What: Quidditch World Cup When: Monday Evening Where: Ireland's Field Statis: Complete Rating: PG-13, Violence and Language. It's a Quidditch match!!
Summary:
It was pouring outside. Thunder and lightning that seemed to fit the mood of the crowd that dared to come out. After everything that had happened in France the night before, perhaps the people needed something to take their minds off it all. Harry would have thought the game would be canceled, but the French would not have it. Perhaps it was their pride for their country, to win this for those that were lost. Harry didn't know. All he did know is he came in to put his uniform on and they'd all been hexed black. The number seven on the back was a brilliant green along with 'Potter'.
The French were in black as well, with the yellow letters on their uniforms. Harry had only seen one or two walking around, but for the most part they'd kept to themselves. The rest of his team as well. He would have thought they'd be out drinking, but their coach had forbidden it till after the game. Plenty of time for that.
Harry was sitting dressed in front of his locker, the newest Prophet sitting by his side. The list of the dead turned his stomach and he could only wonder how Bill was taking this whole thing. Awful; stupid question. The whole Weasley family would be mourning. Like they needed something else awful happening to them. Harry played with the goggles in his hands, looking at his reflextion. Sighing, he grabbed his boots and started to buckle them as his team mates came in all rowdy and ready to go. They all clapped him on the back, yelling and shouting. He gave them all a polite smile and watched as his team captain stood on the bench beside them.
"Everyone shut up!" he said and they listened snickering. "Alright. Now we know the Frogs have had a bad night but that don't mean we'll be goin' easy on 'em does it?" Everyone cheered. "Right. So everyone keep an eye on Potter. Best Seeker we've had in a long time. Nothin' touches 'im. No one gets near 'im. All he has to worry 'bout is catchin' that snitch and ended the Frog's misery again. Now..moment of silence to the dead yeah?"
The room went silent and it shook Harry a little. The situation with the Muggles was only getting worse. How much longer would this madness go on?
"Right, 'nough of that! Let's play some bloody Quidditch!" Everyone cheered again, grabbing their robes and brooms, Harry caught up in the crowd as they ran out to the field.
They got to the gate to be let out, the roar of the crowd overwhelming. It roared over the sound of the thunder, flashes of lightning shinning through the door. "Gonna be a rough game," someone said. Hard to say who, but everyone agreed.
The door opened and everyone took off out into the storm, the French already waiting for them. The water beated down around them, soaking them before they even made it to the kick off. Harry pulled his googles down so he could see where he was going. He watched the snitch be released and the direction it had taken off. Before he knew it the Quaffle was thrown and he was off.
It was freezing outside and playing was miserable. The beaters were having a hell of a time trying to keep the Buldgers away from everyone. Harry had a few close calls himself, but he made it away without a scratch for the time being. The storm was right over them now and the rain poured harder. He could barely see the hoops. A glint of gold wizzed past his head and he turned to go after it, when his shoulder connected with a Buldger's. He swore loudly, but the ref didn't catch it and the player just chuckled somewhere, his laugh muted slightly by a loud crack of thunder.
The pain only shook him for a moment. The snitch was fluttering about heading higher into the sky. Frances seeker caught sight of it, taking off into the sky. Harry was hot on his heals, disappearing up into the thunderheads after him. The chimes from below of the Quaffle being thrown drowned out in the sky.
He could see the snitch or the other player anymore. Not until a string of lightning shot him out of the sky. But it was enough for him to see the snitch. Flying forward he took hold of the golden ball just as another flash of lightning struck.
Below the crowd was watching the game, yelling as their teams did their best to make more goals. It started with one scream, noticing the bodies fall from the sky. The French Seeker was caught by another team mate before he hit the ground, but Harry fell farther away, hitting the dome that covered the crowd.
He didn't get hit by the lightning, but it had set his robes and broom on fire and he had not had time to put his broom out and hang onto the snitch. Pushing his goggles off and pushed himself up into a sitting position as the Keeper, their Captain, flew up to meet him.
"Harry, Merlin are you alright?" He looked a little scorched and beaten, but he saw what the boy had in his hand. "You brilliant bastard!" he yelled, standing him up. He threw Harry's hand up in the air, the ref seeing the glint of gold inbetween his fingers.
"Ireland wins!" he yelled. The crowd exploded with cheers, wands sending sparks everywhere, the thunder roaring overhead.
"Good game," Harry said, handing him the snitch. The poor man was crying next to him, hugging Harry before he could sneak away. His whole team had tackled him, dragging him down to the field for the ceremony of the cup. It was still pouring and the flashes from cameras soon joined those that were shed from the sky. Harry pealed the burnt robe off himself, wandering around in the soaked black pants and sweater.
The cup was passed around, till it got to Harry where the cameras went wild. He knew somewhere in the stands, Hermione was freaking out, along with whomever he'd given a ticket to. If they'd come that was. He put on a smile for the papers. It was going to be a long night and hopefully he could sneak away long enough to meet with Draco. No matter what happened though, it was going to prove to be a very long night.