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Marcus Flint was immediately sent to the Hospital Wing by Madam Hooch. The Quidditch pitch without a referee descended into chaos—yes, chaos once again.
If not for the Headmaster and professors all being present, Gryffindor would have already charged into Slytherin's spectator section. Some flicked their wands, furiously hurling auto-insulting paint toward Slytherin seats, only to have upper-year Slytherins on the pitch deflect it back. It exploded in brilliant colors midair, almost as if celebrating something.
The falling paint dutifully completed its mission on the Quidditch pitch. For a time, the ground between Gryffindor and Slytherin was colorful, covered entirely in words insulting Slytherin.
Slytherin spectators stood amid Gryffindor's angry cursing, delighted as if they'd won the Quidditch Cup.
"Now we'll see just how biased Dumbledore is," they discussed.
Harry gripped the Golden Snitch, slowly descending to the grass. His face was pale, as if he were the one who'd fallen.
"Harry!" The Weasley twins immediately surrounded him. "Are you all right?"
Harry looked toward where Madam Hooch had controlled the stretcher flying away. "He'll be okay, won't he?"
"That's Flint!" Angelina said incredulously. "He used this despicable method trying to invalidate your result! And you're concerned about him—"
"He fell!" Harry Potter said loudly. "Even with Dudley, I never wanted him actually hurt—"
"You didn't push him down!" Angelina said impatiently. "Just lying in bed a few more days! Care about the match result, Harry!"
Wood was arguing with Slytherin team members, completely ignoring the situation here. Harry turned back, gazing at Dumbledore. The Headmaster was speaking seriously with Professor McGonagall and Snape. That originally comical hat had been removed. His silver-white beard and hair floated in the cold wind.
"Prefects, take students back to common rooms. Provide proper reassurance," Dumbledore finally said. His resonant voice echoed across the pitch, drowning out all arguments.
Percy stood up, affecting authority. "You all heard what the Headmaster said? Stop arguing. All lower-year Gryffindors, come with me."
"Shut up, Percy, or I'll squeeze paint in your mouth!" Ron said angrily.
Professor Burbage squeezed through the crowd and beckoned to Anthony.
Anthony leaned his ear over and heard her say, "Minerva asked me to tell you—meeting in the Headmaster's office in one hour."
"I'm somewhat surprised," Dumbledore said calmly and frankly, surveying those in his office. "Things developing this way probably exceeded many people's expectations too."
His office held staff related to the match: referee Madam Hooch, Gryffindor Head McGonagall, Slytherin Head Snape, and Anthony—the person who'd forcibly interrupted match proceedings on his first viewing.
Marcus Flint now lay in the Hospital Wing, enjoying hero's treatment. Many well-off Slytherin students visited him, extending olive branches for post-graduation cooperation. At least four families had invited him, calling him "worthy of the Flint family name," hoping for "opportunities to cooperate in the future."
Madam Hooch said the on-field strategy was discussed internally by Slytherin, but only this large fellow obsessed with Quidditch results had actually jumped down.
"Are there corresponding handling methods in Quidditch rules, Hooch?" Dumbledore asked.
Madam Hooch frowned. "According to rules, for emergency situations, both matches should be invalidated."
"I agree," Snape said. "If this result is valid, I'd wonder why last time wasn't."
"What happened today, everyone knows clearly," Professor McGonagall said, looking seriously at everyone. "Potter's broom truly had problems then. Though the first match was an emergency, this time someone deliberately disrupted it. We found no problems with Flint's broom..."
"What do you mean 'everyone knows clearly'?" Snape said smoothly. "Explain to me, living in a remote dungeon... excellent. Have you found evidence proving Potter's broom was controlled by a curse?"
Professor McGonagall said through gritted teeth, "We haven't yet found evidence or the perpetrator."
Anthony interjected, "Sorry, I really can't listen anymore. Even I can see—without a match result, no one will give up. If both matches are invalidated, will there be another rematch? Until one side has no one left to perform high-altitude drops?"
Madam Hooch blurted out in sudden understanding, "Slytherin has more substitutes!"
Anthony looked at Snape in surprise. From his inscrutable expression, he might actually mean this.
Professor McGonagall said in shock, "Those are your students!"
Snape nodded. "Yes, and also your students. If you'd ever noticed the dungeons—incidentally, please don't—you'd discover that after the hourglass emptied, they've gone mad for every bit of house points. Their collective honor sense has nearly peaked. I thought this was what you wanted to see, Dumbledore."
Anthony interrupted them. "Those are all Hogwarts students! If you don't care about student safety, at least I do!"
Dumbledore gazed at Anthony, saying calmly, "I'm moved, Henry. Whether the basilisk or Quidditch, you've shown extraordinary concern for safety beyond normal people..." He didn't mention Neville.
This sentence, coincidentally, touched Anthony's sore spot. This wasn't what a headmaster should say.
"I'm curious, Headmaster," Anthony said in a calm tone. "When Myrtle was a student, you should have been teaching at the school... what was that like?"
"Pardon?"
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