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 Kirra wished the school would play, so intense and fast. 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.
She watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Troy in the center, slightly ahead of Mullet and Moran, bearing down upon the Bulgarians. 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!"
Kirra watched the team she was supporting with a giant grin on her face, 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 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 center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes.
Kirra followed their descent, she had been sure that Krum was faking it, she couldn't see where the Snitch was — "They're going to crash!" screamed Hermione. She 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. 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, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course. . . ."
After a good five minutes, 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 Kirra 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 goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over so quickly Kirra 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 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 intotheir ears, but Kirra, who hadn't bothered, was soon tugging on Fred and George's arms.
They turned to look at her, and she pulled their fingers impatiently out of their ears. "Look at the referee!" she said, giggling. Fred and George looked down at the field. 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; Kirra, watching with a smirk on her face, 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.
Kirra, the twins and Charlie snickered as 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.
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.
The Quaffle changed hands with the speed of a bullet. "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 Mostafadidn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Kirra 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 —"
"Look at Lynch!" Kirra pointed and yelled. For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Kirra was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing. . . .
"He's seen the Snitch!" Kirrashouted. "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. How he could see where he was going, Kirra had no idea; 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.
"They're not!" roared Ron.
"Lynch is!" yelled Kirra and Charlie. And they were 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 Charlie, along the row.
"He's got it — Krum's got it — it's all over!" shouted Kirra. 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!"
Kirra, Fred and George all shared giant grins.
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"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellowed, 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!" Kirra shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly, she probably would have done it too if she had too. "The Irish Chasers were too good. . . . He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all. . . ."
"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. Kirra raised her eyebrows at the girl, a small smirk tugging on her lips
Kirra suddenly felt the adrenaline of the match leave her and she was once again left with the pain of what had happened between her and Mattheo about an hour and a half earlier.
Kirra looked back into the rows towards the Malfoy family and noticed Mattheo was staring at the ground, but then she moved her eyes slightly and made eye contact with Draco Malfoy who had an unreadable look on his face.
Kirra was sure she was imagining it, but she could have swore that she had seen some sympathy and guilt in his eyes as he stared across at her. She tried to give the boy a small smile, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't bring herself to do it
"Love?" She heard and she snapped out of her trance and turned around to see George looking at her, "do you wanna go?" He asked her softly and she shook her head
"Its gonna be a long time before I can watch the quidditch cup again, I can deal with that stuff after" she muttered to him as she gave him a small nod. He clearly didn't believe her
"Just wait, after the game, Georgie and I are gonna beat his stupid little ass" Fred said to her, a pissed off look on his face and George was quick to nod his head. They weren't going to let someone upset her and get away with it
"Thanks guys, but don't worry bout it alright?" SHe told them and then looked back at the field, below, the leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but she could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards.
He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, 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 behind Kirra. She looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.
"You can speak English!" said Fudge, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"
"Vell, 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 TopBox!" roared Bagman. Kirra's eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside.
Squinting toward the entrance, she saw two panting wizards carrying 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; Kirra could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction.
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. Kirra noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered.
But when Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar. 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. Kirra's hands were numb with clapping.
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 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 Kirra, 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.
"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as they all made their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs, the three of them grinning.
"Don't worry, Dad," said Fred gleefully, "we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated." Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know.
They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns.
When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all except for Kirra who wanted nothing more than to go to bed, crawl into a ball and cry her heart out... still unaware of what she had done for Mattheo to suddenly hate her.
But she could not do that, and she wouldn't forgive herself if she had ruined the night for anyone else so she stuck a faux smile on her face and tried to ignore the sound of her shattering heart screaming through her ears.
Given the level of noise around them, Mr. Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in.
They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over thefloor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed.
Kirra, Hermione and Ginny went into the next tent, and they changed into pajamas and clambered into their bunks. From the other side of the campsite, they could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang.
Kirra, who was on a top bunk above Ginny, lay staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional leprechaun lantern flying overhead, and all she could think about was Mattheos face as he looked at her in disgust, his words echoing in her head.
She felt like she laid there for hours as she struggled to hold her sobs in so she wouldn't wake the others, tears ran down her cheeks but no sound came from her, her head was throbbing and she felt sick to her stomach.'
Suddenly, Mr.Weasley was shouting. "Get up! Ron — Harry — come on now, get up, this is urgent!" Kirra sat up quickly and the top of her head hit canvas, she wiped her tears and was wondering if she was imagining it