The Final Stretch

Harry sank down into his chair in the box seats, glad to have momentarily escaped from the press. He pulled out his omnioculars and leaned over the railing to scan the pitch for any sign of the Quidditch teams. A bright flash from below gave signaled a reporter had caught sight of him and snapped a picture. Harry shrank back away from the edge and prayed no one else had noticed him up here yet, all the scrutiny was starting to drive him crazy.

Ever since he'd defeated Voldemort just before graduation the press had been dogging his heels where ever he went. The final showdown had been on the edge of the Forbidden Forest where Harry had been lured through kidnapped students. Dozens of Death Eaters and Dementors had shown up shortly after he'd been caught. Right as it had started to look really bad for Harry's chances of survival, Dobby and an army of House Elves armed with flaming Runcible Spoons had shown up and set most of the Death Eaters present on fire.

Voldemort's robes had caught fire in the ensuing panic as well and Harry had taken the opportunity to dispatch him, leaving a flaming pile of dust in his wake. In the end it had been sheer dumb luck that had allowed Harry to win, which considering his history of encounters with the dark wizard, was about par for the course.

It had truly been the House Elves that had saved the day, but because of their self-depreciating nature he'd gotten all the credit for it. The House Elves had immediately gone and told anyone who would listen (which was just about everyone) what an amazing job Harry had done saving them all from He Who Must Not Be Named.

Sadly, having just saved the majority of the known world from the forces of evil didn't prevent Harry from nearly failing his last Potions final. Snape was not impressed when he tried to explain he'd been too busy trying not to get killed to study properly. He was even less pleased when Neville had commented that there'd been so much celebrating going on in the Gryffindor tower that no one had been able to do much studying. But even that hadn't been able to dampen the enthusiasm and relief of the graduation celebrations of most of the houses.

The press stalkings had started almost immediately.

It didn't matter where he went, the focus would switch to the Boy Who Had Saved the World. Even at the Quidditch World Cup, it seemed. The reporters had abandoned trying to catch some of the players for interviews once they'd spotted Harry. He'd barely managed to shake off the press so he could get to his seat. Ron and Hermione had offered to run interference for him between the tent they were staying in and the pitch. Sadly the engaged couple was no match for dozens of wily reporters out to get the scoop on Harry Potter.

Harry was just thankful he still had friends who weren't dazzled by his fame and refurbished hero status. Sometimes being the world's savior wasn't all it was cut out to be.

Ron and Hermione finally appeared at the top of the stairs several minutes later looking slightly battered but cheerful none the less. They both collapsed down into the seats next to Harry. Percy had gotten them the tickets in this exclusive box as a graduation present. He'd looked positively offended when Harry had mentioned how nice it was to see his ministry job had some perks to it.

"Well, I don't think anyone from the Daily Prophet will be bothering us again anytime soon," Ron chuckled, "You should have seen it, Harry. 'Mione cursed all of them so they could only say the truth in the most boring fashion possible. It was like being in Professor Binns' class all over again." Harry laughed with them, glad they had been able to divert the press without too much harm.

Harry looked at the program he'd bought on his way up, "So Oliver made it onto first string for England, did he?" His gaze swept out over the pitch and the crowds, looking for the sight of familiar faces.

Ron grinned, "Yeah, apparently there was some sort of scandal with their last keeper right after octofinals. Something about debauchery, and the misuse of some muggle items, Dad said. A remote control and a blender, that's what Dad called them, I think." Both Harry and Hermione shuddered slightly at the mental image that brought to mind.

Their conversation was cut off as the announcer's voice boomed over the roar of the crowd and started introducing the teams for the final match. Brazil came out first, their spider monkey mascots running ahead to tumble around the field and throw exploding snaps at the stands. Many of them carried long wooden sticks and would periodically attempt to beat some of the other mascots with them. Harry laughed as two of the monkeys started fighting over one of the sticks.

England came out shortly after, their mascots being none other than dozens of little children dressed up as Harry Potter. Harry slunk low in his seat, face burning beet red in embarrassment when he realized just who the children were dressed up as. England had announced it was changing its mascot before the world cup had started, in light of the dawning of a new era, but no one had known just exactly what the new mascot was going to be. The crowds roared with approval as people realized just what the mascots were. Harry imagined hundreds of thousands of faces in the stands turning towards his box seat to watch him and he sunk even lower into the chair.

Next came the members of the Brazilian team, their members soaring out to the roar of the crown as the monkeys danced around excitedly. The mascots were quickly herded back into a smaller area of the field below as the England team was introduced. Harry jumped up and cheered with Ron as Oliver's name was announced on England's lineup. Oliver came flying onto the pitch, a grin nearly splitting his face in half, he waved to Harry and Ron as he flew by.

The Brazilian monkeys, angry at having their attention stolen, launched an attack on the children almost as soon as both teams had been announced. The mini-Potters retaliated by transfiguring the monkey's sticks into giant sporks and flowers. Harry wondered if that was any safer than the sticks they'd had before.

After getting the mascots separated again and everyone reasonably calmed down the game started. Back and forth the teams flew, the game continued with a fierce intensity for several hours. Harry was back on the edge of his seat in no time, completely caught up in the thrill of the game. As much as Harry loved flying, he loved watching Quidditch almost as much. Harry cheered loudly every time Oliver blocked a goal. Both teams fought viciously to maintain a lead as their seekers drifted over the melee, looking for the snitch. As the game started to stretch out England started to pull slowly into the lead.

It was nearing midnight when it happened. Hermione had started to doze of lightly in her seat, worn out from hours of cheering.

The score was 260 to 120 in favor of England when the Dark Mark suddenly flared to life over the pitch and three wizards appeared on the field. In the sudden ensuing confusion and panic the Brazilian seeker caught the snitch. Harry was racing down towards the knot of dark wizards on the ground in the middle of the pitch when the scream started.

In a moment of fear he wondered if someone had unleashed a demon or some other beast. That scream just wasn't human. When Harry reached the pitch he realized where the scream was coming from. Oliver Wood had landed and was advancing on the knot of robed figures with a maniacal gleam in his eyes. Behind him Harry could see the scoreboard flashing Brazil's victory.

His gazed darted back to the group on the almost deserted pitch and Harry stared in shock as he realized who the tallest figure in the group was. Voldemort, who was supposed to be dead by all accounts, was standing arrogantly at the front.

"Oliver, stop, that's Voldemort, he'll kill you!" Harry shouted, running to try and catch up with Wood before he committed suicide by throwing himself onto the Dark Lord.

"I don't care if he's bloody fucking Dumbledore, he's going to dead in several seconds. We were 10 points from clenching victory when it was ripped from my hands," Oliver's expression turned even more murderous, "No one ruins my Quidditch game." Harry's heart thudded in his chest at the maniacal expression in Wood's eyes. He ran faster.

The other two wizards with Voldemort ran forward, pulling out their wands as Oliver got closer. Before they could do anything they met the business end of Oliver's broom as he attempted to bludgeon them to death with its bristles. Harry took the distraction to cast a Full-Body Bind on both of the Death Eaters. They fell to the ground, stunned.

Oliver's broom broke with a resounding crack as it deflected the first curse Voldemort flung his way. Discarding the broken broom, Oliver snatched up one of the mascot's abandoned runcible spoons and charged.

Harry stumbled slightly and blinked as he kept running, trying desperately to get there before Oliver was killed. When Harry's eyes shot back open the sight that met his eyes made him halt in his tracks.

Oliver had impaled Voldemort with the gigantic spork, nearly cutting him in half. Relief swept over Harry like a solid weight and he sank to the ground as his knees gave out. Oliver kicked at the corpse viciously. A small part of Harry was jubilant that it had been someone else to actually defeat Voldemort this time. Perhaps the press would stop paying attention to him for a bit.

"After all the work to get to the damn world cup, bloody," Oliver accentuated the curse with another kick, "politics ruins it for me."

"Oliver," Harry gasped, out of breath from trying to sprint across the pitch, "You just saved the world from one of the more evil men this century and that's all you can say? That he ruined your game?" Harry felt the beginnings of a grin forming on his face, at least Oliver hadn't started thanking him for saving the day like the house elves had done.

Oliver rounded on Harry and looked at him surprise, "Of course, Harry, you're right, I should appeal, he was obviously trying to fix the game."