If there was one thing that brought joy to the magical community of the British Isles, it would be the magical sport of Quidditch. If someone went out looking, they would find a Quidditch fan before they exited their home street. The singular sport had grown the level of religion in the lives of people who loved to play, talk, and watch the sport with more passion than any other thing in their lives.
The sport was almost like a drug. People couldn't get enough of high-speed flying, high chances of collisions, and the guaranteed promise of thrill and excitement. International matches with national teams were events that the people were extremely attached to and felt a lot about— but they weren't enough; people wanted more Quidditch.
To remedy that almost insatiable demand, regional Quidditch leagues were started— not only giving the people a chance to enjoy more Quidditch but also allowing more players a chance to play and make a living out of it. And such a pressing need was met, it was bound to make money, and when things made money, people who owned them wanted to make money. So, the business of regional leagues and sports teams grew to the point that they became household names.
People would gather up in the stadium every game to support their teams and have an evening of Quidditch fun full of screaming, shouting, booze, and stadium food. Even in Hogwarts, people would follow the game through commentary on the magical radio— every game night, people would gather in the common room to tune in and have a jolly communal time.
And today, Quinn had come to one such game. He sat down at his chair in the VIP box situated inside the stadium's prime location with his big glass of iced tea. He was at the optimal height and could see the action without straining his neck.
Unlike most people in this country, Quinn wasn't a big fan of the game. He had only been to a couple games in his life, and while the energy of the people in the stadium was enjoyable and a unique experience when using Legilimency on the people, the game itself didn't excite Quinn.
But today was a special occasion.
Today, at The British and Irish Quidditch League, Puddlemore United vs. Appleby Arrows— Eddie Carmichael was making his professional debut as part of the Puddlemore United, flying since 1163, the oldest club in the existence of English Quidditch.
Quinn couldn't keep the smile off his face. Eddie wasn't supposed to debut today. A young athlete like Eddie, who didn't have any prior professional experience, wouldn't play in the top league; instead, they build up experience in a secondary league playing in a junior team owned by the club; when he showed results, he would be called up to play on the big scene.
But Eddie was Eddie. Quinn didn't know what he did, but Eddie had somehow convinced the management to let him play in a game. In a sport where a team only had seven players, it was a considerable risk to replace one regular out with a fresh-out-of-school rookie. But Eddie had done it.
"Puddlemore must be really desperate to have a kid play. They've been falling the past years today; they're going to be wiped out by the fucking Arrows," said someone sitting beside Quinn in the VIP booth.
Puddlemore United had been a successful franchise for centuries; even now, it was standing at number two in the season rankings. Unfortunately, the team failed to show results where it mattered the most. The club had entered a long championship drought that didn't look like it wanted to end. The oldest team had already dropped down to number three on the rankings of the most championships won by a club. Because the team was still strong and successful, the loyal long-time fans supported it wholeheartedly, but it had seen a slight dip in attracting a younger, newer fresh blood who supported the team.
Quinn stared at the old man and raised his index finger, lying flat against the armrest, and silently and sneakily cast a spell. The old man would feel thirsty no matter how much he drank for the next twenty-four hours.
A loud horn marked the entrance of the players. Quinn got up and leaned against the railings to see as Puddlemore United came flying out, dressed in navy blues emblazoned with two crossed golden bulrushes. His smile turned toothy when he spotted Eddie, flying behind everyone else but was applying what he had learned to create a positive first impression.
Or the version of the positive first impression that Eddie believed in. . . as just after the first whistle of the game, he showed another team's Chaser in an attempt to get to the Quaffle.
'Well, that's the image he wants,' smiled Quinn.
Quinn felt someone take a seat beside him. He looked away from the game to glance at the man briefly. For a second, his mind didn't pick up who he was looking at, and he turned back to the game, but then it hit, and he turned to look at the man properly.
The man seemed to notice Quinn's gaze and look at him.
"Good evening," said the man and then introduced himself. "Rufus Scrimgeour, Auror, and an Arrows fan. I think they're going to beat Puddlemore today."
Quinn shook Scrimgeour's hand as he replied, "Quinn West, Puddlemore fan. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Scrimgeour. I disagree with you; I think Puddlemore will run Arrows down."
". . . Oh? Why is that?"
"Because my friend is playing in the game, and he's very talented."
"Your friend?"
"Eddie Carmichael."
"The young Chaser making his debut? You think a rookie will be good enough to meaningfully contribute to the game?"
"A rookie. . . maybe not. But Eddie is the perfect mixture of talent and hard work. He's special. Give him a couple years, and he would be outscoring every other team in the league and beyond. And today's going to mark the start of it."
"Hmm. . . even if your friend stays in the secondary league for a couple years, he will still need a couple more to come up to speed with the top talent, and if he is what you say he is, it will be a couple more years before he gets to the summit."
"Secondary league?" Quinn smirked. "There's no way Eddie will go down to a secondary league," he pointed at the field, "he is having the taste of what the top professional scene is, and after that taste, he will refuse to have anything inferior. This chance he created for himself, he will grab on to it and never let go."
Above the field, Eddie flew with the ball and threw it past the goalkeeper's fingertips into the goal hoops, marking Eddie's first professional goal.
"So, Mr. West," Scrimgeour continued the conversation, but on a different note. "How are you doing these days? Have you been fine after your abduction event?"
Quinn sipped on his iced tea through the straw before speaking, "Thank you for asking, Mr. Scrimgeour; I'm thankfully fine," there was no use hiding that he didn't know who Scrimgeour was, "I have to thank you for bringing my abductors to justice. Your department did a very swift job handling my case."
"We strive to handle every case with care and urgency. . . I heard your grandfather is busy these days. How is he doing these days?"
"And I heard that you guys are going to war with the Death Eaters. Why don't you tell me how's the going on?"
Scrimgeour slowly turned to Quinn and gave him a slow stern observing look. "How did you know that?"
"People at my status are privy to some privileges, Mr. Scrimgeour. But I have to say, I'm loving the direction all of you're going. It brings me great confidence in the ability of DMLE to protect us."
Scrimgeour dropped the look and sighed, "It's not complete yet."
"You mean the lethal sanctions?"
"Yes, the lethal sanctions."
The Minister of Magic and DMLE couldn't just sanction lethal actions against a specific group of people. Such measures had to go through Wizengamot for approval. The last time lethal sanctions were ordered, it was on Death Eaters during the previous wars, spearheaded by Barty Crouch Senior.
"Do you think you can replicate what Barty Crouch Senior achieved?" asked Quinn.
"Right now, I wish nothing more than that to happen."
"You will need support for that. The Dark Faction will oppose you. A portion of the Light Faction will oppose you. The Grey Faction may or may not support you. If you want this to happen in the current political landscape, you'll need a lot of support."
"Are you implying something?"
The crowd screamed in cheers, and the two Seekers chased after the snitch. Quinn and Scrimgeour watched the game for a bit before returning to the conversation.
"I might be. I can help you gain the support you need."
"I suppose you can."
"Yes, I can. I can give access to my grandfather, and something tells me that he will be interested in listening to what you have to say."
"Will George West really support our action?"
"That depends on you. If you can keep your point in front of him clearly and convincingly, there's no reason he won't support you. . . but don't expect anything other than political support. If you try overreach for stuff, he will shut you down, so be careful what you ask for."
"I will keep that in mind."
"I'm glad that you understand," said Quinn with his eyes on the game. "Things will turn much worse from here on out, won't it."
"It will. . . who knows, this might be the last Quidditch game we get to see in person."
Quinn sighed, "Eddie will be pissed if that happens."
". . . That's what you take from that?"
"That's what I take from it. Now, Mr. Scrimgeour, I would love to talk to you, but I would like to watch the game. It's the reason I came here. No small talk from me."
"I would also like that."
"Puddlemore is going to win."
"I bet Arrows are going to win."
"Ten galleons."
"Just ten?" asked the Head of DMLE with the very lucrative pay package. "I was thinking more like a hundred."
"It's not the money that makes the betting fun. Money will make a difference if the amount makes a difference for us. It's the bragging rights and the satisfaction of living that makes it fun. If you want to bet money, how about we bet a half a year of your salary— that'd be appropriate."
"Bragging rights and satisfaction it will be."
"And ten galleons."
It was Puddlemore who won at the end of the game by the capture of the snitch. . . and by the points scored by the Chasers, including Eddie, who put on impressive numbers for a rookie. After a week, it was announced that Eddie won't be going to the secondary league and would be placed as a reserve for the Puddlemore United to be brought off the bench in the later parts of the game.
Quinn won his ten galleons and the bragging rights of beating the Head of DMLE in a bet. Though Scrimgeour was the one who left with the most gained that day.
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Quinn West - MC - One of the sweetest ten galleons I ever got.
Rufus Scrimgeour - Head of DMLE - Already preparing for the meeting.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - [Written on May 07, 2022] I'm sorry for the typos that have been happening in the past few chapters. It's just that I get sleepy after dinner, but I can't afford to sleep because I have to write— so I end up dozing off while writing, and that's when the typos happen.
