Grimmauld Place, Borough of Islington, London, UK
The post-briefing lunch was still going strong, even the Aurors who had desperately needed sleep had rallied to the challenge. Cook was basking in the continual compliments and requests for recipes. Her greyish-pink blush had remained in place almost constantly throughout the meal. All the children were happily scurrying about, having been press-ganged as staff for the diminutive elf.
The kitchen door swung open, framing a tousle-headed, pyjama-clad, sleepy-eyed Ron Weasley. "What's going on? How did I get here? What did I miss?"
He stopped, staring around the kitchen, (which should have been overflowing, but wasn't). Then his chin came up a bit, and he inhaled, deeply.
"Is that liver and onions?"
There was a moment of silence, then everybody roared, "CANNONBALL!!"
Applause broke out, and someone yelled, “Three cheers! Hip-hip...”
“HOORAY!”
“Hip-hip...”
Ron goggled around as Rose and Hugo almost tackled him from either side with hugs.
***
The picture at the top of the Daily Prophet column had changed again, showing Victor Krum and Ron, standing shoulder to shoulder before the chair, arms folded. Their brooms were held diagonally so that the tails crossed where they rested on the floor. Ron's Comet 290 looked a little clunky next to Krum's Firebolt Supreme Mk II, but it gleamed with polish, and Ron held it with pride.
Both men wore team robes, Krum those of Bulgaria, and Ron wearing the Gryffindor House Team uniform. Rare for the Prophet, this photo was in color. Both men were in scarlet and gold, with the Bulgarian scarlet just a shade darker, and the gold trim somewhat more ornate.
Some one at the paper obviously had a bit of fun with the titling on the article, with the first line crossed out, and the rest firmly tongue-in-cheek.
KRUM ON THE CUP!!
WEASLEY ON THE CUP!!
(Yes, we know it sounds rude. Get over it. Due to Bulgaria's first appearance in the 2014 Quidditch World Cup being mere days away, Viktor Krum's commentating duties have, for just this issue, been turned over to Ronald (Ron) Weasley. Weasley played Keeper for the Gryffindor team at Hogwarts for two winning seasons. A famed veteran of the Second Wizarding War, he is part-owner of Wealey's Wizarding Wheezes, and is also Deputy Director in charge of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Auxiliary Auror Section. He is also, infamously, a loyal, (one might say rabid), fan of the Chudley Cannons, (Bless Their Hearts).
EDITOR'S NOTE: For this early Saturday Edition, we are reprinting the columns submitted by Mr. Weasley for All Three Days of this epic struggle.
POST-GAME - LOOKING BACK
DAY ONE:
CHAD 140 - LIECHTENSTEIN - 120 (ONGOING. Play Suspended for Sleep).
This has been an eye-opener. I consider myself to be very knowledgeable about The Game of Wizards, for an amateur. What I saw today was on another level.
I first read Coach Lev Zograf's article in the Daily Prophet with interest, but also with a bit of scepticism. I have always been a supporter of the 'Great Man' theory of Quidditch, that singular gifted players are the most important factor crucial to securing wins. People like Kylian Mbappe, Luciano Volpi, Viktor Krum himself, even my good friend, The Boy Who I Am NOT Going To Name. These are the kind of players I mean.
Incidents in this tournament have shaken my confidence. Joseph Snuka's betrayal of his Fijian teammates hit me especially hard. I went back and re-read Coach Zograf's article, repeatedly. I borrowed my sister Ginny's notes on her interviews with members of the Bulgarian team. I even managed to obtain a meeting with Zograf himself, where we thrashed the subject out over the course of a long evening. (Additional thanks to Ginny Weasley-Potter for her insistence that I use her Portable Protean Printer at the meeting). I mean, Rajika. Shudder. How can something made out of apricots and pears...? Never mind.
All that said, this is the game they meant by 'Team as Gestalt.' Each of the twenty-six goals scored so far have been hard-earned and well deserved. I lost count of attempted goals after the sixth hour. During the break for sleep, I was driven to go through the record preserved on my Omnioculars, on Fast Forward, and tally the best I could. I find the numbers to be incredible, unbelievable, and ridiculous. Yet I must stand by them. In barely eleven hours, each team made more than ONE THOUSAND Attempts On Goal.
This is only slightly qualified by each team's Chasers using every pass at the goals to make multiple attempts, through their faultless positioning and coordination. The most I saw was six attempts by the Liechtenstein team before the Chadian Chasers could intercept the Quaffle and bear off to the other end of the pitch. I can not state with confidence it was the most, just the highest I could verify.
***
Thursday's picture showed only Ron, wearing the robes of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's Intramural Team.
DAY TWO:
Liechtenstein 260 – Chad 250 (ONGOING).
The players have tired, but the pace is unrelenting. The ratio of Attempts to Goals has dropped, but I believe that is mostly due to both teams stepping up their game at intercepting the Quaffle. The back and forth flow of play was literally dizzying. I was informed by a Medi-Wizard that the most common spectator complaint treated today was whiplash.
Fatigue made the later hours of play almost tragic. Even the Liechtenstein fans joined in trying to alert Chadian Seeker Jacques Miskine to the presence of the Snitch, which was almost touching his forehead. There was a comic touch as well. Play was finally suspended when Chaser Otmar Frick, apparently playing Quidditch in his sleep, scored the day's final goal. He then proceeded in a straight line out of the stadium, heading across the Andes. Luckily, he was intercepted before crossing the border into Peru.
***
For the column picture on the third day of the match, Ron was wearing his Chudley Cannons fan kit, and a very tired, very belligerent scowl. The robes were obviously some flimsy souvenir item, and he had the Cannons hat that Harry had given him jammed on his head. He was also holding his Comet 290 like a bludgeon. In the interest of public safety, this picture was in black and white.
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DAY THREE:
Liechtenstein 470 – Chad 330.
Game... Game Over. Liechtenstein won. Good on you, mates. Helluva game. Brilliant. Just brilliant. Three. Three days...I'm tired. I'm so tired... Three days..., Krum. Good ol' Krum. Asked me. I said, 'Sure, Viktor. Cover the game. No worries, Viktor. Be fun.' Three days, Three. Days. Ol' Bulgariun try'n'a kill me...
Oh. Yeah. Liechtenstein plays Yanks. Oh, hey, Ginny. How's m' li'l' sis? What? I did what? Y' ain't makin' sense...?
(This final column was translated from Gibberish by ProphetLabs Portable Protean Printer, M.P.O. Patent No. JNY867-5309. All Rights Reserved).
EDITOR'S NOTE: The Daily Prophet wishes to commend Mr. Weasley for his bravery and quick thinking. For those who did not witness the event, Mr. Weasley had just come on the pitch for post-game interviews. The celebration between the two teams was still ongoing. Mr. Weasley witnessed a knot of three Inferii emerge from a lair they had dug beneath the stands, and charge the players. Exhausted as the teams were, they would have been easy prey for the undead monsters.
Mr. Weasley mounted his Comet 290, which he had absent-mindedly brought with him. In only three high-speed acrobatic passes, he disabled one, and outright destroyed the other two Inferii. He kicked one's head completely off, and drove the other into the wall of the stands like a cannonball. The skills he displayed as Gryffindor House Team Keeper have obviously not deserted him.
We regret that Mr. Weasley's Comet 290 was severely damaged in the final collision, and that his Chudley Cannons hat was irreparably stained by ichor. We're not that fussed about the souvenir robes, though. They were hideous.
PRE-GAME - LOOKING FORWARD.
Bulgaria versus New Zealand - 19 July 2014
Think I'm gonna pretend I'm impartle... imparticle... imparsley? Ffth! Bulgariki f' th' WIN! Go Krum! Let Chaser Moon chase th' Moon! Heh. Moon-Moon. See wha' I did there? Oh, hi, Ginny. I'm tired, Ginny...
(This also was translated from Gibberish by ProphetLabs Portable Protean Printer, M.P.O. Patent No. JNY867-5309. All Rights Reserved).
***
Saturday, July 19th, 2014. 2:25 PM.
Grimmauld Place, Borough of Islington, London, UK
Ron stared at the newspaper page, aghast. Not so aghast that he wasn't still working his way through his third plate of liver and onions, with Cook's wonderful fried potatoes. In fact, every time he took a bite of the potatoes, he glanced at Cook and gave a grateful smile.
He finished eating, and shook his head in a reluctant 'no' to Cook's questioning look. His eyes dropped again to the printed page.
"I'm dead," he moaned. "I'm a leper, a social pariah, an outcast. Hermione is going to kill me. Literally kill me."
Astoria Malfoy patted him on the hand. Her smile was sympathetic. "Still, it was very brave. I think it will balance out in the long run."
The doorbell rang. Rose was closest, so she ran up the steps to get it.
"Mum!" her delighted cry rang out.
Ron, back to the kitchen door, didn't turn around. His head hunched slightly down between his shoulders.
Hermione stopped inside the door, Rose on her heels, wrestling with a long package. Hermione looked at the back of Ron's head, rolled her eyes, and sighed. She walked over, leaned down, and wrapped her arms around Ron's neck. She put her face beside his, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, whispering, "You need to be more careful."
She disentangled herself and sat beside him on the bench, facing away from the table. Matter-of-factly, she said, "You have a lot of work ahead of you at the house."
Puzzled, he turned to face the same way. Taking her hands in his, he asked, "What do you mean?"
"Fan mail," she said. "Owls everywhere, jockeying for a place to drop their letters. And gifts. Oh, and a little good-natured hate mail from New Zealand fans." She sighed again. "Good thing we don't have a chimney. Ronnie was kind enough to open his little attic windows, and keep the owls in an orderly queue, in and out. You may be missing some treats and Chudley Cannons memorabilia. He really seems to fancy the color Orange. You should take him to a game sometime." She frowned. "He'll need some really strong sunglasses."
Ron was goggling at her now, much the same way he had at the kitchen crowd earlier.
"Close your mouth," she said briskly. "You'll catch a..." She spotted Cook eyeing her, as if daring her to say the word 'fly.' Hermione recovered without a pause. "...creampuff in the mouth. Are those creampuffs, Cook? Could we have some?"
Crisis averted, she turned back to Ron. "Now open your package."
"Package?" Ron looked around blankly, until he spotted Rose proudly holding the long, thin parcel, occasionally bumping the other children away with her hips, when they got too close.
"Oh. Okay. Thank you, Rosie." Ron took it from her, and laid it across his and Hermione's laps. He had been married for enough Christmas mornings to allow Hermione to open the package 'properly.' When the last layer of paper had been folded back, he gasped.
Practical as always, Hermione detached the envelope that had been cellotaped to the contents of the package. She opened the envelope 'properly' as well, unfolded the crisp linen paper within, and began to read aloud.
Comet Trading Company
Falmouth Township, Cornwall, England
Our Dear Mr. Weasley,
When we heard of your exploits, we resolved immediately to extend to you our respects and heart-felt admiration. While we were most pleased and flattered to see you and your beautifully cared-for 290 pictured with none less than Viktor Krum, imagine our astonishment to hear of your exploits with that same Comet, at no less a venue than the World Cup!
An acquaintance of ours was at that very event, and recorded some quite good images on his Omnioculars. He made his way post-haste back to Falmouth, and was waiting on the factory steps as we opened. To say it was thrilling is an understatement. And your flying! Brilliant, indeed!
The image of your poor broom, having given its all, touched us deeply. I am not ashamed to state that tears were shed. Our first thought was to replace your 290 with an exact duplicate, (save for the latest upgrades, of course). However, by the time this idea occurred to us, we found that our entire stock of 290's worldwide had sold out, and pre-orders had been made that will take our entire next production run, and half of the one after that.
While making one person wait for their own 290 would not be that egregious a sin, what we think is a better idea occurred to us.
What you are currently holding is the final, and only remaining prototype of our first broom to be designed from the ground up for Keepers. If you will be kind enough to accept and use this broom, we would consider it an honor.
Any feedback would be welcome as well. We do not have the audacity to ask you to let us name it after you, so please make use of it under its current designation, the XK-001.
Cordially yours,
Randolph Keitch, Jr. and Basil Horton, III
Ron was having a big day, goggling-wise. His mouth was still opening and closing like a fish out of water, when they heard the front door open with a whoosh. Luckily, the Blacks were not currently present in their paintings.
Ginny appeared by Ron as if she had Apparated. "Aren't you ready? Our Portkey is in less than fifteen minutes, and we still have to make it to the office." She noticed the new broom. "Brilliant! Bring it along."
"But," Ron said. He stood, broom in one hand, and pointed to the newspaper. "But... but..."
"Yeah, yeah, big brother. You're a star." She grabbed him by the sleeve, then stopped. "Wait. Are you in pyjamas? You're in pyjamas! You're in Harry's pyjamas!"
Hermione, already standing, was pulling items out of her dimensional purse. "Nice tan slacks, long-sleeve lilac shirt, socks, pants, black oxfords, black jacket, tie...?" She hesitated, looking at Ginny, who shook her head. "...and lilac pocket square. Also your Auror Dress Blacks, in their own dimensional carry-all." she finished, rummaging for the last item.
Ron scowled.
"For Circe's sake!" Hermione said sternly. "I got you a new one. Athough I still say the other looked nothing like a purse!" She handed Ron a rectangular slab of leather, just the size to tuck into an inside pocket.
Ron brightened, and pulled her up for a quick, but enthusiastic kiss.
"That's enough of that!" Ginny yanked Ron off Hermione, who dropped back onto the bench with a slightly flustered air. Rose grimaced and stuck out her tongue at her parents snogging in public.
Ginny resumed dragging Ron toward the stairs, still talking a mile a minute. "You do not get to do the commentary on this game, by the way..."