Moriarty felt as if he'd stayed up for days brewing potions—his mind foggy, eyelids drooping, the air around him thick with sleep. It was a sleepiness deeper than exhaustion, like a cursed dream pressing on his consciousness.
The drowsiness surged like waves from the Forbidden Lake, one after the other, dragging him under. The cold wind howled in his ears as he leaned heavily against his broom.
"Bubble Blessing!"
"Holy Prayer!"
Two advanced protective charms—spells developed through sacred magic and soul enchantments—blazed to life.
The Holy Invocation dispelled the unnatural lethargy clouding his body. The Bubble Blessing, rare and potent, formed a luminous shield around his soul. Within moments, the magic cleared his mind.
The weariness snapped like a vanishing charm.
Moriarty pulled up his broom, flicking the tail end into a dramatic arc. He soared into the sky in one breathtaking motion, his body spinning like a shooting star across the pitch.
"Neith!!!" the audience cried in amazement, fists pumping the air.
The dazzling return lit up the girls' faces with relief and awe. They slowly sat back down, reassured by his defiance.
Lockhart lifted the magical microphone above his head, his voice echoing across the stadium:
"Captain Moriarty breaks free! He's airborne again!
That, my friends, is hope! That is leadership!
But—let's not forget—the rest of the British team is still under the influence of that vile enchantment."
His words weren't just commentary—they were a subtle warning to Moriarty.
Indeed, Moriarty was the only defender left.
The Magician, leading Dongying's Chasers in a full-speed charge, hurtled toward the undefended British goal.
Moriarty held up a hand, signaling "stand down" to his team. He glared as the Magician hurled the Quaffle through the hoops.
Fury burned in his eyes.
To cast a debilitating enchantment on the entire opposing team, in front of nearly a hundred thousand spectators…
The Dongying team had no shame.
Every one of them would pay.
"The ball is in," Lockhart announced with clear disgust. "Dongying takes advantage of a compromised British squad and equalizes—10 to 10."
"Boooo—!"
"Unfair!"
"Cheaters!"
The crowd roared their discontent.
But the game didn't pause for justice. The third round began.
Moriarty waved his wand and unleashed two wide-area spells:
"Holy Wish!"
"Bubble Blessing!"
The sacred wave of magic swept across the field, cleansing Roman and the rest of the British team. Their eyes cleared, their posture straightened. The enchantment was broken—and they felt sharper than ever.
Pietris tossed the Quaffle high.
"Whoosh!"
Moriarty launched upward, shouting, "Fast break formation—now!"
"Who is he talking to?" Lockhart exclaimed, pacing excitedly inside the commentary box.
"Red Nose and Exploding Head have blitzed past the halfway line—they're already near the Dongying goal!
Oh! Their speed caught the Dongying Beaters off guard—what a brilliant turnaround!"
The crowd exploded with cheers.
The Magician hovered mid-air, expression twitching.
His left eye twitched violently.
Tsukamura Kogoro abandoned his Snitch patrol and zipped to his captain's side.
"Captain!" he gasped. "What's going on? Why didn't the Fallen Crow work?"
"It's not that the Fallen Crow failed," the Magician muttered darkly. "Moriarty… broke it."
His glare locked onto the British captain.
Meanwhile, Moriarty, in perfect sync with Red Nose and Exploding Head, executed a flawless attack sequence and scored again.
"British team leads 20 to 10!" Lockhart called triumphantly.
The Magician weighed the situation. The point gap was still recoverable—for now.
"Everyone," he barked. "Assist Tsukamura! Secure the Snitch!"
Lockhart's voice turned analytical.
"Interesting! The Magician is sending four players to support Seeker Tsukamura.
That leaves him alone to fend off five British players—including both Beaters!
It says something about his command—the team didn't even hesitate to obey."
As the fourth Quaffle was launched, Moriarty saw the Magician rushing toward him solo.
"Surround him," he ordered.
Red Nose and Exploding Head moved into position.
"Batters—launch bombardment!"
"YEAH!"
The two Beaters lifted their bats, channeling explosive strength into their swings.
CRACK!
CRACK!
Twin Bludgers screamed toward the Magician like cannonballs.
The Magician didn't dodge—he vanished. Or so it seemed.
He moved in an elegant S-curve, almost like apparition, and reappeared next to Red Nose.
Gasps echoed across the stadium.
"Apparition?"
"Teleportation!?"
"HOW?"
"He cheated!" someone cried.
Even Lockhart hesitated. "Is this… allowed?"
Referee Pietris shook his head again—there was no trace of spellcasting.
No wand flashes. No magical residue.
Legally, he could not call it a foul.
Chaos erupted.
The Magician shoved Red Nose aside, then used the same uncanny maneuver to strike Exploding Head's broom.
"Did you forget how terrifying I used to be?" the Magician sneered.
He snatched the Quaffle, spun midair, and threw a cocky look back at Moriarty. His meaning was clear: you're next.
But Moriarty was already pursuing.
"Wind, answer my call—Shining Tornado!"
He infused himself and his broom with elemental magic, bending the very air around him.
The rules? At this point, they were dust.
If the Dongying team could twist magic without leaving a trace, so could he.
A cascade of wind-based charms poured from his wand. Gusts trailed behind him, blasting anyone who neared.
His speed increased by 30%, maybe more.
Every turn he made left air currents spinning like tornados.
Dongying players that tried to intercept him were tossed like leaves in a gale.
The Magician responded with his "teleportation" magic—flickering from point to point, leaving afterimages behind.
It became a two-man game.
The rest of the players scoured the sky for the Golden Snitch, while Moriarty and the Magician turned the field into a battlefield of gods.
"100 to 90!"
"130 to 140!"
"180 to 160!"
"260 to 240!"
Lockhart was hoarse, his voice cracking from continuous updates.
Moriarty vs. the Magician.
Air vs. shadow.
Wind vs. darkness.
Every time Moriarty scored, the Magician retaliated.
And every time the Magician advanced, Moriarty swept through him like a storm.
The rest of the world blurred into the background.
But in the rhythm of the game, Moriarty began to notice a pattern.
During one pass-by, he shouted:
"So your 'teleportation'—it's a dark-element spell, isn't it?"
The Magician's face twitched—but he said nothing. He reappeared several meters away.
"I've been tracking your distance. You're getting closer with each teleport. Your magic is wearing thin."
Moriarty's eyes narrowed.
"You're reaching your limit."
A flicker of fear passed through the Magician's expression.
But he quickly masked it.
"Even if you're right," he said coolly, "so what?
As long as we hide the Snitch, and you can't catch it—this game will never end.
Let's call it even. A draw."
"A draw?" Moriarty laughed coldly.
"In my games, there's no such thing."
"Do you want to die here?" the Magician snapped.
"You think you're winning? That you can end it?
The Snitch has been hidden. You'll never find it!"
Moriarty shot three questions back like spells:
"You think I can't see through your tricks?"
"You think I can't end the game?"
"You think you've won?"
The Magician stared at him, shaken.
"You know where I hid the Snitch?"
"You hid it," Moriarty said softly, "in the heart of man.
But I blew it from the shadows."
And then—snap.
Moriarty flicked his fingers.
A light breeze drifted across the pitch, brushing past Roman.
Roman gasped.
His right hand clenched instinctively—and felt a small fluttering orb.
"THE SNITCH!" he screamed, raising it high.
"I'VE GOT IT!"
Lockhart erupted:
"SEEKER ROMAN HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH!!!
THE FINAL SCORE—BRITISH TEAM: 410
DONGYING: 240!
THE BRITISH TEAM WINS THE 421ST QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!"
BOOM!
The stadium exploded into cheers.
Banners flew. Mascots danced.
The national anthem played from every corner of Hyprosai Stadium.
In the top box, officials from around the world gathered to congratulate Minister Bagno and Dumbledore.
Lockhart's voice rang out:
"Here they come! Our champions—accompanied by their unicorn mascots!
They're flying to the top box to receive the World Cup trophy!"
Moriarty and the team soared upward. Canadian Minister Helmut greeted them with open arms.
"Quick! Bring me the trophy! This belongs to our heroes—not to the Dongying cheaters!"
No one disagreed.
Two wizards appeared, carrying the shimmering golden trophy.
The entire stadium could see the moment. Magic illuminated the top box like daylight.
Lockhart roared:
"Let's cheer the champions onto the stage!"
One by one, British players walked across the box, shaking hands with international officials.
When Lockhart called,
"Moriarty Slytherin!"
The crowd roared.
Even Minister Bagno, with eyes wide and bright, shook his hand like a fangirl.
"Congratulations—thank you," she whispered.
History was made.
Moriarty, youngest national team player ever.
Chaser and commander.
A miracle.
As the team held the cup aloft, the crowd's applause thundered.
Professors from Hogwarts cast a giant glowing Hogwarts crest above the stadium.
Hagrid waved flags of all four Houses.
Jericho and Marcus led students in firing "M.S." into the sky with their wands.
The team flew victory laps around the field.
Dumbledore, standing in the box, whispered:
"This game will be remembered for years. But… the twist has only begun."
No one understood the second part.
His eyes drifted to the defeated Dongying team—lying scattered across the field.
No one was looking at them.
Referee Pietris had already begun reviewing cheating allegations.
Tsukamura Kogoro glared at Moriarty with murderous intent.
But the Magician? He covered his face.
He could still hear Moriarty's words.
"You hid the Snitch in the darkness of the heart—I blew it into the light."
The Magician shivered.
He had been seen through completely.
Moriarty, meanwhile, laughed and high-fived teammates.
But his mind wandered.
Why did Tsukamura and the Magician join Dongying?
What was their true goal?
He didn't know yet—but he would find out.
"Ding! Quest complete: World Cup Champion. Reward: 20,000 points."
He smirked.
That reward seemed cheap now.
Because in this championship, Moriarty had earned far more than just points.
Old Flint and Old Foley's betting tables had flipped.
Dark Elemental Magic had been exposed.
And that night—the World Cup Victory Ball was scheduled.
By tradition, the champion's lead player would open the dance—with a partner.
With 100,000 fans in Hyprosai, nearly 20,000 girls wanted that honor.
But Moriarty had made his choice already.
He held the trophy before Fleur Delacour, who stood with tears in her eyes.
"Sign it, Fleur," he said gently. "Your name—front and center."
"Me?" she whispered. "But I didn't even play…"
"You gave us what no one else did: information."
He conjured a silver quill.
Roman and the others gathered behind him.
"Please sign, Miss Delacour!"
"Sign it—it was unanimous!"
Moved beyond words, Fleur wept again.
Moriarty gently wiped her tears.
He leaned in and whispered something.
She flushed, then smiled.
She signed her name in elegant English script.
She handed him the quill.
"Next to mine," she said with pride.
He smiled, and beside Fleur Delacour, he wrote Moriarty Slytherin.
Then he took her hand.
"That signature makes you my dance partner. You're joining me tonight. Dinner too—unless you'd rather be punished with poker. Strip poker."
Fleur blinked.
In that moment, she realized—Moriarty's charm wasn't just magical.
It was legendary.
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