Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, we made our way back through the campsite. Here and there, we saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with theirfamilies. Oliver Wood, the old captain of Harry's House Quidditchteam, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry over to his parents' tent to introduce him, and told him excitedly that he had justbeen signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. 

Next theywere hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, and a little farther on they saw Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who playedSeeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry,who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back. I raised an eyebrow at him, could he be more obvious? More to stop Ron and me from smirking than anything, Harry hurriedlypointed out a large group of teenagers whom he had never seenbefore."Who d'you reckon they are?" he said. "They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?" 

" 'Spect they go to some foreign school," said Ron. "I know thereare others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had apenfriend at a school in Brazil . . . this was years and years ago . . .and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His penfriend got all offended when he said he wasn't goingand sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up." 

I laughed but didn't voice the amazement I felt at hearingabout other wizarding schools. I supposed, now that I saw representatives of so many nationalities in the campsite, that I hadbeen stupid never to realize that Hogwarts couldn't be the onlyone. I glanced at Hermione, who looked utterly unsurprised bythe information. No doubt she had run across the news aboutother wizarding schools in some book or other. 

"You've been ages," said George when we finally got back tothe Weasleys' tents. 

"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You notgot that fire started yet?"

 "Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred.

 Mr. Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, butit wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the groundaround him, but he looked as though he was having the time of hislife."Oops!" he said as he managed to light a match and promptlydropped it in surprise.

 "Come here, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione kindly, taking thebox from him, and showing him how to do it properly.At last they got the fire lit, though it was at least another hourbefore it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty towatch while we waited, however. Our tent seemed to be pitchedright alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministrymembers kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for me, Harry's and Hermione's benefit; his own children knewtoo much about the Ministry to be greatly interested. 

"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin LiaisonOffice. . . . Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he's with the Committeeon Experimental Charms; he's had those horns for a while now. . . .Hello, Arnie . . . Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator — memberof the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know. . . . and that'sBode and Croaker . . . they're Unspeakables. . . ." 

"They're what?"

 "From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea whatthey get up to. . . ."

 At last, the fire was ready, and we had just started cooking eggsand sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percy came strolling out of thewoods toward them

."Just Apparated, Dad," said Percy loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!" 

We were halfway through our plates of eggs and sausageswhen Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at aman who was striding toward them. "Aha!" he said. "The man ofthe moment! Ludo!" 

Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person I hadseen so far, even including old Archie in his flowered nightdress.He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes ofbright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp wassplashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully builtman gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across alarge belly he surely had not had in the days when he had playedQuidditch for England. His nose was squashed (probably brokenby a stray Bludger, I thought), but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy. 

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He was walking as thoughhe had springs attached to the balls of his feet and was plainly in astate of wild excitement. 

"Arthur, old man," he puffed as he reached the campfire, "whata day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfectweather? A cloudless night coming . . . and hardly a hiccough inthe arrangements. . . . Not much for me to do!"

 Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizardsrushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparentlyhis disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department didnot prevent him from wanting to make a good impression.

 "Ah — yes," said Mr. Weasley, grinning, "this is my son Percy.He's just started at the Ministry — and this is Fred — no, George,sorry — that's Fred — Bill, Charlie, Ron — my daughter, Ginny —and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Harry and Emma Potter."

 Bagman did the smallest of double takes when he heard our name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward to the scars on our foreheads. 

"Everyone," Mr. Weasley continued, "this is Ludo Bagman, youknow who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets —" Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had beennothing. 

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" he said eagerly, jinglingwhat seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes. "I've already got Roddy Pontner bettingme Bulgaria will score first — I offered him nice odds, consideringIreland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years — and littleAgatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a weeklong match."

 "Oh . . . go on then," said Mr. Weasley. "Let's see . . . a Galleonon Ireland to win?"

 "A Galleon?" Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well . . . any other takers?" 

"They're a bit young to be gambling," said Mr. Weasley. "Mollywouldn't like —"

 "We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts,"said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "thatIreland wins — but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'llthrow in a fake wand." 

"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that —"Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbishat all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as hetook it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk andturned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter."Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd payfive Galleons for that!" 

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval.

 "Boys," said Mr. Weasley under his breath, "I don't want youbetting. . . . That's all your savings. . . . Your mother —"

 "Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" boomed Ludo Bagman, rattlinghis pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to know what theywant! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Nota chance, boys, not a chance. . . . I'll give you excellent odds on that one. . . . We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then,shall we. . . ."

 Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped outa notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.

 "Cheers," said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagmanhanded him and tucking it away carefully. Bagman turned mostcheerfully back to Mr. Weasley."Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out forBarty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able tosort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages." 

"Mr. Crouch?" said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look ofpoker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement."He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook andTroll . . ."

 "Anyone can speak Troll," said Fred dismissively. "All you haveto do is point and grunt." 

Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil.

 "Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asked asBagman settled himself down on the grass beside us all. 

"Not a dicky bird," said Bagman comfortably. "But she'll turnup. Poor old Bertha . . . memory like a leaky cauldron and no senseof direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back intothe office sometime in October, thinking it's still July." 

"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look forher?" Mr. Weasley suggested tentatively as Percy handed Bagmanhis tea.

 "Barty Crouch keeps saying that," said Bagman, his round eyes widening innocently, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh — talk of the devil! Barty!"

 A wizard had just Apparated at our fireside, and he could nothave made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled on thegrass in his old Wasp robes. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The partingin his short gray hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using aslide rule. His shoes were very highly polished. I could see atonce why Percy idolized him. Percy was a great believer in rigidlyfollowing rules, and Mr. Crouch had complied with the rule aboutMuggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed for abank manager; I doubted even Uncle Vernon would havespotted him for what he really was.

 "Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," said Ludo brightly, patting theground beside him."

No thank you, Ludo," said Crouch, and there was a bite of impatience in his voice. "I've been looking for you everywhere. TheBulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the TopBox."

 "Oh is that what they're after?" said Bagman. "I thought thechap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strongaccent." 

"Mr. Crouch!" said Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half-bow that made him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cupof tea?"

 "Oh," said Mr. Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise."Yes — thank you, Weatherby"

Me, Fred and George choked into our own cups. 

Percy, very pinkaround the ears, busied himself with the kettle. 

"Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," saidMr. Crouch, his sharp eyes falling upon Mr. Weasley. "Ali Bashir'son the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo onflying carpets." 

Mr. Weasley heaved a deep sigh."I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him onceI've told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will helisten?" 

"I doubt it," said Mr. Crouch, accepting a cup from Percy. "He'sdesperate to export here."

 "Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" saidBagman. 

"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle,"said Mr. Crouch. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminsterthat could seat twelve — but that was before carpets were banned,of course."He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubtthat all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law. 

"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" said Bagman breezily. 

"Fairly," said Mr. Crouch dryly. "Organizing Portkeys across fivecontinents is no mean feat, Ludo."

 "I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?" said Mr.Weasley.Ludo Bagman looked shocked."Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun. . . . Still, it's no as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh?Plenty left to organize, eh?"

 Mr. Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman."We agreed not to make the announcement until all thedetails —"

 "Oh details!" said Bagman, waving the word away like a cloudof midges. "They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven'tthey? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. Imean, it's happening at Hogwarts —"

 "Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," said Mr.Crouch sharply, cutting Bagman's remarks short. "Thank you forthe tea, Weatherby." 

He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo torise; Bagman struggled to his feet, swigging down the last of his tea,the gold in his pockets chinking merrily."See you all later!" he said. "You'll be up in the Top Box withme — I'm commentating!" He waved, Barty Crouch noddedcurtly, and both of them Disapparated. 

"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" said Fred at once."What were they talking about?" 

"You'll find out soon enough," said Mr.Weasley, smiling. 

"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," said Percy stiffly. "Mr. Crouch was quite rightnot to disclose it."

 "Oh shut up, Weatherby," said Fred. 

A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itselfseemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spreadlike a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretence disappeared: the Ministry seemed to havebowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatantmagic now breaking out everywhere.Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays andpushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes — green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria — which weresquealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedeckedwith dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions thatreally roared, flags from both countries that played their nationalanthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Fireboltsthat really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, whichstrolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves. 

"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron told Me, Harry as we and Hermione strolled through the salesmen, buyingsouvenirs. Though Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and alarge green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum,the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward andforward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette abovehim. 

"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piledhigh with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they werecovered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

 "Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action . . . slow everything down . . . and they flash up a play-by-playbreakdown if you need it. Bargain — ten Galleons each." 

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at hisdancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars."four pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.

 "No — don't bother," said Ron, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that Harry and me, who had inherited a small fortune from our parents, had much more money than he did. 

"20 you, 20 me?" I asked Harry, he nodded

"You both won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him,thrusting Omnioculars into his hands, I handed hermione pain. "For aboutten years, mind." 

"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning. 

"Oooh, thanks, Emma," said Hermione. "And I'll get us someprograms, look —"

 Our money bags considerably lighter, we went back to thetents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too,and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George hadno souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyondthe woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life inthe trees, lighting a path to the field

."It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!" 

Clutching our purchases , Mr. Weasley in the lead, we allhurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. We could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around us, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere offeverish excitement was highly infectious; Harry couldn't stop grinning. We walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talkingand joking loudly, until at last we emerged on the other side andfound ourselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though I could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, I could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it. 

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr. Weasley, spotting theawestruck look on my face. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charmson every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere nearhere 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 shechecked their tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and ashigh as you can go."

 The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. We clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filteredaway through doors into the stands to their left and right. Mr.Weasley's party kept climbing, and at last we reached the top ofthe staircase and found ourselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between thegolden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood intwo rows here, and I, filing into the front seats with theWeasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which I couldnever have imagined.

 A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking theirplaces in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field.Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, whichseemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smoothas velvet from our lofty position. At either end of the field stoodthree goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at my eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing keptdashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawlingupon 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: NoPain, No Stain! . . . Gladrags Wizardwear — London,Paris, Hogsmeade . . . 

I tore my eyes away from the sign and looked over my shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with them. So far itwas empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from lastseat at the end of the row behind us. The creature, whose legswere so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearinga tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in itshands. Yet those long, batlike ears were oddly familiar. . . .

 "Dobby?"I said incredulously. Harry said spun around so fast he must've pulled a muscle.

 The tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealingenormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a largetomato. It wasn't Dobby — it was, however, unmistakably a houseelf, as our friend Dobby had been. I had set Dobby freefrom his old owners, the Malfoy family. 

"Did madame just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously frombetween its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Dobby's hadbeen, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and I suspected —though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf — that this onemight just be female. Ron and Hermione spun around in theirseats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby fromHarry, they had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley lookedaround in interest. 

"Sorry," I told the elf, "I just thought you were someone Iknew." 

"But I knows Dobby too, madame!" 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, madame — and you, madame —" Herdark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they restedupon Harry's and my scar. "You is surely Harry and Emma Potter!"

 "Yeah, we are," said Harry. 

"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir and madame!" she said, lowering herhands very slightly and looking awestruck. 

"How is he?" said Harry. "How's freedom suiting him?"

 "Ah, sir," said Winky, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, madame, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when youis setting him free."

 "Why?" I said, taken aback. "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 iswanting paying for his work, sir."

 "Paying?" said Harry blankly. "Well — why shouldn't he bepaid?"

 Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingersslightly 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 andsettle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir,what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around likethis, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of theDepartment for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,like some common goblin."

 "Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun,"I said. 

"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Emma Potter," said Winky firmly, from behind her hands. "House-elves does whatthey is told. I is not liking heights at all, Emma Potter" — sheglanced toward the edge of the box and gulped — "but my mastersends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir." 

"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?"I said, frowning. 

"Master — master wants me to save him a seat, Emma Potter.He is very busy," said Winky, tilting her head toward the emptyspace beside her. "Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Emma Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a goodhouse-elf."She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid hereyes completely again. Harry turned back to the others. 

"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered. "Weird things, aren'tthey?" 

"Dobby was weirder," said Harry fervently. 

Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium."Wild!" he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. "I canmake that old bloke down there pick his nose again . . . andagain . . . and again . . ."

 Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvet-covered, tasseled program. 

" 'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,' " sheread aloud, as I opened my own.

 "Oh that's always worth watching," said Mr. Weasley. "Nationalteams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put ona bit of a show."The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged intothe 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, who had joined the box along with the Malfoys comfortably. 

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, andsaid "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was nowfilling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, boominginto every corner of the stands. 

"Ladies and gentlemen . . . welcome! Welcome to the final ofthe 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 hugeblackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message  and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

 "And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce . . . theBulgarian National Team Mascots!"The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block ofscarlet, roared its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought," said Mr. Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses andpolished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"

 "What are veel — ?'" began Harry

 But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, andHarry's question was answered for him. Veela were women . . . themost beautiful women Harry had ever seen . . . except that theyweren't — they couldn't be — human. They began to dance, and slowly from my either side Harry and Fred began to rise as though hypnotized, "Harry, what are you doing?" I said as I snapped my fingers in front of Fred's face.

The music stopped. Harry blinked. He was standing up, andone of his legs was resting on the wall of the box. Next to him, Ronwas frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about todive from a springboard. 

Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go. Harry was with them;  yelling. Ron, meanwhile, was absentmindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. Mr. Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and tugged the hat out of hishands."You'll be wanting that," he said, "once Ireland have had theirsay. 

"Huh?" said Ron, staring open-mouthed at the veela, who hadnow lined up along one side of the field. 

Hermione made a loud tutting noise. I reached up and pulledHarry back into his seat. "Honestly!" I said. 

"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put yourwands in the air . . . for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

 Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold cometcame zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium,then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goalposts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting thetwo balls of light.

 The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though ata 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 — 

"Excellent!" yelled Ron as the shamrock soared over us, andheavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off our heads and seats.Squinting up at the shamrock, I realized that it was actuallycomprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests,each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green. Hermione shoved some gold in my hand. 

"Leprechauns!" said Mr. Weasley over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummagingaround under their chairs to retrieve the gold.

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted downonto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settledthemselves 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 wasblurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wildapplause 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 hisOmnioculars. I quickly focused my own. 

Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a largecurved 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; I spun a small dialon the side of his Omnioculars and slowed the players downenough to read the word "Firebolt" on each of their brooms and seetheir names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs. 

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, HassanMostafa!" 

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a mustacheto rival Uncle Vernon's, wearing robes of pure gold to match thestadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protrudingfrom under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crateunder one arm, his broomstick under the other. 

I spun thespeed dial on his Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely asMostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open —four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two blackBludgers, and (I saw it for the briefest moment, before it spedout of sight) the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch.

 With a sharpblast 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. Hewas pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they werecutting into the bridge of his nose. He'll miss it, but I had been to many matches.

 The speed of the players was incredible — the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one anotherso fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. I spunthe slow dial on the right of his Omnioculars again, pressed theplay-by-play button on the top, and I was immediately watchingin slow motion, while glittering purple lettering flashed across thelenses and the noise of the crowd pounded against my eardrums.HAWKSHEAD ATTACKING FORMATION[ no idea what it was so I turned it back to normal] 

"TROY SCORES!" roared Bagman, and the stadium shudderedwith 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, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" shouted Hermione, who was dancing up anddown, waving her arms in the air while Troy did a lap of honoraround the field.

 Across the field, the veela were watching the leprechauns sulkily. I knew enough about Quidditch to see that the IrishChasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading oneanother's minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosetteon my 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 ofroars and applause from the green-clad supporters.The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov andVulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers asfiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forcedto scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break throughtheir ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal. 

"Fingers in your ears!" bellowed Mr. Weasley as the veela startedto dance in celebration. Harry screwed up his eyes too; he must have wantedto keep his mind on the game.

The veela had stopped dancing, and Bulgariawas again in possession of the Quaffle."Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova — oh I say!" roaredBagman. 

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 airplaneswithout parachutes. I followed their descent through my Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was — 

"They're going to crash!" screamed Hermione next to Harry.She was half right — at the very last second, Viktor Krumpulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit theground 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 mediwizardshurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

 "He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringlyto Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, lookinghorror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course. . . ." 

Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-cladsupporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air.His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa blewhis 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 pulledahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundredand thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier.As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching theQuaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flewout to meet her.

 Whatever happened was over so quickly I didn't catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, andMostafa'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 swarmof glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words "HA, HA, HA!" The veela on the otherside of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, andstarted to dance again.

 As one, the Weasley boys and Harry stuffed their fingers intotheir ears, but i, who hadn't bothered, was soon tuggingon Harry's arm. He turned to look at me, and I pulled his fingersimpatiently out of his ears.

 "Look at the referee!" I said, giggling.

 Harry looked down at the field and joined my laughter. Hassan Mostafa had landed rightin front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed. Hewas flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly. 

"Now, we can't have that!" said Ludo Bagman, though hesounded highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!"

 A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffedinto his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafaseemed to come to himself; I, watching through the Omnioculars again, saw that he looked exceptionally embarrassed andhad started shouting at the veela, who had stopped dancing andwere looking mutinous."And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attemptingto send off the Bulgarian team mascots!" said Bagman's voice."Now there's something we haven't seen before. . . . Oh this couldturn nasty. . . ."

 It did: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed oneither side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him gesticulating toward the leprechauns, who had now gleefullyformed the words "HEE, HEE, HEE." Mostafa was not impressedby the Bulgarians' arguments, however; he was jabbing his fingerinto the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when theyrefused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle.

 "Two penalties for Ireland!" shouted Bagman, and the Bulgariancrowd howled with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had betterget back on those brooms . . . yes . . . there they go . . . and Troytakes the Quaffle . . ." 

Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything we hadyet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy:Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whethertheir clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swungthem 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 agreat 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, theyformed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed atthe veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead ofdancing, they launched themselves across the field and beganthrowing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. 

Watching through my Omnioculars, I saw that they didn'tlook remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces wereelongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scalywings were bursting from their shoulders —

"And that, boys," yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of thecrowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!" 

Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate theveela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, thepitched 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 theshrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. The gamerecommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, nowDimitrov —The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger,and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duckquickly enough.

 It hit him full in the face.

 There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's noselooked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafadidn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and I couldn't blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fireand set his broom tail alight. 

"Time-out!" roared Ron "Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him —" 

"Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled. 

For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive. "He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look athim go!" 

Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; theIrish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screamingtheir Seeker on . . . but Krum was on his tail. How he could seewhere he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of bloodflying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level withLynch 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!" I yelled.

 And I was right — for the second time, Lynch hit the groundwith tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a hordeof angry veela. 

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Charlie, along therow. 

"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: 170across 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 louderand 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!""What did he catch the Snitch for?" 

Ron bellowed, even as hejumped 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!" I shoutedback over all the noise, also applauding loudly. "The Irish Chaserswere too good. . . . He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all. . . .Lord, how much does pride come into play in this game?" 

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forwardto watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a paththrough the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "Helooks a terrible mess. . . ." 

I put my Omnioculars to my eyes again. It was hard to seewhat was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but I could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refusedto let them mop him up. His team members were around him,shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, theIrish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descendingfrom their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium, theIrish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though lookingdispirited and forlorn. 

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind Harry. Helooked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

 "You can speak English!" said Fudge, sounding outraged. "Andyou'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 theirmascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the TopBox!" roared Bagman.

my eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, asthe Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in thestands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, I sawtwo panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, whichthey 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 Bulgarianplayers. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; I could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashingand winking in their direction. One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in thebox, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook handswith their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was lastin line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. I noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. Hewas slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. Butwhen Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him aresounding, earsplitting roar. 

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to havedazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and thecrowd below thundered its approval. my hands were numbwith clapping. 

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform anotherlap 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 andmuttered, "Quietus." 

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely,"a really unexpected twist, that. . . . shame it couldn't have lastedlonger. . . . Ah yes. . . . yes, I owe you . . . how much?" 

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of theirseats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grinson their faces, their hands outstretched.

---

We were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of thestadium and back to our campsites. Raucous singing was bornetoward us on the night air as we retraced t=ourr steps along thelantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over our heads,cackling and waving their lanterns. When we finally reached thetents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noisearound us, Mr. Weasley agreed that we could all have one lastcup of cocoa together before turning in.

We were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fellasleep 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.

Hermione and I supported Ginny between us, and made way to the exit/entrance of the boy's tent I stopped. "Oh before I go" I said, smirking around at the boys "most girls don't exactly feel comfortable being stared at for no reason. So, when--sorry, if--if you lot start dating keep that in mind."

Mr Weasly laughed, the others on the other hand had their mouths open indigantly. Hermione and I shared a laugh.