Sadly for those who never read the books, you may not know who this is.. but I thought she more than deserved to be in the movies.. so with much AI art and Photoshop... I present Winky the House Elf!
53 Votes in Poll
53 Votes in Poll
Sadly for those who never read the books, you may not know who this is.. but I thought she more than deserved to be in the movies.. so with much AI art and Photoshop... I present Winky the House Elf!
42 Votes in Poll
Letter: E
Character: Elves (Dobby and Winky mainly Dobby)
143 Votes in Poll
111 Votes in Poll
The Wizarding World obviously has a problem with slavery, not just in wealthy Pureblood households, but at Hogwarts and probably other places too, and Hermione seems to be the only one who cares. Not even Harry seems to care. So questions.
How would abolishing house elf slavery be done?
How would making up for the labor done by house elves work?
Other thoughts?
70 Votes in Poll
74 Votes in Poll
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585181
Chapter 2: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585386
Chapter 3: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589099
Chapter 4: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589999
Chapter 5: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003590737
Chapter 6: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003592048
Chapter 7: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003593450
Chapter 8: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003594715
Chapter 9: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003595876
Chapter 10: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003596713
Chapter 11: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003597502
Chapter 12: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003598647
Chapter 13: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003600597
Chapter 14: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003602821
Chapter 15: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003605031
Chapter 16: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003605690
Chapter 17: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003607525
Chapter 18: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003607955
Chapter 19: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003608845
Chapter 20: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003609937
Chapter 21: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003612000
Chapter 22: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003613068
Chapter 23: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003613747
Chapter 24: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003614871
Tags: @MeowTasticCat (love the new profile pic) @Bellatrisblack @Diantha Angelina Black @CatsAndRoblox @Kakaonut @Potatopanda2121
(So I have been on a trip these past few days, and I wrote the entire time, so I have several chapters finished. I'll try and spread them out but expect a lot of uploads. DO NOT FEEL PRESSURED TO READ THEM RIGHT AWAY.)
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Madness of Mr Crouch
After the information Harry had learned he had been in quite a mood, but on Sunday morning he was in a bit better spirt as he headed towards the kitchen with Theodore, Allison, and Tracey. Harry couldn’t wait to give Dobby his new socks.
The house-elves gave them a very cheery welcome, bowing and curtsying and bustling around making tea again. Dobby was ecstatic about his present.
‘Harry Potter is too good to Dobby!’ he squeaked, wiping large tears out of his enormous eyes.
‘You saved my life with that gillyweed, Dobby, you deserve it. Also Allison here helped pick them out,’ said Harry.
‘Dobby is grateful to Miss Runcorn too.’
‘You are quite welcome,’ said Allison in a rare smile.
He switched the miss-matched pair he was wearing with two others from Harry’s present.
After a moment Harry noticed that something was missing from the kitchen, or more appropriately someone.
‘Dobby, where is Winky?’
‘Winky is over there by the fire, sir,’ said Dobby quietly, his ears drooping slightly.
‘Poor thing,’ said Tracey as she spotted Winky.
Harry looked over at the fireplace too. Winky was sitting on the same stool as last time, but she had allowed herself to become so filthy that she was not immediately distinguishable from the smoke-blackened brick behind her. Her clothes were ragged and unwashed. She was clutching a bottle of butterbeer and swaying slightly on her stool, staring into the fire. As they watched her, she gave an enormous hiccup.
‘Winky is getting through six bottles a day now,’ Dobby whispered to Harry.
‘Well, it’s not strong, that stuff,’ Harry said.
But Dobby shook his head. ‘’Tis strong for a house-elf, sir,’ he said.
Winky hiccuped again. The elves who had brought the group some sweets gave her disapproving looks as they returned to work.
‘Winky is pining, Harry Potter,’ Dobby whispered sadly. ‘Winky wants to go home. Winky still thinks Mr Crouch is her master, sir, and nothing Dobby says will persuade her that Professor Dumbledore is her master now.’
‘Hey, Winky,’ said Harry, struck by a sudden inspiration, walking over to her, and bending down, ‘you don’t know what Mr Crouch might be up to, do you? Because he’s stopped turning up to judge the Triwizard Tournament.’
Winky’s eyes flickered. Her enormous pupils focused on Harry. She swayed slightly again and then said, ‘M—Master is stopped—hic—coming?’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘we haven’t seen him since the first task. The Daily Prophet’s saying he’s ill.’
Winky swayed some more, staring blurrily at Harry. ‘Master—hic—ill?’
Her bottom lip began to tremble.
‘Maybe,’ said Theodore quickly, ‘we have reason to believe he might be faking.’
‘Master is needing his—hic—Winky!’ whimpered the elf. ‘Master cannot—hic—manage—hic—all by himself...’
‘Well, I think he’s able to take care of himself, it’s just that he-‘ began Harry before being interrupted.
‘Winky—hic—is not only—hic—taking care of Mr Crouch!’ Winky squeaked indignantly, swaying worse than ever and slopping butterbeer down her already heavily stained blouse. ‘Master is—hic—trusting Winky with—hic—the most important—hic—the most secret—‘
‘What?’ said Harry.
But Winky shook her head very hard, spilling more butterbeer down herself.
‘Winky keeps—hic—her master’s secrets,’ she said mutinously, swaying very heavily now, frowning up at Harry with her eyes crossed. ‘You is—hic—nosing, you is.’
‘Winky must not talk like that to Harry Potter!’ said Dobby angrily. ‘Harry Potter is brave and noble and Harry Potter is not nosy!’
‘He is nosing—hic—into my master’s—hic—private and secret—hic—Winky is a good house-elf—hic—Winky keeps her silence—hic—people trying to—hic—pry and poke—hic—‘
Winky’s eyelids drooped and suddenly, without warning, she slid off her stool into the hearth, snoring loudly. The empty bottle of butterbeer rolled away across the stone-flagged floor. Half a dozen house-elves came hurrying forward, looking disgusted. One of them picked up the bottle; the others covered Winky with a large checked tablecloth and tucked the ends in neatly, hiding her from view.
‘We is sorry you had to see that, sirs and misses!’ squeaked a nearby elf, shaking his head and looking very ashamed. ‘We is hoping you will not judge us all by Winky, sirs and misses!’
‘Will she be ok?’ asked Tracey.
‘We don’t know, miss,’ said another elf. ‘House-elf’s who spend their entire life under one master almost never take being fired well, but most are usually better by now.’
The atmosphere in the kitchen had changed, the elves clearly did not like the group seeing Winky in her current state or anyone taking about being fired. Not wishing to cause trouble Harry and his friends soon headed for the exit.
‘Thank you for the socks, Harry Potter!’ Dobby called miserably from the hearth, where he was standing next to the lumpy tablecloth that was Winky.
‘You’re very much welcome,’ said Harry as he exited.
‘That was very interesting,’ said Theodore as they headed back towards the dungeon. ‘Winky implied someone else was living with Crouch, but his wife and son are both dead. Who could she mean?’
Harry thought for a second, ‘It’s been over thirteen years since his wife died, maybe he found somebody else? However she was really drunk, she might have old memories confused for newer ones and was talking about Crouch’s wife and son.’
Despite how their conversation with Winky had ended, the four of them were quite chipper by the following morning. They all ate with Terence until they were full from the delicious spread on the table. As always the post owls arrived halfway through the morning meal, however unlike normal Tracey received far more mail than normal.
‘Tracey, you’re birthday was six months ago, wasn’t it?’ said Harry, seizing Tracey’s goblet before it was knocked over by the cluster of owls, all of whom were jostling close to her, trying to deliver their own letter first. Allison also received a couple letters apposed to her regular one from her mother.
‘It’s not, I don’t understand—?’ Tracey said, taking the letter from a gray owl, opening it, and starting to read. ‘My goodness!’ she sputtered, going rather pink in the ears.
‘What does it say?’ Asked Terence, concerned.
‘They’re hate mail,’ said Allison plainly after reading hers.
‘They’re quite childish, I must say,’ said Tracey. She thrust the letter at Harry, who saw that it was not handwritten, but composed from pasted letters that seemed to have been cut out of the Daily Prophet.
“You are a WickEd giRL. HarRy PotTER desErves BeTteR. HOpe your NeW mAN DUmps youR UgLY half-BLooD arsE.”
‘Mine says I’m a back stabbing...well, it gets kind of immature,’ said Allison.
‘Each one is about the same,’ said Tracey, opening each letter. ‘All saying how I don’t deserve you Harry, some insulting my father, and others are just making fun of—‘
‘Tracey! Stop!’ said Allison in alarm, she was pointing at the black envelope Tracey was currently holding. ‘Accio black letter.’
The letter zipped into her hand, before any of them could question what she was doing, Allison sniffed the letter and her nose scrunched up. Harry then noticed a small amount of yellowish-green liquid was oozing from a corner of the letter.
‘Smells like petrol, I think this letter is filled with Undiluted bubotuber pus!’ she then raised her wand at it again. ‘Insendio.’
The letter burnt in an instant and only a tiny pile of ashes remained.
‘Thanks Alli. I think we should burn all of these, but maybe not at the table,’ said Tracey, looking at the surrounding students who had noticed the short fiery explosion.
History of Magic was as boring as usual. But it wasn’t that class Harry was worried about as it had a strict no talking policy. The following Care of Magical Creatures class would open Pansy and her gang to torment Tracey about the owl tornado of hate.
As Harry and his friends left the Ravenclaws behind and started making their way towards their Care of Magical Creatures class, they were closely followed by Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle, all whispering and giggling behind them.
‘Trouble in paradise, Potter?’ Pansy mocked. ‘It looked like one of your exes tried to set you on fire.’
Harry ignored her; Tracey’s advice from Friday was right, just ignore as none of the things in the Witch Weekly article was true or had any effect on what truly mattered.
Hagrid, who had told them last lesson that they had finished with unicorns, was waiting for them outside his cabin with a fresh supply of open crates at his feet. Harry’s heart sank at the sight of the crates—surely not another skrewt hatching?—but when he got near enough to see inside, he found himself looking at a number of fluffy black creatures with long snouts. Their front paws were curiously flat, like spades, and they were blinking up at the class, looking politely puzzled at all the attention.
‘These’re nifflers,’ said Hagrid, when the class had gathered around. ‘Yeh find ’em down mines mostly. They like sparkly stuff...There yeh go, look.’
One of the nifflers had suddenly leapt up and attempted to bite Pansy Parkinson’s watch off her wrist. She shrieked and jumped backward.
‘Useful little treasure detectors,’ said Hagrid happily. ‘Thought we’d have some fun with ’em today. See over there?’ He pointed at the large patch of freshly turned earth not far from the hut. ‘I’ve buried some gold coins. I’ve got a prize fer whoever picks the niffler that digs up most. Jus’ take off all yer valuables, an’ choose a niffler, an’ get ready ter set ’em loose.’
Harry took off his watch, which he was only wearing out of habit, as it didn’t work anymore, and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he picked up a niffler. It put its long snout in Harry’s ear and sniffed enthusiastically. It was really quite cuddly.
It was easily the most fun they had ever had in Care of Magical Creatures. The nifflers dived in and out of the patch of earth as though it were water, each scurrying back to the student who had released it and spitting gold into their hands. Ron Weasley’s was particularly efficient; it had soon filled his lap with coins.
‘Can you buy these as pets, Hagrid?’ he asked excitedly as his niffler dived back into the soil, splattering his robes.
‘Yer mum wouldn’ be happy, Ron,’ said Hagrid, grinning. ‘They wreck houses, nifflers. I reckon they’ve nearly got the lot, now,’ he added, pacing around the patch of earth while the nifflers continued to dive. “I on’y buried a hundred coins. Well, let’s check how yeh’ve all done! Count yer coins! An’ there’s no point tryin’ ter steal any, Goyle,’ he added, his beetle-black eyes narrowed. ‘It’s leprechaun gold. Vanishes after a few hours.’
Goyle emptied his pockets, looking extremely sulky. It turned out that Ron’s niffler had been most successful, so Hagrid gave him an enormous slab of Honeydukes chocolate for a prize. The bell rang across the grounds for lunch; the rest of the class set off back to the castle, but Harry, Tracey, Allison, and Theodore stayed behind to help Hagrid put the nifflers back in their boxes. Harry noticed Madame Maxime watching them out of her carriage window.
‘Why was Parkinson’s lookin’ extra smug today?’ said Hagrid, looking curious.
Allison told him about the hate mail she and Tracey had received that morning because of Rita’s article, and the envelope full of bubotuber pus that she had to burn away.
‘Aaah, don’ worry,’ said Hagrid gently, looking down at the two girls. ‘I got some o’ those letters an’ all, after Rita Skeeter wrote abou’ me mum. ‘Yeh’re a monster an’ yeh should be put down.’ ‘Yer mother killed innocent people an’ if you had any decency you’d jump in a lake.’
‘That is awful!’ said Tracey, looking shocked.
‘Yeah,’ said Hagrid, heaving the niffler crates over by his cabin wall. ‘They’re jus’ nutters. Don’ open ’em if yeh get any more, you two. Chuck ’em straigh’ in the fire.’
‘I think we really needed a pick-me-up like that after the week we’ve had,’ Harry said as they headed back toward the castle. ‘They’re good, nifflers, aren’t they, Ron?”
But the girls weren’t in as good a mood as Harry, they were still rather put out by the mornings incident and Allison specifically was still quite mad at Rita Skeeter.
‘If I wasn’t planning my revenge on Skeeter before, I am now,’ she said at lunch. Tracey looked at her concerned, but Allison reassured her. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll use my head instead of my fury.’
Hate mail continued to arrive for Tracey and Allison over the following week, and although they followed Hagrid’s advice and stopped opening it, several of their ill-wishers sent Howlers, which exploded at the Slytherin table and shrieked insults at them for the whole Hall to hear. Even those people who didn’t read Witch Weekly knew all about the supposed Tracey-Harry-Allison triangle now. Harry was getting sick of telling people that neither of them were his girlfriend.
‘It should die down soon, though,’ he told Allison, ‘if we just ignore it...People got bored with that stuff she wrote about me last time—‘
‘I don’t really care about the gossip anymore,’ said Allison calmly. ‘What I care about is learning how Skeeter has been sneaking around the grounds without being caught. How she’s getting all this information while banned.’
Allison hung back in their next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson to ask Professor Moody something. The rest of the class was very eager to leave; Moody had given them such a rigorous test of hex-deflection that many of them were nursing small injuries. Harry had such a bad case of Twitchy Ears, he had to hold his hands clamped over them as he walked away from the class.
‘Well, the invisibility cloak theory is now out,’ Allison panted five minutes later, catching up with Harry, Tracey, and Theodore in the entrance hall and pulling Harry’s hand away from one of his wiggling ears so that he could hear her. ‘Moody told me he didn’t see anyone using one near the judges’ table or the lake during the second task.’
‘Allison,’ Tracey said trying to sound as calm as possible. ‘I love how you are putting your frustration into detective work instead of outbursts, but there is a point where what you are doing becomes an obsession instead of just an output.’
‘I’m fine,’ Allison said stubbornly. ‘This isn’t just for me, I want to know how she gets her information so I can stop her from ruining more lives. If she can’t use whatever method she is using she’ll have to collect information the regular way, through interviews, and that way the people she talks to have more control over what she knows about them.’
‘Well if she isn’t using an invisibility cloak,’ said Harry, ‘what other method could she be using?’
‘Likely not a legal one,’ said Allison with a devilish smile. ‘Which actually gives me an idea.’
And she then she took off towards the direction of the owlery. Harry had a sneaking suspicion she might be sending and owl to her father.
‘Do you think she’ll be able to do it?’ said Theodore. ‘Find out how Rita Skeeter is collecting information and stopping her?’
None of them were sure, but they had to admit it was nice seeing her have a passion this year. Something to distract her from her mother’s health.
Leading up to the Easter Holidays their workload was mounting ever higher. Harry frankly marveled at the fact that Allison could research magical methods of eavesdropping as well as her Runes class and everything else they had to do. He was working flat-out just to get through all their homework, but tried to find time to hang out with Canini. He also wrote short notes home every couple days, telling his parents that nothing out of the ordinary had been happening.
When Easter break finally arrived Harry was very relieved. Even though he still had a lot of homework it was nice to be away from the drama of Hogwarts Castle. On Easter Sunday Harry, his parents, Canini, Theodore, Nymphadora and her parents all had Easter supper together. Theodore recounted how Harry had handled the first two tasks, while Canini also talked about Cedric.
The start of the summer term would normally have meant that Harry and Allison were training hard for the last Quidditch match of the season. This year, however, it was the third and final task in the Triwizard Tournament for which he needed to prepare, but he still didn’t know what he would have to do. Finally, in the last week of May, Professor McGonagall held him back in Transfiguration.
‘You are to go down to the Quidditch field tonight at nine o’clock, Potter,’ she told him. ‘Mr Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task.’
So at half past eight that night, Harry left his friends in Slytherin Dungeon and went upstairs. As he crossed the entrance hall, Cedric came up from the Hufflepuff common room.
‘What d’you reckon it’s going to be?’ he asked Harry as they went together down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night. ‘Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels; she reckons we’ve got to find treasure.’
‘That wouldn’t be too bad,’ said Harry, thinking that he would simply ask Hagrid for a niftier to do the job for him.
They walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turned through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the field. ‘What’ve they done to it?’ Cedric said indignantly, stopping dead.
The Quidditch field was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it that twisted and crisscrossed in every direction.
‘They’re hedges!’ said Harry, bending to examine the nearest one.
‘Hello there!’ called a cheery voice.
Ludo Bagman was standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur. Harry and Cedric made their way toward them, climbing over the hedges. Fleur beamed at Harry as he came nearer. Her attitude toward him had changed completely since he had saved her sister from the lake.
‘Well, what d’you think?’ said Bagman happily as Harry and Cedric climbed over the last hedge. ‘Growing nicely, aren’t they? Give them a month and Hagrid’ll have them twenty feet high. Don’t worry,’ he added, grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expressions on Harry’s and Cedric’s faces, ‘you’ll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we’re making here?’
No one spoke for a moment. Then—
‘Maze,’ grunted Krum.
‘That’s right!’ said Bagman. ‘A maze. The third task’s really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks.’
‘We seemply ’ave to get through the maze?’ said Fleur.
‘There will be obstacles,’ said Bagman happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. ‘Hagrid is providing a number of creatures...then there will be spells that must be broken...all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions who are leading on points will get a head start into the maze.’ Bagman grinned at Harry and Cedric. ‘Then Mr Krum will enter...then Miss Delacour. But you’ll all be in with a fighting chance, depending how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?’
Harry, who knew only too well the kind of creatures that Hagrid was likely to provide for an event like this, thought it was unlikely to be any fun at all. However, he nodded politely like the other champions.
‘Very well...if you haven’t got any questions, we’ll go back up to the castle, shall we, it’s a bit chilly...’
Bagman hurried alongside Harry as they began to wend their way out of the growing maze. Harry had the feeling that Bagman was going to start offering to help him again, so Harry held himself back by a few feet.
Just as Harry exited the stadium he felt a tap on his shoulder, he turned to see a familiar face.
‘Terence, what are you doing here?’ Harry asked.
I followed you from the Dungeon. I was hoping we could talk.’
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Harry, slightly surprised.
‘Let’s walk and talk, it’s getting cold.’
‘Okay,’ said Harry curiously.
Bagman looked slightly perturbed. ‘I’ll wait for you, Harry, shall I?’
‘No, it’s okay, Mr Bagman,’ said Harry, suppressing a smile, ‘I think I can find the castle on my own, thanks.’
70 Votes in Poll
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585181
Chapter 2: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003585386
Chapter 3: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589099
Chapter 4: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003589999
Chapter 5: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003590737
Tags: @MeowTasticCat @Bellatrisblack @Diantha Angelina Black @CatsAndRoblox
Chapter Six: The Quidditch World Cup
Clutching their purchases, Sirius and Mr Weasley were in the lead, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Harry couldn’t stop grinning. They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though Harry could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.
‘Seats a hundred thousand,’ said Mr Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on Harry’s face. ‘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, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.
‘Prime seats!’ said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. ‘Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go. Though Mr Black I’ll have to ask your family to step aside.’
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Sirius asked quite furious.
‘I know as much as you do sir,’ the woman explained, ‘an auror just came and told me to hold the Lupin-Black party.’
Arthur expressed that his family would not go with Harry’s, but they were holding up the line and eventually had to leave Harry and his family behind. They waited only about a minute more when a wizard about forty aparated in front of them.
The man had a confident demeanour about him, and along with his blue eyes he possessed shaggy dark brown hair. When Remus saw him an instant scowl crossed his face.
‘Dawlish,’ Remus said bitterly, ‘Why is my family being detained?’
‘Not detained Lupin, just excluded. This is nothing personal, we just can not allow a known werewolf into a crowded area the night of a full moon. The rest of your family can enter if they want.’
‘For one John, I am currently on the wolfsbane potion so even transformed I am no threat to this crowd,’ Remus was practically steaming at the ears. ‘And second, the moon won’t be rising for another three hours, and with professional Quidditch players a game rarely lasts more than two.’
‘I am sorry Remus, I just can’t risk it.’
‘What if we make a deal, I stay until six and then leave, giving plenty of time for me to go back and transform away from all these civilians.’
‘No, that’s final. I am not breaking the law, not even for an old college.’
Sirius, who up until a moment ago looked as though he was about to box Mr Dawlish to the death, broke a smug smile.
‘What if we make a deal,’ he said echoing Remus’ words, ‘Remus stays until six and then leaves, giving plenty of time for him to go back and transform away from all these civilians, and you get one hundred Galleons.’
John Dawlish seemed to only consider this for a second before holding out his hand and taking a heavy bag from Sirius, ‘Five Fifty you leave, and not a minute more.’
With that they were finally permitted to enter. Remus turned to Sirius in surprise and gratitude, ‘Pads, I don’t think I have every seen you act that much like a Black in my twenty-three years of knowing you.’
‘Well, it’ll probably be another twenty-three more before you see that again. Come on, let go watch this game like any other humanoid here.’
The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. Their party 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 situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined.
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, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Harry’s eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant’s hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, Harry saw 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...Harry tore his eyes away from the sign and looked to Sirius.
‘Padfoot, how much did you spend on our tickets?’
He just smiled back, ‘Don’t you worry about that. All I’ll say that it made that one galleons back there look like a single Knut.’
Realizing just how expensive this box was, Harry looked over his shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with them. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them. The creature, whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, batlike ears were oddly familiar...
‘Dobby?’ said Harry incredulously.
The tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It wasn’t Dobby—it was, however, unmistakably a house-elf, as Harry’s friend Dobby. Harry had set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family.
‘Did sir just call me Dobby?’ squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Dobby’s had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and Harry suspected—though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf—that this one might just be female. Theodore and Terence spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, they had never actually met him. Even Ron and Hermione looked around in interest.
‘My bad,’ Harry told the elf, ‘I thought you were a friend of mine.’
‘But I knows Dobby too, sir!’ squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. ‘My name is Winky, sir—and you, sir—‘ Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry’s scar. ‘You is surely Harry Potter!’
‘Yeah, I am,’ said Harry.
‘But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!’ she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck.
‘How is he?’ said Harry curiously, he had not heard from Dobby since the end of his second year of Hogwarts. ‘How’s freedom suiting him?’
‘Ah, sir,’ said Winky, shaking her head, ‘ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free.’
‘Why?’ said Harry, taken aback and now quite concerned. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Freedom is going to Dobby’s head, sir,’ said Winky sadly. ‘Ideas above his station, sir. Can’t get another position, sir.’
‘Why not?’ said Harry.
Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, ‘He is wanting paying for his work, sir.’
‘Paying?’ said Harry blankly. ‘Well—why shouldn’t he be paid?’
Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again.
‘House-elves is not paid, sir!’ she said in a muffled squeak. ‘No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you’s up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin.’
‘Well, it’s about time he had a bit of fun,’ said Harry.
‘House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter,’ said Winky firmly, from behind her hands. ‘House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter’—she glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped—‘but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir.’
‘Why’d he send you up here if he knows you are terrified of heights?’ said Harry, frowning.
‘Master—master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy,’ said Winky, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. ‘Winky is wishing she is back in master’s tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf.’
She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid her eyes completely again. Harry turned back to the others.
“So that is what a house-elf looks like?” Terence whispered so only Harry could hear. ‘They’re a little odd looking?’
‘Dobby was a little odd looking too,’ Harry admitted.
Allison then arrived and sat in the row directly behind Harry. ‘I found you. You didn’t tell me you would be in the highest of boxes. Hi Theo, hi Terence.’
‘My dad rarely touches his fortune, but for something like this he wanted us to have the best experience,’ Harry rotated and got Sirius’ attention. ‘Pads, Remus met her last year, but this is my friend Allison.’
Sirius put out his hand and Allison took it. ‘It is nice to finally meet you young lady. Harry has told me a lot about you over the years. You were the girl Harry met at the train storage compartment on your very first days?’
‘I almost didn’t remember that, but yes, that was me. It is good to meet you too Mr Black.’
They all got settled and started going over the program, which was made of velvet and was tasseled.
'There is going to be a performance from the teams mascots before the match begins,' Theodore read aloud.
'Oh that’s always worth watching,' said Mr Weasley. 'National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show.'
Sirius faced Terence, 'what creature is native to Ireland?'
Terence thought for a moment, 'Well, some of the main land or flying creatures are the Aethonan, Augurey, Banshees, and Porlocks, however they will probably go for the most reconisable. Leprechauns.'
More and more people started populating the box. Mr Weasley, Sirius, and Remus kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were a jack in the box. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge was over joyed to meet. They had technically met Fudge before, but Fudge had been unaware Harry was in the room. Fudge started introducing him to the other important people in the box.
‘Harry Potter, you know,’ he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn’t 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—‘
Harry for a moment wondered why Fudge wasn’t using a translation charm, but then remembered the man often didn’t think things through, and the stress from organizing the World Cup probably didn’t help.
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,’ said Fudge wearily to Harry. ‘I’m not great 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!’
Harry, Sirius, and the entire Weasley family Ron, turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr Weasley were none other than Dobby the house-elf’s former owners: Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco; and Draco’s mother whom Harry had only met once.
Harry and Draco Malfoy had a rocky relationship, they had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts, but had more or less stayed out of each other’s way ever since Harry punches him in the face a year prior. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. Narcissa was blonde too; tall and slim, she didn’t quite resemble her sister Andromeda, she would have been beautiful if she hadn’t had her nose scrunched up like she smelt something bad.
‘Ah, Fudge,’ said Mr Malfoy, 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?’ said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs Malfoy. ‘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. Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy looked at each other and Harry vividly recalled the last time they had come face-to-face: It had been in Flourish and Blotts’ bookshop, and they had almost come to blows if Sirius hadn’t beat Arthur to it. Speaking of Sirius.
‘And obviously no introduction is necessary for between the Black cousin’s.’ Fudge said with a laugh, clearly not picking up on the razor sharp tension rising between the Malfoy’s and Sirius.
‘I see this box wasn’t worth the army of Galleons we paid for it, seeing that it is infested with blood traitors and peasants,’ Narcissa said just loud enough for Sirius and Mr Weasley to hear.
Mr Malfoy’s cold gray 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?’
Fudge, who wasn’t listening, said, ‘Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur, Mr Black. He’s here as my guest.’
‘How—how nice,’ said Mr Weasley, with a very strained smile, and Sirius kept his mouth shut because anything that came out of his mouth now might get them all thrown out.
Mr Malfoy’s eyes had now focused on Hermione and Terence, who looked as though they wanted to be anywhere else at that moment, but both stared determinedly back at him. Harry knew exactly what was making Mr Malfoy’s lip curl like that. The Malfoy’s prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione and Terence, second-class. Terence had done a good job pretending to be half-blood for the past five years, but ever since the muggle-born hating Basilisk had petrified in his third year rumours had spread about his true parentage. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr Malfoy didn’t dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr Weasley and Sirius, and continued down the line to his seats. Draco simply just stayed quiet, not standing for his father or against, then settled himself between his mother and father.
‘Stuck up purist,’ Harry heard Sirius mutter. Remus had taken Sirius’ hand.
‘You were the better man, you didn’t react like last time, you were a good example to the kids.’
‘That doesn’t stop the fact that I wanted to punch him in his stuck up face once more.’
Harry smiled, and with the others turned to face the field again. Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box.
‘Everyone ready?’ he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. ‘Minister—ready to go?’
‘Ready when you are, Ludo,’ said Fudge comfortably.
Ludo whipped out his wand, directed 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 clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message
(Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans—A Risk With Every Mouthful!) 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,’ said Mr Weasley, 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, and Harry’s question was answered for him. Veela were women...the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen...except that they weren’t—they couldn’t be—human. This puzzled Harry for a moment while he tried to guess what exactly they could be; 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 Harry stopped worrying about them not being human—in fact, he stopped worrying about anything at all.
The veela had started to dance, and Harry’s mind had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that he kept watching the veela, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would happen his brain told him...And as the veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through Harry’s dazed mind. He 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?
‘Oh my gosh! Harry, what are you doing?!’ said Canini’s voice from a long way off.
The music stopped. Harry blinked. He was standing up, and one of his legs was resting on the wall of the box. Next to him, Ron, and Terence both looked as though they had been preparing to dive off of the box, and Theodore looked like he was having an identity crisis.
Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn’t want the veela to go. Harry was with them; he would, of course, be supporting Bulgaria, and he wondered vaguely why he had a large green shamrock pinned to his chest. The only five people complete not effected by the veela were Sirius, Allison, Hermione, Ginny, and Canini, who were trying to stop those around them from ripping their Ireland merch off of them. Mr Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and stopped him from shredding his hat.
‘You’ll be wanting that,’ he said, ‘once Ireland have had their say.’
‘Huh?’ said Ron, staring openmouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field.
Hermione made a loud tutting noise. While Sirius reached up and pulled Harry back into his seat she huffed. ‘Honestly!’ she said.
‘And now,’ roared Ludo Bagman’s voice, ‘kindly put your wands in the air...for the Irish National Team Mascots!’
Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, 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 rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it—
‘Spectacular!” yelled Terence as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, Harry 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!’ said Mr. Weasley over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.
“This is amazing,’ Ron yelled happily, with fists full of gold.
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, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.
‘Ivanova!’
A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.
‘Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand—Krum!’
‘Harry it’s him, it’s him!” yelled Theodore, following Krum with his eyes as best he could. Harry quickly focused his Omnioculars.
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 eighteen.
‘And now, please greet—the Irish National Quidditch Team!’ yelled Bagman. ‘Presenting—Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand—Lynch!’
Seven green blurs swept onto the field; Harry spun a small dial on the side of his 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.
“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 mustache to rival Uncle Vernon’s, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Harry spun the speed dial on his Omnioculars back to normal, 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 (Harry saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) 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 Harry had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose. 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. Harry spun the slow dial on the right of his Omnioculars again, pressed the play-by-play button on the top, and he was immediately watching in slow motion, while glittering purple lettering flashed across the lenses and the noise of the crowd pounded against his eardrums.
HAWKSHEAD ATTACKING FORMATION, he read as he watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Troy in the center, 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 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?’ Harry yelled, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. ‘But Levski’s got the Quaffle!’
“Harry mate, you’re still on slow-mo, you’re several seconds behind and missing things!’ shouted Terence, who was visibly shaking with joy and excitement while Troy did a lap of honor around the field.
Harry looked quickly over the top of his Omnioculars and saw that 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.
Furious with himself, Harry spun his speed dial back to normal as play resumed.
Harry 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 Harry’s 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.
‘Cover your ears boys!’ bellowed Remus as the veela started to dance in celebration. Harry screwed up his eyes too; he wanted to keep his mind on the game. After a few seconds, he chanced a glance at the field. 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. Harry followed their descent through his Omnioculars, squinting to 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!’
‘That was a nasty trick,’ Terence said trying to sound disgusted but couldn’t hide how he was impressed, ‘Krum lead him right into a trap. I’m sure he’ll be alright though...’
Harry hastily pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on his Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to his eyes.
He watched as Krum and Lynch dived again in slow motion. WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT—DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION read the shining purple lettering across his lenses. He saw Krum’s face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lynch was flattened, and he understood—Krum hadn’t seen the Snitch at all, he was just making Lynch copy him. Harry had never seen anyone fly like that; 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. Harry turned his Omnioculars back to normal and focused them on Krum. He was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by mediwizards with cups of potion. Harry, focusing still more closely upon Krum’s face, saw his dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below. He was 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 new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything Harry 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 Harry 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, all the boys besides Sirius
stuffed their fingers into their ears, but Hermione, who hadn’t bothered, kept pointing at the field. He turned to look at her, and pulled his fingers out of his ears.
‘Look at the referee!’ she said, giggling.
Harry 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; Harry, watching through the Omnioculars again, 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.
Remus and Canini stood, the night sky was getting quite dark above and the moon would rise soon after. Canini looked devastated that she would not get to see the end but Remus told her that Harry and the others would tell her all about it in the morning.
Just as they left the box, 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. Watching through his Omnioculars, Harry saw that 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 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. Harry turned this way and that, staring through his Omnioculars, as 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 Mostafa didn’t blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Harry couldn’t blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.
Harry wanted someone to realize that Krum was injured; even though he was supporting Ireland, Krum was the most exciting player on the field. Theodore obviously felt the same.
“Time-out! Stop the play! Someone has to heal him, he can’t fly like that—‘
‘Look at Lynch!’ Harry yelled.
For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Harry was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing...
‘He’s seen the Snitch!’ Harry 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. How he could see where he was going, Harry 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 can’t pull up in time!’ shrieked Allison.
‘Krum won’t crash!’ roared Theodore.
‘Lynch is!’ yelled Harry.
And he 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 Charlie Weasley, along the row.
‘He’s got it—Krum’s got it—it’s all over!’ shouted Harry.
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 storm was brewing, 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!’
‘Why did he catch the Snitch?’ Theodore asked curiously, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. ‘There was no way to win!’
‘He knew they were never going to catch up!’ Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. ‘The Irish Chasers were too good...He wanted to end it on his terms, this way they finished very close...’
‘He was is a strategic genius!’ Terence 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. ‘Though he looks a wreck...’
Harry put his Omnioculars to his eyes again. It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but he 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 Harry. He 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 Top Box!’ roared Bagman.
Harry’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, he 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; Harry 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. Harry 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. Harry’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 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.
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I am trying to find all of the house elves. Can you guys help me? I've already got: Dobby, Winky, Kreacher, and Hokey