Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

can’t have that!’ said Ludo Bagman, though he sounded highly amused. ‘Somebody slap the referee!’
    A mediwizard came tearing across the pitch, his fingers stuffed in his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard on the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself; Harry, watching through the Omnioculars again, saw that he looked exceptionally embarrassed, and was 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, had landed either side of Mostafa, and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating towards 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 across the pitch towards the Veela. At this, the Veela lost control. They launched themselves across the pitch, 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 above. Harry turned this way and that, staring through his Omnioculars, as the Quaffle 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 towards Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him hard 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 broomtail alight.
    Harry wanted someone to realise that Krum was injured; even though he was supporting Ireland, Krum was the most exciting player on the pitch. 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 realised what was happening, the Irish supporters rose in a great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on … but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was