"And how do you write that?" the boy asked, typing frantically.
"With a Q, Quidditch."
"I'm sorry to say this, Miss Rowling, but this just straight up makes no sense."
"How so?"
"Well. First of all, what's with this," he checked the monitor. "Snitch? They have to catch it and then they get 150 points. Isn't that a little overpowered? It basically renders all effort of the other players meaningless. It's like holding an election and then picking the losing candidate based upon a weird election rule."
"Well, it's possible that there is a significant enough difference that the other team still wins." This boy was already giving her ideas for subsequent books.
"But then why would the other seeker even try to catch the snitch? They could just keep playing."
"Maybe he wants to settle the match on his own terms." That would be a good story element. Ending things on your own terms instead of going for the win. She liked that.
"Ok. But," the boy persisted. "As long as the snitch isn't caught, the match continues, right? Then how do they plan these things in? Are classes suspended until someone catches the snitch? Or do they cancel exams, because apparently, this is something that can be done quite lightly in your world."
"Well, don't bother yourself with details like that. Really long matches are very rare."
"It's not just that. What are these… bludgers doing in the game? They sound really dangerous. Not something eleven year olds should play with."
"Well, how else could Dobby try to save Harry in the next book?"
"Dobby? You mean the midget slave who tries to save Harry by almost killing him?"
"That's the one."
He sighed. "Look, Miss Rowling, I really advise you to do some research. Look at this: "The first world cup played out in 1473 between Transylvania and Flanders." May I remind you that Flanders existed in no way in the fifteenth century? Or is there some weird time travel in your world?"
Time travel. Now that was certainly a great idea.
"And what about this," the boy continued.
[DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.
It contains Your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o' clock for your first training session.
Professor M. McGonagall]
The boy sighed heavily. "First of all. How is it not obvious he got a broomstick? Wouldn't a parcel formed like that draw attention? Or wouldn't anyone else notice during the game he got a broom? You know, the game, where the entire school is present. And don't you think it's extremely unfair that a professor is giving expensive broomsticks to some students. Hell, why are there no rules about broomsticks in the first place. Are you telling me rich kids can just fly expensive, superior broomsticks and completely dominate the match?"
Buying expensive broomsticks to gain an unfair advantage. She felt the ideas bubbling up.
"Look," the boy concluded. "If I were a publisher, I would never publish this."
"But you're not, aren't you?" She said, smirking.
"No, I'm not," the boy confirmed. He remembered the tagline of the Story Store.
The Writer is Always Right.
"Well," the boy said, finishing up. "Do we meet again next week? When you've decided on a title."
"I already told you: the Philosopher's Stone."
"And I already told you that Americans won't get it. They'll want to change it into something easier, like, the Sorcerer's Stone or something. That would be really confusing, right?"
She shrugged.
Some people really had to sort out their priorities.