May 25th, 2002

To say the mood in the room was electric was a gross understatement. In four years of professional Quidditch, Katie Bell had never experienced anything quite like this. Nearly two hundred witches and wizards had packed into the brightly decorated offices of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. It was absolute chaos—Katie could barely move without elbowing another body, and sheer volume of the crowd nearly put a stadium to shame. The radio hummed with mindless chatter, magically amplified to echo throughout the cramped offices. Firewhisky flowed freely. It seemed every ten minutes there was a new call for toasts, celebrating various witches and wizards who had worked to make everything possible and, of course, their glorious team.

Katie squeezed through the crowd, flashing her teeth in tight smiles as she maneuvered the clusterfuck. A renewed call for whisky echoed throughout the cramped quarters. Katie watched with some interest as Ragmar Dorkins went arse over teakettle over a table attempting to fetch a bottle. She set off again, a bounce in her step. It didn’t quite make up for the ’99 Match of Which We Do Not Speak, but it helped.

“Alicia!” She called out, finally catching sight of her quarry. The dark haired witch turned and brightened immediately, waving and nearly smacking a bloke in the face. Katie’s grin widened as she began pushing her way over to the slight witch, capturing her in a tight hug. She laughed breathlessly, dropping her arm around the shorter woman’s shoulder and shouting to be heard above the racket,

“This is mental!”

“I know! It’s happening!” Alicia looked about ready to implode with excitement, ‘woo’ing as another cry of delight spread through the office. “Merlin’s tits, I almost didn’t think we’d pull it off, but we got all the goddamned pitches squared away and just, ahh! It’s happening! It’s real! KATIE!”

Katie laughed again, stumbling as her rather sloshed friend threw her arms in the air in excitement.

“Did you ever think, back at Hogwarts, that one day you’d be playing for goddamn ENGLAND?”

Truthfully, no she hadn’t, but Katie only grinned and intercepted the shot glass being passed towards her childhood friend. She threw it back, cherishing the bite and the burn.

“Never doubted it—“

“It’s time!” Someone shouted, and the office exploded into a series of shouts. Alicia let loose her most impressive woo yet. Katie surveyed the crowd, practically bouncing in place. For two years, she had trained and fought and played and while she’d never given it anything less than her all, she’d had the strangest feeling that it was all a dream. They’d triumphed in their group, against all odds, and managed to earn their place at a chance for that glorious cup, but even then it hadn’t seemed real. Being here, in the Ministry, surrounded by the men and women who were making it all happen, her teammates scattered throughout the office… for the first time, it felt tangible. The World Cup was only a month away from starting and somehow, she was starting. It was pure madness.

The radio blared to life, and Katie couldn’t help but grin when she recognized Lee Jordan’s voice.

”Greetings Quidditch fans! I’m Lee Jordan with the WWN, currently at a super-secret squirrel facility off the coast of a large island that rhymes with Shmiceland,. The IQA officials are just about ready to begin the draw for the knockout round for the 2002 Quidditch World Cup!”

Lee’s next words were drowned up by an uproar in the office, hearty applause and cheers nearly deafening Katie. Alicia squealed in delight, throwing her arms around Katie even tighter. Katie couldn’t hear anything the tiny witch was saying, but she grinned nonetheless. Someone managed to shush the crowd.

”…secrecy is, of course, paramount to help safeguard against tampering of the draw… ah, ladies and gentleman, it looks like the first draw is ready to begin! We’ve got the IQA official—Merlin’s beard that’s one hell of a mustache—and it’s Brazil! Brazil versus… Norway!”

Katie watched as Dennis Creevey directed his wand to a large board. Two large flags blossomed on its surface, billowing in an imaginary wind, forming the first bracket. She could scarcely breathe. Merlin, it was happening.

”…looks a tough match there…alright, next we have…. IRELAND! Ireland will be facing off against…. Oh, looks like, yes, Ireland versus China!”

It continued. Argentina and Moldova promised a monstrosity of a match. Bulgaria and Japan, Poland and New Zealand…

”Jamaica will be going toe to toe with… IT’S OFFICIAL, JAMAICA VERSUS ENGLAND!”

Anything else Lee said was drowned out in a pure roar from the office. Alicia dragged Katie into a hug that she feared might actually crack her ribs. All pretense of listening to the WWN dropped. Creevey called for order, looking beleaguered, but no one could bother listening. Katie was swept up in the crowd, buoyed towards the team by the mass of people. She collided roughly into Indira Choudry, but then they were hugging and cheering.

“We’re all going to the Three Broomsticks after,” she barely heard Indira over the crowd, even standing right next to each other. Katie ignored the way her stomach clenched at the mention of the pub and, in a fit of stupidity, ‘woo’ed herself as a form of assent.

It took nearly two and a half hours to escape the offices. There were more toasts and the matter of the press. Katie thought she might never see properly again after the blinding flashes of twelve million cameras. Positioned between the team manager and Indira, Katie managed to avoid causing any trouble for the entirety of the mob. She was rather impressed with herself. She hadn’t even hexed the reporter who’d asked about the Montrose Incident.

Katie had never been gladder to be free of cameramen. Releasing a whoop of exhilaration, she leapt onto Denison’s back. He staggered under her for a moment, before caving to her mad impulses and hitching her up. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her grin already half-manic. She wanted to run until her muscles gave in, drink until she couldn’t see straight, start a fight, stumble into someone’s bed, anything that would sate the itch crawling along her spine.

“You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you Bell?” Denison deadpanned. Katie placed a hand to her chest in mock offence. She noticed that he had yet to drop her. And was that a grin she spied? Oh yes. Katie looked forward to seeing their ever so straight laced Keeper let loose a little. They’d only been playing together for the past two years, on and off as players competed for those coveted starting positions. In all that time, she had yet to see Denison anything less than composed and focused. She meant to change that. The rest of the team was finally joining them, escaping the clusterfuck of reporters and cameras.

“Frisby! I just… I can’t believe you even have to ask. Of course I’m going to do something stupid.”

Even after ten years of playing professional Quidditch, after two previous bids for the World Cup, Viktor didn’t think he’d ever tire of the exquisite torture that was The Draw. The Draw was the final piece in the puzzle, that made everything feel real. It was a ridiculous thought, Viktor confessed; years of training and familiarity with the process should have dulled the glamour of the moment, and yet… There was nothing like the tension as they waited for the radio to crackle to life.

The English had been much more accommodating this go around. Last time they had played here, they’d stayed in rather uninspired flats in London. They had been nice, but not quite what Viktor had thought world champion Quidditch stars deserved. He supposed that after the debacle that had been the last Cup with their sudden withdrawal only weeks before the tournament was slated to begin, they were eager to save face. The official who had showed them to the estate had explained that they had borrowed it from the muggle National Trust for the Cup, although Krum wasn’t sure what all that entailed.

What he was sure of, was that Saltram House was a huge improvement in accommodation. This, he’d remembered thinking, was more of what he had expected. The house, the sprawling grounds, the full staff of House Elves, the officials popping in to ensure their comfort, the gaggle of cameras just outside… this was much better. Viktor had never considered himself a materialistic man, but he enjoyed his creature comforts. Especially given the amount of work he’d put into getting here. Talented Seeker though he was, he had no intentions of letting the Cup slip out of his hands yet again. This was their year, he was sure of it.

The sitting room was a bit solemn. The radio hummed occasionally, various adverts that he paid little mind to. Dropping himself in a large scarlet chair, trimmed in gold, he leaned forward, elbows draping across his knees and hands meeting. He felt a bit ridiculous, too large for the delicate furniture, all golden curls and fragile. He shared a look with Pyotr, who looked even more uncomfortable than Viktor felt, sharing a large bench with Aleksander. Ivet seemed rather at home amid the luxury, legs draped across Alexei and Ruzha, who leafed idly through a book. He wondered if Ruzha was actually processing any of the words. He didn’t think he could. His mind kept running through the list of competitors, of any one of the numerous line ups facing them. The true randomness of it was a little worrying.

Finally, after what felt like hours but had been more like minutes, the radio crackled to life.

”Greetings Quidditch fans! I’m Lee Jordan with the WWN, currently at a super-secret squirrel facility off the coast of a large island that rhymes with Shmiceland…”

On his right, Sergej scoffed, visibly irritated. Ruzha looked up, tutted impatiently. Viktor shot her a look. The tension was thick enough to carve with a wand, but after a moment, it dissipated. He began to translate, opting to keep to the basic facts. He remembered the man from the last time he had been in England—he was a friendly sort, witty enough. They’d been at the wedding, he recalled, and had been sharing a drink when the patronus had arrived and everything had ended.

Alexei opted to clear a wall with a lazy swish of the wand, art dancing aside to allow for a massive parchment, a large bracket. Flags blossomed with swish and flicks as teams were announced, and Viktor found himself rather pleased when their opponents were announced.

The Japanese were flashy and quick, but they’d never managed much in the way of defence. Judging by Ivet and Aleksander’s grins, they rather agreed. Still, he couldn’t allow himself to get cocky now. Not this time. They had too much on the line.

“<We will crush them>,” Ivet purred, sitting up to drop an arm to Alexei’s shoulder, and Viktor thought she rather looked like a Nundu, her grin predatory.

“<Of course>,” Viktor had considered urging caution, but the tension in the room had turned gleeful, and he had little desire to be the one to crush it. They’d worked for years for this, trained harder than any team, had the best odds—he had to trust that.

“The draw is going live in ten” Came the swirling head in the fire, and the blonde rolled her head.
“It was supposed to be done already” Elsie snapped, pinching at the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes.
“Yes well…” Began the voice, but Elsie held up her hand.
“Whatever, I’ll check in after the draw” She said and got up, walking away from the fireplace. She had a headache settling in and the ministry were constantly on her case. She had been given one of the world’s best teams to manage, and to say she was exhausted was an understatement. “Excuse me; do you have anything for a headache?” She asked a passing man in Bulgarian, and the man nodded as he rushed from the room. She walked slowly back to the other room, where the Quidditch team waited to hear who their opening game was against. She had yet to be introduced to the team as the official who would be their representative in the games, having been so busy keeping their whereabouts quiet from everyone else. It was something else, England was so small and trying to keep this whole thing from the muggle world had been stressful enough.

She walked into the large halls and the man rushed to her with a potion, handing it to her. “Thanks” She said downing the concoction, and smiling as her headache vanished straight away. The wireless crackled to life and the room fell silent, and the familiar voice of an old school friend filled the air. Lee Jordon slowly called out the draw, and England was announced to have Jamaica. Elsie smiled an easy win for England if the team managed to get over league rivals. And then Bulgaria’s first game was announced, and they were to have Japan.

She allowed the team a moment and quickly a roll of parchment was passed to her. Elsie unfurled the scroll and read through it, they had fourteen days until they played. “Right” Elsie said as she spoke in Bulgarian again, and she walked to the centre of the room. “I’m Elsie Tambert” She introduced herself to them all. Her eyes lingered on Viktor Krum for a moment, years had been kind to him and he was more handsome than she remembered back at Hogwarts with the tournament. “I’ll be your rep throughout the tournament. So anything you need or want to know, come find me and I’ll do the best I can” She informed, before holding up the scroll. “The game against Japan will be held down in the south, in the New Forest on the 8th of June. The ground has been allocated to you both, they have training from six am to midday, and you have training from one pm till 7pm” She informed. “We’ll be heading there by apparition or by portkey, whichever your preferred travel method” she informed them. “I will keep you informed with everything, but for now, I’ll leave you to tactics” She said with a smile.

Elsie turned and left the room, heading down to the study to converse with the Japanese rep. She passed the kitchen and the food smelt delicious, and she remembered that she had not eaten in so long. Pushing open the door that was allocated for her Ministry and official business, she collapsed down into the large chair. She flicked her wand and the glass of liquor sailed over and settled down beside her. She poured a glass and brought it to her mouth and sipped from it, kicking off her heels and combing a hand through her hair. The wall was suddenly covered with schedules and timetables, rules and limitations. Boxes started to fill and notes flew through the fireplace and landed neatly on the desk, and she sighed. Picking up the glass, she drained it in one.

[WORK IN PROGRESS]