-HARRY-
I watched the fear leave Jupiter's face as her eyes zoomed around the stadium in amazement. I wished she could've seen herself in this moment because she had truly never been more beautiful. Her excitement tugged at the corners of her lips, and a smile formed across her pink cheeks.
"What do you think?" I asked. I subtly wrapped my arms around her shoulders, hoping it would pass as giving her extra support. Something about her pulled me in like an anchor. I couldn't help but want to be close to her.
"It's beautiful." She said. I watched as her brown eyes absorbed every bit of color thrown her way. I decided that I never wanted to stop watching her, because why would I? Nothing made my heart pound out of my chest like this, and nothing made my stomach fill with butterflies more than the sight of her smile, even if it wasn't at me.
"Yeah, it is," I muttered, not attempting to hide my infatuation with her. She looked back at me, her eyes meeting mine. She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but changed her mind and her lips moved into a flustered smile as her already pink cheeks began to flush even more. I felt her breathing get heavier against my arms, which were still wrapped snugly over her collarbone.
"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!" A booming voice announced as it filled the stadium, pulling both of our attention away from each other. "The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their national anthems to the racket. "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." Mr. Weasley said, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"
"What are Veela?" I asked, and I heard Jupiter let out a small groan. I made up my mind that I didn't want to know if she didn't like them. Nothing felt worth liking if Jupiter didn't agree.
But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and those thoughts were quickly pushed aside. Veela were women, the most beautiful women I had ever seen... not more beautiful than Jupiter, though.
The thought of Jupiter pulled me out of my daze slightly, and I felt more grounded to the floor as I tightened my grip around her shoulders. I tried not to watch the women because I didn't like how they made me forget about her so quickly.
Keeping my eyes away from the women was harder than I anticipated as they glided across the field. I wondered what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind... but then the music started, and I stopped worrying about them being human. In fact, I stopped worrying about anything at all.
The veela had started to dance, and my mind had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that I kept watching the veela, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would happen...
And as the veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through my dazed mind. I wanted to do something very impressive, right now. Jumping from the box into the stadium seemed a good idea... but would it be good enough?
I tried to move to the edge, but I felt resistance. My arms were still wrapped around Jupiter, and her hand was gripping my wrist to stop me from moving too far.
"What are you doing?" She asked, an annoyed look masking the happiness I had relished seeing only a few moments ago.
"I... I don't know." I said, and the music suddenly stopped. I blinked for a moment, trying to regain my composure.
"They got you, didn't they?" Jupiter sighed, pulling herself out of my grasp. She moved closer to Hermione, keeping her eyes on the floor. Angry yells filled the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go. I didn't agree with them. How could I? All I wanted was for the veela to go away, just so I didn't have to feel Jupiter move away from me like that ever again.
-JUPITER-
I was stupid. Plain stupid. I let myself believe for a moment that Harry might actually care for me. I watched Ron as he absentmindedly shredded the shamrocks on his Ireland hat. I imagined that's how Harry looked as he stared at the veela.
I didn't blame him, honestly. Veela were the most beautiful women in the world, so it was no surprise that he forgot about me. I looked over at Harry, who was already watching me with guilt. I quickly looked back at Ron as Mr. Weasley took the hat from him.
"You'll be wanting that," he said, "once Ireland have had their say.
"Huh?" Ron said, staring openmouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field.
"And now," the same booming voice from earlier roared, "kindly put your wands in the air . . . for the Irish National Team Mascots!"
In the blink of an eye, a magnificent green-and-gold comet streaked into the stadium, captivating the spectators. After completing a single lap around the arena, it split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goalposts.
Suddenly, a rainbow materialized, spanning across the field and connecting the two luminous orbs. The audience gasped and cheered in awe, as if witnessing a mesmerizing fireworks spectacle. As the rainbow gradually faded, the two balls of light rejoined and merged, transforming into a colossal shimmering shamrock that ascended into the sky, gracefully soaring above the stands. A cascade of golden rain appeared to shower down from the celestial spectacle.
"Excellent!" yelled Ron as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, I realized that it was actually comprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.
"Leprechauns!" Mr. Weasley grinned over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.
"There you go," Ron yelled happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into Harry's hand, "for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!"
"It's not real, you know. The gold." I said, crossing my arms as I watched everyone lose their minds over the gold.
"You're lying!" Ron scoffed, shoving as many Galleons as he could into his pockets.
"Whatever." I shrugged, looking straight ahead at the stadium. I could feel the sense of impending doom begin to wash over me as I focused on the field below, but I would rather jump than let Harry try to comfort me again.
The great shamrock dissolved, and 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 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 Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. I pulled mine out from my bag and quickly focused on my own. 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. It was hard to believe he was only seventeen.
"And now, please greet the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled the announcer. "Presenting — Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand — Lynch!"
Seven green blurs swept onto the field; I spun a small dial on the side of my Omnioculars and slowed the players down enough to read the word "Firebolt" on each of their brooms and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs.
"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed the announcer as the referee through the Quaffle into the air. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"
Quidditch had never been interesting to me, mainly because I didn't bother to understand it, but I figured now would be the best time. It seemed like the perfect distraction from the teenage boy next to me.
I watched the game, trying to listen to the commentary as hard as I could, but the chasers were passing the quaffle so quickly that the announcer only had time to say their names.
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.
"They're going to crash!" Hermione screamed next to me. 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!" Mr. Weasley groaned. "Krum was feinting!"
"It's time-out!" yelled the announcer's voice, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"
This was the first time I had been interested in the game. I zoomed in on the seeker and the medical staff that rushed over to him. The staff worked quickly and effortlessly as each of them huddled around Lynch, pulling out their wands and potions. Some of them began to heal his seemingly broken legs while one witch dumped a cup of an unfamiliar potion down his throat.
"They're brilliant," I said to myself as Lynch got to his feet at last. Loud cheers rang out from the green-clad supporters as he mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air.
"Are you watching Lynch instead of the game, Black?" Harry asked from beside me.
"No, I'm watching the medi-wizards." I shrugged, lowering my Omnioculars. "They're far more interesting."
"You're mental." He laughed, shaking his head at me as he raised his Omnioculars back to his eyes and focused on the game again.
"Yeah, I know," I muttered, watching his intense focus as he turned the dial on the side.
"Foul! To Ireland!" The announcer yelled, and the leprechauns darted in the air 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.
"Fingers in your ears!" Mr. Weasley yelled, stuffing his pointer fingers in his ears, and all of the boys did the same. Hermione, Ginny, and I didn't bother as we watched the veela with the same amount of annoyance.
"Look at the referee!" Hermione giggled, and I pulled Harry's fingers out of his ears. The referee would definitely be enough of a distraction from the veela.
The referee 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!" The announcer said, 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 the referee hard in the shins.
"See?" I grinned, leaning forward a bit to watch the mediwizard at work. "The most interesting part." I smiled over at Harry, who rolled his eyes as he fought back a laugh.
"And unless I'm much mistaken, the referee is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!" The announcer's voice boomed throughout the stadium. "Now there's something we haven't seen before." Oh, this could turn nasty..."
It turned nasty rapidly when the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, touched down on either side of the referee, engaging in heated arguments and vehement gestures while pointing towards the leprechauns, who were now joyfully spelling out "HEE, HEE, HEE."
The Bulgarians' protests failed to sway the referee, who sternly pointed his finger upwards, urging them to resume play. When they persisted in their objections, he issued two sharp blasts on his whistle.
"Two penalties for Ireland!" shouted the announcer, 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 . . ."
"Foul!" roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green. I hadn't caught exactly why they were rioting, but I doubt I would've cared anyway.
"Foul!" echoed the announcer'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!"
Once airborne, the leprechauns crafted a colossal hand gesture, delivering a rather impolite message to the veela positioned across the field. Incensed by this display, the veela's composure shattered. Abandoning their graceful dance, they propelled themselves across the field, hurling what appeared to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns.
The Veela 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.
"Still completely taken by them?" I asked Harry, as he watched the scene unfold with an amused smile on his face.
"Never was, Jupiter." He shrugged, shooting me a quick smile before he diverted his attention back to the game taking place above the fight.
"And that, boys," Mr. Weasley yelled over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"
"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted suddenly, pointing at Lynch. "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. Krum was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again.
"They're going to crash!" Hermione yelled.
"They're not!" Ron roared. I felt a bit bad for wishing they did, just so I could watch the medi-wizards work again.
"Lynch is!" Harry said, a look of horror on his face.
And he was right. Lynch hit the ground
with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.
"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" Charlie bellowed from further along the row.
"He's got it! Krum's got it! It's all over!" Harry shouted as the crowd cheered like mad, filling the stadium with a noise so loud that I could barely hear the screams coming from the people beside me.
Krum, his red robes was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand. The scoreboard across from us was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd. 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!"