Chapter 119: The Lecture Ended in a Hurry
At 8:25, the once-lively corner of the Ravenclaw common room fell into a sudden silence.
Sometimes, having too many clever people in one place isn't necessarily a good thing—especially when most of them know they're clever. Michael Corner was undoubtedly one of them.
In the original timeline, when Harry was in his fifth year, he was banned by Umbridge from playing Quidditch. Even without Harry, Gryffindor still defeated Ravenclaw, which made Michael sulky. He tried to make snide remarks about Gryffindor to his then-girlfriend, Ginny.
But the very next moment, Ginny ignored him. They had said they were still a couple even after breaking up, but she walked off. Then, Michael ran to Harry's ex-girlfriend Cho Chang to comfort her—and eventually got together with her.
Still, he did fight in the Battle of Hogwarts in the end. He wasn't an irredeemable guy.
Now, as Roger's lecture drew to a close, Michael couldn't help but speak up. "Well, I can't think of any broom-based sport that could be considered dangerous. We're not fragile Muggles who need protecting."
"Very well," Roger nodded. "Then I shall continue. I believe you'll understand soon."
"The third prop used in the game 'Crucible Overhead' was enchanted stones—hovering a hundred feet above the ground. There were a hundred of them."
"The twelve players participating in the game had to catch as many of those stones as possible using only the cauldron on their heads. No wands allowed. In Scotland at the time, this resulted in a large number of casualties."
"That's why the game was officially banned in 1762. When speaking of this sport, one must mention a certain wizard—Macdonald, nicknamed 'Blond Magnus.'"
"You can tell from his nickname just how passionate he was about Crucible Overhead—and how good he was at it—"
Roger was suddenly interrupted.
Lisa Dupin, curious as ever, stood up. "I don't get it—how does a nickname prove he was skilled?"
Roger saw that the speaker was a young witch, and his tone immediately softened into a strange, clipped pitch—though he didn't notice it himself. "Think about it. If you play with a cauldron on your head until it dents your skull and still survive, who would dare say he wasn't skilled?"
"He was the most famous and most vocal broom-sport advocate in the 1960s. Even though he petitioned the Ministry to reinstate Crucible Overhead, the game remained banned. Too many injuries during underground matches."
"Back then, if a witch was dating a wizard from Scotland, her family would check the top of his head. If it was dented or scarred, they would unilaterally break off the relationship," Roger said, his voice gradually returning to its usual, magnetic tone.
"I'm sorry—why only check men's heads?"
"Should I take that to mean you're discriminating against witches?" a sarcastic girl called out, standing up.
Before she could say more, Roger's group of female fans had already driven her out.
Ah, yes—using magic to counter magic.
"She's gone," Roger shrugged, "but I'd still like to clarify. No witch at the time would volunteer to play Crucible Overhead. There was a serious risk of disfigurement."
"I don't know if any of you noticed," he added, "but the examples I usually give are gender-neutral. Like when I talked about the German Bludger Trials—it's about 'ensuring the flyer, male or female, couldn't escape more than ten feet from the high post.'"
From the sidelines, Alexander Smith couldn't help but sigh. No wonder Roger always referred to both male and female titles during his lectures. The man was almost flawless with words. If he weren't Quidditch captain, who would be?
Thankfully, Hermione hadn't supported that snarky girl who had interrupted earlier.
When Hermione frowned slightly, Alexander was almost startled. After all, in his past life, the actress who played Hermione—Emma Watson—had a personality a lot like that sarcastic witch just now.
Fortunately, this Hermione didn't. Otherwise, she wouldn't be coming on next week's Atlantis trip. Though if she had backed that girl, she'd definitely have been dosed with a heavy batch of Forgetfulness Potion instead.
Sigh... I need to reschedule the trip to Atlantis with Kate. I'm not free this weekend. I'll take Kate, Harry, and Hermione with me next week, Alexander mused distractedly.
Seeing that things were spiraling, Roger decided to end the lecture early, relying on his usual batch of loyal fans to handle the aftermath.
"I won't elaborate too much on the rest of the sports," he said.
"Irish Fire Barrels on Stilts—simply put, participants run across burning barrels while carrying goat gallbladders. Whoever doesn't catch fire wins. Fireproofing spells are standard, and many wizards even enjoy the mild tickling sensation of flames while pretending to scream for Muggles' benefit."
"That's why the sport hasn't been banned."
"The annual Swedish Broom Race goes from Kopparberg to Arjeplog—300 miles straight through a dragon reserve. That's why the trophy is shaped like a Swedish Short-Snout. It's now an international event; wizards from all over Apparate to the start line to cheer, then pop over to the finish to celebrate."
"Devon's Mid-Air Collision is all about knocking opponents out of the sky. Quidditch Beaters probably have roots in this. I'd wager Slytherin's Beaters are all Devon-born."
"Herefordshire Broomstick involves flying upside-down while using the spiked end of your broom to knock a bladder between hedges. First to fifty points wins."
Roger rattled off the descriptions like a machine gun and quickly made his exit. Clearly, he was trying to avoid saying anything controversial that might spark more backlash.
Ron let out a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin for Roger Davis... but why didn't he mention the Chudley Cannons? They're not outdated."
Then he stood up dramatically. "Let us all cross our fingers and look forward to the most glorious moment!"
(The slogan of the Chudley Cannons, before it expired: We Shall Conquer All!)
But the common room fell silent again. The only sounds were pages turning and scratching quills. No applause, no cheers.
"Sit down, Ron. And don't even mention wands while I'm around," Hermione muttered.
"Sure, the Cannons won the League Cup twenty-one times," Neville chimed in, "but that was over a century ago."
"It wasn't quite a century. Their last win was in 1892. It's only 1991—just one year short!"
"I swear," Ron said angrily, "this year, the Cup will go to the Cannons!"
After that, Ron and Neville didn't say another word to each other the rest of the evening—much to Alexander's amusement. It really was an eye-opener.
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