Finals, Life, Crash...

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Bam, B-Bam, Bam, B-Bam. . .

Boom. . . Boom. . . Boom. . .

The quidditch stadium was filled to the brim, and then some with Hogwarts students and outsiders — the entire crowd was dressed in the colors of red-&-pewter and black-&-green; the two groups of colors dominated the stands, diving the stadium right into two associations.

Bam, B-Bam, Bam, B-Bam. . . the sounds of drums from the red-&-pewter side as the supporters of Treacherous Barons roused up the stands with huge drums strategically placed around their side with students sounding them in perfect, rhythmic coordination.

Boom. . . Boom. . . Boom. . . countering the drums were loud boom from large, shiny-black, smoking cannons, firing blanks at regular intervals for the rilled-up, rowdy crowd sporting Trolling Boogey's black-&-green who were waving black flags with neon-green trolls dancing on them.

Quinn watched the ambiance of the stands from the sky above and outside of the stadium while sitting on a broom. Taking in things for one last time before he had to go in and host his quidditch tournament one last time. It had been a long few months since the start of the tournament. Week after week, Quinn had come across a new problem that he solved and, in doing so, enjoyed/hated the process of organizing something of this scale.

"One last time," he sighed with a slight smile on his face, "ah, this time went by too quickly — should've enjoyed it a bit more." Quinn shook his head before breathing out — he was ready.

He steered his broom and entered the stadium, flying into the center of everything. Quinn raised a hand, and the cannons stopped shooting blanks, also the drums stopped beating.

"Welcome all," he said, his voice sounding far and wide, "welcome to the finals of the best quidditch tournament the world had ever seen. Through the journey past seventeen weeks, we have seen everything — blowouts, last-minute stands, amazing goals, ever-amazing saves, crazy snitch races, and so many exciting things that made me get up from my seat and constantly be on edge. . . . I swear some of the games weren't good for my health — I definitely lost a few years of my life since the start of the tournament."

As he spoke, Quinn had a genuine smile on his face as he recalled all the times he had gone beyond enjoying hosting and got swept by excitement while watching amazing plays — sports tend to have that effect on people, and Quinn was no different.

"Today is the last day I'll have the pleasure of hosting all of you people," he smiled, "the last day that we will get to experience a format of quidditch which inspires excitement and thrill — focusing on providing the maximum entertainment possible per every second of the game."

Slowly he descended down on the ground and took a deep breath, filling his lungs to the limit.

"So! Let's make this one more special than ever! Raise those voices! Let everyone hear that this is the place to be! Let them hear what they're missing! Let's make some noise and get this party started!"

And oh boy, they did make some noise! They made a lot of noise.

Quinn raised his hands wide, and fireworks shot from the edges of the stadium, and the student volunteers flew above the stadium in intricate formations shooting smoke trails behind them.

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The inside the Trolling Boogeys locker room was quiet, which was strange for them.

The keeper looked to the center of the room before nudging Cedric, who was checking doing a final check on his equipment. "Do you know what's wrong with him? He's never this quiet — ever, especially before a game."

Cedric glanced to the room's center, where Eddie sat with his head down and shook his head, "I don't know — we can always ask him, but it looks like he's concentrating, so let him be."

Suddenly, Eddie stood up, and everyone twitched, thinking that he would finally return start and return to give speeches aimed to inspire them, but Eddie didn't speak up and started to perform the last check on his equipment.

"There's definitely something different about him today."

Cedric studied the silent Eddie and smiled, "Yes, there's something different about him today. . ." 'He's already in his game mode,' he thought.

. . .

The ambiance in Treacherous Barons's locker was militant — matching the leading style of the captain, Victor Krum.

"Our playstyle is opposite to that of Boogeys'," said Krum, addressing his team, "unlike them, we're a defensive team with me trying to get the snitches for our team for scores and the chaser squad working on counters and interceptions."

It was a playstyle from the Bulgarian team that Krum had adjusted for the current team. It heavily depended on the beaters hindering the chasers and chasers constantly on the lookout for pass steals. More importantly, Krum had to get multiple snitches for the team to win because, unlike the pro-format, format-Quinn only gave fifty points per snitch.

Krum looked at the beaters and instructed, "Focus on Eddie Carmichael. You have to make sure he doesn't fly comfortably around the pitch; don't give him any space to move. Allowing Eddie Carmichael freedom can and will make things a little too tight to my liking."

The beaters nodded and glanced at each other. If Krum had said the same thing to them at the start of the tournament, they would have raised their hand in thumbs up and given a guarantee that Eddie wouldn't get the chance to get in the rhythm, but right now, things had changed — Eddie Carmichael was THE threat on Trolling Boogeys — he was a super scorer who consistently matched what team seekers snitched together.

"I will take care of Cedric Diggory, so make sure everyone does their job. If everyone does their job, we will definitely win."

"Yes!"

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Quinn sat down in his commentator chair and beamed, feeling the similar metal railing in front of him and the scoreboard that hung on the opposite side of the stadium.

He glanced back and greeted his constant companions, accompanying him every week during the games. "Oh, my, professors — all of you look sharp today."

For the last day, the professors had decided to put on their freshest robes. The tournament had grown so big that it had long since surpassed in popularity of the Tri-wizard tournament. Outsiders could come to the games on a weekly basis, which granted it greater visibility, and with a well-established betting system in place, the popularity only increased more.

"Well, I hope all of you have placed your bets; the money in play today surpasses every other game by great margins," continued Quinn, "it's a pity that I can't bet — it would've been fun to take part in the festivity."

The professors stared at Quinn as if he was joking. All the profit that the "house" made went directly to Quinn as he was the "house." It was his money that started the betting system, and every knut of the profit went into Quinn's pocket. They could only imagine how much money Quinn had made from the quidditch tournament.

If someone asked Quinn, he would pull on a fat smile and reply with, "A lot of money," while patting his stomach as if have eaten a sumptuous meal, "enough to fill so many bathtubs."

"Now, let's get started!" grinned Quinn with the sonorous took effect, "let the finals begin — hold on to your seats, people, because things are going to fly."

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"Yeah! Go, Eddie!" yelled Tracey. She was wearing a black-&-green jersey with Eddie's name on the back and had put cute little greens strips on her cheeks.

She looked and her side and urged, "Come on, Daphne. Wave that flag with some enthusiasm. We have to support Eddie to the best of our ability."

Daphne stared at the flag in her hand, "It's really heavy."

"Choose better excuses," pouted Tracey, "lighten it up with a spell and get your hands moving," she then smirked, "or maybe it's because Krum is playing and he was your date. . . . ufufu."

The words irked Daphne — Tracey knew that she liked Quinn, and yet she was teasing her. But it worked as she lightened up her flag and started to wave it gently.

'Hehe, I knew that would work,' chuckled Tracey in her mind. Daphne had been very annoyed by people pairing her with Krum, and Tracey knew to employ that to her advantage. "Yeah, let's make some noise!"

. . .

"You don't look happy at all," commented Ron looking at his best friend.

Harry had crossed his hands and grumbled, "I want to play. Cedric and Krum are playing —"

"You missed Carmichael."

"Why would I care what he does," Harry clicked his tongue, "he can die in a ditch for all I care."

"Don't be a sore loser; it's unsightly," said Ivy, wearing green-&-black colors as Trolling Boogeys was a "Hogwarts" team.

"Like you get to talk," Harry quipped back, "I had seen enough of you being a sore loser when we were little."

Ivy glared at her twin. It wasn't her fault that Daphne tried to do whatever she did; her trying to one-up her was only normal. . . . Yeah, it wasn't her fault, she thought.

"Okay, stop it," the sane voice of the group raised her voice to stop the fighting. Hermione gave them all a look saying that she wasn't in the mood to deal with a squabble, "let's just enjoy the game — it's the last game of this year, we won't be able to see any more games after today."

Harry sighed and nodded, "Yeah, you're right."

"Of course, I am," said Hermione, "also enjoy the game because we're going back to the library after this to study for the third task."

"Ugh," groaned Harry. He had been spending a lot of time in the library ever since the task had been revealed.

Ivy nodded and added to Hermione, "Yes, after that, we'll be practicing the spells. So be ready to get started right after Hermione is done with you."

While Harry was okay with practicing spells, he was always mentally tired after sessions with Hermione. He knew that the task was close, but he really wanted some break.

He sighed and decided to follow their advice and relax with the game in front of him. "If Carmichael doesn't score any points, then it would be perfect."

"That's unlikely to happen."

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The game was a heated one. Both teams went against each other with a heated passion. And because one of the teams was a pro-defensive team, the numbers on the scoreboard were low. But despite all that, the game was a nail-bitter and throat-soaring affair as there was a constant back-and-forth between the two teams.

"I must say," Quinn's voice blared, "the game between these two teams might be perfect as the finals. . . . the tournament started with these two teams, and now we have come full circle and ending with these two teams. It's like a journey on display in front of us — I can see how the teams have changed from week one — the progress they have made through all the weeks, all the adjustments, improvements, and the built synergy is one display in front of us."

"Ah, how about what we hear from someone who knows much more about quidditch than me," said Quinn, before turning and pointing his fake wand as it was a microphone, "professor McGonagall, what do you think about the current game?"

McGonagall blinked for a couple of seconds before taking her own wand to cast a Sonorous on herself,

"Ahem, I completely agree with your words here, Quinn. Quidditch is indeed like a journey. I would even go as far as to say that it's akin to life itself. A team is formed — it's a birth. Teams go through their ups and downs just like a person in the form of wins and losses and learn from those lessons like any other person would from their life experience. Finally, today after this game, the teams would disband, which might be compared to death. . . . of course, to a well-prepared mind, death is but the next great adventure."

Quinn smiled at the quote at the end, and so did those who had heard it from the original speaker himself.

"But maybe it's not akin to death. They will be taking precious memories with them and carry them with them for a long-long time," she smiled, "to me, it's one of the most beautiful things in life."

Quinn smiled in return and nodded, "Those were some beautiful and insightful words, professor. Though as you said, comparing team disbandment with death—"

He stopped when he saw the widening of eyes on the professors' faces as an expression of shock and what he identified as horror spread on their faces. Then he heard a collective gasp from the stands and restless chatter.

Quinn turned back just in time to see a broom crash into the ground, and the rider skid across the green pitch violently. The force was so harsh that the green grass was pulled out on impact, with the brown dirt beneath showing.

It wasn't a usual crash that happened time from time during games. This was severe. . . . this was dangerous.

". . . . E-Eddie."

The professors all got up as this was a serious matter and were about to take action when they heard the metal railing of the booth groan loudly. As if it was being forced to bend.

"Quinn!" At the sound of his name, Quinn turned and saw Flitwick staring at him with serious eyes. "Please, control yourself!"

Quinn frowned and realized that his magic had gotten out of his control. He heard the groaning metal and turned to see the metal railing being brutally bent out of shape.

He took a deep breath and got his magic back under his control, and bowed his head to the professors, "My apologies. I lost my calm for a moment, and my emotions triggered accidental magic."

Quinn looked at McGonagall and addressed her, "Professor McGonagall, please take over the commentary. I have to go. . . ."

"Eh, Mr. West, I understand your worries, but you don't have to—"

"I can't do it right now, professor. . . . not right now. I will do a terrible job if I'm to return to commentary, so please take over."

McGonagall stared at Quinn, but the boy had already turned away from her and was staring at the field. "Alright, Mr. West," she said, "I will take care of you. . . . so, you can go."

"Thank you, professor."

Then Quinn left.

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Quinn didn't mind pushing his all into body magic, pushing his speed to the limit as he ran through Hogwarts and entered the hospital wing. Right now, he couldn't give a rat's ass if someone saw him running at speeds at the peak of human level.

"Madam Pomfrey!" he yelled.

The response was prompt and stern, "Don't yell, this a hospital!"

"How is he?" asked Quinn as he made his way towards the sound.

". . . . Cracked skull, shattered shoulders, broken ribs, punctured organs. . . . his knee caps and ankles busted from impact, he's injured all over. . . and. . . he has lost a lot of blood."

He reached the bed and found that it was completely covered. "I want to help."

"You stay out there," sounded Poppy, "I don't need your help. You can sit there and wait. He'll be fine, I promise."

Quinn clenched his fists and obeyed — he stayed out but didn't move from his spot.

"Eddie!"

Quinn turned to see a haggard Marcus at the entrance of the hospital wing. He was wheezing and sweating all over. Even though his lungs hurt, Marcus hurried towards Quinn and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"How is he?!"

"Madam Pomfrey says he'll be fine. She's treating him."

"He—"

"He'll be fine," assured Quinn to Marcus and himself.

"O-Okay," said Marcus and left Quinn's shoulders. Just like Quinn, he also stood there.

Another set of footsteps sounded, and Luna ran into the hospital wing. The girl with a usually perpetual dreamy expression looked scared as she stared at Quinn and Marcus.

"E-Eddie," she spoke, her voice cracking, "E-Eddie."

Quinn patted Marcus and told him to sit down as he went to handle Luna. He hugged the little girl and helped her calm down by speaking words of assurance into her ears.

The next to arrive were Tracey and Daphne, and both looked extremely worried — especially Tracey, who looked the most stressed anyone here had seen the brunette.

The group waited silently waited with a thick tension and worry in the room. No one made a sound or talked to each other as they waited for Madam Pomfrey to come out.

And when the medi-witch did come out, all of them surrounded her.

"How is he?" asked Quinn, his voice bordering at shouting levels.

Poppy stared at the students in front of her and smiled, "He will be fine. It will take him some time to wake up, but he will be up by tomorrow."

Quinn let out a breath of worry and squinted his eye as he felt the distress leave his body.

"Thank you," he said and repeated, "thank you."

"Thank you," he said once again.

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Quinn West - MC - "Thank you. . . ."

Eddie Carmichael - Injured - In a coma.

Poppy Pomfrey - Medi-witch - 'Having good friends is a blessing.'

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