The morning of the tournament arrived with clear skies.
That alone made Ron suspicious.
"No rain, no fog, no ominous thunder," he said while staring out of the Gryffindor common room window. "That feels deliberate."
Harry tightened the strap around his wrist where the willow branch was hidden beneath his sleeve.
"You want ominous thunder?"
"No. I want normal bad weather. Normal bad weather is honest."
Hermione closed her notebook with a snap.
"Stop talking like the weather is part of the conspiracy."
Ron looked at her.
Hermione paused.
Then sighed.
"Fine. It might be part of the conspiracy."
Ron pointed at her. "See? Growth."
The three of them left the common room with the rest of Gryffindor.
The corridors were busier than usual, but the crowd moved along the routes marked by Filch's talismans. Yellow paper seals burned faintly along the walls. Most students thought they were decorations for the tournament.
Filch heard one second-year say that and nearly exploded.
"Decoration? Decoration? This is a proper protective talisman drawn by the first Celestial Master of Hogwarts!"
The second-year fled.
Mrs. Norris looked satisfied.
Theodore stood near the entrance hall, watching the flow of students.
To ordinary eyes, Hogwarts looked festive.
Banners hung from the rafters. Students laughed and argued. Guests walked through the castle under professor escort. The smell of breakfast, wet grass, and broom polish filled the air.
To Theodore, the entire castle had become a board.
Every corridor route was a line.
Every stand seat was a point.
Every professor was a hidden nail.
And beneath the Quidditch pitch, the core of the Ten Absolute Arrays was pretending to sleep.
Pretending badly.
It pulsed whenever a large group approached the grounds.
Hungry thing.
Still, Theodore did not suppress it.
Not yet.
At the Great Hall doors, Dumbledore caught his eye.
The Headmaster gave the smallest nod.
Everything was ready.
Or as ready as Hogwarts could be when one counted Voldemort, ancient arrays, an imprisoned lake creature, and Ron's vegetables as part of the same security plan.
The first match was not between Hogwarts houses.
That was the excuse everyone had used to make the event feel special. Guest players, student demonstrations, mixed teams, friendly competition. Officially, it was a celebration of magical sport and inter-school cooperation.
Unofficially, the Quidditch pitch was a trap with seats.
The stands filled quickly.
Hermione went to the commentator's box as planned, carrying her notebook and pretending she had been asked to help record match details. Lee Jordan looked delighted.
"Excellent! Hermione, you can handle statistics."
"I am not here to—"
"Too late. You're official."
Hermione looked at the parchment he shoved into her hands, then at the pitch.
Fine.
If being "official" gave her a better view, she could tolerate Lee Jordan for one afternoon.
Harry took his place near the Gryffindor team entrance.
He kept one hand near the willow branch.
The branch was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ron sat with Fred and George.
This was immediately a mistake.
"Little brother," Fred said, placing an arm around his shoulders, "welcome to the nerve center."
"The what?"
"Our respectable information booth," George said.
Ron looked at the box of betting slips under the seat.
"That is not respectable."
Fred nodded. "Correct. That's why it's hidden."
Ron opened his mouth, then noticed one of his Chomping Cabbages peeking at the slips.
"No. Don't eat evidence unless I tell you."
George stared at him with sudden admiration.
"Ronniekins, you've changed."
At the highest row of the stands, Professor McGonagall watched the crowd like a general before battle.
Professor Flitwick stood near the commentator's box.
Professor Sprout was by the lower entrance, one hand resting on a potted plant that kept turning toward the field.
Madam Hooch stood in the center of the pitch, broom under one arm, whistle ready.
Dumbledore sat in the Headmaster's seat, calm and bright-eyed.
Fawkes was nowhere visible.
That did not mean he was absent.
Theodore stood beneath the stands, where ordinary spectators could not see him. A willow root curled around his ankle like a living bracelet, connecting him to the Wuzhuang foundation below.
The pitch core stirred.
The teams walked out.
Cheers erupted.
The core drank the sound.
Theodore felt it swallow the noise and turn it into heat.
"Greedy," he said.
The willow root tightened once in agreement.
Madam Hooch raised the whistle.
For one brief moment, the whole stadium held its breath.
Then the whistle blew.
The players kicked off.
Brooms shot upward.
The crowd roared.
And beneath the pitch, the first red line opened.
Hermione saw the grass twitch.
Her pendant warmed.
"Lee," she said quickly, "announce that the east stand should remain seated."
Lee blinked. "Why?"
"Because Professor McGonagall will hear if you don't."
Lee immediately leaned toward the megaphone.
"East stand, remain seated! Yes, you lot too! This is a safety instruction, not a suggestion!"
A group of students who had started rising sat back down.
A red line under the east stand dimmed.
Hermione exhaled.
So that was it.
The array was using crowd movement.
On the field, one of the guest Chasers swerved suddenly.
Not because he wanted to.
A gust of wind appeared where no wind should exist, nudging his broom toward a collision.
Harry's willow branch jerked.
He moved before thinking.
The branch flashed from under his sleeve.
A thin green cut split the invisible gust.
The Chaser wobbled, cursed, then regained balance.
The crowd cheered, thinking it was a difficult dodge.
Harry's palm stung.
"First one," he muttered.
Near the twins, Ron's sleeve exploded.
Three Chomping Cabbages shot out and bit into the wooden railing in front of them.
Ron stared.
"What are you doing?"
The railing cracked.
Something black and thin had been crawling inside the wood, trying to loosen the bolts.
The cabbages chewed harder.
Fred leaned forward.
"Is the railing cursed?"
George looked delighted. "Can we advertise cabbage-based anti-curse security?"
"No!" Ron shouted.
Below the stands, Theodore smiled faintly.
The first movement had begun.
Wind Roar.
Golden Light.
Heaven's Extinction.
All small pieces, testing the prepared routes.
The array was cautious.
That meant the intelligence behind it still feared him.
Good.
Theodore raised two fingers.
Beneath the field, Willow Immortal's roots shifted according to the model in the Room of Requirement.
They did not attack the core.
They guided it.
A red line tried to crawl toward the north stand.
A green root blocked the direct path but left another gap open.
The red line turned toward the gap.
Exactly as planned.
On the surface, nothing changed.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle sharply as two players nearly collided.
The crowd shouted.
Lee Jordan shouted louder.
Hermione's pen moved quickly across the parchment, not recording scores now, but positions.
East stand safe.
North railing disturbed.
Wind near third goalpost.
Reflection building near commentator's brass megaphone.
She looked at the megaphone.
Its polished mouth glinted gold.
Hermione immediately slapped her notebook over it.
Lee Jordan froze.
"Hermione, I need that."
"No, you don't."
"I'm the commentator."
"You can shout."
Lee considered this.
Then grinned.
"I can shout."
He stood and bellowed without the megaphone.
Professor McGonagall, from across the stands, looked as if she wanted to deduct points from the universe.
The golden light gathering in the megaphone faded.
Hermione allowed herself one small smile.
In the Headmaster's office, Quirrell sat bound to the chair.
His eyes were open.
His body was sweating.
The bindings around him glowed in layers: Dumbledore's silver magic, Flitwick's charms, McGonagall's stone bands, Filch's talisman, Theodore's leaf mark.
Voldemort was awake too.
He could feel the tournament begin.
He could feel the pitch core drinking power.
He could also feel something wrong.
The array was moving.
But not fully according to his will.
Theodore was guiding it.
Twisting the flow.
Letting it attack only where defenses waited.
Voldemort's anger built.
"No."
Quirrell whimpered.
The leaf talisman on his chest burned.
Outside, Fawkes cried once.
Voldemort fell silent again, fury trapped behind layers of fire and seals.
On the pitch, the match grew faster.
The players thought they were having the most intense friendly game of their lives.
They had no idea that every near miss had been redirected, every loose bolt bitten, every bad gust cut apart, every reflection covered, and every dangerous route quietly sealed.
Theodore's expression remained calm.
The pitch core grew more frustrated.
It had been promised prey.
Instead, it kept biting armor.
Finally, the core lost patience.
The grass at the center of the pitch sank.
A red eye opened beneath the soil.
Theodore looked down.
"There you are."
The eye stared back.
Then the entire Quidditch pitch pulsed.
Every broom in the air dropped half a foot at the same time.
The crowd screamed.
Madam Hooch's whistle shrieked.
Harry's branch pulled so hard it nearly tore free from his hand.
Hermione's pendant burned bright orange.
Ron's cabbages all opened their mouths at once.
Under the stands, Theodore stepped forward.
Wutu Divine Light flowed into the ground.
Yimu Divine Light followed through the roots.
Above him, cheers turned to panic.
Below him, the Ten Absolute Arrays finally stopped pretending.
The first true attack had begun.
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