After having a conversation with Ludo Bagman, who had gotten the Weasley’s their tickets, and Barty Crouch, for whom Percy worked.  Everyone except for Mr. Weasley, Severus, and Bill snorted into their tea as Crouch had called Percy Weatherby after Percy asked him if he’d like a cup of tea.  All the way up to the pitch, the twins were teasing Percy while Ron continually asked his father about the upcoming event at Hogwarts that the two Ministry officials had been talking about.

“C’mon, Dad, tell me!”

“Ron, you’ll find out soon enough.  Won’t he, Severus?”

Severus looked surprised for a moment then nodded sharply.

“Indeed he will, Arthur.  All of them will.”

Ron looked murderous but calmed down when Niamh threatened to hex him.

“Look!  Omnioculars!”

Niamh dashed up to the cart piled high with brass binoculars covered in odd knobs and dials.

“Ten Galleons each, Miss,” said the saleswizard as Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Harry followed her.  “One for all of you?”

Three of them nodded while Harry flourished a worn looking set.  The saleswizard peered at them and said, “Those look pretty battered, son.  Sure you don’t want a new pair?”

“Absolutely,” replied Harry, tucking the pair of Omnioculars into his pocket and walking a little ways off.  He waited patiently as Ron bought a miniature Krum and a green rosette that squeaked the names of the Irish players.  The miniature Krum strode across Ron’s hand, scowling at the green rosette and Niamh as she peered at him.

When they finally set towards the pitch again, Ginny asked, “Why didn’t you buy a new pair of Omnioculars, Harry?  That pair you have looks pretty old.”

“They are,” said Harry, pulling out the pair and handing them to the redhead.  She took them gingerly, turning them over and gasped.  Niamh peered over her shoulder then glanced sharply at Harry.  Hermione poked her head over Ginny’s other shoulder and let out a hiss of breath.

“What is it?” asked Ron, shoving the little Krum into his pocket.

Niamh moved back and Ron peered over his sister’s shoulder at the binoculars.  The pair was definitely old, the bronze worn in some places and slightly rusty on one knob.  But you could well see the significance of them.  Inscribed on the underside of one of the tubes was the name Lily Evans.

“They were your mum’s?” said Ginny.

Harry nodded and took the pair of Omnioculars from the younger Slytherin.  “Yeah,” he replied.  “Da said she gave them to him as a birthday present one year.  I still can’t believe that he’s trusting me with them!”

“That’s cause he trusts you,” said Hermione warmly.

“He just about trusts every Slytherin,” remarked Ginny.

“With the exception of Malfoy and his cronies,” Niamh declared in a defiant tone.

“And bloody good of him to,” said Ron.

“COME ON, YOU LOT!  THE GAME’S ABOUT TO START!”

The five of them looked at each other at Fred’s bellow then dashed off to join the group that had begun to walk down the lighted trail to the pitch.

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

“That’s a bloody big bowl.”

So remarked Niamh as they stood in the shadow of the gigantic, golden walled stadium.

“Took five hundred Ministry workers all year to finish it.  Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it.  They all remember urgent appointments and dash off when they get near,” said Arthur as they headed for one of the entrances.

“Prime seats!  Top Box!” declared the Ministry witch as she checked the Weasley’s tickets.  “Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go.”

Harry watched as the Weasley’s moved on without them upstairs then looked to see his father handing over their three tickets to the witch.

“Alright then, Severus – yes, I remember you – follow Arthur there.  Move along now!”

“Who was that?” asked Niamh as they began to ascend the stairs.

“Amanda Harbrook,” replied Severus.  “Ravenclaw who had a crush on me when we were third years.”

Harry chuckled and said, “She never had a chance.”

“Not in the world,” confirmed Severus, flicking a half-smile at his son.

By the time they got up the stairs, the Weasley’s and Hermione were already situated, so they settled in the row behind them.  Harry was surprised to find himself sitting beside a familiar looking creature…

“Dobby?”

Ron, Hermione, Niamh, and Ginny turned to look as the creature looked up.  Harry instantly knew it wasn’t Dobby because the eyes were brown and a nose the size and shape of a tomato.

“Did sir just call me Dobby?” question the house-elf, its voice higher it pitch than Dobby’s.

“Sorry.  I thought you were someone I knew.”

“But I knows Dobby too, sir!  My name is Winky, sir – an you, sir – you is surely Harry Potter!”

Harry brushed a lock of hair over his scar as a witch a few rows below them turned to stare up at him.

“Yeah, that would be me.”

“Dobby talked of you all the time, sir!  Before he took job at Hogwarts.”

Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Niamh all looked at each other then at Harry.  He shrugged at them then turned back to Winky.

“Yes, I know.  He seems quite happy.”

“He said he was – that he wanted pay for work, sir.”

“I know.  S’not a bad thing…”

“But it is, sir!” exclaimed Winky.  “House-elves is not paid!  House-elves does what they is told!  I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter, but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir.”  Here she covered her eyes with her hands.

“Why’d he send you up here if he knows you don’t like heights?” asked Hermione.

Winky peered down at the girl through her fingers and replied, “Master wants me to save him a seat, miss.  Winky is wishing she was back in master’s tent but Winky does what she is told.  Winky is good house-elf.”

With that the tiny house-elf covered her eyes again and shrunk down into her seat.

“So that’s a house-elf?” remarked Ron quietly.  “Weird things.”

Harry leaned forward and replied, “Dobby was weirder.  You should meet him.”

“Guess I will.  He’s at Hogwarts.”

“In the kitchens.”

“How do you know that?”

Harry simply smiled smugly and leaned back in his seat.

“Just do.”

Niamh suddenly said, “So that’s how you got that hot chocolate last year.”

“So it wasn’t welcome?”

“I didn’t say that, goose.”

“I told you I resent being referred to as poultry.”

“Get used to it.”

Harry snorted then leaned over Hermione’s shoulder as she flipped through the program she had picked up.

“What’s it says first?”

“’A display from the team mascots will precede the match’,” she read, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“That’s always worth watching.  Teams bring creatures from their native lands to put on a bit of a show,” said Mr. Weasley.  “What do you think Ireland has this year, Severus?”

“Arthur,” said Severus, leaning forward.  “You know very well that the last National game I went to was over fifteen years ago.”

“Yes, with me and Molly.”

“No, that was the year before – England versus Albania.  The game I’m talking about was the Ireland/Wales game in my seventh year.”

“Ah, we were there, I remember.  Who were you with?”

“Lily Evans.”

“Oh, yes.  You two were still going out then, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” replied Severus rather darkly, ending the conversation with a glance to Harry as he leaned back in his seat and a glare at the staring Weasley children who knew nothing of Harry’s real parentage.  Although everyone but Harry was shocked as none of the other knew that Severus and Lily had dated.

Harry pointedly ignored their looks and watched the other people file into the box.  He was rather shocked when Cornelius Fudge strode up and, reaching over his father and Niamh, shook his hand with enough vigor to knock the arm off.

“Harry Potter!  Pleasure to meet you!”

Niamh scowled at him.  She, Harry, and Mika had been in the Leaky Cauldron and had heard the conversation that had revealed Sirius Black as Harry’s godfather between Fudge, Flitwick, Hagrid, and McGonagall.  Fudge had clearly said that he thought Harry was a troublemaker.  Yet, here he was, shaking his hand and smiling brightly.  Harry hated when people said one thing then acted another.  Despite the fact that Fudge disliked him, he would rather have the man act normal about him than this extremely stupid act.

“Hello, Arthur!” exclaimed the man, stepping down to the first row in the Top Box to shake Arthur’s hand in the same manner that he had shook Harry’s.

“Hello, Cornelius,” said Mr. Weasley, his voice quavering slightly as his arm was tossed up and down.

“This is the Bulgarian minister.  Doesn’t understand a word of English –“ here the minister began to babble excitedly, pointing at Harry’s once again revealed scar “Ah, knew we’d get the point off eventually,” remarked Fudge.  “And here’s Lucius!”

Edging into the three empty seats beside Winky and her empty chair was Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco; and a woman who was undoubtedly Draco’s mother from her blond hair and the sneer on her face.  Draco sneered at Harry and the taller of the two Slytherins clenched the arm of his chair tightly, fighting not to reach for his wand.  Niamh put her hand over his just to ensure that nothing happened despite the fact that she looked just about as ready to hex Draco as Harry did.

“Ah, Fudge,” said Lucius, reaching over George’s head to shake Fudge’s hand.  “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?  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.  Let’s see – you know Arthur Weasley, I’m sure?”

Gray eyes met blue and the day two years ago in Flourish & Blott’s flashed in the minds of everyone who had been there.  Arms tensed as Malfoy’s eyes swept over the first row then up to their own.

“Good lord, Arthur.  What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box?  Surely your house didn’t fetch this much?”

Ron bristled and Hermione laid hold of his arm to keep him from jumping over his chair.

“And Severus…what on earth are you doing sitting here?  Come and sit with us.”

All eyes turned to Severus, who was looked at Malfoy with a stony countenance, jet eyes blank.  He smiled blandly and crossed one leg over the other.

“I’m quite fine where I am, Lucius.  And there are no more seats.”

“We can make room…”

“I’m fine where I am, Lucius,” growled Severus, his eyes flashing from blank to cold as ice.  Malfoy frowned at him for a moment then nodded.

“As you wish, Severus.  But stay a moment after the match…  I want to have a talk with you.”

Severus leaned back in his chair, turning his face away from Malfoy to the pitch as he replied, “Perhaps, Lucius.  Perhaps.”

Malfoy bristled and sat down.  Fudge looked between the two in confusion then moved on up with the Bulgarian minister.

“Everyone ready?  Minister?” asked Ludo Bagman as he charged into the box.

“Ready when you are, Ludo,” replied Fudge.

“Sonorus!  Ladies and gentlemen…welcome!   Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”

Spectators screamed and clapped, waving flags that played their national anthem.  The huge blackboard that had been listing ad after ad cleared and showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

“And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce…the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!”

The right-hand stands roared their approval.

“I wonder what they brought,” remarked Mr. Weasley.  He then said loudly, “Ah!  Veela!”

Harry blinked and instantly took the same position as his father had.  He covered his ears and closed his eyes.

When angry roars echoed through the stands and Niamh tugged at his arm, he reopened his eyes to find Ron, Fred, and George all standing up, looking to be about to dive off a springboard.

Harry watched as the veela strode off to one side of the field then reached forward and jerked the twins down into their seats at the same time Hermione and Niamh pulled Ron down.  Harry then reached over and grabbed the green rosette out of Ron’s hand.  The ginger-haired boy had been shredding it.

“You’ll be wanting that,” remarked Mr. Weasley as Ron turned to glare at Harry.  “Especially after the Irish have their say.”

“What?  Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Ron snorted and grabbed the rosette back from Harry, who smirked and pointed skyward.

Everyone in the stadium looked up as a green-and-gold comet zoomed into the stadium.  It did one circuit then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts.  The crowed oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display.  A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light before fading away as the balls of light reunited and merged, forming a great shimmering shamrock in the sky.  It rose up into the sky and then golden rain began to fall…

Harry grabbed a gold coin out of the air as one fell past him and peered at it.  His father growled something that sounded like, “Idiots,” as he watched people scrambling out of their seats after the falling coins.

“Leprechauns!” yelled Ginny suddenly pointing up at the shamrock as it zoomed over them, raining down more coins.  Harry peered up at it and indeed there they were, tiny little bearded men in red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

The shamrock dissolved and the leprechauns drifted down onto the field, settling down onto the side opposite the veela to watch the match.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome – the Bulgarian National Quidditch team!  I give you – Dimitrov!  Ivanova!  Zograf!  Levski!  Vulchanov!  Volkov!  Aaaaaaaaand – Krum!”

Harry pulled out his mother’s Omnioculars and focused on Victor Krum.  He was dark, thin, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows.  Hard to believe he was only eighteen.

“He looks like an overgrown bird of prey,” muttered Niamh as she peered through her own Omnioculars.

“And now, please greet – the Irish National Quidditch Team!  Presenting – Connolly!  Ryan!  Troy!  Mullet!  Moran!  Quigley!  Aaaaaaaaand – Lynch!”

Harry put the Omnioculars down on his knee as he watched the seven green blurs sweep onto the field.

“And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!”

A small, skinny wizard – bald but with a rather large mustache – strode out onto the field.  His robes were gold to match the stadium and a silver whistle was poking out of his mouth, just visible under the mustache.  He held a very familiar box under one arm that he set on the ground.  One end bucked as he mounted his broom then kicked it open.  The Quaffle soared into the air, the two Bludgers taking off in opposite directions, and the Snitch, which zigzags before spinning away out of sight.  Mostafa blew sharply on his whistle and rose into the air.

“Theeeeeeeeey’re OFF!  And it’s Mullet!  Troy!  Moran!  Dimitrov!  Back to Mullet!  Troy!  Levski!  Moran!”

Now this is Quidditch, thought Harry as he watched the green and red blurs zip up and down the field.  Bagman only had time to call out their names, they threw the Quaffle so fast.  And a few moments later…

“TROY SCORES!  Ten zero to Ireland!”

“What?!” exclaimed Ron, bringing down his Omnioculars.

“If you’re not going to watch at normal speed, you’re going to miss things, Ron!” shouted Hermione, who was dancing up and down with Ginny, as Troy did a lap of honor around the field.  At one side of the field, the leprechauns reformed the giant shamrock.  The veela on the other side watched sulkily.

Harry only used his Omnioculars a few times, perfectly fine to watch the match without him.  It was much easier to watch with eyes unhampered.  And besides that, Harry had much sharper eyes than normal people.

The game suddenly turned more brutal after Ireland scored twice more.  Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers.  They were starting to prevent some of the well-honed teams best moves; twice forcing them to scatter, and then making sure Ivanova broke through their ranks to score Bulgaria’s first goal.

“Fingers in your ears!” roared Severus in such a tone that half the people around them complied as well.  Harry had already been ready, eyes closed, ears stopped.  When he opened his eyes, the veela had stopped dancing and Bulgaria was in possession of the Quaffle.

“Dimitrov!  Levski!  Dimitrov!  Levski!  Ivanova! – oh I say!”

The two Seekers – Krum and Lynch – were diving through the Chasers, so fast that it appeared that they had leapt from airplanes without parachutes.  Harry couldn’t see the Snitch anywhere below them.  In fact…it was on the other side of the pitch by that glint of gold…

“They’re going to crash!” screamed Ginny.

“No!” yelled Harry.  “Lynch is!”

At the last moment Krum pulled out of the dive but Lynch didn’t make it, hitting the ground with a dull thud that could be heard around the stadium.

“Fool!” yelled Mr. Weasley.  “Krum was feinting!

“It’s time-out!  As trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!”

“He’ll be okay.  He only got ploughed.  Which is what Krum was after, of course…” said Charlie to Ginny, who was hanging over the box, which her Omnioculars pressed to her face.

Niamh hit replay and play-by-play on her Omnioculars then looked at Harry.  She waved the binoculars at him and said, “Have a look.  You might want to use it.”

“Against who?” asked Harry.  “Ron’s still Seeker for the Gryff’s.”

“Hufflepuff?”

“Cedric?”

“Okay, Ravenclaw.”

“Now there’s an idea…”

Niamh laughed and waved the Omnioculars again.  Harry waved her off and said, “I’ll look at it later.”

Turning back to the game, Harry saw Lynch mounting his Firebolt and kicking off.  Krum was at the other end of the field, looking for the Snitch if Harry guessed correctly.  The Irish cheered as Mostafa blew his whistle and the Chasers moved into action swiftly.

Fifteen minutes later, Ireland had scored ten more goals.  They were leading one hundred and thirty points to ten know and game play had gotten even dirtier.  Seeing this, you couldn’t think a Gryffindor/Slytherin match was bad.

As Mullet shot toward the goal posts again, clutching the Quaffle under one arm, the Bulgarian Keeper Zograf, flew out to meet her.  Harry didn’t see what happened but he guessed it was a foul from the scream of rage from the Irish and Mostafa’s long, shrill whistle.

“And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing – excessive used of elbows!  And – yes, it’s a penalty for Ireland!”

The leprechauns rose to form the words “HA, HA, HA!” as the veela leapt to their feet, tossing their hair angrily, and began to dance again.

The Weasley’s, Harry, and Severus plugged their ears but soon unplugged them as they saw the referee landing in front of the dancing veela, flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache.

“Now, we can’t have that!  Somebody slap the referee!”

A mediwizard tore across the field, fingers in his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins.  Mostafa seemed to come to himself then began to shout at the veela, who had stopped dancing and her looking mutinous.

“And unless I’m much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!  Now there’s something we haven’t seen before…Oh this could turn nasty…”

The Bulgarian Beaters landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the leprechauns, who had formed the words “HEE, HEE, HEE.”  Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarian’s arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again.  When they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle.

“Two penalties for Ireland!  And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms…yes…there they go…and Troy takes the Quaffle…”

Play had become the fiercest anyone had ever 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!” came the cry from the Irish.

“Foul!  Dimitrov skins Moran – deliberately flying to collide there – and it’s got to be another penalty – yes, there’s the whistle!”

The leprechauns rose into the air again, forming a giant hand making a very rude sign towards the veela.  Instead of dancing, the veela launched themselves onto the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire.  And now they didn’t look even remotely beautiful…  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 crowd, “is why you should never go for looks alone!”

“Damn right!” agreed Niamh.

Ministry wizards flooded onto the field to separate the battling veela and leprechauns with little success.  But the battle on the field was nothing compared to the battle being waged in the air.

“Evshi – Dimitrov – Moran – Troy – Mullet – Ivanova – Moran again – Moran – MORAN SCORES!”

The Irish cheers were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts issuing from the Ministry wizards’ wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians.  The game began again immediately; Levski had the Quaffle, then Dimitrov –

The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, hitting it as hard as possible towards Krum, who didn’t duck quickly enough.  The Bludger hit him full it the face, brining a gout of blood and more roars from the Bulgarians.

 The Bulgarians were waving at Mostafa but the referee was presently occupied.  A veela had thrown a handful of fire and set the tail of his broom on fire.

Ron was gesticulating as wildly as the Bulgarians, yelling at Mostafa.  Beside him, Hermione looked murderous and so did Ginny on his other side.

“Time-out, you stupid git!  He can’t play like that, lookit him – ” bellowed Ron.

Hermione and Ginny looked at each other around him then both reached up and grabbed onto Ron’s shirt, pulling him down into his seat as hard as he could.  There was a loud thump as he hit his seat and yelled, “Bloody hell!”

“Look at Lynch!” bellowed Harry as the Irish Seeker went into a dive.

“What?” asked Niamh loudly and excitedly, rising anxiously to stand beside Harry.

“He’s seen the Snitch!  He’s seen it!  Look at him go!”

Half the Irish were on their feet, realizing what was going on and cheering loudly…but Krum was on his tail.  How he could see was a mystery; 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!” screamed Hermione.

“They’re not!” roared Ron and Ginny.

“Lynch is!” yelled Harry and Niamh.

And they were right – Lynch ploughed into the ground for a second time and was stampeded by the angry veela.

“The Snitch, where’s the Snitch?” bellowed Charlie, half rising out of his seat.

Harry and Niamh shouted back, “He’s got it – Krum’s got it – it’s all over!”

Krum, red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard flashed BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn’t seem to realized what had happened.  When they did, the screams from Ireland continually rose higher and higher.

“IRELAND WINS!” shouted Bagman.  “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?” bellowed Ron angrily.  “He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!”

“He knew they were never going to catch up!” shouted Harry back over the noise.  “The Irish Chasers were too good…he wanted to end it on his terms, that’s all…”  Harry then got leapt upon by Niamh and was nearly deafened as she shrieked happily into his ear.

“He was very brave, wasn’t he?” said Hermione as she leaned forward to watch Krum land, a swarm of mediwizards blasting a path through the still battling leprechauns and veela to get to him.  “He looks a terrible mess…”

Harry pulled Niamh’s Omnioculars out of her hand – she was still shrieking happily in his ear and hugging his neck – and managed to focus them on Krum as the girl beside him began to jump up and down happily.  It was also hard to see as the leprechauns kept zooming across the field.  But he could see Krum, who looked surlier than ever and refused to let the mediwizards mop him up.  His team mates were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; away a bit, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold from their mascots.  The veela had retreated to their usual, beautiful selves, looking dispirited and forlorn.

As he pulled the Omnioculars away from his face and wondered idly how long it would take Niamh to stop shrieking in his ear, he heard a voice behind him.

“Vell, ve fought bravely,” said the Bulgarian minister in a gloomy voice.

“You can speak English!” cried a voice that Harry recognized as Fudge.  “And you’ve been letting me mime everything all day!”

“Vell, it vos very funny.”

Harry chortled at that then focused on the task of prying Niamh off of him and stopping her shrieking.

“And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself I brought into the Top Box!”

Harry didn’t have to worry about Niamh actually – a blinding white light lit the Top Box, causing the girl to drop into her seat in surprise.  Harry, squinting, could see two wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge.  The Minister was 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!” shouted Bagman.

And up the stairs into the box they came.  They filed between the rows of seats and Bagman called out the names of each as they shook hands with their own ministry then with Fudge.  Krum, who was last in line, looked a mess.  He was still holding the Snitch and two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face.  And Harry saw that Krum was less agile on the group than he was in the air.  He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered.  But when his name was announced, the entire stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar.  Hermione joined in with such an earsplitting shriek that Ron stared at her until she blushed furiously.

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 thundered it approval.  Harry clapped his hands despite the fact that they were already numb from that occupation.

At last, the Irish team left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly’s broom, clutching hard about 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?”

Fred and George had scrambled out of their seats and were standing in front of Bagman, hands outstretched.  Harry shook his head in amusement.  Trust the twins to make a bet that actually won them something.