The Raven's Call

The Quidditch World Cup

The sun has gone down, we've dressed in our supporting colours, with Harry and Ron supporting Bulgaria and the rest of us supporting Ireland, and the time for the quidditch world cup has arrived, the crowd already in the stands rambles and cheers as the rest of us find our seats. Our group has already made a treck up a load of stairs. "Blimey, dad. How far up are we?" Ron asks, huffing and puffing as he clings onto the rails. "We'll put it this way:" A voice speaks up from below us. "If it rains, you'll be the first to know." The voice continues, belonging to one, Lucius Malfoy. "Father, Asteria and I are in the minister's box. By personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge, himself." Draco boasts, I can't help but roll my eyes. "Don't boast, Draco. There's no need with these people." Lucius scowls. Harry turns to leave, but Lucius stops him, latching onto Harry's foot with his cane. "Do enjoy yourself, won't you? While you can." Lucius speaks ominously before letting him go. That was bloody strange.

The group then continue up the stairs, and I notice Asteria trying to sneak away with us. "And where do you think you're going?" He asks, latching onto her shoe with his cane like he had with Harry's. "Please, father. I won't ask for anything else! I just want to watch the game with my friends tonight! Please!" She begs. He looks at me for a moment before looking back at her. "Fine. But you know when you must be back." He replies through gritted teeth. "Thank you, father!" She exclaims in relief as she grabs my arm, leading me further up the stairs. But now I'm stopped by Lucius. "Don't think I don't know you were in my house, boy. Another move like that, and I will see you personally and permanently expelled." He growls at me. "Yes, sir." I respond sarcastically, saluting to him before running up the stairs, giggling with Asteria as we catch up with the Weasleys.

Amidst the sprawling coliseum, a vivid spectacle unfolds before our eyes. Multicoloured balloons in shades of green, red, white, and black ascended gracefully into the starry sky. We found ourselves perched at the very summit of the coliseum, gazing down in awe at the unfolding festivities. "Come on!" Fred's enthusiastic cheer resonated through the air, and George quickly joined in with an equally exuberant "Woah!" as the Ireland team made their grand entrance, zooming past us on their broomsticks. Their arrival was nothing short of breathtaking. "It's the Irish! There's Troy!" one twin declared, with the other chiming in, "And Mullet!" Their voices alternated in an excited frenzy. "And Moran!" they continued, pointing out key players as if narrating the action unfolding before them. As if in response to the thunderous cheers of the crowd, the sky erupted into a dazzling display of fireworks, featuring a leprechaun – Ireland's cherished mascot. The mischievous figure danced merrily amidst the colourful explosions, inciting chants and exuberant cheers from the audience.

A few moments of fervent celebration passed, and a voice beside me exclaims, "Here come the Bulgarians!" Their excitement was contagious, and a collective cheer erupted throughout the coliseum. "Yes!!" We all exclaim as the Bulgarian team burst through the leprechaun-shaped fireworks, illuminating the night with their red and white lights. The display was so exhilarating that it sent us jumping in excitement, caught up in the passion of the moment. Then, an accomplished flyer among the Bulgarian team began showcasing impressive tricks with his broom, leaving us all in wonder. "Who's that?" Ginny's voice rang out with curiosity. "That, sis," George declared with pride, "is the best seeker in the world!" The crowd, now wholly captivated, began to chant the seeker's name in unison. "Krum! Krum! Krum!" Their voices rose in harmony, filling the coliseum with an electrifying atmosphere that set the stage for the thrilling Quidditch match about to unfold.

"Good evening!" A loud voice booms throughout the Colosseum. "As Minister for Magic, it gives me great pleasure to welcome each and every one of you to the final of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup!" Fudge announces. "Let the match.. begin!" The crowd erupts in a deafening cheer as the match commences. Players dart across the sky at breakneck speeds, and the vivid greens and reds streaking through the air are a whirlwind of activity, making it a challenge to keep up with the exhilarating spectacle. I look over to Asteria with a smile, this is probably the happiest I've ever seen her.

The atmosphere is electric, and the anticipation is palpable. The coliseum seems to tremble with the collective excitement of the crowd. Krum soars through the air with incredible finesse. His movements on the broom are nothing short of mesmerizing, and I can't help but marvel at his skill, I hope to one day be as good a seeker as he is. The tension in the air is thick as Ireland and Bulgaria battle fiercely for dominance. The score 160 to 10, if Krum catches the snitch now he could tie the match! Each team chases the elusive Snitch with unwavering determination. The emerald-clad Irish Chasers swoop and dive, their scarlet counterparts from Bulgaria in hot pursuit. The Quaffle changes hands in a flurry of passes and brilliant plays, keeping the scoreboard in constant flux. As the minutes tick away, my heart races with every near-miss and spectacular save. The roars of the crowd echo around me, drowning out even the most deafening of cheers. It's a whirlwind of colours, with greens and reds clashing in a breathtaking display of athleticism and strategy. And then, just when it seems impossible for the excitement to escalate any further, Viktor Krum makes a move that sends shockwaves through the coliseum. With a bold and controversial decision, he veers sharply towards the Snitch, his determination unwavering. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against the tiny golden ball just as Ireland makes another goal. Another ten points. The gasps of the crowd are audible, a collective intake of breath as the realization dawns. Krum has caught the Snitch! The Quidditch World Cup final is over, but not in the way anyone expected. His choice to end the match on his terms is a bold one, and the consequences are clear. The scoreboard confirms it. The victory goes to Ireland, 170-160. The cheers, though slightly subdued, still erupt from the Irish supporters. No one could have EVER expected this outcome.