MISCHIEF MANAGED// FRED WEASLEY X READER

009. Bulgaria's Defeat

Fred's Disclaimer: The author of this book does not own Harry Potter, but she owns the fact that Y/N knew exactly what she was doing at the end of this chapter. 

"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. I focused my own, aiming them towards the ominous Viktor Krum. His was thin, dark and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. As one of the youngest quidditch members, it was quite impressive that he could play in the World Cup at only 18. 

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand - Lynch!"

Each of the Irish team rode firebolts, the highest level broom created. Harry got one from Sirius last year. I pretended not to be jealous. 

"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 strode out onto the field, carrying a large wooden crate under one arm. Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and 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!"

I have to admit, the Quidditch game was so fast, it was difficult to keep up with. The players sped in speeds that not even Harry could keep up with. I pressed my Omnioculars to my face, attempting to keep track of the players' locations. Bagman only had time to say their names as the Quaffle bounced from player to player. The noise of the crowd pounded against my eardrums. 

HAWKSHEAD ATTACKING FORMATION, the large board above the game read as the three Irish Chasers zoomed 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, Ivanov, 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.

The leprechauns danced happily along the sidelines. 

The match became 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. All of the boys apart from Fred had their hands over their ears and their eyes screwed shut. 

"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.