An Interference of Portraits

Going Bigger With Plans

'You're telling me. Though occasionally it has its benefits. I always get a good table at a restaurant and its helped with the fundraising, to a degree. I imagine people are more accepting and giving because you've created this amazing suffering and heroic redemption arc for me.'

I ignored that. 'So, how's the Quidditch thing going? Luna said you're trying to organise a charity match.'

'Well, my apparent fame can't get me everything. England have said yes. Scotland and Northern Ireland have refused straight off. Wales are stalling on responding. The stadium is wanting to charge me a fortune so I can't give all the profits to the charities—'

'Maybe you're approaching this wrong.'

He looked at me scathingly.

'Maybe you're not going big enough,' I said, thinking on my feet as I thought back to the World Cup in '94. 'It must be a lot of hassle for the stadium to do a one-off event, well, any event... all those staff and the set up... and the International Statute of Secrecy to abide by so all the security and control that's needed. The teams too. To train for a one off that's not a big diary date between the European and World Cup. So, it has to be worth their while. I get that. Perhaps, if you organised it as a bigger event, maybe even an annual event, well, you only need five per cent of ticket prices for the charities, and then there's several things happening in one proposal; ongoing business for the stadium and they become well-rehearsed at, and sustained fundraising for the charities—'

'But five per cent is not a great deal from one match.'

'So, go bigger. Why stop at one match? Five per cent equates to far more out of a far bigger pot. Have several matches at several locations so you can set the stadiums off against each other in a price war. Turn it into a championship tournament.' I knew my eyes had lit up and I suddenly felt alive with interest in excitement. 'Have you heard of the Muggle Home Nations or Six Nations Rugby Championships?'

He looked at me with a disparaging expression that said, come on, Potter. Think rationally...

I grinned. 'The Six Nations is on every February and March but I think there's another rugby match on tonight somewhere.' I picked up the TV remote and the TV kicked into life, making Draco jump. I flicked through the channels until I found it. 'So, this is Wales versus Scotland...'

He watched, confused, and his running derisive commentary made me laugh. 'It looks very energetic... Oh gods, that man in blue just tackled the one in green to the floor... What are they doing...? Where's he putting his head...? Ugh, they're covered in mud... Shit, that's really violent... Look at the thighs on him... Why are they all jumping on each other...?'

'They're trying to get the ball. It's a full-contact team sport.'

'It's a fucking team mud-wrestling match.'

'It's not that bad. And they're not allowed to take someone to the floor unless that player has the ball. That would be most unsportsmanlike. Despite the tackling and apparent violence, it's a very gentlemanly game with lots of rules.'

'Sounds like the sort of game that would appeal to a bunch of Gryffindors without broomsticks.'

'I seem to remember some fairly full-contact behaviour from the Slytherin Quidditch Team.'

Draco stuck his nose in the air. 'That was Marcus Flint. It's a funny shaped ball...'

'It's traditional to the game. Something to do with the days when they played with a pig's bladder. A similar sort of shape. Means it doesn't bounce predictably and harder to kick perfectly. There's a lot of skill in it.'

'It doesn't look like skill, it looks like bullying. That man's bleeding. Why's he got his ears taped to his head?'

'So they're protected during the scrums.'