Chapter 4 : Quidditch World Cup Dis

Chapter 4 : Quidditch World Cup Disaster! – August 8, 1994

When Harry made it back to lot #4, dusk was fast approaching and a sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the camp. The still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretense disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.

Harry shared the snacks he bought with his guardians and passed out the omnioculars. Sirius spent a good half hour tinkering and discovering all the cool little features. "We didn't have this sort of thing 12 years ago…oh, look! It has a slow motion replay function too!"

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.

"It's time!" Sirius, jumped to his feet and pulled Harry up with him. "Come on, let's go!"

They walked through the woods for twenty minutes, following the lantern lit trail. At last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium, though Harry could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field.

"Seats a hundred thousand," Sirius said, spotting the awestruck look on Harry's face. "I heard the Ministry task force of 500 worked on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it." Sirius shook his head as if in disbelief as he led the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "VIP Box! Straight upstairs, Mr. Black, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward squeezing through the crowd. After much jostling, and Harry grumbling about being short, they finally reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry, filing into the front seats, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined.

Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; almost at Harry's eye level.

The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. There was an awkward moment when Sirius bluntly asked Arthur where the rest of his family was, since Harry hadn't told him about what happened with Bagman. Arthur stuttered a bit and shot a glance at a sheepish Harry. Ironically, it was Cornelius Fudge, who butted in and saved them from even more awkwardness.

"Harry Potter, you know," Fudge told the Bulgarian minister loudly, stealing Harry from between his guardians and pushing him forward. "Harry Potter… oh come on now, you know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who… you do know who he is -"

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it. Harry tried not to roll his eyes. Andromeda would somehow find out and kill him.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing … ah, and here's my old friend, Lucius!"

It shouldn't have been a surprise that the Malfoy Family would sit up here with them, but for some reason, Harry was. Lucius, his son, and a woman Harry supposed must be Draco's mother were edging along the second row to three still-empty seats.

"Ah, Cornelius," said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? You remember my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley and Sirius Black, I daresay?"

There was a tense moment with Sirius and Arthur glaring at Lucius. Lucius looked down at Arthur condescendingly before dismissing him as unimportant and turning to Sirius. "It's a shame what happened with the whole Azkaban business, a real shame," Lucius said shaking his head mockingly. "Times were interesting then, weren't they?"

This illicit a growl from Sirius, and Severus had to hold him back. "Always a pleasure, Lucius," Severus interrupted in a similarly cool and smooth tone.

Lucius narrowed his eyes and glanced pointedly at Sirius and Harry, as if to say 'what on earth are you doing with them.'

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."

"How - how nice," Harry answered, with a very strained smile, because it looked like all the adults were locked in some kind of glaring contest.

Luckily, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Lucius didn't dare say anything outright. He nodded sneeringly to them and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father.

"Slimy gits," Harry muttered as he turned to face the field again. Sirius nodded in agreement.

Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box, deftly avoiding the Twin's attempts to get a hold of him. "Everyone ready?" he said, excitedly. "Minister - ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands. All thoughts of the Malfoys flew from Harry's mind. "Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

The opening show from Bulgaria consisted of a dancing and singing team of veelas that swept across the field, ensnaring nearly every male in the stands. Sirius, however, was more interested in his godson's reaction-or lack there of. "Have you ever seen Veelas before?" he asked, noticing how Harry wasn't drooling like a stars-truck teen.

"I've read a little about them," Harry replied offhandedly and glanced at the Veelas with only academic interest. He wondered what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind…

Sirius remained puzzled by the non-answer. So what did that mean?

"Harry's an occlumens, Black," Severus interjected, answering Sirius' unasked question. Occlumens, by nature of their shielded minds, were not affected by the Veelas' enchanting music.

Unfortunately, this still left Sirius just as clueless on whether his godson favored girls or boys.

Following after the Veelas were the leprechauns of Ireland. They came in the formation of giant green shamrocks, which rose up into the sky and began raining down what looked like gold nuggets.

"Fools gold," Severus explained, unimpressed. He had erected a shield around himself to keep from getting pelted by the falling gold. "Ridiculous waste of space, not even useful as a potion's ingredient."

Bagman then announced the Bulgarian Quidditch team, as each player, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, moving so fast that they only looked like red blurs. When Krum's name was called, it seemed like half the stadium jumped to their feet, screaming even louder.

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Bagman had to yell just to be heard, even with the sonorous. Seven green blurs swept onto the field.

{Quidditch Scene Starts Here}

Omnioculars in place, Harry watched closely as 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!"

It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to face that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose. The speed of the players was incredible - the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names.

Harry made sure his omnioculars were on record, recognizing several plays, which he would like to study in more detail later on.

The Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves. And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the greenclad supporters.

The match became still 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.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!" roared Bagman. One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum

Kết quả (Việt) 1:

Chương 4: Quidditch World Cup thảm họa! -August 8, 1994Khi Harry đã làm cho nó trở lại với nhiều #4, hoàng hôn là nhanh chóng tiếp cận và một cảm giác của sự phấn khích tăng như một đám mây rõ rệt so trại. Mùa hè vẫn còn máy chính nó dường như lên với dự đoán, và như là bóng tối lây lan như một bức màn trên hàng ngàn của chờ đợi phù thủy, dấu tích cuối cùng của pretense biến mất: bộ dường như đã cúi không thể tránh khỏi và dừng lại chống những dấu hiệu của blatant ma thuật bây giờ có thể phá vỡ ra ở khắp mọi nơi.Harry chia sẻ snacks ông mua với người giám hộ của mình và được thông qua trong các omnioculars. Sirius đã dành một giờ một nửa tốt tinkering và khám phá tất cả các tính năng ít mát mẻ. "Chúng tôi không có loại điều này 12 năm trước... oh, nhìn! Nó có một chức năng phát lại chuyển động chậm quá!"Và sau đó một sâu, đang bùng nổ công nghe một nơi nào đó ngoài rừng, và cùng một lúc, những chiếc đèn lồng màu xanh lá cây và màu đỏ blazed vào cuộc sống trên cây, ánh sáng một đường dẫn vào trường."Đó là thời gian!" Sirius, nhảy lên đôi chân của mình và kéo Harry lên với anh ta. "Come on, let's go!"Họ đi bộ qua rừng cho hai mươi phút, theo đường mòn đèn lồng thắp sáng. Cuối cùng, họ nổi lên trên mặt khác và tìm thấy chính mình trong bóng tối của một sân vận động khổng lồ, mặc dù Harry có thể nhìn thấy chỉ là một phần của các bức tường vàng khổng lồ xung quanh lĩnh vực."Seats a hundred thousand," Sirius said, spotting the awestruck look on Harry's face. "I heard the Ministry task force of 500 worked on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it." Sirius shook his head as if in disbelief as he led the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards."Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "VIP Box! Straight upstairs, Mr. Black, and as high as you can go."The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward squeezing through the crowd. After much jostling, and Harry grumbling about being short, they finally reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry, filing into the front seats, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined.Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; almost at Harry's eye level.The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. There was an awkward moment when Sirius bluntly asked Arthur where the rest of his family was, since Harry hadn't told him about what happened with Bagman. Arthur stuttered a bit and shot a glance at a sheepish Harry. Ironically, it was Cornelius Fudge, who butted in and saved them from even more awkwardness."Harry Potter, you know," Fudge told the Bulgarian minister loudly, stealing Harry from between his guardians and pushing him forward. "Harry Potter… oh come on now, you know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who… you do know who he is -"The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it. Harry tried not to roll his eyes. Andromeda would somehow find out and kill him."Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing … ah, and here's my old friend, Lucius!"It shouldn't have been a surprise that the Malfoy Family would sit up here with them, but for some reason, Harry was. Lucius, his son, and a woman Harry supposed must be Draco's mother were edging along the second row to three still-empty seats."Ah, Cornelius," said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? You remember my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?""How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley and Sirius Black, I daresay?"
There was a tense moment with Sirius and Arthur glaring at Lucius. Lucius looked down at Arthur condescendingly before dismissing him as unimportant and turning to Sirius. "It's a shame what happened with the whole Azkaban business, a real shame," Lucius said shaking his head mockingly. "Times were interesting then, weren't they?"

This illicit a growl from Sirius, and Severus had to hold him back. "Always a pleasure, Lucius," Severus interrupted in a similarly cool and smooth tone.

Lucius narrowed his eyes and glanced pointedly at Sirius and Harry, as if to say 'what on earth are you doing with them.'

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."

"How - how nice," Harry answered, with a very strained smile, because it looked like all the adults were locked in some kind of glaring contest.

Luckily, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Lucius didn't dare say anything outright. He nodded sneeringly to them and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father.

"Slimy gits," Harry muttered as he turned to face the field again. Sirius nodded in agreement.

Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box, deftly avoiding the Twin's attempts to get a hold of him. "Everyone ready?" he said, excitedly. "Minister - ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands. All thoughts of the Malfoys flew from Harry's mind. "Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

The opening show from Bulgaria consisted of a dancing and singing team of veelas that swept across the field, ensnaring nearly every male in the stands. Sirius, however, was more interested in his godson's reaction-or lack there of. "Have you ever seen Veelas before?" he asked, noticing how Harry wasn't drooling like a stars-truck teen.

"I've read a little about them," Harry replied offhandedly and glanced at the Veelas with only academic interest. He wondered what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind…

Sirius remained puzzled by the non-answer. So what did that mean?

"Harry's an occlumens, Black," Severus interjected, answering Sirius' unasked question. Occlumens, by nature of their shielded minds, were not affected by the Veelas' enchanting music.

Unfortunately, this still left Sirius just as clueless on whether his godson favored girls or boys.

Following after the Veelas were the leprechauns of Ireland. They came in the formation of giant green shamrocks, which rose up into the sky and began raining down what looked like gold nuggets.

"Fools gold," Severus explained, unimpressed. He had erected a shield around himself to keep from getting pelted by the falling gold. "Ridiculous waste of space, not even useful as a potion's ingredient."

Bagman then announced the Bulgarian Quidditch team, as each player, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, moving so fast that they only looked like red blurs. When Krum's name was called, it seemed like half the stadium jumped to their feet, screaming even louder.

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Bagman had to yell just to be heard, even with the sonorous. Seven green blurs swept onto the field.

{Quidditch Scene Starts Here}

Omnioculars in place, Harry watched closely as 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!"

It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to face that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose. The speed of the players was incredible - the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names.

Harry made sure his omnioculars were on record, recognizing several plays, which he would like to study in more detail later on.

The Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves. And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the greenclad supporters.

The match became still 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.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!" roared Bagman. One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum