Wednesday, July 23rd, 2014. 6 PM.
2014 Quidditch World Cup Stadium, Patagonian Desert, Argentina.
Ron passed that morning's Daily Prophet down for Rolf and Luna to share. He hadn't bothered to fold it back to the front page. This appeared to be the right decision, as they zeroed in on the Sport Page he had just gone through.
KRUM ON THE CUP!!
POST-GAME - LOOKING BACK
Japan 350 - Poland 140
The result of this match gives me satisfaction, but not pleasure. One can not help wishing brilliant young players success, but the grim momentum of the veteran is inexorable. The Japanese Beaters, Shingo Akira and Hongo Akari, dominated the game, sending the opposing Chasers and Seeker where they wanted, when they wanted. Poland's brilliant young Seeker, Wladyslaw Wolfke, managed to break away, and had a very real shot at the Snitch. Beater Akari's timely and precisely placed Bludger forestalled the capture. Instead of going for a body or broom strike, which might or might not have thrown Wolfke off, Hongo drove the hard Bludger within centimeters of the Seeker's nose.
It would have taken a more phlegmatic man than myself to not blink at that passage. And there is a reason why, 'Blink, and it is gone' is one of the oldest and truest of Seeker aphorisms.
At under an hour, a truly dominating performance by Japan. They will face Nigeria in the Quarter-Finals.
ADDENDUM: The mascots were, again, a delight. Japan's Kitsune contingent, led by a magnificent Five-Tailed specimen, vied with the Polish Beboks in mischief and antics. I have fond memories of stories told by my Baba Krum, in which these Slavic Bogeymen were often featured. The display finished with a Race around the Pitch, the Kitsune acting as mounts and the Bebok as jockeys. At least, at first. It culminated with the Five-Tailed Kitsune, tails spread like a wing, gliding to victory. The Chief Bebok hung from one of her hind feet, hooting derision back at the pack.
PRE-GAME - LOOKING FORWARD.
Wales versus Germany
Given the issues cited below, I am merely going to declare for Wales in this match. This has nothing to do with my entirely reasonable fear of Gwenog Jones.
Nothing.
(Translated from Bulgarian by ProphetLabs Portable Protean Printer, M.P.O. Patent No. JNY867-5309. All Rights Reserved).
SPECIAL NOTE: The Daily Prophet been asked by ICWQC Chairman, Mentor Metaxis, to help them ameliorate an oversight. The programs for this upcoming match were unfortunately printed without player's names below their official photos. Only the position names were included. A Free Copy of the Prophet will be provided to every Spectator as they enter. An Updated Program is in the process of being Printed, and will be provided to anyone who leaves their contact information at the Box Offices upon departing. This last is regardless of whether they have purchased a program or not. The ICWQC apologises for this mistake.
WALES:
Manager - Gwenog Jones
Chasers - Jackie Jernigan, Alun Wyn Jones, Leigh Halfpenny
Beaters - Iefan Rice, Darren Floyd
Keeper - Owain F?n Williams - Seeker - Eurig Cadwallader
GERMANY
Manager Franziska Faust
Chasers - Christopher Schnell, Tim Menzel, Steffen Liebig
Beaters - Anuradha Doddaballapur, Daniel Weston
Keeper - Ron-Robert Zieler - Seeker - Thorsten Pfeffer
SPECIAL, SPECIAL NOTE: Ginevra Weasley-Potter been asked by ICWQC Chairman, Mentor Metaxis, to help head off a potential issue. Her statement is as follows:
Jones, there is no 'Leave It.' There is only 'Take It.' It was a MISTAKE. It was not directed at YOU. If you attempt to retaliate in ANY WAY, you are OUT of the CUP. Go. Play. The. Game. Nothing. Else. Matters.
The Chairman and Vice-Director for Publication have full squads of Troll Security who have been given your Scent. They have also been authorized to install the spikes on their bludgeons. You should have seen their ugly faces light up. Might as well have been Christmas.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
DROP IT.
***
Ron looked around the Stadium Box. It was down in the stands, just a trifle bigger than the four of them needed. The walls were chest-high around the sides and back, enough for a modicum of privacy when sitting down. The front wall was quite a bit shorter, giving a good view of the pitch. The angle that the rows of seats slanted down kept it reasonably private as well.
They were avoiding Krum's Private SkyBox like the Plague. It had needed a goodly bit of renovation even before the explosion on Monday night, just as the Japan/Poland game ended.
Foresight had led to the box being sealed off and Imperviused, with an illusion cast where the front of the box should have been. The muffled sound of the blast got lost in the post-games festivities. If Ron hadn't been watching an illusion of himself stuffing his face at the free buffet, he would have missed it. He marveled at Auror Dara ó Briain's skill at Illusion Magic.
He actually preferred being down among the spectators. It even felt safer, since none of them looked like anyone that any of them knew. Literally. Several of the Pixies had been dispatched to Diagon Alley to collect random hair samples. They had outdone themselves, at least in Ron's opinion. Not a person in the box would have looked out of place on the cover of Witch Weekly for one of their quarterly Fashion Issues. Ron suspected that Missy Typewright, abetted by Lily, had an outsized influence on the choices.
He conjured a mirror, (again), to admire his beautifully trimmed golden beard accenting the square jaws and chin. His forehead was just broad and high enough to ensure that the lighter gold waves of hair swept back without falling in his eyes. Dismissing the mirror, (again), he curled his fingers in to regard his perfectly manicured square nails at the end of his powerful fingers. He hadn't had the nerve to check under his clothes, but he suspected that he was groomed in every way known to modern cosmetological science.
He seemed to be the only one enjoying himself though. Viktor was furiously making notes in one of his omnipresent Quidditch journals. This was not to be confused with his journalistic journal. He had filled three of the Quidditch books in just the couple of weeks Ron had been hanging around with him.
Rolf and Luna also seemed oblivious to their startling good looks, unless they happened to glance up during conversation. They had the identical response of a wince, followed by a disgusted wrinkle of the nose. They did share a good laugh the one time they glanced up at the same moment.
Ron sighed, sat down, and rummaged through the dimensional cooler for a nice, simple Butterbeer. He was getting fed up with hard spirits, and toasts, and frankly, being this close to the public eye all the time. He picked up a program and began leafing idly through it. Something caught his eye.
"Hey, Rolf, sorry to disturb you, but, what's a... " he shaped the word with his lips. "...Gwyllgi?"
Rolf answered absently. 'It's a very pugnacious, terrifying, huge black mastiff with glowing red eyes that appears out of nowhere to actively threaten and frighten people. Usually found in Wales."
"Ah," Ron said. "How 'bout Roggenwolf?"
"It's pronounced ' rah-gen-vulf." Rolf corrected him, still reading the Prophet. The black-haired supermodel sitting beside him was looking back and up at Ron. Rolf went on, "It's a very pugnacious spirit wolf, known for stealing and eating German children."
"And a Tatzelwurm?"
" 'TAHTS-el-vurm,' " Rolf said quietly, but his eyes had stopped scanning the page. "More of a lizard-dragon cross than a worm. Find them in the Alps."
"Pugnacious?" Ron asked.
"OH, yeah. Poisonous breath." Rolf looked back over his shoulder. "What are you...?"
"Last one," Ron interrupted. "Cath Palug?"
Luna gave a short gasp. "Where on the Sacred Isle of Avalon did they find...?
Rolf was standing, almost tearing at his immaculately styled hair. "Giant knight-killing cat born of a pig!"
Ron opened his mouth, Rolf shouted him down, "Yes, damnit! Pugnacious as hell!
The shout brought Viktor out of his reverie, "Vhat iss...?
"No time!" Ron shouted. "Rolf, Viktor, to the front row, overlap shields, as big and strong as you can make them. Brace them on the front rails and tilt them in. Push anything that comes at you back in. Grab anybody that looks like they have a lick of sense and put them to doing the same. Luna, get to Ginny, take my broom, she'll recognize it and let you through the shields. I have Kyinté up at the exit, I'll brief him and start spreading the word. GO!"
Ginny's booming voice rolled out. "And now it's time for the MASCOTS!"
***
Ginny was about to go on when she saw the blur rocketing toward the Top Box. She didn't know the woman on it, but...
That's Ron's Broom, she realized. Beside her Rita Skeeter sniffed. "Sky-clads, no doubt. She'll start taking off her clothes any minute." She reached for her wand, no doubt intending to cast Sonorous, and put her two Knuts in. She paused.
"Wait. Isn't that Terpsichorea Warbeck? Celestina's daughter? She's a scandal to the ravens, certainly, but..."
Ginny got the Shield down just in time for the tall woman with Luna's voice to shout, "How do you work the Wrackspurt-loving BRAAAKESSS...?"
...and plow into the amply padded Rita Skeeter.
Luna popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box and began whispering in Ginny's ear. Ginny looked at the stadium in the direction Luna had come from, seeing two men organising Shields in front of the bottom row of seats. She saw Aurors beginning to trot down the steps, calling out men and women along the way. They were obviously being dispatched by some...ones running around the perimeter in both directions.
But it would be too slow. The Gates were opening NOW. As she grasped what Luna was saying, she froze for the barest second...
Then grinned.
"Folks, it's time for some Audience Participation! All Aurors to the Front Row! Our Mascots are going to need some extra room to play! If you know how to cast a Shield, ANY kind of Shield, get as close to the front as you can and CAST IT! Overlap them, back up your Section's Auror! It's a competition, and the Entire Section that puts on the strongest show DRINKS FOR FREE ALL NIGHT! Just push them back onto the Pitch! Come on! Section 37, that is some WEAK-ASS Shielding! Who is that sitting up there? Are those robes Grass-Green with Red Trim? OH, you Nihonjin WON your game, and now you're too TIRED to Shield? THAT'S MORE LIKE IT!"
A pack of Rye-Coloured Wolves stalked out of the gates to the German delegation's area. All over a meter-high at the shoulders, they lowered their heads, and stared around suspiciously. A couple pawed at the grass of the pitch, as if they didn't like the color. Behind them lumbered a long low shape. As it emerged into the light, its scales glittered like ice. The teeth in the gaping mouth were as translucent and sharp as icicles. The wolves gave it room, but not as if they feared it
"Roggenw?lfe!" Ginny's voice echoed. "The Rye Wolves, Bane of the German Harvest! And the Tatzelwurm, Ice-Dragon of the Alps!"
The gates to the Welsh area were open, but nothing emerged but a trickle of mist. It eddied along, about waist height on a tall man. Thickening as it moved,, it became denser and wider, without seeming to be fed from anywhere.
Then someone, several someones gasped. The sound came from below the Top Box. Ginny and Luna leaned over to look down. People were pointing across the pitch. The women in the Top Box looked that way.
They were almost directly across from the Welsh Gates, but their angle was too high to see what the people were pointing at. On the plus side, the spectators were treating it like a circus instead of a slaughterhouse. There were 'ooh' and 'aah' sounds rising, as more people could see what was coming out of the darkness.
"Where are the handlers?" Luna whispered nervously. "There should be dozens of handlers for this lot. What are they thinking?"
They could finally see a little of what was coming. It was eyes. Two eyes. Two luminescent eyes. With vertical slits.
Each about a foot across.
The cat behind the eyes crawled out of the tunnel on its belly. Once it was about two-thirds of the way out, it rolled over on its back and started clawing at the roof of the passageway. It squirmed on its back until it was free, then stretched luxuriously.
"Cath Balug! Feared by Knights and Warriors since the time of Arthur Pendragon! Long thought mythical, even in the Magical World."
Rolling back over, it rose to a sitting position. The top of its head came to about five-meters below the first row on top of the twenty-meter pitch wall.
And dangling from a loop of rope clenched in the 'kitty's' teeth, looking for all the world like a cat toy...
...was a squirming, struggling woman so thoroughly trussed in rope that you could barely see the red, white, and green of her Wales Staffer robes.
Ginny DisSpelled her Sonorous. "Well," she said. "That's probably one of the handlers."
