A Small Bet
George laughed as he chased Fred into the woods. It had taken them about a minute and a half to collect enough wood, but when they had dropped it off at their site, they had asked Arthur if they could look around a bit. They paused for a breather on one side of one of the smaller clearings. George was about to suggest that they go back, when they heard two people in the clearing.
"I haff missed you, friend," said the first. George clapped a hand over Fred's mouth. His twin's eyes were wide with excitement; they had both recognized that voice from the Wireless. It was Viktor Krum. They dropped to their stomachs behind a low bush and looked between the leaves.
"What in the hell?" Fred asked in a low whisper.
The Bulgarian Seeker was walking with the Irish Seeker.
"Aye," the smaller of the two Seekers said, "What d'you think will happen today?"
"Your Chasers vill out fly us," Krum smiled.
"And us? Me mates are only part o' the problem."
"Ve are more evenly matched than our comrades. You trained me for three years in the summer sessions, and I've gotten to be as good as you."
"Do you think we'll win?" Lynch asked, stopping and facing Krum.
"Yes," Krum nodded.
"Do you think you'll get the Snitch?"
"Bloody hell," George said, pulling Fred by the shirt away from the clearing.
"Do you think he was just guessing?" Fred gasped as they ran back to the campsite.
"Maybe," George panted, "but they're mates right? Krum's…his protégé or something. He could…give in, you know?"
"They're professionals, they wouldn't do that," Fred said, stopping for a moment.
"Bet on it?"
"Fancy a flutter on the match Arthur?" Bagman asked.
"Oh, go on then," Arthur smiled, "A galleon on Ireland to win."
"Any other takers?"
Fred caught George's eye for a moment, completely blocking out what their father was saying. They made their decision in that split second…