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Chapter 116. Aftermath.

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Something to protect. Part

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Zero. At

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first, Anna had been gratified to see

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the final Quidditch Cup go on so

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long. As a Gryffindor,

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she was a bystander at the house cup

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thing. It wasn't like Gryffindor

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ever won. In

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contrast, last year's World Cup of

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Quidditch, to which her family had

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bought some very expensive tickets, had

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been over in ten minutes, which

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was awful. Modern

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Quidditch games had become too short.

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The snitch caught much too quickly.

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It was a widely talked

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problem among aficionados. Broomstick

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enchantments had advanced, while the

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snitch stayed the same regulation

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speed, with the result that

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Quidditch games had become shorter and shorter.

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At professional levels, the sport of

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Quidditch had been reduced to a

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contest of who had the deepest

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pockets for their seeker's experimental racing

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broom, and the rest of the

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players might as well have been watching from the stands.

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Everyone knew something had to be done. The

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situation had been getting worse for centuries,

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and now it was intolerable. But

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the International Confederation of Wizards

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Quidditch Committee was mired in

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all the usual acrimony of

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the ICW, screaming disputes

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between Germans and Bulgarians,

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and somehow nobody could

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agree on exactly how to

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fix the rules. To

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Anna, the correct course

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seemed obvious. Just

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make the snitch fast enough to

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restore the four-hour or

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five-hour games of the early 19th

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century and the golden age of

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Quidditch. Except

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the Belgians thought the duration of

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a professional game should be longer.

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should be two hours, like in

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La Belle Epoque, when Belgium had

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dominated Quidditch, and the

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lunatic Italians wanted to go back to the

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week-long Quidditch games of the 14th century,

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and Britain's even crazier blood

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purists kept on talking up

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the occasional day-long Quidditch match

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as proof that broomsticks couldn't

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really have improved since everything

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was better in the old

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days, which was not

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how the interdict of Merlin

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worked. She

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was one hundred percent on the

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side of Harry Potter, that

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it was time for Hogwarts to

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give up on these gibbering slowpokes

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and just change the rules, starting

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here and now. But

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not by eliminating the

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snitch, that was going all

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the way back to 11th century

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Quidditch. It didn't

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matter if headmistress Hufflepuff had first introduced

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the innovation because one of her students

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had wanted to play the game but

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not been suited to the usual roles.

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Snitches had caught on internationally because it

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was more exciting when the game could

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always end in the next minute. Potter

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had been arguing this viewpoint at the

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top of her lungs for the last

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thirty minutes, quite forgetting to pay attention

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to the game. Thanks

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to a lucky coincidence of seating, she'd

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been near the boy who lived and

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his sign, and hence she'd managed to

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stake out her position right from the

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start. She

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was aware, in the bulk of her

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mind, that if the Quidditch rules really

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did change starting here and now, then

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this was the most

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important thing she'd ever do.

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She could almost feel the pressure

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of time twisting around her as

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though the fate of Quidditch itself

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were being settled this very day,

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and she was standing

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close to the centre of it. Though

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she hadn't gotten high enough scores in

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divination to actually sense anything like that,

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of course. She

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hardly noticed when at one point the boy

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who lived stood up to go to the

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bathroom. The boy

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who lived did catch her eye when he

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trudged back. Harry Potter

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looked a bit tired and wobbly, though

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his uniform appeared as trim as if

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he'd just changed into a new one.

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She noticed half an hour later on

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when Harry Potter seemed to sway a

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bit and then hunch over, his

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hands going to cover up his forehead. It

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looked like he was prodding at his

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forehead scar. The

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thought made her slightly worried. Everyone

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knew there was something going

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on with Harry Potter, and

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if Potter's scar was hurting him then

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it was possible that a sealed horror

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was about to burst out of his

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forehead and eat everyone. She

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dismissed that thought, though, and continued

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to explain quidditch facts to the

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historically ignorant at the top of

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her lungs. She

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definitely noticed when Harry Potter stood

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up, his hands still on

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his forehead, and dropped

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his hands to reveal that

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his famous lightning bolt scar

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was now blazing red and

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inflamed. It was

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bleeding, with blood

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dripping down Potter's nose. She

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stopped talking mid-sentence. Other

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people turned to look at what she was

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staring at. Professor

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McGonagall, Harry

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said in a wavering voice, there

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were tears in the corners of his

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eyes which shocked her. The

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boy who lived didn't seem like

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the sort of person who would

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burst into tears. Harry Potter raised

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his voice further, as though it were

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hard for him to speak. Professor

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McGonagall? Professor

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McGonagall

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turned away from where she was arguing

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with the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. The

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head of Gryffindor's eyes widened in

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shock, and then she was

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moving people out of her way, almost

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running.