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HP: Bloodraven Chapter 161 - Beneath The Spotlight
🕑 Added 2025-05-11 21:43:59 +0000 UTCWhen the Hogwarts team returned to the school, the castle all but erupted with excitement. At the gates of the ancient stronghold, they were greeted with a grand welcome from the students, the headmaster, and the board of governors, all of whom showered them with warm congratulations on their remarkable performance in the first round.
And not only them—there was even a delegation from the Ministry of Magic present that day, waiting to shake hands, hand out certificates, and express their appreciation for the honour the team had brought to the British magical community.
Because of Magic Vision, the tournament’s popularity had grown far beyond what anyone had expected, and those who took part—especially the ones who performed exceptionally well—were already becoming famous across wizarding Europe.
More and more people were starting to realize just how influential this competition had become—something that, at first, they had dismissed as less important than the major Quidditch tournaments.
Influential figures were already brainstorming ways they could benefit from the growing popularity and attention the competition commanded. Some hoped to see their sons and daughters participate, knowing it could bring fame to their family name. Others saw the many business opportunities the competition offered and were eager to capitalize on them.
Meanwhile, those with a broader perspective were already analyzing what had made the competition so successful, thinking about how they could adapt and replicate those ideas to create similar events of their own.
But their excitement quickly turned to disappointment when they realized the core of the competition's fame was one man and his ingenious invention. Even if they tried to replicate similar strategies, they would inevitably have to partner with him.
It became clear just how shrewd the thinking of this young genius—Master Alchemist Maverick Caesar—truly was. No matter how brilliant their ideas were, or how much fame or wealth they could bring to themselves, they simply couldn’t move forward without aligning with him directly. Essentially, they would be delivering food right to his door, as Maverick had already cornered the market on the most profitable part of the entire operation.
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At the heart of the International Confederation of Wizards' sports administration, a small but influential group of witches and wizards gathered around an ancient oak table, deep in discussion about the most talked-about event in the wizarding world today.
The inter-school Quidditch competition, which they had first dismissed as a simple schoolyard event, had gained such a reputation that they could no longer stand idle.
Fame was one thing, but it was the gold swirling around this so-called “small” competition that made them unable to sit still. It had drawn them together, eager to discuss whether—and how—they might claim a slice of the pie.
But it wasn’t just a piece they were after—they wanted the whole damn pie. Right now, they were busy discussing how to take the very elements that had made this schoolyard competition so wildly popular and fold them into their own grand event: the upcoming Quidditch World Cup.
The room hummed with low voices, soft murmur of half-finished arguments, broken now and then by a sharp comment or the occasional scoff of disbelief.
“I say we approach him,” a tall, stern wizard with a thinning beard said, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table. “Ask him to hand over the broadcasting rights… Better yet, ask him for the alchemy technology itself. One individual cannot be allowed to monopolize something that has the potential to change the entire wizarding world.”
At the head of the ancient-looking table, facing everyone, sat an old man in an exquisite dark gray suit, with wrinkled skin and a mix of gray and black hair. He stroked his white goatee thoughtfully while weighing the suggestion, as the murmurs of his colleagues continued to swirled around him.
“Be that as it may,” the old man finally said. “We cannot force an alchemist to reveal their technology. That would go against international wizarding law. There are very specific laws that safeguards alchemists and their creations… do not forget.”
“And don’t forget,” another wizard chimed in, “this Maverick Caesar isn’t just any alchemist. He’s the youngest to ever earn the title of Master Alchemist... and the direct apprentice of a Speaker. If anyone tries to move against him, that old lion won’t just sit back and watch.”
“By the way… I’ve heard some rather intriguing news about this boy recently,” said a middle-aged witch from the far end of the table as her eyes scanned the faces around her. “I have been recently informed that… he has achieved the rank of Great Mage.”
A few gasps followed before one of them spoke up. “How is that even possible…? That kid is what—twenty-one, maybe twenty-two?”
“Well… he is a genius, after all. Achieving the title of Master Alchemist at such a young age… maybe his brilliance doesn’t stop at alchemy. Perhaps it extends to magical cultivation as well. He is Garling’s student, after all... and that man wouldn’t hand over his only heir to just anybody.”
A moment of silence passed until the older man, seemingly chairing the meeting, broke the stillness. “How credible is this… rumor?”
“Very,” the woman answered without missing a beat. “It came from Headmaster Volkov. According to him, he’s almost certain that the boy is at the same rank as him.”
A ripple of whispers spread through the room as they all processed the revelation. Great Mages weren’t something you’d casually come across, like a weed in a garden—they were an extraordinary rarity, a force of nature.
Though there were around a hundred or so recorded, that was out of hundreds of millions, making the title an extraordinary privilege—especially when someone so young had managed to reach such a level.
“This makes things... complicated,” the older man said, pausing to think before adding, “So, why do you think he hasn’t registered his achievement with the ICW?”
“I don’t think he has any interest in politics...” came the voice from his right. The man who spoke seemed to be the youngest in the room, and he held the position of deputy chair in the ICW’s Sports and Recreation department.
“Is there something you know that we don’t?” the older man asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or are you suggesting that a seat in the ICW Congress, which all Mages would covet, is meaningless?”
"It might not matter to him," the man replied. "Sure, Great Mages automatically get a vote in Congress, but that’s just one vote. For someone with a thriving business and the title of Master Alchemist, he has still chosen to teach at a school. I don’t think politics interest him much."
"This has gone off-topic, Chairman," interrupted a person across the table. "Our priority must be securing his cooperation. The Quidditch World Cup isn’t just a tournament—it’s a global stage, a cornerstone of our department’s influence. We cannot afford to let some upstart magical event steal the spotlight. The balance of power in international magical sports depends on it."
Another hush settled over the room before a new voice cut in calmly. “Why don’t we pay the boy a visit?” the man suggested, steepling his fingers as he spoke. “Sit down, have a word, and see where he stands in all this… Sometimes a conversation does more than a dozen decrees.”
“You really think he would part with even a fraction of something so big?” someone scoffed. “How exactly do you plan to convince him to hand over the rights to Magic Vision—the broadcast rights, the sponsorship deals, the entire framework.”
The man who had suggested paying a visit couldn’t find an answer. Deep down, they all knew what they were asking for wasn’t fair. But the reason they were even having this discussion was simple—what they stood to gain far outweighed any question of fairness.
Over the past couple of days they had picked apart every detail of the Interschool Quidditch Tournament, and what they uncovered had left them completely stunned.
A small event, played by just four schools and held in one region, had somehow pulled in more viewers than even the grandest finals of the Quidditch World Cup. It didn’t make sense at all.
Granted, much of the credit went to that new invention—Magic Vision—but even so… it hardly mattered whether someone watched from inside the stadium or from miles away. What mattered was that they watched—every match, from start to finish.
The ability to reach millions of witches and wizards all at once with a single broadcast—such power had never existed in the magical world. In fact, no one had even considered such a concept until now. It was a game-changer, and the potential was almost limitless.
They had their channels, and it didn’t take long for them to dig up some of the numbers. When they uncovered how many galleons the bigshot companies were paying the young man just to advertise their products or brand names, it left them speechless. The figures were staggering, far beyond anything they’d ever imagined.
It was multiple—dozens of times more than what they had ever received from the same brands, even during the biggest competition of them all, the Quidditch World Cup. The numbers were absurd, and at first, they found it nearly impossible to believe. But the facts didn’t lie. When they directly asked the heads of those big brands, each one personally confirmed they had made the payments.
The group discussed how to handle the situation further, but nothing concrete was finalized. They could not ask Maverick to hand over the Magic Vision technology, nor could they ask him to relinquish the complete broadcasting rights. Even if they did, they would have to bleed heavily on the profits.
Finally, it was decided that they would meet with him personally.
“He should be at Hogwarts right now, so I suggest we schedule the meeting for the Christmas holidays,” the older man said, and everyone agreed.
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Maverick had no idea that the organizers of the Quidditch World Cup were considering using his invention to broadcast the games worldwide, just like he had done with the Interschool Quidditch Tournament. Only, they wanted to do it without properly sharing the benefits with him, the mastermind behind the operation.
But even if he knew, Maverick wouldn’t care. In fact, he had already anticipated that this would happen—that they would eventually come knocking on his door. As for sharing profits, it didn’t matter much to him. His main goal was to see Magic Vision become popular and spread across the world. Giving up some temporary quick cash wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things.
That said, Maverick would never hand over the core alchemical technology behind Magic Vision. However, he might be willing to part with a reasonable portion of the broadcasting rights. But all of that would come later—when they finally showed up at his doorstep.
It was now almost December. The days passed uneventfully, and as mentioned earlier, due to the early destruction of Riddle's diary Horcrux, nothing dangerous from the original timeline occurred this year. Well, the only real danger was Lockhart.
Not to him, of course, but who’s to say the fraud wouldn’t use Obliviate to silence a student out of the blue? His reputation was crumbling by the day, and more and more students were beginning to realize how utterly incompetent he truly was.
And right now, Maverick was in the process of uncovering the proof of how the fraud rose to fame. He not only wanted to get rid of Lockhart, but also deliver him as food for those Dementors—permanently.
