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Finally, the last day of the term arrived. Bags packed, the boys talked late into the night. "Italy has an amazing pair of Beaters," said Sean. "Hartman will have a tough time with them."
"But Hartman's one of the best Seekers in all Europe," protested Allan.
"Still," said James, "but Lombardi and Giordano sent Belgium's Seeker off the field on a stretcher. My dad says Hartman will have to fly the match of his life."
"It's so great of your dad to invite us," said Carson. "I bet they're great seats, him being on the International Quidditch Federation board of governors and all."
"Yeah," said Allan. "But I bet you get to do stuff like this all the time, huh, James?"
James stared at the floor, feeling his face go red. The room was silent for a while.
"You know," said Philip to no one in particular, "you'd think having a famous family would be fun. But I can imagine it being a bit of a pain, though."
He threw a pillow at James, who looked up and smiled. "Yeah, sometimes a bit of a pain. I mean, guys" – he drew a deep breath – "you'll see at the match. Everyone will treat him like a celebrity and they'll hardly even notice us. I mean, it's not his fault, it's just because of all that stuff with the defeat of Voldemort..."
Carson drew a sharp intake of breath. Sean's eyes bulged. Allan hid his face behind a pillow.
"Sorry," said James. "Dad always says his name."
After a short silence, Philip said, "We should get to bed."
The others nodded.
"I'm really sorry, everyone," said James.
"No worries," said Sean brightly. "We're going to see Italy play England tomorrow!"
***
The train ride to London was short and uneventful. When the train pulled into the station, they clambered off the train excitedly, grabbing their bags as they were unloaded from the luggage compartments. Once the conductor signaled that the coast was clear, they walked through the barrier and in to the busy station.
James' mum and dad were standing near platform ten with his Aunt Hermione. James ran to hug his parents, followed by Lily Anne, while Freddy and Hermione embraced. Fiona and Finley looked a little put out that neither of their parents had come to meet them.
"Mum, Dad, these are my roommates: Sean Hughes, Allan Smith, Carson Jones, and Philip McKenzie," said James. His parents shook each boy's hand as they exchanged greetings. James was thankful that none of his friends stared at his Dad too long. Once his mum and Hermione had checked to make sure everyone had all of their belongings, the group walked out into the chilly air of muggle London.
Hermione was explaining to the twins that neither of their parents was able to take off work today as she hailed a taxicab. "So how are we getting to the match, dad?" James asked his father.
"Well, the match is on a deserted marsh in Scotland, so we're going to grab a Portkey. Your mum and aunt will take everyone else back home – the whole family's spending the holiday there."
Even the excitement of the upcoming match couldn't mask the weight James felt in his stomach. The whole family for the entire holidays? He'd never have a minute to himself! Why did everyone have to stay at his house?
Philip interrupted his train of thought. "What's a Portkey?" James began to explain while the others loaded their bags into a taxicab. Soon the boys were waving at Lily Anne, Freddy, and the twins as they drove off.
"OK, boys," said his dad with a grin. "Ready to have some fun?" They began walking up a busy road, but soon he led them off into a smaller, cobble-stone street.
"Are we going to Diagon Alley?" asked Sean.
"Nope," said Harry. "That's in the opposite direction." They took another turn into an alley. "Ah, here we are."
He looked around the deserted alleyway, took out his wand, and whispered, "Alohamora." A rusty metal door swung open, and Harry and the boys entered what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse.
"Lumos," muttered Harry. He held his wand above his head so they could all see. "OK. We're looking for a sardine tin."
"A sardine tin?" whispered Philip to James. "I thought we were looking for a Portkey."
"The tin is the Portkey," James whispered back.
"Mr. Potter! I think it's over here," Allan said, pointing into a dusty corner of the building.
The boys and Harry walked over to the corner, and Harry picked up the tin.
"Right," he said, glancing at his watch. "We have about ten minutes, so why don't we change into robes?"
Each of them opened his bag and pulled off their muggle jumpers and t-shirts, exchanging them for wizard robes. Harry wore dark blue robes emblazoned with the red and white English flag on the back.
Pulling a box out of his bag, he gave each of the boys an English Quidditch pin for their robes. It featured a tiny figure of St. George battling a dragon who breathed small puffs of ruby fire. Harry fixed his "International Quidditch Federation Governor" pin on his robe and picked up the sardine tin.
"Everyone get a finger on the tin, at least. Thirty seconds..."
James began to brace himself for the ride. He'd traveled by Portkey three or four times before, and he really didn't like the feeling of being dragged through a tunnel by a fishing line caught in your navel. He could tell that Carson, Sean, and Allan were doing the same. "Brace yourself, Philip," he whispered.
"Ten seconds," said Harry. "Five... four... three... two..."
They were tumbling through swirling colors and indistinct sounds. Philip yelped. Suddenly, James' feet collided with a patch of soft earth. His knees almost gave way, but he managed to pull himself up. Philip, however, wasn't so lucky. He had fallen face first into the turf. Allan was helping him to his feet.
"Ah, Mr. Potter," said a young wizard in a steel-grey cloak with a thick Scottish accent. "Right on time! I hope ye had no trouble findin' the Portkey?"
"No, no problem at all. Your directions were perfect."
"Lovely," said the Scottish wizard. "Now, the pitch is just about a mile that way. See it?"
James squinted into the setting sun, barely making out the shadow of a stadium.
"Have the other governors arrived?" Harry asked.
"Ah, a fair few. Lloyd Bangough, Francesco Brunelli, Kostya Shishkova, Shin Kyung-Soon, Ramla Akukweti, and Trent Davidson have all arrived. And, o' course, Moira McKirk has been here for a week."
"Well, I'm very impressed by the job your team has done, Gordon," Harry said. "Thank you so much for all of your hard work."
"Delighted to do it! It's going to be a great match, to be sure!"
Harry and the boys set off down the path to the stadium. As they drew closer, they could hear the noise of the crowd. The sun was sinking deeper into the horizon, and the stadium began to glitter with a magical light that seemed to radiate from the pitch itself.
A pretty teenaged witch in Scottish plaid took their tickets at the entrance.
"The Governor's box, then, Mr. Potter," she said. She eyed the five boys behind him. "You lot sure are lucky. These are amazing seats."
She led them up a narrow staircase. When they emerged into the stadium, they found themselves at the top of the stadium in the center of the pitch. Philip gasped as he looked down and grabbed the rail to steady himself. Sean looked like he'd won the Daily Prophet's Grand Prize Galleon Draw.
"You're in row three," said their guide. "First six seats."
Harry led the way, followed by James, Philip, Allan, Carson, and Sean. As soon as they were seated, James looked around the box. Although he didn't know any of the other governors, he could tell what countries most of them represented. A tall thin man dressed in Italy's red, white, and green Quidditch robes sat in the front row. Next to him, a burly, balding man with an American flag on the back of his cape was scanning the pitch with omnioculars. In the second row were two women – one in Scottish plaid, and one with a black, yellow, and green cap that James knew belonged to one of the African countries.
As the box began to fill, other children arrived. Two girls a couple of rows behind them were chatting rapidly in French. At the other end of the third row, two Japanese teenagers were talking quietly. James was pointing them out to Philip when a man brushed past the Japanese group and set down next to James' dad.
"Hello, Gerry," said Harry, shaking the man's hand. "James, this is Gerry Hindle. Gerry, this is my son, James."
"Hello, James," said Mr. Hindle. He was a short, thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and a goatee. "Are you at Hogwarts now?"
"Yes, sir," said James, half-amazed that Mr. Hindle wanted to talk to him instead of his father. "I'm a first-year in Gryffindor."
"Gryffindor, eh?" Mr. Hindle smiled. "Well, you can't win 'em all."
"Gerry was in Hufflepuff," explained Harry. "Still a bit of a loyalist, aren't you, Gerry?"
"Once a badger, always a badger," laughed Mr. Hindle. "Perhaps one of your friends here is in a better house than Gryffindor?"
"No, sir," said James. "These are my roommates." He introduced Philip, Allan, Carson, and Sean, to Mr. Hindle, who shook each hand enthusiastically.
Just as Mr. Hindle took his seat again, a voice boomed from the opposite side of the stadium.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said the announcer, "welcome to today's qualifying match between England" – the crowd erupted into applause – "and Italy" – the applause was a little less enthusiastic. "Today's match is played under the auspices of the International Quidditch Federation." The box in which the boys were sitting was suddenly illuminated. "May I introduce the IQF member responsible for the logistics of today's match: Moira McKirk!" The witch in plaid robes stood and waved to the crowed, who applauded enthusiastically.
"And now," roared the announcer, "the Italian side. Playing in the red and green robes, I present Rossi – Marino – Conti – Lombardo – Giordano – De Luca – and Costa!"
Each player zoomed out above the pitch as his or her name was called. De Luca, the keeper, stationed herself in front of the hoops as she awaited the introduction of the English side.
"And playing in the white robes, ladies and gentlemen, England!" The stadium erupted in cheers. "I present to you: Hilton – Jameson – Kerry – Wendt – Larkin – Samuelson – and Hartman!"
The crowd roared as the English side took position on the field.
"Today referee is Gustav Niebler from Austria. Mr. Niebler, please begin the game!"
The referee opened a chest. The two Bludgers and the Snitch flew into the air, and Niebler threw the Quaffle into the air. The match was on.
"And it's England with the Quaffle. Hilton – Kerry – back to Hilton – fakes right – Hilton shoots – blocked by De Luca."
"So," said Mr. Hindle. "Didn't I hear that Will Jacobson was teaching at Hogwarts this year?"
"Conti with the Quaffle – ducks a Bludger – drops to Rossi – ooh! That one got him. Quaffle to Kerry."
"Yes," said James. "He's our Transfiguration professor."
"England scores!" Everyone in the box jumped to their feet and cheered, except for the Italian gentleman in the front row.
"Do you know Professor Jacobson?" James asked Mr. Hindle.
"Used to work in the Improper Use of Magic Office with me, he did."
"Marino – Rossi – nice move – he shoots – blocked by Samuelson. So that's England with the Quaffle again."
"So he left the Improper use of Magic Office to come to Hogwarts?"
"No, no. He left the Ministry about five years back. Had some falling out with the Minister."
"Hilton ducks Conti but loses the Quaffle. Picked up by Marino – oh my!"
Costa, the Italian seeker had gone into a dead dive, followed closely by Hartman. A Bludger missed Hartman by inches, but he missed seeing Costa pull out of the dive. They collided in mid air, but both managed to stay on their brooms. Sean was out of his seat, yelling at Lombardo.
"Dangerous move," said James.
"A good idea," said Harry, "but poorly executed."
While everyone was watching the Seekers, Marino scored. The Italian man in the front row was ecstatic.
"Jameson with the Quaffle – Kerry – Hilton – stolen by Rossi – that had to hurt!"
Rossi had been almost knocked off his broom by a Bludger from Wendt.
"So where did Professor Jacobson work before he came to Hogwarts?" asked James.
"St. Mungo's, I think. Did some kind of medical research project."
"Foul!" screamed the announcer. James had to agree. Giordano had grabbed Larkin's broom in order to keep him from reaching a Bludger headed for the English keeper, Samuelson.
"Penalty shot to England," said the referee. Jameson took the shot, drew De Luca off by feinting right, and then shot it straight through the center hoop.
"England leads, 20-10."
"So why did Professor Jacobson leave the ministry?" James asked, hoping he wasn't being too nosey. He could tell that Philip was also listening intently to the conversation.
"Hilton – Kerry – intercepted by Marino – Rossi – back to Marino –"
"Well, I'm not sure. I heard that he was pushing to lower the penalties for certain type of illegal magic, but that could just be a rumor."
"What kinds of illegal-"
"James," interrupted his father, "you should let Gerry watch the game."
"Oh, I don't mind," said Mr. Hindle. But James knew that he'd be in trouble if he pushed the conversation much further, and he didn't want to ruin such a great match.
"And it's Hilton again – wow, she can fly – shoots – blocked – rebound to Kerry – shoots – scores! England leads, 30 to 10!"
James tried to forget about Professor Jacobson and watch the game more closely. The match went on through the night and past sunrise. Twice it looked like Costa might have seen the Snitch. Once Larkin hit him with a Bludger; the second time, it turned out to be another feint.
Finally, about two hours after sunrise, Hartman went streaking down the pitch toward the Italian goalposts. He ducked a Bludger, but it slowed him down enough that Costa managed to catch up. They shot straight up into the air and then straight down. At the base of the center goal post, Hartman grabbed the Snitch.
"That's it!" screamed the announcer. "England wins, 240 to 110!"
Hartman lapped the stadium, holding the Snitch up for everyone to see as the crowd went wild. The Italians left the pitch quickly, and their supporter in the box was sitting with his elbows on his knees, holding his head.
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