Professor Melvin walked beside Headmaster Dumbledore, finding a spot to sit in the Gryffindor stands.
Truth be told, Melvin wasn't all that keen on Quidditch. He found the rules a bit… off. As a competitive sport, it lacked any direct physical contact. From a wizard's perspective, Quidditch banned players from using magic—no offensive or disruptive spells allowed. Where was the excitement in that? Chasers, Beaters, and Keepers—twelve players across both teams—risked getting knocked off their brooms for a mere 10 points per goal, while the Seeker floated outside the main action, catching the Golden Snitch for a whopping 150 points. No wonder the best players in history were always Seekers.
But Melvin's opinion didn't matter. Quidditch was the wizarding world's favorite sport, and today, he was here to record the match.
He'd already hashed out the collaboration details with Madam Rosmerta last week. The main hurdle was getting the headmaster's approval. Melvin thought a week would be plenty of time to discuss it with Dumbledore, but the headmaster had been nowhere to be found. Professor McGonagall kept saying he was "busy" but wouldn't say if he was even at Hogwarts. The headmaster's office had been empty all week.
McGonagall handled most school affairs anyway, so what was Dumbledore up to?
For seven days, Melvin had been chasing the elusive headmaster, and today, he finally showed up.
"…So that's the plan," Melvin finished, feeling a bit drained. "I'd take a small commission from the earnings, and the rest of the Galleons would go toward improving Hogwarts' Quidditch program—like standardizing brooms for all players. There's a serious equipment gap between the four house teams.
"For example, Potter's riding a Nimbus 2000, a gift from Professor McGonagall. It's the latest model, hitting speeds up to 170 miles per hour and capable of 360-degree turns in any direction. It's not fair to other players. Before this, Slytherin had the best brooms, which is why they've dominated the cup for the last five years. Meanwhile, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are stuck with players riding Sweepstar Fours—hand-me-downs used by their teams for years.
"Long-term, letting adult wizards from outside Hogwarts watch the matches could boost the school team players' fame. If any graduate wants to pursue a Quidditch career, this could help.
"It would also expand Hogwarts' influence…
"And… well… there's also…"
Melvin spent ten minutes laying out his plan, clear and organized, though his throat was parched by the end. He looked at Dumbledore, who'd been absent for a week. "What do you think?"
"Hm…"
Dumbledore adjusted his new glasses, specially chosen for today's match. "To be honest, I agreed after your first sentence. As I've said before, I'm delighted to see you bringing new energy to Hogwarts."
Melvin caught the mischievous glint in the headmaster's warm smile but let it slide. He'd achieved his goal, so a bit of cheekiness was fine.
"Headmaster, where were you this week?"
"Visiting some ghostly friends in Kent, asking about matters concerning the afterlife," Dumbledore replied casually, as if it were just a friendly outing.
"Hogwarts has ghosts. Why not talk to them?"
"I did, but they didn't have the answers I needed, so I went to Kent."
"Did the Kent ghosts give you any answers?"
"No, they didn't either."
Melvin could swear he heard a hint of sadness in Dumbledore's voice. He wanted to offer comfort but didn't know how, so he changed the subject. "Headmaster, any progress on the Ravenclaw diadem research?"
"Not yet."
"…"
Melvin's eyebrow twitched, ready to press further, but Dumbledore turned to the pitch. "Look, the match is starting!"
"Welcome, everyone, to this season's Hogwarts Quidditch match! Today, it's Slytherin versus Gryffindor…"
Lee Jordan's commentary echoed across the stadium, introducing both teams before the match kicked off.
Each team had seven players: a Keeper guarding the scoring hoops, a Seeker circling the outskirts, two Beaters fending off Bludgers and targeting opponents, and three Chasers aiming to score with the Quaffle.
The two teams couldn't have been more different. Slytherin's lineup was almost entirely burly boys, while Gryffindor's team was a mix of boys and girls, leaner and more average in build.
These were underage students, limited by their physical development, so their speed and strength didn't match professional players. Slytherin's Beaters hit with ferocious power, while Gryffindor's players were quick to dodge. Spectators could easily follow the action. The tactics—zigzagging and weaving—were straightforward enough for even casual fans to understand.
Quidditch matches had no time limit; they ended when the Golden Snitch was caught.
The score stayed close, with Slytherin holding a 30-point lead.
It was a tense, thrilling match.
About ten minutes in, Slytherin's Flint started targeting players directly—aiming for heads and chests. Shockingly, it wasn't a foul. Madam Hooch only gave a verbal warning.
Quidditch had over seven hundred types of fouls, but none resulted in a player being sent off. The worst penalty was a free shot for the other team.
Melvin had always thought the rules were begging for chaos. Why hadn't players turned matches into magical duels? A quick wand flick to incapacitate the other team would make penalties irrelevant—your side would win anyway.
Then he realized it was a delicate balance. As long as no one drew a wand, Quidditch stayed a sport. If someone broke that unspoken rule, it'd turn into a duel.
"Flint deliberately rammed Harry! That's a foul!" Lee Jordan's outraged shout rang out.
Gryffindor got another free shot. Most spectators watched the penalty, but a few noticed Harry's broom acting up. At first, it wobbled slightly, then began jerking violently.
Melvin's eyes scanned the crowd, landing on a familiar young witch near a makeshift banner. She cautiously wove through the spectators, slipping into the Slytherin stands, blending into the engrossed crowd—and then…
She set Snape's robes on fire.
Melvin couldn't help but grin.
Dumbledore turned, a similar smile on his face. "Something amusing?"
Melvin nodded slightly, his gaze returning to the pitch. The Nimbus 2000 was still lurching wildly. Harry had been thrown off, clinging to the broom with one hand, dangling precariously.
"Headmaster, I think you should keep an eye on Potter right now."
"Young eagles must feel the fall before they can spread their wings."
As he spoke, the fire in the Slytherin stands grew, sparking gasps from the crowd.
Harry's broom steadied. Despite hanging by one arm for so long, he still had the strength to pull himself back up with a single heave, remounting the broom. With a sudden dive, he snatched the Golden Snitch.
"The match is over! Gryffindor wins, 170 to 60!"
"…"
Melvin stared at Harry's slight frame, momentarily speechless.
Now that was top-tier athletic talent.
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