Chapter 8 The Quidditch World Cup

Clutching their purchases, Mr. Weasley 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.”

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. Mr. Weasley's 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-Burgler Buzzer…Mrs. Shower'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 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 had been. 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. Ron and Hermione spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, they had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest.

“Sorry,” Harry told the elf, “I just thought you were someone I knew.”

“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. “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. “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's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like 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's a house-elf?” Ron muttered. “Weird things, aren't they?”

“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 can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again…and again…and again…”

Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvetcovered, tasseled program.

“'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,"’ she 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.”

The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Mr. Weasley 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 trying to sit on a hedgehog. 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 had greeted like an old friend. They had met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the wizards on either side of him.

“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 -”

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 no great shakes 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, Ron, and Hermione 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 a woman Harry supposed must be Draco's mother.

Harry and Draco Malfoy had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. His mother was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.

“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 had a fight. 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. He's here as my guest.”

“How - how nice,” said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Harry knew exactly what was making Mr. Malfoy's lip curl like that. The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father.

“Slimy gits,” Ron muttered as he, Harry, and Hermione 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.

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?

“Harry, what are you doing?” said Hermione'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 was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard.

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. Ron, meanwhile, was absentmindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. Mr. Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands.

“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. She reached up and pulled Harry back into his seat. “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 -

“Excellent!” yelled Ron 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.

“There you go,” Ron yelled happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into Harry's hand, “for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!”

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!”

“That's him, that's him!” yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. Harry quickly focused his own.

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, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!” shouted Hermione, who was dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air 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.

“Fingers in your ears!” bellowed Mr. Weasley 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 next to Harry.

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!”

“He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!” Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. “Which is what Krum was after, of course.…”

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, the Weasley boys and Harry stuffed their fingers into their ears, but Hermione, who hadn't bothered, was soon tugging on Harry's arm. He turned to look at her, and she pulled his fingers impatiently 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. 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 Quaffie 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. Ron obviously felt the same.

“Time-out! 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, 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're going to crash!” shrieked Hermione.

“They're not!” roared Ron.

“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, 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 jumbo jet were revving up, 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!”

“What did he catch the Snitch for?” Ron bellowed, even as he jumped 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!” Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. “The Irish Chasers were too good…He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all.…

“He was very brave, wasn't he?” Hermione 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. “He looks a terrible mess.…”

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!”

“Veil, 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 Confolly'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.

各自拿着自己买的东西，大家沿着由灯笼照亮的小道，急急忙忙地往森林里赶，威斯里先生走在最前面。他们可以听到成千上万的人在他们四周移动的声音——叫声，笑声和歌声。大家都被这狂热兴奋的气氛而深深感动了，哈利一直都咧嘴大笑。他们在森林走了三十分钟，沿途一直大声地谈话和开玩笑，最后，终于到达森林的另一端，发现在自己的前面有一个巨大的体育馆。虽然哈利只能看见环绕在搭帐篷地区周围的一部分，但肯定一点也不会拥挤。

　　威斯里先生注意到哈利脸上敬畏的表情后，对他说：“可以坐十万人。在这一年里内阁雇佣了五百人来建这个体育馆。这里的每一英寸都有防御马格人的魔法。在这一年中，每一次马格人接近这里时，他们就要马上重新市署，并再次飞快地跑开……上帝保佑他们。”他情深地补充道。威斯里先生带领大家走向最近的一个人口，在那里，早就聚集了一大群吵吵嚷嚷的巫婆和巫士们。

　　“前座！”一个在门口的巫婆官员看了他们的票后，说：“上等厢！直上楼梯，亚瑟，走到最高处。”

　　进入体育馆的楼梯铺着豪华的紫色的地毯。他们和人群一起爬着楼梯。慢慢地，有的人转入楼梯左边或右边的门中。威斯里先生～行人继续沿着楼梯往上爬，最后到达了楼梯顶部的小阁，他们发现自己进入了一个小箱子里。这个小箱设在体育馆的最高处，刚好在两个金色的边线柱子中间。大约有二十张紫色、镀金的椅子，分成两排。哈利跟着威斯里先生坐到前排去，往下看到了一个他永远无法想象的场景。

　　在椭圆的广场里，下面的椅子按一定的比例一排比一排高一点，十万个巫婆巫士坐在他们的座位上。整个体育馆都弥漫着一种神秘的金色的光，就像体育馆自己发出来的似的。从他们处于高处的位置看来，广场就像天鹅绒一样的光滑，并且两端都有三个用于进球的铁环，十五英尺高；在他们的正对面，几乎与哈利的目光平行的地方有一个巨大的的黑板，金色的字在上面潦草书写；又马上把它擦去。看了一会儿后，哈利才发现上面写着的是广告。

　　蓝瓶：一个适用于全家使用的扫帚——安全、可靠，装有防卫巴格拉的汽笛……史高水太太的魔法清理器：无痛无斑点！……格来杰斯巫士杂货铺——伦敦巴黎、霍斯马得……

　　哈利把目光从那个广告移开，转过头看包厢里除了他们以外还有谁。到目前为止，还没有其他人，除了一个微小的生物正坐在他们后面的倒数第二排。这个生物的腿非常短，因此它把腿放在座位上。它穿着一条茶几盖市，看起来像古罗马市民容的宽外袍，它正把它的脸埋在手里。而那双长的，像蝙蝠一样的耳朵非常奇怪，但又似曾相识。

　　“是多比吗？”哈利难以相信地问。

　　那个小生物抬起头，张开它的手指，张开它大大的棕色眼睛，它的鼻子的大小和形状就好像一个西红柿。它不是多比。然而，毫无疑问，它是一个佣人小精灵，就好像哈利的朋友多比一样。哈利已经把多比从它的前主人马尔夫家中解救出来了。

　　“先生叫我多比吗？”这个精灵好奇从它的指缝中吱吱地问。它的声音比多比的要大一点，那是一种极小的，发抖的吱吱声。虽然和精灵交谈是很困难的，但哈利猜这个精灵是个女的。罗恩和荷米恩也从他们的座位站起来，跑过去看。虽然他们已经听哈利讲了很多关于多比的事，但他们从来没见过他，甚至威斯里先生也很感兴趣地向四周张望。

　　哈利对小精灵说：“对不起，我刚才以为你是我认识的一个朋友。”

　　“但是我也认识多比，”小精灵吱吱地说。她捂着脸，好像光会弄瞎她的眼睛似的，事实上等厢的光线一点也不强烈。“我叫温奇。

　　先生，您叫……“当她的目光停在哈利的伤疤上时，她睁大了她棕黑色的眼睛，”你一定是哈利·波特！“

　　“嗯，我是。”哈利说。

　　她说：“多比整天都在讲你，先生！”她稍微放下她的手，非常敬畏地望着哈利。

　　“他怎么样了？”哈利问。

　　“先生，我并不是想冒犯你，但是我不认为当你给多比自由时，你帮了他一个忙。”温奇说。

　　“为什么不是呢？”哈利问。温奇降低八度，低声说：“他正在等著有人为他的工作付款，先生！”

　　“付钱？”哈利茫然地问，“为什么别人不能付钱给他？”

　　温奇看起来被这种想法吓坏了。她慢慢合起她的手指，这样一半脸又被藏起来了。

　　“佣人精灵是没有钱收的，”她低沉地吱吱说，“不，不，不，我跟多比说，我说，出去后为自己找一个好的家庭，然后安顿下来。他现在沉醉于各种幻想中，这对一个佣人精灵来说是非常不好的。我说：“多比，如果你继续这样放纵下去，那么我很快就可以听到关于你像某些普通的妖精一样，被送到魔法生物纪律条规部门的消息了。“

　　“但是，该是时候让他放松一下，娱乐一下了。”哈利说。

　　“佣人精灵是不可以娱乐的，哈利·波特，”温奇严厉地说。“佣人精灵必须做主人要它们做的任何事，我有畏高症，”她望了一眼包厢的边缘，哭泣地说：“但是我的主人派我来上等厢，我就只好来了。”

　　“如果他知道你畏高，他为什么还派你来这里？”哈利皱着眉头问。

　　“主人，主人要我帮他占个座位，哈利·波特，他非常忙。”温奇说着，用头点了一下旁边的空位，温奇希望回到主人的帐篷中，但是她必须做她被吩咐做的事，她是个很好的佣人精灵。

　　她又敬畏地看了一眼包厢的边缘，又完全把眼睛闭上。哈利转向其他人。

　　“这就是那种佣人小精灵？”罗恩小声地说，“不可思议的东西，是不是？”

　　“多比更不可思议。”哈利激动地说。

　　罗恩拿出他的望远镜，开始测试它。用它来望体育馆的另外一边的人们。

　　“太刺激了！”他说着，一边旋转着旁边的球形纽，“我可以让那个老家伙不断地抓他的鼻子，一次又一次。”

　　同时，荷米恩迫不及特地浏览着她的盖着天鹅绒的节目表。

　　“队伍的吉祥物将在比赛前先展示。”她大声读出来。

　　“懊，那总是值得一看的，”威斯里先生说，“你知道吗？国家队从他们本国带来生物，展示在这个地上。”

　　接着过了半小时，包厢里的人逐渐多了，大家坐在他们周围。

　　威斯里不断地和那些显然是重要人物的巫士握手。伯希经常跳起来，好像坐在一个刺猾上似的。当魔法大臣可尼斯。法治到达时，伯希深深地鞠了个躬，使得他的眼镜摔到地上打碎了。他非常尴尬地用他的魔杖把它修好。从那以后就乖乖地坐在他的座位上。当他看到可尼斯就像老朋友似的同哈利打招呼时，他非常妒忌地看看哈利。他们以前见过面，法治就像父亲一样，慈祥地与哈利握手，问他现在怎样，又把他两边的巫士介绍给他认识。

　　“你认识的，哈利·波特，”他大声地告诉保加利亚的大臣。他穿着一件华丽的黑色的天鹅绒长袍，下摆镶着金色，看起来似乎不懂英语，“哈利·波特，过来。你知道他是谁，他是从‘那个人’手中唯一逃生的男孩。你们肯定知道他是谁。”

　　这个保加利亚巫士突然注意到哈利的伤疤，然后开始兴奋地大声地指着它讲个不停。

　　“我们应该让他简短点，”法治疲惫地对哈利说，“我并不擅长于多国语言，在这方面，我需要巴地。克劳斯帮忙。啊，我看到他的佣人精灵给他占了个位。干得很好！这些保加利亚的讨厌鬼，老是嚷着要最好的座位……啊，这位是露布斯！”

　　哈利，罗恩和荷米恩马上转过来。走向第二排最后三个空着的座位，正好在威斯里后面的，不是别人，正是多比以前的主人——露布斯。马尔夫，他的儿子杰高和一个女人，哈利猜一定是杰高的妈妈。

　　自从他们一同去霍格瓦彻以来，哈利和杰高。马尔夫就成为了敌人。杰高看起来很像他父亲，是一个苍白、尖头，有着金发的男孩。他的妈妈也是金发的，很高，很苗条。如果她不是带着一副好像这里有一股难闻气味的表情的话，她是长得很好看的。

　　“啊，法治，”马尔夫先生伸出手与魔法大臣握手，“你最近好吗？你还没见过我的太太南希斯和我的儿子杰高吧？”

　　“你们好，你们好。”法治笑着说，并稍微向马尔夭太太鞠了个躬。“让我来介绍一下，这位是……奥布龙斯科先生，他是保加利亚的魔法大臣，但他听不懂我讲的话，没关系。这位是……我敢肯定你认识他，亚瑟。威斯里。”

　　这是一个很紧张的时刻，威斯里先生和马尔夫先生体看看我，我看看你。哈利马上想起了上一次他们面对面的情景。那是在布鲁。特斯书店，他们打了一架。马尔夫先生冷酷的灰眼睛扫过威斯里先生，然后走了过来。

　　“亲爱的亚瑟，”他轻声说，“你卖了什么才能得到这个上等厢的票？你的屋子肯定值不了那么多钱。”

　　法治没有听到，说：“露市斯刚刚捐了一大笔钱给圣曼哥的魔法疾病和伤残医院，他是我的客人。”

　　“太、太好了！”威斯里先生勉强地笑了笑。

　　马尔夫先生的视线又转到了荷米恩身上。荷米恩的脸红红的，意志坚定地盯着他。哈利十分清楚是什么令马尔夫先生嘟了一下嘴。马尔夫家对于自己的纯种血液感到无比骄傲，换一句而言，他们认为任何一个马格人都是低等的，像荷米恩，是第二阶层的，然而，在魔法大臣的注视下，他没有说什么。他轻蔑地朝威斯里先生点了点头，继续走到他座位上去。杰高轻蔑地膘了哈利、罗恩和荷米思一眼，然后坐到他爸爸和妈妈中间。

　　“卑陋的杂种！”罗恩咕哝着。当哈利和荷米恩再转向广场时，一会儿，露得。巴格蒙也进了包厢。

　　“大家都准备好了吗？”他问着，圆圆的像干酪一样的脸看起来很兴奋。“长官，可以开始了吗？”

　　“露得，你准备好就可以了。”法治温柔地说。

　　露得拿出他的魔杖，指着自己的喉咙，说：“索尼勒！”然后对着挤满体育馆的人说话。他的声音回荡在整个体育馆，每个角落都能听到他的声音：“女士们！先生们！欢迎大家！欢迎大家来到快迪斯世界杯总决赛的现场！”

　　观众们尖叫着，热烈地鼓掌，挥动着成千上万的旗子，夹杂着各自的国歌。他们对面的大黑板上已经擦去了刚才的信息——“贝迪波特的美味豆——让你不得不试”，现在上面写着的是：保加利亚：零，爱尔兰：零。

　　“现在，刻不容缓，让我来介绍……保加利亚队的吉祥物！”

　　在架子的右边，一个鲜红色的滑车冲了出来。

　　“我很好奇他们带来了什么？”威斯里先生说，身体向前探。

　　“啊！”他忽然摘下他的眼镜，急忙把它塞到长袍里去，“米拉！”

　　但是当一百个米拉滑到广场上时，哈利的问题就得到了解答。

　　米拉是女人……哈利所见过的最美丽的女人……但是她们绝对不是人类。这让哈利困惑了一会儿，他尽力地猜她们到底是什么？是什么让她们的皮肤像月光一样的白皙光亮？是什么令她们金色的头发在没有风的情况下飞扬……但是当音乐响起时，哈利就不再为她们不是人类而烦恼了。事实上，他开始不再为任何事而烦恼。

　　那些米拉开始跳舞了。哈利的头脑一片空白，沉浸在喜悦当中。现在最重要的事是观看米拉们跳舞，因为如果她们停止跳舞，恐怖的事情将会发生。

　　当米拉越跳越快的时候，一些疯狂的、不成形的思想开始在哈利混顿的头脑中跳跃。他想马上做些给人以深刻印像的事情。“从包厢跳到体育馆中去，这似乎是个好主意，但是吗？”

　　“哈利，你在做什么？”荷米恩的声音从远处传来。

　　音乐结束了，哈利眨了眨眼。他正站着，一只腿放在包厢的墙上。在他旁边，罗恩僵住了，好像他刚从一个跳板上跳水似的。

　　生气的叫喊声响遍了体育馆。大家都不希望米拉走。哈利也和他们一样。他当然是可以支持保加利亚队的，而且他一点也不明白自己为什么把一个绿色的三叶草放在胸前。同时，罗恩也漫不经心地在撕他帽子上的三叶草。威斯里先生微微一笑，倾向罗恩，把他手中的帽子拿了过来。

　　“你会需要它的，”他说，“一旦爱尔兰队开始说话时。”

　　“哦？”罗恩张大嘴望着在广场的边上排队的米拉。

　　荷米恩不耐烦地大声说了声“嘘！”她站起来，把哈利拉回他的座位，说：“老实点！”

　　“现在，”露得。巴格蒙的声音响起，“请把你们魔杖举起来……

　　因为爱尔兰队的吉祥物将要出场了！“

　　下一秒，看起来像一个大的绿色的、金色的像彗星一样的东西嗡嗡地来到育馆。它在体育馆绕场一周，后分成两个小一点的彗星，每个都飞向球门。一道彩虹忽然出场在广场上，连接着这两个球。人群中不断发出“哇”和“啊”的声音，好像在看烟花汇演似的。现在彩虹淡去，两个发光的球又重新溶合为～体。他们形成了一张巨大的，闪闪发光的三叶草，它升到天空，并开始在上空飞翔，有一种像金雨似的东西纷纷下落。

　　“精彩极了！”罗恩喊道。三叶草在他们上方飞，重重的金币落了下来，散在他们的头上和座位上。瞟了一眼三叶草，哈利发现它由成千上万个小的、有胡子、穿着红色背心的人组成的，每个人都拿着一个金色或绿色的灯。

　　“这是矮精灵！”威斯里先生说。场内响着激烈的掌声，群情汹涌，很多人为拿椅子下面的金子而不惜大打出手。

　　“这个给你，”罗恩高兴地喊着，把满满一手的金币塞到哈利的手中，“给你望远镜的钱，现在你得买给我圣诞礼物了，哈哈！”

　　“现在，女士们，先生们！让我们热烈欢迎——保加利亚国家快迪斯队！”

　　一个骑在扫帚上面的，穿着鲜红色的身影，在巨大的鼓掌声中出现在入口处。

　　“艾文努！”

　　第二个队员出现了。

　　“周格莱夫！莱思基！维尔可努！福尔可夫！啊！克伦！”

　　“是他了，是他了！”罗恩喊着，拿他的望远镜盯着克伦看。哈利也马上将自己的调好焦距。

　　维特。克伦是一个瘦黑的人，他有一个弯鼻子，深黑色的眉毛。

　　他看起来很老成。实在很难相信他只有十八岁。

　　“现在，让我们来欢迎——爱尔兰国家快迪斯队！”巴格蒙喊着，“出场——克农利！莱恩！特洛！摩莉特！莫兰！快格利！啊！

　　莱恩斯！“

　　七个穿绿色衣服的人出现在广场中。哈利旋转着望远镜旁的掣，把队员的动作调慢，看到了队员们扫帚上的字，还有他们背上的用银色装饰的名字。

　　“这位是不远千里，来自埃及的裁判，由魔法国际快迪斯协会承认的海森。莫斯特夫！”

　　一个瘦小的巫士大步走到广场中。他的头全秃了，有着像维能姨文一样的胡子，穿着一个纯金色的抱子，与体育馆的颜色十分相衬。他含着一个银哨子，在胳膀下面夹着一个大的木箱，另一边夹着他的扫帚。哈利把他的望远镜又调回正常，清晰地看到莫斯特夫骑上他的扫帚，把木箱打开——四个球蹦到空中，鲜红色的叫可尔夫球，两个黑色的叫布鲁佐球（哈利快速扫现了它一眼），还有小的，有翅膀的金色的史尼斯球。在一声哨子声中，莫斯特夫也飞到空中。

　　“他……们……，开始了！”巴格蒙喊着。“这是摩莉特！特洛！

　　莫兰！迪米特弗！又回到摩莉特！特洛！莱思基！莫兰！“

　　这就是快迪斯，哈利以前从来没有打过。他紧紧地把望远镜放在眼前，而他的眼镜被望远镜压在了他的鼻梁上。队员的速度快得难以置信——追逐者之间传递可尔夫球的速度太快了，巴格蒙只有时间讲他们的名字。哈利投了一下望远镜上的放慢速度的键，又按了一下“重复播放”的键，这样，他马上就可以看到慢动作。镜头在闪闪地发着紫光，巨大的叫喊声震撼着他的耳膜。

　　“鹰头进攻模式。”他说看。三个爱尔兰追逐者紧紧地站在一起，特洛在中间，稍前方是摩莉特和莫兰，他们一起防御着保加利亚人、接着，特洛假装要扔出可尔夫球，把保加利亚的追逐手艾文努引开，并赶紧把可尔夫球传给莫兰，一个保加利亚进攻手福尔可夫，用他的小棍大力地击打飞过来的布鲁位球，把它打到莫兰这边，莫兰低下头，避过了布鲁佐球，用力投可尔夫球；在他下面的莱恩斯接住了。

　　“特洛得分！”巴格蒙大声喊道，体育馆响起了雷鸣般的掌声和欢呼声。“十比零，爱尔兰领先！”

　　“什么？”哈利一边透过望远镜看，一边喊，“但是莱恩斯才刚刚接到可尔夫球！”

　　“哈利，如果你不用正常速度看，你会错过很多精彩片段的！”

　　荷米恩喊道，而她正高兴地跳舞，用力地挥动着手臂，因为特洛得分了。哈利赶忙从望远镜的上方看去，看到在旁边观看的矮精灵已经又升到空中，形成了一个巨大的发光的三叶草。在场地的另一边，米拉正愠怒地看着。

　　当比赛又开始时，哈利生气地把望远镜的速度又调回正常。

　　哈利通过快迪斯，发现爱尔兰追逐者真是很优秀。他们队伍的配合天衣无缝，看到对方的位置，就能想到他想做什么，哈和胸前的玫瑰花结吱吱地叫着他们的名字：“特洛！摩莉特！莫兰！”接着，在十分钟内，爱尔兰队又拿了两次分，把他们的比分改写成“三十比零”，领先三十分！而他们的支持者也不断地发出一浪又一浪震耳欲聋的欢呼声和掌声。

　　比赛越来越快，也越来越暴力。保加利亚的进攻手福尔可夫和维尔可努，大力地向爱尔兰追逐者击打着布鲁佐球，并开始阻碍他们的团体移动。有两次他们被迫分散，最后，艾文努终于冲破了他们的阵列，避开守门员莱恩，为保加利亚取得了第一分。哈利把他的眼睛也闭上了。他想把精力集中在比赛上。过了几秒钟，他瞟了广场一眼，发现米拉已经不再跳舞，而保加利亚人又一次拿着可尔夫球。

　　“迪米特弗！莱思基！迪米特弗！迪米特弗，哦，我说……”

　　巴格蒙大声地喊着。

　　当两名搜索者克伦和林科在追逐者当中骤然下跌时，十万个巫婆和巫士都停住了呼吸，他们看起来就好像不用降落而从飞机上跳下来一样。哈利透过望远镜，看着他们下落的过程，想看一下史尼斯球在哪里。

　　“他们要摔到地面了！”在哈利旁边的荷米恩尖叫着。

　　她只对了一半。在最后一秒钟，维特。克伦从下跌中旋身，控制自己，而林科重重地撞到地面去，那响声整个体育馆都可以听得到。爱尔兰人的座位响起一阵巨大的呻吟声。

　　“傻瓜！”威斯里先生悲叹道，“克伦使诈！”

　　“中场休息！”巴格蒙叫道，“一个受过训练的巫上医生急忙跑到广场中，去检查艾丹。林科！”

　　“他会没事的！只是伤了脊骨！”查理向金妮保证，而金妮正冲到包厢前面，紧张地看着，她吓坏了。“这当然就是克伦想得到的结果！”

　　哈利不断按望远镜上的“重播”和“分播”的按键，旋转控制速度的表盘，然后把望远镜放到眼前去看。

　　他用慢动作看了一遍克伦和林科下落的动作。镜头上显示了一行紫色的字“使诈！一种十分危险的搜索者决策！”他看到当克伦开始下跌时，及时地集中注意力，脸部都扭曲变形了，而克伦看起来就好像没有用扫帚一样，看起来似乎是没有支持物，一点重量也没有。哈利又把他的望远镜调回正常，把它对准克伦。他正在林科的上空绕圈，而巫医正在喂林科喝一杯药水。哈利正仔细地观察他的脸，发现他的黑眼睛正投向一百英尺下的地面。他正在利用林科接受治疗的时间寻找史尼斯球，一点也不受到干扰。

　　林科最后终于又站了起来，骑上他的扫帚，又重新回到空中去。全场的穿绿衣服的支持者对此而大声欢呼。他的恢复给爱尔兰队增添了信心。当莫斯特夫又吹哨子时，追逐者们又风驰电掣在空中，那速度之快，是哈利所从未见的。

　　在十五分钟速度的运动中，爱尔兰又得了十次分，扩大了比分的距离。他们现在一百三十比十而领先。比赛开始变得更加激烈了。

　　当摩莉特又一次把球投向球门时，保加利亚的守门员周格莱夫紧紧地用手臂夹住了飞向她的可夫尔球。这一切发生得太快了，哈利还未看清楚。但爱尔兰人都生气地尖叫，而莫斯特夫先生的长哨声告诉了他这是犯规的。

　　“莫斯特夫判保加利亚守门员犯规，她用了手肘！”巴格蒙先生大叫地告诉观众。“对了，爱尔兰点球！”

　　当看到摩莉特被判犯规后，矮精灵们像一群发光的大黄蜂，生气地升到空中，形成“哈！哈！哈！”几个字。在广场另一边的米拉也跳了起来，生气地摇摆着头发，又开始了跳舞。

　　马上，所有威斯里家的男孩和哈利把他们的手指塞到耳朵里，但荷米恩不需要这样做，她拉拉哈利的手。他转过来看着她，她不耐烦地把他的手指拉出他的耳朵。

　　“看那个裁判！”她小声地说。

　　哈利往广场看去。海森。莫斯特夫降落在跳舞的米拉前，他的动作十分奇怪。他弯曲着他的胳膊，显示他的肌肉，并十分兴奋地摸着他的胡子。

　　“现在不能这样！”露得。巴格蒙说，虽然听起来他也很兴奋。

　　“有人可以用力打一下裁判吗？”

　　巫医穿过广场，他也把手指塞在自己的耳朵上。他用力地踢了一下莫斯特夫。莫斯特夫似乎清醒了很多，他正在对那些停止跳舞，看起来很生气的米拉大叫。

　　“如果我没猜错的话，莫斯特夫正在试图驱逐保加利亚队的吉祥物！”巴格蒙先生的声音响起，“现在发生的事是我们以前从未遇见过的，哦，这会变得很糟糕的。”

　　果然不出所料，保加利亚的进攻手福尔可夫和维尔可努落到莫斯特夫的两边，并开始十分生气地和他争吵，指着正在高兴地形成“嘻！嘻！嘻！”字样的矮精灵。莫斯特夫不理会保加利人的争论。

　　他指着空中叫他们重新回到空中去。当他们拒绝后，他吹了两声短哨。

　　“爱尔兰两个点球！”巴格蒙叫道，保加利亚人群生气地吵闹着。“现在福尔克夫和维尔可努最好回到扫帚上去。好的，他们走了，现在特洛拿着可尔夫球……”

　　比赛现在进入一种极度野蛮的状态。两队的进攻者都毫无怜悯地互相进攻：特别是福尔可夫和维尔可努，他们看起来根本不在乎他们的木棍是打到布鲁位球还是人。迪米特弗直接冲向拿着可尔夫球的莫兰身上，使她几乎从扫帚上摔下来。

　　“犯规！”当一个爱尔兰支持者吼出来后，所有的爱尔兰支持者都站了起来，形成一遍绿色的浪潮。

　　“犯规！”露得回巴格蒙的强调的声音也响起。“迪米特弗擦过莫兰，不顾一切地撞向她，这应该又罚一个点球！是的，哨声响起！”

　　矮精灵又升到空中，这一次，他们形成一个巨大的手，这对对面的米拉来说，是一个很粗鲁的标志。这时候，米拉失去了控制，她们穿过广场，把一些看似火球的东西扔向矮精灵。哈利通过他的望远镜看到这一切，他现在觉得米拉一点也不美丽了。相反，她们的睑伸长成尖的鸟嘴形，有鳞的翅膀从她们肩膀上爆裂出来。

　　“孩子，就是为什么你们不可以独自来看的原因。”威斯里先生看着下面骚动的人群说。

　　巫士官员涌到场地去分开米拉和矮精灵，但是没有成功。同时，下面的战斗并没有影响上面的人。哈利赶紧又用他的望远镜去观看空中的比赛。可夫尔球就像子弹似的传到另一个人手中。

　　“莱思基一迪米特弗一莫兰一特洛一摩莉特一艾文努又传给莫兰，莫兰，莫兰得分！”

　　但是因为米拉的尖叫声，内阁成员魔杖发出的声音，保加利亚人生气的吼叫，几乎都没办法听得到爱尔兰支持者的欢呼声。比赛马上又开始了，现在莱思基拿着可尔夫球。

　　爱尔兰的进攻者凯里大力地把飞过的布鲁位球未向克伦。克伦没有来得及低下头，布鲁佐球重重地打在了他的脸上。

　　人群中响起了大声的呻吟声。克伦的鼻子好像打断了，正在流血，但是海森。莫斯特夫没有吹哨。他刚才分散了注意力。哈利认为这不能责怪他，因为刚才一个米拉向他扔了一个火球，他扫帚的尾部着火了。

　　哈利希望有人意识到克伦受伤了。虽然他是支持爱尔兰的，但克伦是球场上最优秀的队员。很显然，罗恩也是这样认为的。

　　“暂停！啊，快！他不可以这样继续比赛！看他！”

　　“看林科！”哈利大叫。

　　因为这个爱尔兰搜索者突然俯冲，哈利很肯定这不是在使诈，这次是真的……

　　“他看见史尼斯球了！”哈利喊着，“他看见它了！看他走的方向！”

　　一半人都似乎意识发生什么事了，爱尔兰观众又站了起来，开始做绿色的人浪，他们对着自己的搜索者尖叫……但是克伦跟在他后面。他怎么可以看见他是往哪里走呢？哈利对此无法理解。在他后面有红色的斑点在空中飞，但他现在已经追上了林科，然后他们两人又一起跃向地面。

　　“他们要摔到地面了！”荷米恩尖叫。

　　“他们不会的。”罗恩吼着。

　　哈利叫道：“林科会的！”

　　他是对的，因为下一秒，林科又重重地摔到了地面，他马上被大群生气的米拉进攻。