Vincent had many plans for Gwent.
He would not partner with just one company across the entire global market.
Europe, the Americas, Asia, Africa.
The four major regions would be divided into dozens of smaller territories, each with its own partner.
The choice was important, but right now, all he had eyes for was the Quaffle.
Three Nimbus 2001s circled him, but pressure tactics were useless against him.
The Rascal Rabbit flashed like red lightning, instantly leaving all three of them behind.
A shot Vincent threw on instinct skimmed past the fingertips of keeper Miles Bletchley.
"Ten points!" Lee shouted excitedly.
Marcus and the other two Chasers, who had arrived late, all fixed their eyes on the flying Quaffle.
"Stop him at any cost!"
They flew toward Vincent as he caught the ball, sinisterly extending their elbows just before they collided.
"Foul—serves you right!" Lee sneered.
There were a total of seven hundred ways to foul in Quidditch, and Fred and George had used every one of them during their earlier one-against-six training.
It was only an outstretched elbow. A single side roll from Vincent sent them crashing into each other.
"Spread out!" Marcus shook his arm.
Montague had just accidentally struck him in the shoulder.
This time, the Quaffle went into the goal above Bletchley's forehead.
Pucey made the first move, accelerating toward Vincent, who had gotten the ball again.
Just as he was about to succeed, a Bludger flew straight at his face.
He stopped his broom and glared resentfully at Fred in the distance.
"Don't forget about us!"
Marcus grinned viciously as he chased after Vincent.
Though there was a gap in their speed, Montague had remained near the goal.
Lee roared angrily into the microphone, "They're attacking from both sides! Despicable!"
McGonagall beside him said nothing,