ed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now
breaking out everywhere.
Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of
extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes - green for Ireland, red
for Bulgaria - which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats
bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that
really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they
were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible
figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening
themselves.
"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron told Harry as they and
Hermione strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though Ron purchased
a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of
Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and
forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him.
"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what
looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird
knobs and dials.
"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action ... slow
everything down ... and they flash up a play-by- play breakdown if you need it.
Bargain - ten Galleons each."
"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat
and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.
"Three pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.
"No - don't bother," said Ron, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that
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Harry, who had inherited a small fortune from his parents, had much more money
than he did.
"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting
Omnioculars into his and Hermione's hands. "For about ten years, mind."
"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.
"Oooh, thanks, Harry," said Hermione. "And I'll get us some programs, look -"
Their money bags considerably lighter, they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie,
and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an
Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their
gold.
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!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's
go!"
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CHAPTER EIGHT - THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP
Clutching their purchases, Mr. Weasley in the lead, they all hurried into the wood,
following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people
moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of
feverish excitement was highly infectious; Harry couldn't stop grinning. They
walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until 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, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably
inside it.
"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr. Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on
Harry's face. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year.
Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got
anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments
and had to dash away again ... bless them," he added fondly, leading 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. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."
The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward
with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the
stands to their left and right. Mr. Weasley's party kept climbing, and at last they
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 with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of
which he could never have imagined.
A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats,
which rose in levels around the long oval field. 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; right opposite them, almost at Harry's eye level,
was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an
invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off
again; watching it, Harry saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field.
The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family - safe, reliable, and with Built-in
Anti-Burgler Buzzer ... Mrs. Shower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No
Pain, No Stain! ... Gladrags Wizardwear - London, Paris, Hogsmeade...
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Harry tore his eyes away from the sign and looked over his shoulder to see who
else was sharing the box with them. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature
sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them. The creature,
whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a
tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long,
batlike ears were oddly familiar....
"Dobby?" said Harry incredulously.
The tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown
eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It wasn't Dobby - it
was, however, unmistakably a house-elf, as Harry's friend Dobby had been. Harry
had set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family.
"Did sir just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers.
Its voice was higher even than Dobby's had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a
voice, and Harry suspected though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf - that
this one might just be female. Ron and Hermione spun around in their seats to
look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, they had never
actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest.
"Sorry," Harry told the elf, "I just thought you were someone I knew."
"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as
though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is
Winky, sir - and you, sir -" Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates
as they rested upon Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"
"Yeah, I am," said Harry.
"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" s he said, lowering her hands very
slightly and looking awestruck.
"How is he?" said Harry. "How's freedom suiting him?"
"Ah, sir," said Winky, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is
not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free."
"Why?" said Harry, taken aback. "What's wrong with him?"
"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir, " said Winky sadly. "Ideas above his
station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."
"Why not?" said Harry.
Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, "He is wanting paying
for his work, sir."
"Paying?" said Harry blankly. "Well - why shouldn't he be paid?"
Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her
64
face was half-hidden again.
"House-elves is not paid, sir!" she said in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no. I says to
Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is
getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You
goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in
front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like
some common goblin."
"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," said Harry.
"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter," said Winky firmly, from
behind her hands. "House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all,
Harry Potter" - she glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped - "but my
master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."
"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" said Harry,
frowning.
"Master - master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy," said
Winky, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. "Winky is wishing she
is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a
good house-elf."
She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid her eyes completely
again. Harry turned back to the others.
"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered. "Weird things, aren't they?"
"Dobby was weirder," said Harry fervently.
Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the
crowd on the other side of the stadium.
"Wild!" he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. I can make that old bloke
down there pick his nose again ... and again ... and again. . ."
Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvetcovered, tasseled
program.
"'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,"' she read aloud.
"Oh that's always worth watching," said Mr. Weasley. "National teams bring
creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."
The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Mr. Weasley kept
shaking hands with peopl