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“You can speak English!” said Fudge, sounding outraged. “And you’ve been letting me mime everything all day!”
“Vell, it vos very fu
“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 a
And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Co
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 gri
“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.
9. THE DARK MARK
“Don’t tell your mother you’ve been gambling,” Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as they all made their way slowly down the purple carpeted stairs.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” said Fred gleefully, “we’ve got big plans for this money. We don’t want it confiscated.”
Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn’t want to know.
They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Mr. Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Gi
“Oh I am glad I’m not on duty,” muttered Mr. Weasley sleepily. “I wouldn’t fancy having to go and tell the Irish they’ve got to stop celebrating.”
Harry, who was on a top bunk above Ron, lay staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional leprechaun lantern flying overhead, and picturing again some of Krum’s more spectacular moves. He was itching to get back on his own Firebolt and try out the Wronski Feint… Somehow Oliver Wood had never managed to convey with all his wriggling diagrams what that move was supposed to look like… Harry saw himself in robes that had his name on the back, and imagined the sensation of hearing a hundred thousand strong crowd roar, as Ludo Bagman’s voice echoed throughout the stadium, “I give you… Potter!”
Harry never knew whether or not he had actually dropped off to sleep—his fantasies of flying like Krum might well have slipped into actual dreams—all he knew was that, quite suddenly, Mr. Weasley was shouting.
“Get up! Ron—Harry—come on now, get up, this is urgent!” Harry sat up quickly and the top of his head hit canvas.
“S’ matter?” he said.
Dimly, he could tell that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. He could hear screams, and the sound of people ru
By the light of the few fires that were still burning, he could see people ru
A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Harry squinted at them… They didn’t seem to have faces… Then he realized that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small.
More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice Harry saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder.
The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Harry recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee.
“That’s sick,” Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. “That is really sick…”
Hermione and Gi
“We’re going to help the Ministry!” Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. “You lot—get into the woods, and stick together. I’ll come and fetch you when we’ve sorted this out!”