Harrie had regained control of the broom, and the match returned to normal.
Ever since Slytherin's Seeker went out, the crowd had lost all real interest in the game. Now everyone only wanted to know when Harrie would seize the Golden Snitch—and by how many points Gryffindor would win.
Before long, Harrie caught the Snitch. Gryffindor crushed Slytherin by 380–10.
George and Fred started toward Harrie to hoist her up in celebration, but seeing the twins closing in, Harrie tapped the transformation bracer and turned back to Harry on the spot.
The moment Loren saw that Harry had the Snitch, he drew a broom from his robes, lifted off from the stands, and swooped down to join the team's celebration on the pitch.
Although the match ended with a lopsided Gryffindor victory, the trouble Loren had stirred up was far from over.
After his nap, Loren was about to head to the "machine room" to continue work on a magical intelligent assistant, when he was intercepted in the common room by Oliver Wood, who had obviously been waiting for a while. Wood brought a message from Professor McGonagall: Loren was to come to her office at once—there were matters to discuss.
When Loren arrived, he found it wasn't just Professor McGonagall inside. The other Heads of House were there as well, along with Madam Pomfrey and Madam Hooch.
The lineup looked like a tribunal, but it didn't rattle Loren. He smoothly pulled out an empty bottle and transfigured it into a chair, then sat.
Professor McGonagall didn't stop him. In truth, she hadn't wanted this conversation with the hero of the match. But the other three Heads, the school matron, and the referee had all come to her, insisting Loren's conduct on the pitch needed to be checked. Hence this meeting.
After Loren sat, Professor McGonagall still didn't speak. She shot him a pointed look instead, clearly signaling him to hold his tongue—a wordless way to show her displeasure. With it being her office, no one else spoke first.
Professor Snape's expression gave nothing away; he didn't seem to care one way or another. Professors Flitwick and Sprout both glanced aside under Loren's gaze—plainly they felt a bit guilty for coming but felt they had to. Madam Pomfrey looked calm and unruffled; she'd been dragged here by Madam Hooch. Loren's eyes finally met Madam Hooch's; she did not flinch. She stared back like a predator fixing on prey.
"Loren, your performance today was excellent. You can fairly be called an outstanding Beater."
McGonagall opened by setting the tone—this was not meant to be a scolding.
Loren didn't preen. He answered at once, modestly, "Thank you, Professor, but I've still got a long way to go. I'll keep working hard."
That answer sat poorly with Professor Snape. Loren had sent nearly half the Slytherin team to the hospital wing; as Slytherin's Head, he was protective of his own.
"Professor," Loren said evenly, "you saw it yourself. They struck first—I was retaliating. And I don't believe I violated any rules. If you prefer, next time I can play in the Slytherin style. In that case, I doubt even twice your roster would be enough."
Snape fell silent at that. He knew Slytherin's rough style well; if Loren actually chose to play that way, Slytherin truly wouldn't have enough players to go around.
Seeing the standoff, Madam Hooch quickly cut in. Better to defuse things—if Loren were truly provoked, Hogwarts's Quidditch Cup might as well be cancelled until he graduated.
"Alright, Madam Hooch," Loren nodded. "Next time I'll leave one goal standing."
He accepted her "suggestion" cheerfully. He had gone too far on the pitch—he hadn't left Slytherin a single hoop. To keep the game going, Madam Hooch had been forced to spend a great deal of magic repairing the posts.
Her face tightened. She'd meant "don't break any more goalposts," not "leave one." But given that Loren had just gone nose-to-nose with Snape and was at least compromising with her, she pinched her nose and let it pass.
With Madam Hooch done, the room began to sink back into awkward silence. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat and took the initiative.
"Loren, I know a coach with Scotland's national Quidditch team. If you're willing, I can recommend you. At last year's Quidditch World Cup, Scotland met Canada in the final, but lost by thirty. With your help, three years from now Scotland could take the Cup."
His meaning was plain: you're already better than most national Beaters—why waste yourself on school matches? I can get you into the national side; bring back a world title, which outshines any House Cup.
Loren caught the subtext and refused at once—just in time, too, because Professor McGonagall's eyes were already shining. With her love of Quidditch, she'd certainly support her student going to the national team to win a World Cup.
Professor Flitwick's pitch sparked an idea in Professor Sprout, who chimed in at once:
"I also know Scotland's head coach. I can answer for him: you wouldn't have to attend every training, only take the field when it matters. With your ability, a few minutes per match would suffice if you go all out. When you need to play, you can use the Floo in the Headmaster's office, so your studies suffer as little as possible. And as compensation, I—and I'm sure my colleagues—would gladly tutor you. Personally, I can offer you a copy of my private research notes."
As Hufflepuff's Head, she could easily get introduced to Scotland's head coach if she wanted. With Loren's talent, no team would say no.
"Indeed," Flitwick added quickly, "if the national fixtures cut into your coursework, I'll tutor you myself—and share my research notes. Honestly, with your marks, you could probably sit your wizarding level exams straightaway."
"My years of research notes are at your disposal, too," Snape said at last. He truly rated Loren's gift for Potions. Ever since Loren had shown him the raw materials for a gender-altering potion, Snape had thought of him as an heir to pass the torch to. He would give him the notes someday anyway—why not now, and secure a few conditions in the bargain?
To be honest, Loren was tempted. He could get every professor's private notes and not have to give up much time.
He turned to Professor McGonagall in the end, to hear her view.
"I can't decide for you," she said, "but I advise you to accept. I'll provide my private notes as well. Playing won't take much of your time, and the prestige would be considerable."
Given her love of Quidditch, she would of course support a student's development in the sport—even though Loren had talent elsewhere, too.
After thinking for a long while, Loren finally spoke. "I can accept playing for Scotland—but only on the condition Professor Sprout mentioned: I'll appear only in important matches."
The three Heads exhaled together—then Loren went on: "Since I'm a member of Gryffindor's team, I assume I can still play in the House Cup?"
That nearly made them choke. Take the deal and eat the cake, too…
"Alright, Loren," Professor McGonagall said briskly, seeing her colleagues' faces darken. She laid out the plan she'd already formed. "Since you'll be appearing for Scotland, you'll serve as Gryffindor's substitute. You'll only take the field when the team truly needs you."
"No problem," Loren agreed. "I can play as Gryffindor's substitute."
After one real Quidditch match, he had discovered that the real-life version of "Road Rash" was, frankly, a little boring—you had to hold back in all sorts of ways.
Hearing Loren's answer, the three Heads relaxed again. It was a decent outcome. They hadn't driven him off the pitch altogether, but at least the damage would be limited for future games.
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