"BROOMS UP!"

  Fourteen brooms smacked into fourteen hands, as near simultaneously as made no difference. Thirteen legs were thrown over to mount quickly, and...

  Wait.

  Thirteen?

  Viktor Krum's broom smacked into his hand, and kept going. In fact, it kept accelerating. Viktor was yanked from the ground with a jolt that would have dislocated a weaker man's shoulder. His single-handed grip did slide down along the tilt of the shaft until it came to rest at the collar-fittings for the footpegs.

  Meanwhile, Krum twisted his arm at the wrist, rotating his whole body. He was taking the precious fraction-of-a-second lead to survey the whole pitch before the teams were fully in the air. He stopped accelerating, he and the broom weightless for just a moment at the top of a steep parabola.

  Still scanning, his gaze suddenly fixed toward a point near the base of the other team's goals. Viktor twirled his broom in a complex pattern, pointing the nose at the spot he had fixed on, and began to mount the broom at last. He wasn't even fully mounted as the broom shot off. The smack of the footpegs hitting his boots was fully audible.

  The spectators had already been cheering the start of the game, when Krum's ascent suddenly took them by surprise. Most paused for an unbelieving moment before redoubling their efforts. There was an audible chorus of 'Bloody HELL!' from the main contingent of New Zealand supporters.

  The rest of the two teams, professionals all, had noticed nothing, focused on getting into the air. The first to miss him was, of course, the New Zealand Seeker, Ngapo Ponika. Part of his job was to keep track of him, after all. He located Krum admirably fast, considering how high the Bulgarian Seeker had shot up. He was barely in time to see Krum mount up and shoot down toward the goals.

  Ponika did not wrench at his broom to change direction. Instead he grabbed the sleeve of one of his own team's beaters, using the bigger man as a counterweight to spin himself onto the right trajectory. The Beater, Jonah Lomu, took it in stride, especially as it put him in a favorable position to launch a Bludger at the Bulgarian Chaser, Nikola Vassileva. Vassileva only took a glancing hit, but it drove him out of formation, and caused the Bulgarians to lose control of the Quaffle.

  Krum had a head start, but Ponika had a better angle. It would have been a dead heat to reach the Snitch.

  If, of course, the Snitch had been there.

  Krum pulled out and up, actually grazing the turf with the toes of his boots. Two very shallow lines were drawn in the grass, showing earth at the centers.

  ***

  "WHAT... A... START!" Even with Sonorous, Ginny had to shout to be heard over the crowd. Many of them had only gotten tickets to this particular game because of Krum's notoriety. They were the ones now patting themselves on the back hard enough to save a choking victim. It hadn't even been thirty seconds.

  Ginny's commentary was on-going. "The only thing I can call this is an EXTENDED Wronski Feint, using the unique take-off to SELL the idea. And Ponika appears to have bought it... WHAT A RECOVERY!"

  ***

  It was already after the last moment when the New Zealand Seeker caught on. A tiny, tiny voice was screaming ineffectually in his animal hind-brain: Krum is known for...

  Ngapo was almost saved by that tiny voice. He pulled away from disaster only through a combination of reflexes, training, and luck. Lots of luck. Actually, Luck should probably come first on the Ingredients List.

  Instead of letting the nose of his broom dig in, so as to get him thoroughly ploughed, he snapped it sideways into the pit of his stomach, put his head firmly between his knees, and gave his posterior fundament an affectionate gesture to wish it Bon Voyage.

  Later analysis showed he only rolled three times, momentarily looking like a Tinkertoy wheel with a stick shoved through the hub. On the third roll, Ponika timed a mighty kick that threw him into the air with all his remaining momentum. He was still rising when he got his broom back under him and accelerated off, having lost less than a second on Krum.

  ...feints. Ngapo's thought finished. He was battered, dizzy, and angry at himself. The next time he crossed Krum's path, though, Krum nodded, and gave him a hand to chest salute.

  That made him feel better.

  ***

  "... and who knows?" Ginny was saying. "He could have spotted the Snitch from up there. All in all, a risk worth taking. I also wish to point out that he grabbed the broom with his left hand, which is his non-dominant hand. And my Omnioculars may have spotted an elastic bandage on that wrist, in a momentary gap between his glove and his sleeve."

  "After the Bulgarian Chasers Attack Formation was broken up by Lomu's inspired Bludger, the New Zealanders make the first score of the games, taking only three tries to put the Quaffle through the hoop. Dennis Moon was fed the Quaffle twice and missed. The second try is recovered by Lydia Ko, and is put through when the Bulgarian Keeper Zdravko mistakenly keyed on Moon, whom he saw as the greater threat. Moon seems more upset with his teammate than with Zdravko. Rumour has it that Moon has a fetish about scoring the first goal in a match."

  "Oh, hey, folks! Here is something you won't often see. A player has left the game in progress to come and swear at the Commentator. And the Bulgarians score once, twice. Three times! The outnumbered Kiwis are trying their best without Moon, but... Ah, here comes Referee Georgios Xenakis, who is apparently ordering Dennis Moon back to the game... Whoa! That was close! Ponika dived between the Referee and his teammate, with Krum hot on his tail! Yes, there's the Snitch down by... aannd it's gone. The young New Zealand Seeker performs a beautiful Triple Moon Turn and is heading back to gain some height. As he flies by Moon this time, his knee passes within an inch of Dennis' admittedly prominent nose, causing him to flinch away in a turn and dive. This brings the scoreboard into his line of sight, and Bulgaria's now 40-point lead shocks him back into action."

  "Dragonov and Vulchanov have been targeting the two remaining New Zealand chasers, but so far Suzie Bates is keeping them healthy, if not happy. That leaves Lomu attempting to keep the Bulgarians Chasers from overwhelming Keeper David Tua... ouch!"

  "Well, fans, that is something I have never seen before. Keeper Tua punched the Quaffle away so hard that it exploded. Refeeree Zenakis has called a Time Out to replace the Quaffle. It may take a while. The International Committee members here in the Top Box seem as taken aback as I am."

  "Both teams have grounded, although Krum and Ponika are searching the pitch with their eyes, ceaselessly. The rest of the Kiwi team have gathered around Dennis Moon. It may be a sharing circle, it may be a group hug, but I am willing to bet it is an extremely polite Maori-style shellacking. After all, 'kaore te kumara e korero mo tona ake reka.' 'The kumara fruit does not speak of its own sweetness.' "

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  At the top of the steps beside Ginny's rostrum, Mentor Metaxas was listening to a flustered witch in Committee Staff robes. His eyebrows shot up alarmingly before he got them back under his iron control. He spoke a word or two, and pointed the witch toward Ginny. She quailed under his glare, darted down the steps, and began to speak insistently into Ginny's ear.

  "What? You're kidding! Wait... Folks, hang on for a minute. Be right back. Drink among yourselves for a bit." Ginny DisSpelled Sonorus, and listened intently to the young staffer. The Weasley Grin began to spread across her face. She glanced over her shoulder at Metaxas, who nodded firmly.

  Metaxas began scanning the rows of the Top Box, while producing his wand with a dignified little flourish. Spotting the person he wanted, he flicked the wand. In turn, the targeted man had his ear flicked, apparently quite painfully. He half-rose from his seat, glaring around indignantly, only to catch Metaxas' eye.

  Without any expression, the Chairman of the ICWQC pointed at him. Metaxas then rotated his hand, and used the same finger to beckon him up and out of his seat. Then, the Chairman used his wand hand to point at Ginny, with, of course, the wand pointed into the sky away from her.

  PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Remember, Wand Safety is Everybody's Business! 'Hex, Jinx or Worse, Control That Wayward Curse!" This Message brought to you by the Spell Damage Ward at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

  Puzzled, the man, (obviously a Top Level Bureaucrat), made his way to the front aisle, and turned to approach Ginny. She welcomed him with a smile. The man, a South Sea Islander by birth, paused, no doubt thinking he had seen friendlier smiles on sharks.

  Ginny recast her Sonorus, and cast one on the man as well.

  "Witches and Wizards," she started. "While we wait for this situation to be resolved, I have a real treat for you! We are speaking with International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee, Senior Vice-President for Logistics and Supplies, Pomare Tamatoa!"

  There was scattered, if puzzled, applause, but much more booing and jeering. Ginny waved them down.

  "Oh, trust me, people. You ARE going to want to hear this!" She turned back. "Mr. Tamatoa, I understand that you have developed a organization-wide reputation for your recent bold initiatives?"

  "That's..." Tamatoa stuttered a bit at his Sonorus-infused voice. "That is correct, madam. I have recently initiated policies that have revolutionised our Supply and Logistic chains," he finished proudly.

  "Are your methods something you would be willing to share?" (In the box below, Harry and Ron winced. They both knew that sweet, reasonable tone in Ginny's voice, and, furthermore, knew to dread it).

  "Why, certainly. I call it, 'Supply on Demand.' Instead of guessing ahead what we will need, we order only as needed. This frees us from having to predict our needs at any point in the future. We no longer have to maintain wasteful warehouse properties or workers. (A discontented rumble went around the spectators. Tamatoa blanched a bit). "Workers who were given generous severance, and offered retraining, by the way!" (The rumble grew).

  Ginny interjected with a question. "So, in practical terms, how does that work?"

  "Well, say an office needs rolls of parchment. An owl is dispatched to our supplier, who ships directly to the office in question. No warehousing or unneeded steps required."

  "Doesn't your supplier have to charge higher prices for their inconvenience?"

  Tamatoa's laugh was a little cynical. "With the amounts we buy? They wouldn't dare!" (The disapproving rumble grew slightly in volume. The puffed-up bureaucrat failed to notice this time).

  "Wouldn't that waste productive time?" Over the man's head, Ginny could see the faces of some of this man's fellows. If she had thought they were sour before...

  "In this modern age? Barely minutes. Admittedly, it is usually hours. Rarely days. But it teaches the middle-managers to think ahead! Think on their feet!"

  "And what kinds of things does this apply to?"

  The bureaucrat beamed, seeming to swell a little more. "That is the genius of this scheme. My genius, if I may be so immodest. In order to get the most benefit, it has to apply to everything! Paper, stationery, quills, inks, blotting paper..."

  "Quaffles?"

  ***

  Half the crowd were roaring with laughter, the other half were roaring for blood. The New Zealand fans were definitely in the latter contingent. Most of the spells ricocheting off the Top Box Shields seemed to be coming from that direction.

  Event Security had double-timed down and stationed themselves about the raging fans. Once there, though, they took a sort of wait-and-see approach. The only time they interacted with anyone was to congratulate a caster on an excellent shot, or upon some particularly creative spellwork. A real fan favorite was the young Maori witch who was launching an endless supply of Kiwi eggs, with extreme force and incredible accuracy. She had to stop when fans and security alike begged her to conduct an impromptu class on the spells.

  Pomare Tamatoa was crouched behind the wall that supported the railing. Safe though he was from the spectators, some of his fellow Top Box occupants had enough initiative to conjure mushy bananas and other overripe fruits and vegetables. Ginny glanced up the steps to see Mentor Metaxas wiping his hands on a snowy white handkerchief. He spared her a dignified nod, and mouthed the words, 'I sneezed.' He started down the steps.

  Suurrre you did, thought Ginny. She turned back to address the crowds.

  "All right, settle down, settle down. It's your own time you're wasting." Her imitation of a crochety old public school teacher brought laughter from the English speakers in the crowd. "We will have this under control in..."

  Motion on the pitch caught her eye. A figure on a broom was exiting the ground level tunnel that led to the Bulgarian quarters. Mounted on one of the teams standard Firebolt Mk II brooms, a young man approached Referee Xenakis. He was carrying a large box with magical runes and seals covering its exterior. After a few words, the pair approached the Top Box.

  Intensely curious, the crowd ceased targeting the Box. A last few jinxes bounced off futilely.

  Ginny snatched up her Omnioculars. She grinned. "I know you! Sorcerors and Sorceresses, I have the honor to present the Two-Time Consecutive Winner of the Guild of Quidditch Adjuncts 'Most Valuable Trainer Award,' the boy who folds towels in the locker room, Dimitar Berbatov II."

  The Shield was dropped and the two arrived. They came to a stop with their brooms at the level of the floor of the Top Box. Still holding the box in two hands, the young man man brought one foot up under him. He straightened that leg, somehow raising himself into a standing position on the shaft of the broom. Stepping to the very front of the broom, perfectly balanced, he tucked the box under one arm, and bowed to the Chairman and Ginny. The crowd was coming to its feet, applauding. Dimitar remained in his bow, as his broom rotated from the brush end, acknowledging the entire stadium.

  Competing the circuit, the broom eased forward until the young man was face to face with Chairman Metaxis. Dimitar presented the box to Mentor, who, though puzzled, took it. Producing his wand, Dimitar began to tap the top and sides of the box in a timed pattern:

  Top, Left, Top, Right. Front Twice, Top Twice.

  He repeated this same pattern twice, then did it in reverse order once. When his wand came down on the top of the box for the last time, it remained there in contact. Through the process, the runes and seals covering the box had begun glowing. Brighter and brighter they grew, until they started lifting from the surface and sublimating away. The crowd had grown still.

  "Preservation Magic," Ginny said in awe. "I've never seen the like..." The words spread across the audience.

  As the Magick on the box dissolved, patches of transparent glass showed through. Once fully revealed the box was shown to contain...

  ...a Quaffle.

  A final gesture dissolved the glass box, and the Quaffle dropped into the Chairman's hands.

  The crowd roared their delight. Metaxas was slowly rotating the ball in his hands, then stopped, gaping like a rube.

  "This.., this..." Mentor stammered. Ginny quickly cast Sonorus on him, having already removed it from the whimpering mess at her feet. As an afterthought, she cast it on Dimitar as well.

  "This," Mentor said more firmly, his magically-augmented voice restoring his confidence. "This Quaffle is, if my Cyrillic is not in error, signed by Petrova Porskoff."

  "Da." Dimitrov spoke for the first time. "She iss my Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandmother."

  Is? thought Ginny, then pushed the thought away, marveling at the beauty of the boy's voice. Tall, jet-black hair, ice-blue eyes, lashes I would literally kill for, and now that voice. How is that fair?

  She was not alone in her opinion, as an audible, mostly feminine sigh rose to her ears from the depths of the stadium.

  "The inventor of the Porsky Ploy?"

  Dimitar nodded.

  "And this is..."

  "The Game Qvaffle from her final Vorld Cup."