The moment Harry caught the key-
Everyone erupted like a volcano that had been holding back for far too long. The bustling crowds in the pubs went wild, celebrating the "great duel."
The clinking of glasses rang out in an unbroken chorus. Every school was the pride of its country, and these British wizards naturally regarded this victory as a victory for Britain.
"Well done, Harry Potter!"
"Long live the Chosen One!"
A few curses were mixed in, though their target was Britain's national Quidditch team:
"Look at Harry Potter, then look at our national team! They're all a load of shit! The truly talented players never join the national team."
"Exactly! Krum can represent the Bulgarian Team while he's still a student, so why can't Harry Potter?"
"F**k! Give us our money back!"
In contrast, the German and Bulgarian wizards watched the Magical Projection with grim faces as Krum lay flat on his back.
Blood flowed down from his forehead, making him look horrifying, but Krum remained motionless, staring blankly at the sky.
The precious Firebolt lay crookedly beside him, coated in dirt and grit, like a knight's rusted sword without a trace of its former edge.
A Ministry of Magic official with a mean streak even zoomed in specifically on Krum's face.
Ludo's voice carried a note of regret:
"Oh, Krum-Krum! At the very last moment, he failed to pull his broomstick up and slammed into the ground. Look at his expression..."
As Ludo continued his commentary, the faces of the wizards in Germany, Bulgaria, and elsewhere grew increasingly dark. Many of the more sensitive witches and young wizards covered their mouths and began to sob quietly.
"What's he still doing there? Get up!"
An angry voice roared:
"You only lost one clash! This is only one stage