Once Lee Jordan finished introducing the players as the commentator, the match finally began.
"Please fight fairly! All right, the match begins!"
The moment Madam Hooch blew her whistle, the players mounted on their brooms soared into the air all at once.
"Now then, the Quaffle has immediately gone to Gryffindor's Angelina Johnson. What a marvelous Chaser she is, and quite attractive as well!"
"Jordan!"
The commentary was outrageously biased toward Gryffindor. Even Muggle national broadcasts of the World Cup tend to favor their own country, but this was on an entirely different level.
"Gryffindor scores ten points already! Splendid. And now the Quaffle passes to Slytherin… oh! Gryffindor steals the Quaffle back again! What a fantastic play! Go! Keep it up and beat Slytherin into the ground—"
"Jordan! Comment fairly!"
"My apologies! Gryffindor narrowly misses the goal… ah, what a shame. And now Slytherin advances toward the goal with the Quaffle. But do not worry, Gryffindor's Keeper is our very own Oliver Wood! There is no way he would lose to the likes of them—oh! Is that the Snitch?!"
At Jordan's commentary, the entire crowd followed the Seeker's movements. And sure enough, ahead of Harry there was something like a flash of golden light.
"All right! Harry, show them the power of the Nimbus 2000! If you just catch the Snitch like this—ah! Flint, you dirty cheat!"
Angry shouts erupted from the Gryffindor stands. Slytherin's captain, Marcus Flint, had deliberately rammed Harry, sending him flying.
"Send him off, referee! Red card!"
In the Gryffindor section, Dean Thomas shouted at the top of his lungs, while Ron, unusually calm, tried to rein him in. "There's no sending off in Quidditch. And what's a red card, anyway?"
However, most of the Gryffindor students were furious, and even Lee Jordan was finding it difficult to remain fair and neutral.
"Um, after that foul that would make anyone sick to their stomach—"
"Jordan!"
"Yes, understood. Flint nearly killed the Gryffindor Seeker, but that sort of thing happens to anyone, I'm sure. Now then, play continues. Gryffindor still has the Quaffle."
"That commentary really needs to be dealt with, doesn't it?"
"Ehfniee en hya yehf ha?"
"Elaina, finish eating your chocolate cornet before you talk…"
Pansy says that, but she herself is downing a Schweppes in one go, as if she cannot deal with this anymore. Incidentally, Schweppes is a local British carbonated drink, so do give it a try if you ever travel there.
After that, the match continued at a brisk pace, and by the time the cornet and potato chip bags were empty, the score had turned around. Gryffindor dominated early on, but from the middle of the match onward, Slytherin's characteristic playstyle of unapologetically rough and ruthless tactics seemed to have paid off.
＊＊
"Huh?"
When the match reached the middle stages, Millicent, who was watching through binoculars, spoke up.
"What is it?"
"Potter looks like he's about to die."
"What?"
Looking toward Harry, it was just as Millicent said. He was spinning in strange, erratic loops.
"Ah!"
Other spectators must have noticed something was wrong as well, as people all around began pointing toward Harry. His broom was bucking violently, as if it might throw him off at any moment. Now Harry was hanging from the handle with only one hand, and he could fall at any second.
"Is the Nimbus malfunctioning?"
Daphne tilts her head, but a top-of-the-line broom does not break down that easily. If so, it would be natural to assume someone was tampering with it, though this seemed far too malicious. After all, a spell strong enough to interfere with the Nimbus 2000, a state-of-the-art broom, would have to be a fairly powerful Dark curse.
Possible culprits… there are almost too many to count.
It is hard to deny the possibility that one of the degenerates who placed a large bet on Slytherin is trying to rig things behind the scenes to recover their losses.
"If this goes badly, the match might get suspended. There are teachers around, so he probably won't die, but if Potter falls and gets seriously injured, they won't be able to continue."
"Wha—"
Millicent's muttering shocks me so much that I accidentally drop the popcorn I was holding.
"H-hey, I don't know who you are, but please stop interfering with Harry's broom! Right now!"
As I shout in a panic, Pansy looks at me in surprise.
"What is it, Elaina? You're taking Gryffindor's side? Serves them right."
"What if the match gets suspended?! My organizer's income will be completely ruined!"
Of course, I am also worried about Harry. If he fell from that height, even if he did not die, it would be far beyond merely being "very painful."
(It cannot be helped. If things come to the worst, I will use a Levitation Charm…)
Just in case, I take out my wand and carefully aim it so that Harry will not plummet even if he falls.
As I watch anxiously, for some reason hurried voices now rise from the teachers' section as well.
Looking over, I see that the hem of Professor Snape's cloak is on fire at his feet. Amid the confusion of the small blaze, the spectators in the teachers' seats are pushing and shoving each other, and poor Professor Quirrell has been knocked over, collapsing into his seat.
"Oh, he's recovered."
At Millicent's voice, I turn my gaze back to Harry. It seems he has regained control and has started chasing the Snitch again. Was it really just a malfunction or defect in the Nimbus after all?
With no match suspension or temporary stoppage that I had worried about, the game appears to continue. It works out well for me, but I cannot help wondering whether this is truly acceptable from a player safety standpoint.
While I am thinking that, Harry suddenly dives steeply toward the ground. As the spectators, myself included, hold our breath and stare, Harry lands on all fours while clutching his mouth. After coughing several times as if trying to vomit something up, a golden object spills out into the palm of his hand.
It is the Golden Snitch.
"I caught the Snitch!"
When Harry shouts, a thunderous cheer erupts from the Gryffindor stands. The commentator, Lee Jordan, is overjoyed and keeps shouting the result over and over.
"Gryffindor wins, 170 to 60! A resounding victory!"
The match ends amid the chaos, and even twenty minutes after it is over, Flint is still muttering complaints like, "He did not catch the Snitch. He swallowed it." But the result does not change.
＊＊
And after the match, a long line has formed at a small tent set up beside the stadium exit.
"Yes, next please. Ah, Mr. Justin, is it? All right, I will check your ticket."
Sitting neatly on a chair inside the tent, a witch at the counter checks the presented ticket and amount, counting out the gold coins. Yes, of course, that witch is me.
"All right, your identity and the amount have been confirmed. This is your payout. Congratulations."
After handing over the winnings, Mr. Justin leaves happily.
"Next, please… wait, what?"
As I look up, I see a very familiar face. My eyes go wide, and I can feel my face turning pale.
"Y-your name, please?"
"Minerva McGonagall."
Professor McGonagall, of all people. Why?
"Ah, just a moment while I check the ticket and amount… oh, I see. You purchased this when Nott was filling in at the counter during my break. I understand…"
That Nott, no matter how you look at it, he was far too sloppy with the job. This is why temporary workers are such a pain.
"So, how much will it be, Miss Celestaria?"
"Eh, ah, yes. Your payout is… wait, what, one hundred Galleons?!"
That is an enormous sum you put down, Professor McGonagall.
"Um, well, it may not be my place to say this, but from a professional ethics standpoint, is it really appropriate for a teacher to be involved in gambling?"
"Quidditch is an exception."
"I see…"
An exception, is it? Well, if that is the case, it cannot be helped.
"By the way, Miss Celestaria, did you see it as well? Mr. Potter's fine play! Just as I thought, my judgment was not mistaken in seeing him as a once-in-a-decade talent! Ah, I am so glad I asked Albus…!"
Professor McGonagall is positively beaming, clearly delighted by Gryffindor's victory. She really does become a different person when it comes to Quidditch. Just like during Neville's "Remembrall" incident.
On her way out, she even did a light little step. Just for a moment, though.
Incidentally, Professor McGonagall's winnings were apparently used for a Gryffindor House celebration party and team operating expenses.
＊＊
And so, I, who had chased after dirty profits, received no punishment at all, while Slytherin House, having not only lost the match but also most of their betting money, returned home in a funeral-like gloom.
Apparently, a few shameless individuals such as Zabini had even hedged their bets on the opposing Gryffindor. Dirty indeed. Truly Slytherin-like and dirty. Of course, that is a compliment.
"Still, what exactly was wrong with Harry's broom, anyway?"
That thought lingered faintly in my mind, but before long, my interest shifted to the upcoming Christmas holidays.
(End of chapter)
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