otherwise stoic Pureblood.
She could hear the noises of thousands of people moving around the group, shouts and merriment, snatches of chanting. The atmosphere of feverish activity was highly infectious; she could not stop smiling. Fred and George were grinning, bouncing on their feet, and practically dragging her towards their destination.
Betelgeuse could see her uncle march with confidence in front of her, gesturing wildly all around and fervently talking to Bill and Charlie.
They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, chatting and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Betelgeuse was mesmerised by the sheer size of the Quidditch arena in front of her unblinking grey eyes.
"Seats a hundred thousand," Mr Weasley informed. "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," he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance.
"Prime seats!" a Ministry witch informed 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 covered in rich purple. The group clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. They 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 located halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows there, and Betelgeuse, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which she could never have dared to imagine.
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 that seemed to come from the arena itself. The ground looked smooth as velvet from their elevated position. At either end of the pitch stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at their eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an unseen monstrous hand was scribbling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again.
Betelgeuse tilted her head to the side, interested. Watching the board, she noticed that it was flashing advertisements across the field.
The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family — Safe, Reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer ...
Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain! Gladrags Wizardwear — London, Paris, Hogsmeade ...
"Bewitching," Betelgeuse breathed out softly, leaning forward on the railing, trying to capture every detail with her avid eyes.
"Careful," came a low voice from behind as a pair of strong hands grasped her waist tightly, steering the girl away from the void below.
Betelgeuse turned her head, looking over her left shoulder, peering up at a smiling Fred. The Black arched a corvine eyebrow upon observing the soft look of adoration in the russet oft boy's expression. "What?" She asked in a taunting voice, "Are you scared I am going to face my demise, Freddie boy?"
Fred's revering smile quickly transformed into a cunning smirk as he finally let go of her waist, "Nah, but reckon that scuffing the bits from the ground would be a draining job and a completely naff sight." He finished his sentence with a proud nod, crossing his wool-covered arms.
Betelgeuse narrowed her steel grey eyes at the tall boy, taking a step towards him. The smirk quickly washed away from Fred's freckled face. "Do not fret, cœur," she murmured, trailing her fingers over his face, from his forehead to his chin, and tracing his features with a featherlike touch. Fred's irises were fully blown, and his breath itched. "If I fall," she continued enchantingly, before her eyes narrowed once again, "I am going to take you with me."
And with that, the Black unhurriedly turned around. Gazing once again towards the pitch below, she left Fred to the merciless teasing of his twin.
"'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,'" Betelgeuse overheard Hermione speak from her far right.
"Oh, that's always worth watching," Mr Weasley chatted. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."
The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour.
Arthur continued shaking hands with people who were unmistakably very important wizards. Sirius steered away from the lot of them, preferring the company of the two older Weasleys. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he was attempting 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 flustered, he repaired them with his wand and consequently remained in his seat, casting jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an old friend. Betelgeuse presumed from the familiarity displayed by Fudge that they had met before.
But how to be sure? The Minister was a fool who indulged in the false impression that he was someone of importance due to the mere acquaintance of some members of the Pureblood Society. In the eyes of those people, he was merely a pawn to sway to their advantage, deceived by their practised trickery and honeyed tongues.
What a fool, indeed.
Betelgeuse caught their conversation over the clangour of the stadium.
"Harry Potter, you know," Fudge told the Bulgarian Minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and did not 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," Fudge said 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!"
At the sound of Draco's father, Betelgeuse turned enough to see Lucius, Narcissa and Draco edge along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Arthur.
She studied the three newcomers. Draco had grown during the summer and now, with a pale and noble face and soft looking white-blond hair, greatly resembled his father. Narcissa, his mother, was blonde too, tall, and slim, but with clear cerulean eyes. Betelgeuse frowned upon seeing the sour expression on her aunt's beautiful face. The Black approached with steady steps her relatives, meeting the pale grey eyes of her cousin.
"Ah, Fudge," Lucius stated, 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?" Fudge replied, smiling, and bowing to Narcissa. "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?"
It was a tense moment. Lucius' cold grey eyes swept over Mr Weasley 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?"
Betelgeuse's steel grey eyes slit to daggers at the man's jab. He was repugnant and ill-mannered.
What a disgrace.
Fudge, who was not 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 delightful," Betelgeuse, at last, spoke, making her presence known to the gathered group. Her tone was dripping with hidden sarcasm as she met the slightly surprised eyes of Lucius. He nodded to her.
"Betelgeuse, dear," Narcissa greeted her with the faintest of smiles. As it had appeared, the smile fled from her pale face, replaced with cold indifference.
"Aunt, uncle," Betelgeuse drawled with a haughty nod, noticing Lucius's eyes turning to Hermione, who went slightly pink but stared determinedly back at him. "Do not worry, uncle," the Black taunted in a detached voice as Sirius flanked her from the left. "Contrary to common belief, they do not bite."
She comprehended exactly what was causing Lucius' lip to curl like that. A Muggleborn. Mudblood. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, he did not dare say anything. Betelgeuse felt the eyes of Fudge on herself and turned to the Ministry. The man was looking at her and Sirius with his mouth agape.
He resembled a gaping fish.
A fool gaping fish.
"My niece," Lucius introduced her with vanity, "Betelgeuse Black and you already know of my wife's —," he paused as if he had to swallow a sour morsel, "cousin, Sirius Black."
Neither of the Blacks acknowledged the Ministry; instead, Sirius chose to tease the Malfoy patriarch, "Lucius! How are the peacocks? Eh? Narcissa, do you still indulge your husband with his morbid attachment to them?"
Betelgeuse watched as Lucius gave a disdainful look to the older Black, nodded sneeringly to Mr Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco gave the shallowest of smiles to his cousin, shot Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father.
"You should not have ridiculed him so, Sirius," Betelgeuse reprimanded mildly, turning to her uncle. "He is a malicious man, apt to cruel deeds."
"Slimy git," Sirius muttered as he and Betelgeuse turned to face the field again. "Don't worry, dearest," he smiled, nudging her towards Fred. "Go enjoy the match with your boyfriend!" He loudly said, making his way towards Bill, Charlie, and Arthur.
Fred beamed happily at the younger Black, "Alright, love?"
Betelgeuse nodded, smiling up at the taller boy as he and George draped their arms over her shoulder, shouting their glee for the upcoming match.
The next moment, Ludo Bagman rushed into the box. "Everyone ready?" he asked, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister — ready to go?"
"Ready when you are, Ludo," Fudge stated comfortably.
Ludo whipped out his wand, pointed 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 applauded. Thousands of flags waved, combining their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard was wiped clean of its last messages 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," Arthur spoke, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"
"What are Veel —?"
But a hundred Veela were now gliding out onto the field; the question that Betelgeuse heard from Harry was answered for him. Veela were women — except that they were not — they were not entirely — human. Half-breeds the Purebloods called them.
Betelgeuse remembered very well what Veela were capable of. With moon-bright skin and white-gold hair that fanned out behind them, they could hypnotise and mesmerise most men with their seductive dance.
The Veela had started to dance, and Betelgeuse knew that the minds of half the male attendance in the stadium had gone completely and blissfully blank.
The Black looked around, seeing as Harry and Ron had begun to lean forward on the railing, and the twins had vacuous and ecstatic expressions on their freckled faces. The men in their group were almost all affected by the dance of the ethereal creatures. Fred recovered almost immediately, shaking his head as to clear his mind. Arthur and Sirius seemed completely immune. Her uncle had a cynical frown on his beautiful face as he scoffed.
"I've seen more enticing spectacles," he commented as a glimpse of his thoughts reached Betelgeuse's mind.
A young and lanky boy engulfed in an oversized striped jumper hid his burning cheeks behind a tattered old book. Only his eyes were visible. A pair of bright and intelligent green orbs sparkled in the soft glow of the unknown red background.
The music stopped, and Betelgeuse's attention was veered from the strange and odd memory. Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd did not want the Veela to go. George was hollering beside Betelgeuse, moving his closed fist in the air as if ready to battle.
Betelgeuse scoffed, snatched his green hat from his head, and then whacked him on the back of his head with it. "Snap out of it, Weasley!"
"Blast!" George protested, ducking, and cradling his head. "What for?!"
"And now," the voice of Ludo Bagman roared, "kindly put your wands in the air — for the Irish National Team Mascots!"
The next moment, what appeared to be a great green-and-gold comet came rushing into the stadium. It did one round of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each racing toward the goalposts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd let out cries of surprise 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 soared up into the sky and began to glide over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it —
"Excellent!" Ron yelled as the shamrock rose over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Peeking up at the shamrock, Betelgeuse realised that it was composed of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.
"Leprechauns!" Mr Weasley exclaimed over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.
Leprechaun gold. Many of these people are going to be greatly disappointed when they will discover their pockets bare.
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.
"Ivanova!" A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.
"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand — Krum!"
"That's him, that's him!" Ron yelled over and over, following Krum with his Omnioculars.
Betelgeuse quickly focused her observant eyes on him as the twins began chanting 'Dumb Krum'.
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.
"And now, please greet — the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Bagman yelled. "Presenting — Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand — Lynch!"
Seven green blurs swept onto the field. Betelgeuse hollered with the twins as Lynch fled over their heads with impressive speed.
"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 thick moustache, wearing robes of pure gold, 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.
Betelgeuse watched 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!" Bagman screamed. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"
It was Quidditch as Betelgeuse had never seen it played before. She took her Omnioculars out and pressed them on her eyes. 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, she recognised as she watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together. Porskoff Ploy flashed up next, as Troy made as though to dart upward with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova and leaving the Quaffle to Moran.
They were all fast and meticulous in their movements.
"TROY SCORES!" Bagman roared, and the stadium shook with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to Ireland!"
Betelgeuse marvelled at the Irish Quidditch team. She grasped enough about Quidditch to recognise that the Irish Chasers were magnificent. They worked as a seamless team; their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds. And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty–zero and prompting 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 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. The twins were cheering loudly for the Bulgarian Beaters and their unmatched ruthlessness.
"Fingers in your ears!" Arthur bellowed as the Veela started to dance in celebration.
Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle.
"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova — oh I say!" Bagman roared.
One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum, and Lynch, plunged through the centre of the Chasers. Betelgeuse regarded their descent through her Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was. Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiralled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a heavy thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats. Betelgeuse scowled between the twins.
"Fool!" Mr Weasley moaned. "Krum was feinting!"
"It's time-out!" Bagman's voice yelled, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"
"He'll be okay; he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course —"
Betelgeuse could not agree more with her former Quidditch Captain.
She directed her Omnioculars on Krum. He was now circling high above Lynch. The Black, focusing still more closely upon Krum's face, saw his dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below.
He is searching for the Snitch.
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 return seemed to give Ireland a new spirit. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivalled by anything Betelgeuse had seen so far.
After fifteen more fast and intense 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 more ruthless.
As Mullet shot toward the goalposts yet again, holding the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to face her. Whatever happened was over so quickly Betelgeuse had not the opportunity to catch it, but an outcry of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast, told her 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, darted together to form mocking words. 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, Sirius and Harry stuffed their fingers into their ears, but Betelgeuse, who had not bothered, was soon tugging on Fred's and George's arms. The twins turned to look at her with confused eyes as she pulled their fingers impatiently out of their ears.
"Look at the referee!" she stated, giggling. A sound that made the twins smile.
Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing Veela and was behaving very strangely indeed. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his moustache excitedly.
"Now, we can't have that!" Ludo Bagman exploded, though he sounded highly amused. "Somebody, slap the referee!"
A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers rammed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself and started screeching at the Veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous. Betelgeuse could not contain a pearl of giggles to fall from her rosy lips.
"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!" Bagman's voice commented. "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 started arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the Leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words 'HEE, HEE, HEE'.
Mostafa was not affected by the Bulgarians' arguments; he was jabbing his finger into the air, unquestionably ordering them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle.
"Two penalties for Ireland!" Bagman shouted, 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 game now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were playing without mercy. Volkov and Vulchanov especially seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludgers or humans as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.
"Foul!" Betelgeuse uncharacteristically exploded with the Irish supporters, standing, and leaning against the railing. She felt a tug on her arm as Fred made her back away towards him. He was grinning.
"Foul!" Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice echoed. "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. This time, they formed a giant hand that was making a rude sign at the Veela across the field.
At this, the Veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and started throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the Leprechauns. Their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders —
"And that, boys," Arthur yelled over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"
"I'd like to dissent!" Sirius added in a shout.
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. 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 smacked 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 did not blow his whistle. He had become distracted; one of the Veela had launched a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.
"Time out!" Ron roared. "Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him —"
"Look at Lynch!" Betelgeuse heard Harry yell.
For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, "He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"
Half the crowd seemed to have understood what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on — but Krum was on his tail. Betelgeuse admired his unperturbed steadfastness. There were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again —
"They're going to crash!" George shrieked.
"They're not!" Fred roared back.
"Lynch is!" Betelgeuse yelled.
And she was right — for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was promptly stampeded by a horde of angry Veela.
"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" Charlie bellowed as he vigorously shook a startled Sirius. Her uncle seemed dazed.
"He's got it — Krum's got it — it's all over!" Harry shouted.
Krum, his red robes flashing with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glimmer of gold in his hand.
The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who did not seem to have realized what had happened. Then, gradually the rumbling from the Ireland supporters swelled louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.
"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman cried. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH — BUT IRELAND WINS — good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"
Betelgeuse started to jump on the spot and yell in victory as the twins engulfed her in a suffocating hug, her usual proud countenance totally forgotten. The twins had expected that outcome; they had actually predicted it to Bagman.
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," a gloomy voice said behind them. It was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.
"You can speak English!" Fudge stated, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"
"Vell, it vos very funny," the Bulgarian Minister replied, shrugging.
"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" Bagman roared.
Betelgeuse's eyes were abruptly charmed by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically brightened so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. A vast golden cup was carried into the box and handed to Cornelius Fudge.
"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. 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, but he was still holding the Snitch.
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 handsomely grinned as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air, and the crowd below rumbled its approval.
At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honour on their brooms, with Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly'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, I owe you — how much?"
For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.
Betelgeuse watched their backs as she shook her head imperceptibly when Sirius paused beside her.
"They're for a rude awakening, I tell you."
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