I'm the King of Curry at Hogwarts

Chapter 230 The Winner

Poor Mr. Mustafa, the referee, was so bewitched by the Veela's dance that he made a huge blunder in front of everyone.

He took off his pants, revealing two sparsely haired legs underneath, but he wasn't exposed. He was wearing safety shorts... no, they were floral shorts underneath, looking incredibly trendy. If he wore sunglasses and a towel, he would look exactly like a middle-aged man enjoying a sunbath on the beach.

He was dancing a strange dance while stroking his beard, looking extremely comical.

"Oh my god, that won't do. But I must admit, Mr. Mustafa isn't just a professional judge; he's even more of a master dancer," Ludo Bagman announced mercilessly over the loudspeaker from his box. "So, is there any miracle doctor who can step forward and give him a good treatment?"

Look at him, no wonder he's a commentator at the Quidditch World Cup, he's got the knack for it.

That's professionalism (hands on hips).

A doctor in the arena professionally took out an earplug from his pocket with an extremely elegant and unhurried movement. He slowly walked up to Mr. Mustafa and swung his hand across the face.

Louis thought it would be even more authentic with a voiceover—"Damn beast! What have you been cursed with!"

Mustafa was jolted back to his senses by the slap. He shook his head, took the earplugs from the doctor and plugged them in. He then pointed at the Veelas and shouted angrily. The Veelas stopped dancing and stared at Mustafa with wide eyes and pouting lips, looking very dissatisfied and resentful.

"Oh my god... could I be seeing things? Mustafa actually wants to send Bulgaria's mascot to the stands?" Mr. Bagman said incredulously. "Well, I've never experienced anything like this before, and there doesn't seem to be any record of it in history. Let me check my history books... Well, the great poet Beethoven once said that when you send your mascot to the stands, it means the game is about to become uncivilized... and the situation on the field certainly proves that right. Let's applaud his foresight!"

A brutal collision occurred between the Bulgarian and Irish players on the field, but neither seemed to be seriously injured. They shook their heads, exchanged an angry glance, and then continued their fight.

On the other side of the arena, the Vevas reluctantly walked onto the stands one after another. The Vevas leader stood in front of the audience, stretched out her arms, and made a domineering gesture towards the arena.

Rita Skeeter's entourage, with their keen sense of smell, recorded this historic moment.

Bulgarian fans applauded the Welsh national team players – after all, they had given so much to the team, and everyone was chivalrous; aside from a few female spectators, most couldn't bear to see the Welsh players suffer.

"I don't think this Quidditch national team is anything special. I could do it too," Ron said with a grin. "Look at those rotten garlic cloves from Bulgaria... Good heavens, my grandma is a better goalkeeper than this guy."

"Then why don't you go?" Percy muttered.

"One hundred and fifty to ten, I could do that too," Ron retorted without turning his head, adding at the end, "Wetherby."

It seems this word isn't going to get over today.

This match had completely devolved into a brawl, with both batters showing no mercy. If one had to describe them in one sentence, they would be like Siquigley and Volkov, comparable to Pepe in the South and De Jong in the North in later generations—they were all martial monks.

Speaking of De Jong, the Bulgarian trio is currently relentlessly harassing and beating up the Irish team. Volkov, unfortunately, isn't hitting accurately, his balls just drifting around aimlessly, unable to hit anyone. Draganov got impatient, and he swung his bat like a knight on horseback wielding a saber, aiming for the head of Ireland's chaser Moran.

Now things were really messed up; Moran was beaten until her head was bleeding profusely. She let out a shrill scream and floated to the ground, her long hair disheveled and covering her face, making her look extremely terrifying.

The Irish fans on the field were furious, and they booed the Bulgarian players in waves. They all stood up, forming a huge green wave.

"Foul, oh dear... that's so barbaric, how could you do that? That stick in your hand is for hitting balls, not for hitting people..." Mr. Bagman clicked his tongue loudly, "Oh dear, Draganov... now he's treating Moran's head like a ball."

The goblins were getting impatient. As Ireland's mascots, they couldn't stand by and watch their team get beaten up. They decided to do something. This time, they gathered together and started hurling something at the Veela—but it was unclear what it was; perhaps it was snow (sadly).

The Veela also lost control; their faces stretched long and gradually transformed into bird heads with sharp beaks; a pair of long, scale-covered wings emerged from their shoulders, making them look quite disgusting.

Once the wings appeared, the leading Veela let out a shout and charged towards the goblins. Immediately, the two sides clashed in a chaotic battle. The players in the sky were fighting, and the mascots on the ground were also fighting, creating a somewhat darkly humorous scene.

"You see, children," Mr. Weasley said, adding a timely lecture, "You can't judge a book by its cover; true beauty lies within..."

"Is this why Molly chose you?" Sirius asked abruptly, and Aunt Molly couldn't help but chuckle.

Actually, Aunt Molly wasn't ugly when she was young. Louis had seen her photos before. When Aunt Molly was in school, she and Yui Hirasawa from K-On! were not exactly the same, but they were quite similar.

Mr. Weasley glared at Sirius and retorted, "Hey, Sirius, at least I'm not single anymore."

Now it was Sirius's turn to feel depressed. He wanted to say something but couldn't find any words to refute it, until Emma hit him on the head with a folding fan.

"Focus on cat's cradle! Severus's been waiting for you!"

Inside the arena, officials from the Ministry of Magic rushed in, trying to separate the Veela and the goblins, but with little success. Louis noticed that Dumbledore was watching the fight with great interest, and was eating nuts even faster.

Who says an old bee isn't a fun person?

Ireland continued to score, and in just a short while, they capitalized on a moment of weakness to score again. Given that the attack was in their favor and no real harm was done, referee Mustafa did not blow his whistle.

The real show was just beginning. The Irish batsman found a perfect opportunity and, with all his might, swung a runaway ball at Viktor Krum. With a dull thud, Krum's face made intimate contact with the runaway ball, two streams of blood gushing from his nose and flowing down to the Veela's head below.

The Veela drenched in blood touched her head, saw it was blood, rolled her eyes, and fainted. Seeing the blood "flowing" from their companion's head, the Veelas went even more frenzied, their claws becoming sharper, and they began attacking indiscriminately, friend or foe alike. Even the Ministry of Magic officials trying to break up the fight got their faces scratched with potato-like bits of flesh.

But in such chaos, no one noticed that Krum was injured. Ron shouted anxiously, "Call a timeout! Call a timeout, Mr. Bagman! Krum can't play anymore, oh my god..."

Clearly, Krum has won over Harron, a little fanboy, with his performance.

Elizabeth yelled, "Forget about Krum, look at Lynch—"

Suddenly, the Irish Seeker dove downwards; this time it was definitely not a feint by Lonski, it was real.

"He saw the Golden Snitch! Look!" Elizabeth shouted again.

At this moment, the Irish supporters all stood up, held their breath, and even the Veela and the leprechaun who were fighting on the ground stopped their fighting and looked up in a daze at the Seekers' movements.

"They're tilting too far! They're going too fast! They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked. If she were the plane's emergency call center, she would have beeped and given a "pull up" warning.

"No way! Trust Krum!" Ron's heart was in his throat. He gripped the railing tightly with his knuckles white, wishing he could fly with Krum.

"I think Lin Qi is going to fall again, this weakling." Elizabeth said mercilessly in unison with Harry. After exchanging a glance, Harry turned his head away arrogantly.

Louis's sister is so unlovable! Humph, it's not because she flies better than me that I think so!

Of course, the two professional Seekers were right; Lin Qi fell heavily to the ground again, knocking out a Veela in the process.

"Where's the thief? Where's the thief?" Charlie, the old Gryffindor Chaser, shouted.

"He caught him! Viktor Krum, he did it! He ended the match! The match is over!" Harry shouted.

Krum's nose was still bleeding, but he didn't care anymore. He rose lightly into the air, raised his fist high, and a golden light shone through his fingers.

The scoreboard flashed the scores: Bulgaria: 160, Ireland: 170, and the audience seemed oblivious to what was happening. Then, slowly, like a giant jet accelerating, the chatter of the Irish supporters grew louder and louder, finally erupting into countless joyful shouts.

"Ireland has won!" Mr. Bagman, a longtime Ireland fan, shouted weakly, though his voice sounded somewhat feeble, as if he were bewildered by the sudden end of the match. "Krum caught the Golden Snitch, but Ireland still won—good heavens, I don't think anyone expected this outcome!"

"Why did he go and catch the Golden Snitch at this time?" Ron asked loudly, jumping up and down in celebration, but also puzzled. "It was so unwise of him to end the game when Ireland was leading by 160 points!"

"He knows it's over! Can he win? Can he catch up by ten points against Ireland's tight defense? Tell me, can he catch up? No way!" Harry said loudly, shrugging. "It's blue!"

The match on the field ended, and so did the battle off the field. The goblins took to the sky, sometimes forming an S-shape, sometimes a B-shape, looking quite smug. Under the instructions of their Irish captain, they resumed their extravagant spending spree.

The Veelas all lowered their heads, looking as dejected as Jiyin, who had been defeated.

The doctors crowded around Krum, wanting to bandage his wounds, but Krum refused. His face was grim, still stained with blood and bruises, and his eyes were fixed on the golden snitch in his hand with a sinister look. His teammates surrounded him, looking dejected.

In stark contrast, not far from them, the Irish players were dancing with excitement, even linking arms and tap dancing on the field.

"I said, they're all great lads," Louis heard a heavy voice say from the side.

He turned his head and saw that it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

"You can speak English!" Fudge exclaimed, stepping forward and angrily saying, "But you've made me stand here all day gesturing!"

"Hey, this is a lot of fun." The Bulgarian Minister of Magic shrugged and winked at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore subtly reached out and scratched his fingers, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

Fudge was genuinely angry, but his good manners as a politician kept him from losing his temper. He gave the Bulgarian minister a deep look and stormed off.

The Bulgarian minister twitched his lips and gave a cryptic smile.

It was time for the awards ceremony, and everyone—from the Irish fans and players to the Irish mascot—was incredibly excited. If the stadium had a roof, Louis had no doubt they could have inflated it.

Elizabeth, the younger sister, and the trio in front of him were all unusually excited, especially the twins, who had genuinely won several thousand Galleons.

"You absolutely mustn't let your mother know about your gambling," Mr. Weasley warned the twins in a low voice, glancing at Aunt Molly who was chatting with Emma. "Don't tell your mother..."

"Don't worry, Dad," Fred said happily. "We have many grand plans in store for you to watch!"

Mr. Weasley hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to ask what their grand plan was, but then restrained himself from doing so.

He knew the twins would definitely play a trick on him and then say they wouldn't tell him. As the father of these two rascals, he knew them all too well.

(End of this chapter)