Chapter Two
The Veela and the Ginger
The match had ended miserably for the Bulgarian supporters, who had lost by a mere ten points, ending with Bulgaria earning one hundred-and-sixty points, while Ireland won with one hundred-and-seventy points.
The Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum had secured the snitch after being struck in the face by a Bludger.
“Well, we fought bravely,” her Uncle sighed gloomily. He had abandoned all pretenses, allowing his head to fall to the side, resting his head affectionately on top of Corin’s.
“You can speak English!” Fudge exclaimed in outrage. “And you’ve been letting me mime everything all day!”
“Well, it was very funny,” her Uncle shrugged. Corin fought a laugh.
She stood alongside her Uncle and The Minister as the Top Box lit up magically –enabling the entire stadium to watch the display. Fudge accepted the World Cup from two panting wizards, appearing remarkably disgruntled by his counterpart’s trickery.
“Let’s have a really loud hand for today’s gallant losers –Bulgaria!” announced the commentator, with his magically magnified voice. Applause rang out across the entire stadium –And, one by one, the seven Bulgarian Quidditch players lined up to shake hands with the Bulgarian Minister, followed by Fudge, and lastly Corin.
The commentator listed each of the players’ names as they shook hands, and finally, Viktor Krum, at the end of the line took Corin’s hand. He looked worse for wear, with two blooming black eyes, his nose bleeding profusely after being struck by a Bludger, and refused any aid from the Med-Wizards. Corin couldn’t help but feel concerned for the man –although her concern lessened as he awkwardly stooped and layered a bloody kiss on her knuckles.
Corin fought a grimace; and by the disconcerted expression on Viktor Krum’s face as he realised the bloody mess he had left behind, she pitied him even greater. Surely the media would butcher the poor Seeker for his choice to end the match, and to have bled over the Minister’s niece.
In an attempt to smooth over Krum’s mistake, Corin removed the broboadă from her head and swiped the blood from off her hand –leaning over the row of seats that separated them, and pressed the red cloth to Krum’s nose. He accepted the headscarf gratefully –moving over for the Irish players to take their turn in shaking her hand, Krum vanished down the steps, his thick brows contorted.
“You did well,” her Uncle assured her upon seeing Corin’s unnervingly blank expression. Her Uncle tugged on her mahogany curls, a light smile playing across his coarse face.
“Thanks,” Corin muttered in undertone, feeling remarkably better.
“You’ll stay the night then?” Her Uncle turned a curious look down at her, “then meet me the Leaky Cauldron, yeah?”
“Sure,” Corin agreed steadily, “Probably early morning –and I’ll be bringing Stefan –ah, one of my friends.”
“Fine, fine.” Her Uncle swept a look to the stadium, “be careful; I’ll be seeing you.”
And, with little regard for anyone, her Uncle turned on the spot and Disapparated.
Corin masked a smile, making her way down the set of purple carpeted stairs –swept up by the flood of the crowd within seconds.
~*~
Corin returned to the tent quite unnoticed. She escaped into the tent with relief, taking the time to pack for her leave undisturbed.
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Dragon's Core
FanficDaughter of a sickly, capricious mother, and overwhelming father, as well as niece to an esteemed politician -Corin Oblansk, a foreign student and one of the dozen chosen to travel to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to have a chance at co...
