A diwizard who had just treated the green team's Seeker Lynch saw the referee bewitched by the Veela and imdiately rushed onto the field with his fingers in his ears.
He ca before Mostafa and treated him—by kicking his shins several tis hard.
With the miracle doctor's intervention, Mostafa imdiately snapped out of it.
Through their Omnioculars, the young wizards in the box could see his expression clearly.
The Egyptian referee looked particularly embarrassed and was shouting loudly at the Veela.
Under his intervention, the Veela stopped dancing, though their expressions showed great dissatisfaction.
"Perhaps I was mistaken—from the situation on the field, Mostafa actually wants to send the Bulgarian mascots ho!" Bagman's booming voice sounded sowhat uncertain: "Oh, I've never seen anything like this before. If that's the case, the match might beco uncivilized..."
Regardless of Bagman's character, he was definitely a person of rich experience.
The subsequent match truly beca gradually rougher and more brutal, just as he had predicted.
First, Bulgaria's two Beaters descended on sides of referee Mostafa and began arguing angrily with him.
Not only that, they also made crude, obscene gestures toward the green team's mascots, the Irish leprechauns.
The Irish leprechauns, who had been happy about the referee's recent penalty against Bulgaria, once again ford the words "HEY! HEY! HEY!" in the air.
As for referee Mostafa, he remained unmoved by the Bulgarian players' protests.
He raised one finger toward the sky, clearly telling them to fly back up.
However, the two Beaters standing beside him refused and continued their stubborn protest.
"Foolish behavior." Seeing this, Sherlock directly stated his conclusion: "Directly confronting the referee on the field is very unwise—they'll only receive more severe penalties."
Sure enough, seeing the two Beaters refusing to fly back into the sky to continue the match, Mostafa decisively blew his whistle twice and gave each of them a technical foul.
"Two penalties for Ireland!" Bagman shouted. With the referee's decision and the comntator's explanation, the Bulgarian spectators began roaring angrily.
But Bagman's voice quickly drowned them out: "In my personal opinion, Volkov and Vulchanov had better get on their brooms. Directly confronting the referee won't lead to anything good... Alright... they're mounting up... Ireland's Troy has the Quaffle and is preparing to take the penalties."
After the penalties, the match resud.
Harry had once thought that last term's final between Gryffindor and Slytherin was the most intense, dirtiest, and roughest match he had ever seen in his life.
But now it seed that record was about to be broken.
Of course, he wasn't alone in this.
For everyone in this box, and indeed most people in the stadium, the match had reached a level of fierce intensity they had never witnessed before.
The Beaters on both sides showed no rcy at all.
Especially Bulgaria's Volkov and Vulchanov, who had just been penalized by the referee.
They didn't even care whether their clubs hit the ball or people—they just swung wildly with all their might.
Compared to them, Slytherin's Beaters were like babies who hadn't been weaned yet.
The Chasers were equally fierce. Dimitrov charged straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.
"Foul!" the green team's supporters shouted in unison.
They all stood up, forming a huge green wave.
"Foul!" Ludo Bagman's magically amplified voice repeated the word. "Dimitrov collided with Moran—that was a deliberate flying collision—definitely warrants a penalty—yes, the referee's blowing his whistle!"
The Irish leprechauns naturally wouldn't miss this opportunity.
They all rose into the air again, and this ti they ford a giant hand making a very rude gesture toward the Veela on the other side of the field.
This gesture was just learned from those two Bulgarian Beaters.
It could be considered applying what they had just learned.
However, the Veela were having none of it.
This ti, they didn't even dance but flew across the field and began throwing handfuls of fla-like things at the leprechauns.
After making this move, they were no longer beautiful at all.
Their originally exquisite, flawless faces elongated and turned into sharp, long bird heads with beaks.
A pair of long, scale-covered wings were erging from their shoulders.
"Understand now, children!" Mr. Weasley seized this opportunity to educate them, his voice even drowning out the clamor of the crowd below. "Never be deceived by beautiful won!"
"Hey, Arthur, don't say such buzzkill things at a ti like this." Sirius pulled him over, then winked at Harry: "Listen to —there's nothing wrong with pursuing beautiful won. Your father did exactly that back in the day!"
Harry couldn't help but feel both amused and exasperated at this.
Beside him, Ginny secretly puffed out her chest.
Since the mascots of both teams had started fighting, Ministry wizards rushed onto the field trying to separate the Veela and leprechauns.
Unfortunately, with both sides already entangled, their efforts had minimal effect.
It could be said that the battle below was in no way inferior to the match being played above.
In so ways, it was even more intense than the match above.
Sherlock's gaze moved from the players in the match to the battling mascots, and he couldn't help but shake his head.
The facts proved his judgnt was completely correct.
The entire wizarding world was one giant shambles.
Harry's attention remained focused on the match. Through his Omnioculars, he looked here and there.
The Quaffle flew like a bullet from one person's hands to another's.
"Levski—Dimitrov—Moran—Troy—Mullet—Ivanova—Moran again—Moran—Moran scores!"
As before, comntator Bagman could only manage to call out the players' nas and couldn't smoothly describe what they were doing.
Not only that, but his magically amplified comntary voice wasn't as clear now.
Because the field was now filled with the Veela's shrieks, the explosive sounds from the Ministry officials' wands, and the angry roars of the Bulgarians.
Clearly the green team had scored, yet the Irish supporters' cheers couldn't be heard.
So, the match continued.
Next, an Irish Beater used all his strength to hit an incoming Bludger toward Krum.
Krum, who had already dodged countless tis in this match, couldn't evade in ti and was hit full in the face by the Bludger.
Deafening complaints arose from the spectator seats.
Krum's nose seed to be broken, with blood flowing everywhere.
Yet referee Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle to pause the match as he had when Lynch was injured earlier.
This was understandable, because a Veela had thrown fire at him, igniting the tail of his broomstick.
In such circumstances, his attention obviously couldn't be focused.
Kind-hearted people like Harry couldn't bla him.
If anyone was to bla, it was that Veela—she was simply making things worse.
Harry was kind-hearted and truly hoped soone would discover Krum's injury soon.
Even though he was supporting the Irish team.
But from watching this match, Krum was undoubtedly the most exciting player on the field.
Ron, as a Krum fan, reacted even more strongly: "Ti out! Ah, hurry up! What's the referee doing, what's the comntator doing? He can't keep playing in that state—look at him—"
"Quick, quick, look at Lynch!" At that mont, Harry suddenly shouted loudly.
The Irish Seeker suddenly dived down.
Harry didn't know what others were thinking, but he was certain this was definitely not a Wronski Feint from Lynch.
"He's seen the Golden Snitch!" Harry couldn't help but cry out. "He's seen it! Look at him!"
Among just the people in this small box, besides Harry, both Sherlock and Charlie realized this.
However, the two n weren't as excited as Harry.
But with Harry's reminder, everyone in the box also ca to their senses.
At the sa ti, about half the spectators in the stadium also realized what was happening.
The green team's supporters rose to their feet again, setting off another green wave and screaming to cheer on their Seeker...
At this mont, an unexpected person appeared.
Viktor Krum.
He rode his broomstick in close pursuit of Lynch.
Having just taken a hard hit, his face covered in blood, his vision blurred—he looked particularly fierce.
Under the Omnioculars' lenses, one could even see blood spattering in the air behind him.
Even though he was the one giving chase, and his broomstick wasn't a Firebolt, he still caught up to Lynch.
Their bodies gradually beca parallel, and once again like before, they dived toward the ground.
"Oh no, they're going to crash!" Hermione couldn't help but cry out, once again tightly hugging Sherlock's arm.
"No." Charlie said calmly.
"To be precise, Krum won't crash," Sherlock said with a smile.
"Right, but Lynch will!" Harry delivered the final blow.
The wizards in the small box all looked at the three in surprise.
Are you doing divination here or what!
However, the facts were exactly as they had said.
In almost the blink of an eye, Lynch crashed heavily into the ground for the second ti.
He had been the one to spot the Golden Snitch first, but at the last mont still couldn't control his body.
A group of angry Veela imdiately sward over without a word.
"Where's the Snitch, where's the Golden Snitch?" This ti even Charlie couldn't help but ask.
Harry shouted: "He caught it—Krum caught it!"
Glancing at Hermione, who was once again holding onto his arm, Sherlock sighed softly: "The match is over—though defeated, he's achieved glory."
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