Harry's eyes were glued to Krum as the Bulgarian Seeker made his entrance. The player who was driving Ron to such heights of frenzy was dark and thin, with sallow skin. His large, hooked nose and thick black eyebrows gave him the appearance of an oversized Eagle. It was difficult for Harry to accept the fact that this fierce-looking competitor was just eighteen years old, just a few years older than himself.
Before the crowd had even begun to settle, Bagman's voice rang out once more, somehow managing to inject even more enthusiasm into his announcement. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome... the Irish National Quidditch Team!
Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaand - Lynch!"
Seven green blurs swept onto the field. Harry twisted a dial on the side of his Omnioculars, slowing down their movements to a more manageable speed. With the enhanced view, he could clearly read the word 'Firebolt' emblazoned on each of their top-of-the-line racing brooms, and make out their names, embroidered in shimmering silver thread on the backs of their emerald robes.
The anticipation in the stadium reached a fever pitch as Hassan Mostafa, the renowned chairman of the International Association of Quidditch, made his entrance onto the field. He was a small, skinny wizard wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium. His presence signaled that the match was just few moments away from beginning.
As the players took their positions, Harry felt a surge of excitement unlike anything he had ever experienced. Despite being the Seeker for the Gryffindor team at Hogwarts and having been through many tough games, he suddenly realized just how vast the gulf was between the Hogwarts House Cup and professional Quidditch. This was the World Cup final, the pinnacle of the sport, and he was about to witness it firsthand.
From the moment the whistle blew, it was clear that this match was in a league of its own. The players moved with a speed that was almost beyond belief. The Quaffle changed hands so rapidly that Bagman, despite his best efforts, could barely keep up with announcing the players' names.
Within minutes of the start, Ireland had already broken through Bulgaria's supposedly impenetrable defense, scoring the first ten points of the match.
The stadium erupted in cheers and applause. The Top Box became a sea of frenzied excitement, with Ginny and Hermione jumping up and down, waving their arms wildly. Harry couldn't help but grin at the sight of Hermione, usually so composed, caught up in the thrill of the match.
Ron's reaction was equally enthusiastic, but after coming to his senses, he immediately fixed his gaze on Ludo, who was commentating, his eyes full of eager anticipation.
At the edge of the field, the leprechauns brought by the Irish team were celebrating in their own unique way. They rose into the air once more, forming a giant, glittering shamrock that sparkled magnificently against the night sky. On the opposite side of the field, the veela watched this with gloomy expressions.
The Irish team was living up to the high expectations placed upon them. Far from becoming complacent after taking the early lead, they pressed on relentlessly, expanding their advantage with incredibly fast attacks and breathtaking teamwork that left the crowd gasping in awe. Within just ten minutes, the towering scoreboard opposite the Top Box displayed a score of 30-0 in favor of Ireland.
As the match progressed, it became increasingly intense and brutal.
The Bulgarian players, despite the setback, showed remarkable tenacity and grit. Though they were mostly aware that their primary hope of victory lay with their genius Seeker, Viktor Krum, they refused to shy away from engaging in a fierce scoring battle with Ireland. Their determination paid off when Bulgaria finally managed to get on the scoreboard, igniting a roar of approval from their supporters.
"You'd better cover your ears, kids!" Sirius suddenly shouted, his sharp eyes catching sight of the veela beginning to dance in celebration of Bulgaria's goal. Harry, heeding the advice of his godfather, quickly clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut. While he was curious about the veela's entrancing dance he preferred to keep his sanity and focus on the ongoing match.
Just as Harry was about to uncover his ears, a shout from Ron caught his attention. "Blimey, Harry! Look at Krum! I think he's spotted the Snitch!"
In an instant, the entire stadium's attention shifted from the valiant efforts of the Chasers to the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch. The pair had suddenly broken away from the main group of players hovering in midair and were now plummeting towards the ground at breakneck speed. Their fall was so rapid and steep that they resembled a pair of skydivers who had forgotten their parachutes.
The crowd held its breath as Krum and Lynch dashed downward with absolute focus. It seemed as though they were determined to either catch the Golden Snitch or crash spectacularly into the ground in the attempt.
"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked, her voice tight with fear as she clutched at Harry's robes.
As it turned out, Hermione was only half right in her prediction. At the very last possible second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive with a display of skill that left Harry breathless with admiration. The gust from Krum's broom as he pulled up flattened a large patch of grass before he soared back into the sky, unscathed.
Lynch, however, was not so fortunate. He hit the ground with a sickening thud that echoed throughout the stadium, audible even over the gasps and cries of the spectators. A collective groan rose from the Irish supporters' seats, tinged with concern for their Seeker.
"Merlin's beard, what a fool!" Mr. Weasley lamented, shaking his head in a mixture of admiration and dismay. "Krum was just feinting!"
"Time out!" Bagman's voice roared over the commotion, signaling a brief pause in the action.
In response to the call, a team of well-trained mediwizards rushed onto the field with practiced efficiency.
Charlie, noticing the distress on his sister's face, quickly moved to reassure her. "Don't worry, Ginny," he said, his voice calm and steady. "Lynch is alright, just got the wind knocked out of him is all. These players are tougher than they look."
Hermione, meanwhile, had not loosened her grip on Harry's robes. Her face was pale, and she seemed unable to look directly at the field. Harry, for his part, was using his Omnioculars to replay the recent scene, analyzing every detail of Krum's masterful feint.
"Of course, this is exactly what Krum wanted to achieve," Sirius commented, having moved to stand next to Harry. There was a hint of nostalgia in his voice as he continued, "The Wronski Feint - it's used to take out dangerous opposing Seekers. An extremely difficult move to pull off successfully. Apart from your father, James, I've never seen a Seeker execute it so flawlessly in a real match."
After only a few minutes, Lynch got to his feet. A resounding cheer erupted from his green-clad supporters as he unsteadily mounted his Firebolt, kicked off from the ground, and shot back into the air to rejoin the match. His recovery seemed to inject renewed confidence into the Irish team. When the referee's whistle pierced the air once more, signaling the resumption of play, the Irish Chasers quickly organized their attack with a level of skill and coordination that left Harry, despite his own Quidditch experience, utterly awestruck.
The next fifteen minutes of play were breathtaking. The Irish team, seemingly stimulated by Lynch's brush with disaster, went on an offensive rampage. They scored ten more goals in rapid succession. The scoreboard now showed a lead of 130 to 10 in favor of Ireland.
Ron, who had been caught up in the excitement of the match, seemed to have finally snapped out of his Quidditch-induced trance. He realized that the game was unfolding exactly as he had boldly predicted to Ludo Bagman. His eyes darted nervously between the action on the field and Bagman himself, who appeared blissfully unaware that he was potentially on the verge of losing a substantial sum of money. In a gesture that was part superstition and part desperate hope, Ron pulled Professor Watson's Merlin commemorative coin from his pocket, clutching it tightly as if it were a charm of good fortune.
Harry couldn't help but grin at Ron's antics. If the match result turned out as Ron had predicted, Harry too stood to win a tidy sum of gold. His mind raced with the possibilities - perhaps he could finally buy himself that broomstick servicing kit he'd been eyeing for ages, a luxury he had previously been unable to justify purchasing.
Just as Harry was about to turn his full attention back to the thrilling match unfolding before them, something caught his eye. He glanced casually around their Top Box, taking in the reactions of the other spectators. Most were on their feet, necks craned towards the field, completely engrossed in the action and unwilling to miss even a split second of this exciting match.
The Bulgarian Minister of Magic was wide-eyed as he watched his nation's team struggling against the Irish attack. Next to him, Fudge, out of courtesy, was trying to offer words of comfort to him.
This wasn't unusual, but then—
It was then that Harry noticed something odd. Lucius Malfoy was leading his wife Narcissa and their son Draco towards the exit of the box while no one was paying attention!
Harry blinked, unsure if he was seeing things correctly. The match was at its most intense point - why would anyone, let alone the Malfoys, choose this moment to leave? As he watched more closely, he noticed that Lucius and Narcissa both wore expressions of barely concealed anxiety, tinged with a sense of urgency that seemed entirely at odds with the celebratory atmosphere around them.
It was as if they couldn't wait to leave. While their son, Draco, looked confused. Although he followed behind his parents, his eyes, fixed on their backs, were full of reluctance and bewilderment.
Under the cover of the intense match, with everyone's attention firmly fixed on the match, no one except Harry seemed to notice this strange scene.
Lucius paused briefly at the box door. He glanced at Fudge inside the box, and after confirming that Fudge hadn't noticed his impending departure, his gaze swept over to Sirius. In the dim light, there was a hint of coldness in his eyes.
As Harry watched the Malfoy family disappear from view, a sudden chill ran through his body.
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