• "Honestly, I never knew it was that hard to set up a tent…"
    "All he had to do was wave his bloody wand…"

    Ginny and I were grumbling as we set off through the maze of tents, looking for people we knew. Harry, Ron and Hermione had been set on the quest of getting water. I didn't see why Mr. Weasley couldn't just conjure that, too. But, he insisted upon doing this "like real Muggles." If I wanted to act like a Muggle, I would have just gone back to my aunt and uncle's house. Ginny had mentioned wanting to see if any of our classmates were here, and before Mr. Weasley could argue, I whisked her away. It wasn't like anything bad was going to happen to us.

    We couldn't keep our eyes in one place. Every tent was different, and there was always something going on at each one. We passed tents from all different countries, and of varying levels of elegance and complexity. There was one with three floors, fountains, and golden fireworks, and then another that was shocking purple and red, with a blue fire outside it and a circle of African wizards around it, all smoking odd-shaped pipes and speaking some language neither of us could identify.

    Outside one tent that was a deep gold and had a blue campfire outside it, was a perky, purple headed girl that could only be one person. "Ophilia McLaggen!" I called as loud as I could. She turned around, brightening up as soon as she saw Ginny and I, rushed over to us and hugging us each in turn.

    "Ginny! Jennifer!" she squeeled, excitable. She hadn't changed over the summer. Same sharp, quickness about both her presense and appearance, same perky purple hair and attitude, same dangerous brown eyes and laugh. Just the way I loved my best friend. "Goodness, how are you two? It's been forever!"
    "Only a month, Ophilia," I reminded her gently, laughing.
    "Yes, but it SEEMS like forever. Especially when you live with THEM," she moaned, gesturing to the tent, where her father and younger brother, Cormac, were probably debating Quidditch.
    "Ophilia? Who are you talking to? It is Sar – Oh," said Cormac, coming out of the tent happily and then his face falling when he saw who it was, "it's you two."
    "Go away Cormac, don't you have a Bulgarian Seeker to worship?" Ophilia snapped.
    "You KNOW Bulgaria's going to win!" yelled Cormac, stomping away.
    "As if they could ever DREAM of beating Ireland!" Ophilia shouted back.

    *******


    It was finally time.

    We all threw our new scafs over our shoulders, pocketed our wands, and set off for the Quidditch World Cup final. Most of everyone was wearing Bulgaria's colours (red and black) but myself and a few others sported Ireland's colours (green and gold).

    We followed Mr. Weasley through the forest that was at the edge of our tent. The stadium was somewhere deep within it. The paths were lit with green and red lanturns, and people swarmed down them. The air was charged with excitement. And with hundreds of thousands of people there, that added up to a lot of excitement. Ginny and I chattered about Quidditch with Fred and George. They had apparently bet one Ludo Bagman that Ireland would win, but Krum would catch the Snitch.

    "It's a very risky bet," I said, eyebrows scrunched. "Especially since you bet ALL your money."
    "Not really, Jen, if you think about it," said George.
    "Krum's the best Seeker in the world," began Fred.
    "But Ireland's got a better team all around…" added George
    "So it's actually a pretty likely bet," finished Fred.
    "It is a good point, Jen," said Ginny.
    I sighed. I hated when they ganged up on me like this. "Alright, but don't come crying to me when you lose your bet…"

    After a little bit more walking, the stadium came into view. My jaw dropped in awe. It was nearly as tall as the towers of Hogwarts, and the golden lights and hundreds of Ministry wizards around it just made it that more impressive. The man who took our tickets told us to go "all the way up." My heart pounded. We were getting the Box seats with the Minister, some of the best seats possible. This evening couldn't get better.

    The descent up the purple carpeted stairs certainly put a damper on our spirits though. We were all panting by the time we reached our seats, but we took them with joy. I sat at the end of our line next to George, with my Omnioculars hanging around my neck. We watched the big blackboard and its' whisking messages, advertising broomsticks and mess removers. Mr. Weasley and Percy talked to a lot of people I didn't know, but were probably important people, seeing as they were sitting in the Top Box. When Cornilus Fudge entered, Percy accidentally broke his glasses, at which I snickered. Fudge then greeted Harry, and introduced him to a foreign wizard. I paied more attention to the people still filling in the stands until Fudge said, "Ah, and here's Lucius!"

    The majority of our row whipped around to see the entire Malfoy family there; Lucius Malfoy, with his long, white-blonde hair and sneer; Narcissa Malfoy, tall and slim, again with light hair; Draco, obviously the youngest, glaring at Harry, Ron and Hermione; and then Lance and Sarlanda Malfoy, who shared little in common for being twins. They were both rather tall, slim, and had dark gray eyes. Lance wore the Malfoy smirk and his dirty blonde hair lay in a lazy mess. His smirk grew when he locked his eyes onto me, which I determainly avoided. I instead met eyes with Sarlanda. She stood out in great contrast with her family. Her long, dark brown hair had the slightest wave to it, and her expression was blank until she saw me. She smiled knowingly and rolled her eyes at her brother. I returned her smile; Sometimes, best friends didn't need words to understand each other.

    Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley were in a stare-off. "Good lord, Arthur, what did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?" Mr. Malfoy said softly, going unheard by Fudge, who just ranted on about how great of a donator Mr. Malfoy was. But Malfoy didn't say anything else, and they just filed past us to take the seats down the row from us. I had the deepest urdge to kick Lance off over the box wall when he passed by. Thankfully, it was Sarlanda who took the other seat next to me.

    "Bloody hell mate, I'm glad I get to sit by you," she muttered as she sat down, making sure the rest of her family couldn't hear her. "It's been a right nightmare so far."
    "Well, I'm glad I could rescue you," I said, grinning. Sarlanda gave me a small smile back and turned her attention to the pitch where the game was about to start.

    "And now I give you-The Bulgaria National Quidditch Team! Dimitrov!" The Bulgarian supporters started screaming for their team as the scarlet blurs shot out of their locker room. "Ivanova! Zogarf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaaaaannnnd – Krum!"
    "There he is, that's him!" I heard Ron screaming as he followed Krum with his Omnioculars. Bloody hell, that Victor Krum, the one Quidditch player everyone couldn't help but talk about. The apparent teen protégé Seeker. Well, we'll see if he was any good tonight.
    "And now-The Ireland National Quidditch Team!" It was the green mass's turn to scream. "Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaannnd – Lynch!"
    "GO IRELAND!" I screamed, following the players with my own Omnioculars. Mullet and Moran were my favorite Chasers in the league. Bloody brilliant they were.
    The ref walked out onto the field with the crate of balls, and with his whistle, the game began.

    The Quaffle was being passed so fast by Ireland's Chasers I could hardly keep up. I'm sure my jaw went slack with amazement at some point, but that was irrelevant. This was the spectacular Quidditch we had come here to see played. Within 15 minutes, Ireland had scored three times. "Take that, Bulgaria," I cheered as Mullet scored the third goal. But then Ivanova broke through the Irish Chasers and Keeper and scored. Sarlanda and Ron were dancing.

    "Bulgaria finally gets on the board! Well done! 30 to 10, Ireland leading...oh I say!" Everyone looked at Krum and Lynch, who were diving to the ground. I looked down for the Snitch, but it wasn't there.

    "IT'S A FEINT!" I screamed, but it was to late. Krum had pulled off, and Lynch plowed into the ground. I flinched as the time-out was called. "Bloody idiot," I muttered. Sarlanda was smirking next to me. Ginny was leaning over the box edge, horrified. From somewhere, I heard Charlie reassuring her.
    "He'll be okay, he only got ploughed! Which is what Krum was after, of course…"

    The Wronski Feint. It was a bloody dangerous Seeker move, but highly effective if you could pull it off. Maybe Krum wasn't all a chowder head. A few minutes later, Lynch was off again, and the match resumed at a new level of dirty playing. Bulgarian Keeper Zogarf got a penalty for cobbing, the Beaters got another penalty for arguing with the ref, and Dimitrov got another one for skinning Moran. At one point, Krum got hit in the face with a Bludger, but the only the crowd seemed to notice. But then another spectacular thing happened. Lynch dived once again for the Snitch, Krum right on his tail. Closer and closer to the ground they got. I wanted to tear my eyes away and close them, but I couldn't. "They're going to crash!" shrieked Hermione from somewhere.
    "No, only Lynch!" Harry and I yelled.

    And so he did. Like an almost instant replay, Lynch dug himself another nice hole in the ground, while Krum rose out of the dive, the Golden Snitch clutched in his hand.
    "KRUM HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! BUT IRELAND WINS!" screamed Bagman over the crowd. The scoreboard read: "BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170."
    This was the point where George turned to me and said, "What was that about a risky bet?"