"I feel this is going to be tough. Remember, this is the World Cup, not our school Quidditch matches. The era where Seekers dominated the game might not work here," said Malfoy. Although he admired Krum, he still rationally believed Ireland had a greater chance of winning this match.
"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova—oh, my goodness!" bellowed Bagman with his booming voice.
Ten thousand wizards held their breath, watching as the two Seekers—Krum and Lynch—plummeted downward among the Chasers, their speed akin to freefalling without parachutes. Augustus observed the two diving players curiously. His keen "Eye of Insight" showed no trace of the Golden Snitch. If even he couldn't detect it, there was only one explanation for Krum's dive.
Sure enough, at the last second, Viktor Krum pulled up, soared back into the air, and glided away. Lynch, on the other hand, crashed hard into the ground with a loud thud, audible throughout the stadium. A collective groan rose from the Irish supporters' stands.
"Remarkable feint," Augustus praised, his eyes gleaming with admiration.
"Time-out!" Mr. Bagman shouted. "Field medics are rushing onto the pitch to assess Aidan Lynch's injuries."
Lilian used her omnioculars to replay and analyze the move, slowing it down frame by frame. Through the lenses, a line of glowing purple text appeared: Wronski Feint—A maneuver to throw off rival Seekers.
"Brilliant! The most talented Seeker of the century! Compared to him, Lynch looks like a fool. This move is just too cool!" Malfoy exclaimed, his face glowing with admiration.
After another tense and fierce fifteen minutes, Ireland scored ten more goals in rapid succession. They now led 130 to 10, and the match was turning increasingly aggressive.
As Mullet charged toward the goalposts with the Quaffle tucked under her arm, Bulgaria's Keeper, Zograf, darted forward to block her.
"The situation doesn't look good. At this pace, if Ireland scores another 50 points, the game will be unshakable. Bulgaria is entirely on the defensive now," Lilian remarked indifferently. Her tone carried a hint of disdain for Ireland, likely due to Cho Chang.
Earlier, after Mullet was knocked by Bulgaria's Keeper, the leprechauns—shimmering like golden bees—rose into the air, reforming themselves to spell out "HA! HA! HA!" in midair. Across the field, the Veela were enraged. They began tossing their hair and dancing furiously.
Malfoy clapped his hands over his ears, his face twisting in irritation. "Not this again! These wretched creatures."
"Look at the referee!" Lilian said, giggling as she pointed to the pitch.
Augustus turned toward the referee's stand, where Hassan Mustafa had descended near the dancing Veela. His behavior was strange—he stretched and flexed his muscles and began enthusiastically stroking his large mustache.
"Well, it seems this referee might need to step down after this World Cup," Augustus chuckled. "How did someone like that even become a referee? A Squib, perhaps?"
"Oh, this won't do!" Bagman declared, though he sounded amused. "Someone get down there and give the ref a slap!"
A field medic ran in, plugging his ears as he kicked Mustafa sharply in the leg. The referee seemed to snap out of it, looking flustered as he yelled at the Veela, who reluctantly stopped dancing, their expressions defiant.
The match reached a ferocity unseen before. Beaters on both sides swung their bats ruthlessly, paying little mind to whether they hit Bludgers or opposing players. Dimitrov charged straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.
"And so, the World Cup turns into a dirty match. What's the difference between this and a Muggle football brawl?" Lilian's crimson eyes glimmered with disdain. Even at an event as grand as the World Cup, unsportsmanlike tactics couldn't be avoided.
Augustus chuckled. "It's a systemic issue. Many fans don't see anything wrong with this behavior, so the players don't bother following the rules."
"Exactly. The crowd's standards set the tone for the players. Like team, like fans—there's truth in that," Lilian agreed.
The leprechauns regrouped midair, this time forming a giant hand that made a crude gesture toward the Veela. Infuriated, the Veela lost control. They abandoned their dance, flying across the pitch and hurling fiery projectiles at the leprechauns. Through his omnioculars, Harry noticed their true forms—bird-like faces with sharp beaks and long, scaly wings sprouting from their shoulders.
Malfoy sneered, unfazed. "I've seen their true forms before. They lost all appeal to me ages ago."
"Look at Lynch!" Lilian suddenly exclaimed, pointing at the Irish Seeker.
Lynch dove sharply toward the ground. In Augustus's all-encompassing vision, a small golden dot appeared not far above the surface.
By now, half the crowd had realized what was happening. Irish supporters rose to their feet, creating another wave of green as they screamed encouragement for their Seeker. But Krum was close behind him.
"With Lynch's flying skills, it looks like he's about to have another close encounter with the ground," Lilian sighed, having seen through the Irish Seeker's capabilities.
The two Seekers dived again. Unsurprisingly, Lynch crashed into the ground for the second time, swarmed by angry Veela.
"Where's the Snitch? Where is it?" Malfoy shouted, scanning the field.
Augustus pointed calmly. "In Krum's hand."
Krum hovered in midair, his crimson robes streaked with blood from a broken nose. He raised his fist high, a glimmer of gold shining between his fingers.
The scoreboard updated: Bulgaria: 160, Ireland: 170.
The crowd took a moment to register what had just happened. Slowly, like a jet engine revving up, the Irish supporters erupted into a deafening roar of joyous cheers.
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