Mostafa mounted his broom and kicked the crate open. The Quaffle flew up, waiting, while the two Bludgers shot off and a flash of gold tore through the air.
"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" Mr. Bagman shouted. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"
The pace was so fast Mr. Bagman could barely keep up, only being able to say the names of the Chasers as they raced around.
Amisty watched with wide eyes through the Omnioculars, barely managing to catch glimpses of the players.
"TROY SCORES!" Mr. Bagman roared, his call followed by a loud bout of cheers and applauds from the Ireland side.
Even Amisty and Hermione leaped to their feet, screaming.
"Ten zero to Ireland!"
"What? But Levski's got the Quaffle!" Harry exclaimed, looking around wildly.
"Harry, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" Hermione shouted back, cheering as Troy lapped the field.
The leprechauns flew up and formed a massive shamrock in celebration.
Ten minutes later, Ireland scored twice, bringing the score to thirty-zero. And then, after the game got much more intense with the Bulgarian Beaters whacking the Bludgers as hard as they could at the Irish Chasers.
Finally, Ivanova scored the first goal to Bulgaria.
"Fingers in your ears!" Mr. Weasley ordered once the music started up. Harry even screwed up his eyes.
Bulgaria was back in possession.
"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova -- oh I say!" Mr. Bagman's voice cut off as the entire stadium gasped.
Krum and Lynch, the two Seekers, speeding down toward the ground.
"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked, on the edge of her seat.
Just before hitting the field, Krum pulled out of the dive and shot back up into the air, leaving Lynch to hit the ground hard.
The Ireland side groaned loudly.
"Fool! Krum was feinting!" Mr. Weasley groaned, head in his hands.
"It's time-out as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!" Mr. Bagman announced.
"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie reassured Ginny, who looked terrified as she clung to the side of the box. "Which is what Krum was after, of course..."
Krum was circling overhead, eyes darting around in search of the Snitch as everyone was occupied.
Lynch got to his feet, and the Ireland side burst into loud cheers as he mounted his broom and kicked back up.
Fifteen minutes passed.
The Irish were winning, one hundred and thirty to ten. The game had turned dirty, however. Mullet was shooting toward the goalposts, the Quaffle in her grasp, and was intercepted by the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf.
The Ireland side broke into a loud cry of anger and there was a sharp whistle from Mostafa. It was a foul.
"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing -- excessive use of elbows! And -- yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!" Mr. Bagman shouted.
The leprechauns rose up into the air, forming the words: HA, HA, HA, in the air.
The veela, not looking very happy at all, started to dance once more. Everyone around them shoved their fingers in their ears once more.
Amisty, however, had her gaze trapped by the silliness that Mostafa was doing. He had landed in front of the veela, and ended up flexing his mustache and smoothing his mustache.
She tugged on Harry's arm and pointed at the referee, "Look at him!"
"Now, we can't have that! Somebody slap the referee!" Mr. Bagman shouted, sounding very amused.
A mediwizard, fingers in his ears, went over and kicked the referee hard in the shins.
He came to his senses, yelling at the veela furiously, who had stopped and looked about ready to murder.
"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots. Now, there's something we haven't seen before... Oh, this could turn nasty..."
He wasn't wrong. The two Bulgarian Beaters flew down, arguing angrily with Mostafa as the leprechauns spelled out: HEE, HEE, HEE.
Mostafa, unimpressed, jabbed a finger in the air, and when they didn't listen blew his whistle twice.
"Two penalties for Ireland! And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms... yes... there they go... and Troy takes the Quaffle..."
The game had definitely taken a turn for the worse.
All Beaters were fiercely competitive, swinging their bats whether it was to hit a player or a Bludger. Moran almost fell off her broom when Dimitrov barrelled into her.
"Foul!" Amisty screeched with the rest of the Irish supporters.
"Foul! Dimitrov skins Moran -- deliberately flying to collide there -- and it's got to be another penalty -- yes, there's the whistle!"
She felt her jaw drop as the leprechauns formed a rather... crude sign to the veela across the field, who definitely did not reply happily.
They raced across the field, suddenly not beautiful at all as they threw fire at the leprechauns.
Their beautiful, radiant faces had contorted into what resembled to be harpies, wings spreading from their shoulder blades.
"And that, boys, is why you should never go for looks alone!" Mr. Weasley shouted.
Amisty snorted.
There were Ministry wizards flooding the field, trying and failing to separate the two mascots. But even with the battle raging on below, the game continued on.
"Levski -- Dimitrov -- Moran -- Troy -- Mullet -- Ivanova -- Moran again -- Moran -- MORAN SCORES!"
The cheer could barely be heard over the shrieks of the veela, the spells cast of the Ministry wizards, and the fury of the Bulgarians. Levski, Dimitrov, and then Quigley swung his bat and hit Krum right in the face with a Bludger.
There was a deafening grown, but the referee didn't blow his whistle, distracted by the fact that his broom tail was on fire.
"Time-out!" Ron yelled, pulling on his hair in frustration. "Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him -- "
"Look at Lynch!" Harry cut him off, even louder than Ron.
The Seeker had gone into a dive.
"He's seen the Snitch! He's seen it! Look at him go!"
Krum was only a hair behind, though, flecks of blood flying behind him. As he faced after Lynch.
"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked.
"They're not!" Ron countered.
"Lynch is!" Harry argued back.
Amisty's hands were clenched so tight on the edge of the box her knuckles had turned white.
Lynch hit the ground, again, and immediately was surrounded by the veela.
"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" Charlie shouted, head whipping back and forth as he looked around.
"He's got it -- Krum's got it -- it's all over!" Harry yelled in reply.
He was right, Krum was rising up into the air with the Snitch held tight in his hand.
The scoreboard read: Bulgaria: 160, Ireland: 170.
After what seemed to be a small period of silence, the Ireland side erupted into cheers not even Mr. Weasley's spell could muffle it.
Amisty didn't mind though, she was jumping up and down and pumping her fists into the air and screaming until her throat hurt and after.
"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman roared, barely heard above the roar of the crowd. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH -- BUT IRELAND WINS -- good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"
"What did he catch the Snitch for? He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!" Ron shouted, still applauding, though.
"He knew they were never going to catch up! The Irish Chasers were too good... He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all..." Harry yelled.
"He was very brave, wasn't he? He looks a terrible mess..." Hermione remarked, leaning over the edge of the box.
The Irish anthem was blaring, flags waving all around them, and the leprechauns were flying all around the stadium as the Irish team celebrated.
"Vell, ve fought bravely," A dejected voice sighed, and when Amisty turned around she learned it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.
"You can speak English! And you've been letting me mime everything all day!" Fudge shouted angrily.
"Vell, it vos very funny," He replied, shrugging casually.
Amisty swallowed, fighting down her laughter.
"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!"
Two wizards, both panting, walked into the box holding a golden cup and handed it to Fudge and the box was illuminated with a brilliant white light.
"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers, Bulgaria!"
The seven Bulgarian players came up and shook hands with their minister and with Fudge as Mr. Bagman called their names.
Krum was a mess, his nose covered in blood and eyes bruised. Even so, the stadium was almost shaking with the racket the crowd was making when his name was announced.
And then the Irish team lined up, with Lynch being supported by Moran and Connolly, his latest crash seeming to have affected him a bit more than the first. Troy and Quigley lifted up the Cup in the air as the crowd kept roaring.
Amisty felt as if her voice had never cracked more.
"Quietus," Bagman whispered, his wand pointed at his throat. "They'll be talking about this one for years, a really unexpected twist, that... shame it couldn't have lasted longer... Ah yes... yes, I owe you... how much?"
Fred and George had scrambled over their seats, faces glowing and hands outstretched as they waited for their own win. Amisty felt a light tap on her shoulder and she turned around, attention diverted from the exchange going on behind her.
"Enjoy the game?" Draco asked teasingly, the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly in a smirk.
"I think my reaction to Ireland's win is answer enough," Amisty replied sassily, her hands on her hips.
"Screaming and cheering even though you've undoubtedly lost your hearing for at least a week?" He raised an eyebrow, amused.
"My hearing is just as good as it always has been, for your information," She snapped indignantly. "It wouldn't go that quickly."
He rolled his eyes, mouth twitching, "I wouldn't doubt it, even if you had lost it your -- "
"Draco," His father cut him off, eyes cold and expression even colder, "it's about time we take our leave."
Amisty felt her heart rate pick up and she instinctively stepped back, her gaze dropping to the floor warily.
The memories of the Pensieve, though she had only recounted them months ago, still haunted her dreams.
"Bye, Draco," She mumbled quietly, stepping away and joining the crowd of Weasley's before Mr. Malfoy noticed anything off about her.
He gave her a concerned glance as she left, but soon enough the emotionless mask he was so talented at creating was back in place.
"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley was telling the twins, the warning clear in his voice.
"Don't worry, Dad, we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated," Fred replied, a brilliant grin on his face.
Mr. Weasley looked like he was about to ask what those plans were, but seemed to decide he didn't truly want to know after all. As soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to the Top Box, they were swept into the monstrous crowd booming with singing and cheering as everyone headed back to their tents through the woods.
Leprechauns zoomed overhead, still glowing gold and green. Amisty was relieved to find that no one else wanted to sleep either when they got to their own tents, the noise surrounding them far too loud for even those with normal hearing.
Mr. Weasley agreed and they all sat around the table with warm cups of hot chocolate cupped in their hands. The match was the topic that dominated all conversation, obviously, and only when Ginny fell asleep right at the table and spilled the hot chocolate everywhere and on everyone did Mr. Weasley decide it was time for them to all go to bed.
The three girls left to their tent, changed into their pajamas, and crawled into their bunks.
Even though the party outside had quieted down somewhat, it was still incredibly loud. There was still singing and what seemed to be drums coming from the other end of the campsite. The canvas above her head was still being illuminated by the leprechauns and their lanterns, occasionally accompanied by a cheerful laugh or belted note.
She didn't know when, but somehow her eyes drifted closed and sleep overcame her. Of course, that doesn't last very long. The first thing she heard that sent her flying off her bed and to the floor, rather loudly as her feet hit the ground hard, was a piercing scream that cut through the cool night air like a knife.
The simple sound sent her heart racing. There was the sound of frantic footsteps as if people were running.
"Amisty, what is it?" Hermione asked tiredly, still sounding half asleep.
"Do you not hear that?!" Amisty hissed, staring around wildly.
The screams were getting louder now. She jumped as what sounded like a gunshot echoed loudly through the clearing, her heart rate only picking up further.
"What are you two up for?" Ginny yawned, rubbing her eyes as she raised her head from her bunk.
And then there was a thunderous bang and Amisty stopped bothering to explain. She jumped up to grab her jacket, tugged it on, and ran to the boys' tent.
"Mr. Weasley!" She shouted, her voice quivering slightly and not caring as she woke up the rest of the Weasleys.
"Amisty, what on earth -- " Charlie's words were sluggish and tired, and very annoyed.
"Something's going on outside, people are screaming," She cut him off, relieved to see the familiar head of the eldest Weasley appear.
"What is it?" Mr. Weasley asked.
"There's yelling and screaming and running, it's all I can hear," Amisty explained hurriedly, her eyes wild.
"I'll take a look," Mr. Weasley replied, not seeming too concerned.
She raced after him, annoyed and frustrated with everyone not believing her. There was a bright flash of light toward the woods, and suddenly it became clear that she hadn't just had a nightmare was a crowd of cloaked, masked people, four figures floating above them and struggling. People had started to run toward the woods, trying frantically to escape what was happening.
Her eyes went wide and she suddenly had issues swallowing.
It was too familiar.
"Amisty, go get Hermione and Ginny, I'll get the boys," Mr. Weasley's face had turned pale and she nodded, running into her tent.
Behind her, she heard Mr. Weasley's shouts.