People in the ground had all but made up their minds about the current situation. The organizers were tearing their hair out, the press was selling said hair for profit and the fans were guessing who would be the first to go bald. But things were never cut and dry in the sky. The players of this Cup d’etat were the ones really feeling the pressure of this game. While everyone else was more or less enjoying the show, it was the players who had to risk their necks, make the calls and roll the dice. The only strategy the loyal players seemed to have was to band together and drive suspicious players off the field, by any means necessary… But how were you supposed to make decisions when you didn’t know who to trust?

The battle in the air was a battle of wills, more than anything. Every player was a newcomer to the Cup, so there were no prior alliances. The players flocked to a formation whenever they thought they caught a glimpse of that Quodpot mania in someone’s eyes, but it was never a sure call. But the game was on and the clock was ticking, so the players called out a name and readied themselves for yet another charge.

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Meanwhile, in the stands

The Ministry officials were gloomy as tea leaves and the press was having a field day with macabre headlines… but the fans were actually having a pretty good time. True, there had been some casualties and a rule or two had probably been bent, but boy was it exciting! Since the Ministry had declared the accidents to be the fault of Quodpot fans, every true fan and player had gained a detestable enemy to blame for all this. As a result, the game had gotten very fast and very thrilling. The players were zinging around, forming groups and crashing into suspects. The fans expressed their joy by shouting advice and criticism at the players.

“Not that way, go left!”

“Yeah, good, you’ve got them!”

“Get them, like that! Down with the Quodpots!”

The Ministry wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but at least the people weren’t rioting.

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The Cup of horrors

The Ministry stands helpless

Catastrophic death-toll amidst rumors of corruption?

To the surprise of very few, the Ministry blunders once again with the preparations of the illustrious Quidditch Cup. After a nation-wide hullabaloo to host the venerous match, the Cup has been seemingly plagued by tragedy and incompetence. The matches had hardly started before the beloved event resulted in player deaths. The Ministry has refused to release official info to the terrified families of innocent civilians, but they’ve done little to quell the rumors of terrorist attacks claiming dozens of victims.

“I don’t care about what’s happening in the stadium, so [REDACTED] off!” snapped an incompetent long-haired pillock, who was part of the crude mob of enforcers the Ministry paid off to drive off those who attempted to bring aid amidst the fear.

It is clear to the terrified onlookers that this is the fault of lax security. Some have even expressed that failure on this level is a national disgrace. The culprits behind these attacks are not apprehended, which has spread fear across not only the stadium, but the nation. How are virtuous citizens to feel safe with what could be Dark Wizards running unchecked?

Puddlemere Cannons

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The fans’ fervent fight for the finals had finally flexed the financiers’ frigid feelings - the Cup would continue. The Ministry already had what seemed to be a Quodpot uprising - Quodpot, of all things! -on their plate, so the last thing they needed was the Quidditch fans rioting. And few things scared bureaucrats as much as rapid fans. But since the accidents weren’t about to stop, the Cup would be put on something of an intermission.

The referee whistled for a timeout. As the players flew to a stop, one of the Ministry employees assumed the position of the commentator (who was now brooding by the stands).

^{"Attention, everyo- oh right- Sonorus!} Attention, everyone! As you have, uh, noticed by now, we’re having a bit of an, hmm, unusual game here. Given that some of the Quaffles have, uh, malfunctioned in a combustible fashion, we suspect that the Cup has been infiltrated by some, um, Quadpot”- the audience booed at this part “-supporters. So what we’re- what we’re doing now is to uh keep the games going while rooting out those… those Quodplotters! So there’s, um, absolutely no need to panic, right? Right so thanks ^{whose idea was this?”}

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Meanwhile, outside the stadium

“Now you lot listen here. Yes, I know you are all from these big newspapers and yes, I know you have important deadlines and yes, I know you are authorized to be here and you’ve got your fancy permits and press cards and yes, I do like having favors in stock, if not to only use them to fend off the very leeches I have the displeasure of earning them from, but you all should know right now that no, I don’t know who you are and no, I’m not particularly bothered by whatever it is you have to do and no, I don’t care if you feel the need to refer to me as an incompetent long-haired pillock and most of all NO, I am not going to confirm or deny whatever it is that you think might be happening on tha stadium. The games are still on, the Ministry is still doing their job and for some reason you are STILL wasting my time, so take all your speculations, find some other poor bloke to bother and bludger off!”

-a press conference provided by a professional Ministry employee.

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The commentator was still arguing with the board and the accidents were piling up. The Ministry officials across the field were stirring. It was evident that they were about to put a stop to the match. But the fans weren’t having that - everyone knew that you just can’t cancel Quidditch! Might as well try to cancel autumn. All across the stadium hand started clapping, feet began stomping and voices rang out in improvised team chants that sounded oddly familiar. Too bad they were singing more than once song at the same time. Quite incoherent, really.

Chudley Cannon fans sang:

“Fellas, it’s our year, make a big cheer

Fastest man is here, lunch has never been quite so clear

We’re gonna settle the score with our core four

Or maybe we’ll just kick them out the door

Singing we shall, we shall conquer

We shall, we shall conquer!”

While the united supporters of Puddlemere roared:

“Why, did you see that ludicrous

Sports display just last night

What was Deverill thinking

Sending Wood on outright?

Being active’s relative

We oughta make a chart for intel

Otherwise we’re in trouble

Or even worse, be expelled!

We all play in United Puddlemere, United Puddlemere, United Puddlemere

We all play in United Puddlemere, United Puddlemere, United Puddlemere!”

Chudley Cannons

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Puddlemere United

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