A Hogwarts Legend: Chaos Begins [4] (SLOW UPDATES)

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine - "Life lessons with Mr Weasley."

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it's blurred, shoots out onto the pitch from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zooms out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand - Krum!"

"That's him, that's him!" yells Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars; I quickly focus my own.

Viktor Krum is thin, dark and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looks like an overgrown bird of prey. It's hard to believe he's only eighteen.

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

Seven green blues sweep onto the pitch; I spin a small dial on the side of my Omnioculars, and slow the player down enough to read the word 'Firebolt' on each of their brooms, and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

Like Mufasa. Roar.

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a moustache to rival Uncle Vernon's, wearing robes of our gold to match the stadium, strides out into the pitch. A silver whistle is protruding from under the moustache, and he's carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. I spin the speed dial on his Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounts his broomstick and kicks the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers and (I see it for the briefest moment, before it speeds out of sight) the minuscule, winged, Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shoots into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screams Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It's Quidditch as I've never seen it played before. The speed of the players is incredible - the Chasers are throwing the Quaffle to each other so fast that Bagman only has time to say their names. I spin the 'slow' dial on the right of my Omnioculars again, press the 'play by play' button on the top and I'm immediately watching in slow motion, while glittering purple lettering flashes across the lenses, and the noise of the crowd pounds against my eardrums.

'Hawkshead Attacking Formation' I read, as I watch the three Irish Chaser zoom closely together, Troy in the centre, slightly ahead of Mullet and Moran, bearing down upon the Bulgarians. 'Porskoff Ploy' flashes up next, as Troy makes as though to dart upwards with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova, and dropping the Quaffle to Moran. One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swings hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran's path; Moran ducks to avoid the Bludger and drops the Quaffle; and Levski, soaring beneath, catches it -

"TROY SCORES!" roars Bagman, and the stadium shudders with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten-zero to Ireland!"

"What?" I yell, looking around through my Omnioculars. "But Levski's got the Quaffle!"

"Emily, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" shouts Elinor, who's dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Troy does a lap of honour of the pitch. I look quickly over the top of my Omnioculars, and see that the leprechauns watching from the side-lines have all risen into the air again, and form the great glittering shamrock. Across the pitch, the Veela are watching them sulkily.