Theodore pinned the first nail into the pitch.
The Ten Absolute Arrays stopped shaking.
The stands stopped creaking.
The brooms stopped trying to throw their riders into the ground.
For about three seconds, Hogwarts enjoyed peace.
Then the students began shouting.
"What was that?"
"Was that part of the tournament?"
"Did Snow just fight the pitch?"
"Can the pitch lose points?"
Lee Jordan recovered fastest.
That was his gift.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he shouted from the commentator's box, no longer using the megaphone because Hermione had hidden both of them, "that was an unscheduled safety demonstration by Theodore Snow!"
Professor McGonagall's head snapped toward him.
Lee immediately added, "Approved by staff! Probably!"
Hermione covered her face with one hand.
Ron, still wrestling his sleeve free from a Chomping Cabbage, muttered, "Honestly, not his worst save."
Harry sat on the grass near the barrier, breathing hard. The guest player he had pulled down was being checked by Madam Hooch. Alive. Bruised. Terrified. But alive.
That was enough.
On the pitch, Theodore stood over the cracked red-black eye beneath the grass.
The first nail had not destroyed it.
That was deliberate.
A destroyed core could scatter. A pinned core had to stay connected. Through that nail, Theodore could now feel the flow beneath the pitch more clearly than before.
Wind Roar was restless.
Golden Light was angry.
Falling Soul had withdrawn.
Heaven's Extinction kept looking for gaps.
And something from the lake was still watching.
Theodore looked toward the distant water.
Beneath the Black Lake, the ancient being's amusement had already faded back into tired silence.
Theodore did not mind.
Old prisoners were rarely cheerful for long.
Madam Hooch walked toward him, face tight.
"Mr. Snow."
"Yes, Madam Hooch?"
"Is the pitch safe?"
Theodore looked down.
The cracked eye blinked once.
He pressed his foot lightly onto the grass.
The eye stopped blinking.
"Safer."
Madam Hooch stared at him.
"That is not the answer I wanted."
"It is the honest one."
Madam Hooch took a deep breath, looked at the stands, then at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore gave her a calm nod.
Madam Hooch closed her eyes for half a second.
When she opened them again, the flying instructor had returned.
"All players! Broom inspection! If your broom twitches, hums, whispers, bleeds, glows, or argues with you, hand it to me immediately!"
A Ravenclaw spectator whispered, "Brooms can argue?"
Ron heard it and said, "At this school, don't give them ideas."
The match did not resume at once.
That would have been impossible.
Professors moved through the stands, calming students, checking charms, and pretending very hard that this was still a controlled event.
Professor Flitwick repaired two cracked barriers and whispered charms so quickly his wand became a blur.
Professor Sprout's "decorative" plants tightened around the lower stands.
Filch marched along the west side, slapping fresh talismans onto any railing that looked suspicious.
One railing creaked.
Filch pointed his peachwood sword at it.
"Don't start."
The railing wisely remained still.
Below the pitch, Willow Immortal's roots coiled around the first nail.
The Wuzhuang foundation absorbed the clash little by little. It was learning faster now. The tournament had become exactly what Theodore wanted: a live battlefield where the enemy kept exposing its own methods.
Of course, the enemy was not stupid.
After the first nail went in, the pitch core no longer attacked openly.
It began to wait.
Theodore felt the change.
He smiled faintly.
Now it was thinking.
Good.
A thinking enemy could be tricked.
In the Headmaster's office, Quirrell lay slumped in the bound chair.
His face was gray.
Theodore's nail had struck the pitch core, but part of the backlash traveled through the connection to Voldemort.
Voldemort had not screamed.
That would have been satisfying, but he had too much pride.
Instead, he had gone silent.
Quirrell knew that silence.
It was the silence of someone adding names to a murder list.
Fawkes watched from his perch.
Dumbledore stood by the window, eyes on the distant pitch.
"You felt that," he said.
Quirrell did not answer.
Voldemort did.
Very softly.
"This is not over."
Dumbledore's expression did not change.
"No. But for the moment, you are not the one moving the pieces."
The turban shifted slightly.
Voldemort hated that sentence almost as much as Theodore calling him Tom.
Back at the stadium, Hermione leaned over the commentator's box rail.
"The crowd is stable," she said to Theodore when he returned to the side of the pitch. "The clapping helped, but if something bigger happens, they'll panic again."
"Then don't let them watch the next one directly."
Hermione frowned. "How?"
Theodore pointed at Lee Jordan.
Hermione looked at Lee.
Lee looked back.
"Why do I feel like I've been volunteered?"
"Because you have," Hermione said.
Lee straightened proudly. "Finally. My talents are recognized."
Ron climbed up from the lower row, brushing cabbage tooth marks off his sleeve.
"If this involves him shouting again, can we call it a weapon?"
Harry joined them, willow branch hidden again under his sleeve.
His hand was still shaking.
Theodore noticed.
"Your arm?"
"Numb," Harry admitted. "But fine."
"You cut too hard."
Harry blinked. "Isn't cutting hard good?"
"For a branch, no. For a sword, sometimes. For sword intent, not always."
Harry listened seriously.
Ron whispered to Hermione, "Only Theodore can turn almost dying into a lesson."
Hermione whispered back, "At least it was a useful lesson."
Theodore looked at Ron.
"Your cabbages reacted well."
Ron brightened.
"They did?"
"They also damaged school property."
Ron's brightness dimmed.
"Mixed results, then."
Before Ron could say more, the pitch pulsed again.
This time the pulse was subtle.
No shaking.
No screams.
Only a faint golden shimmer spreading across the grass.
Hermione's pendant warmed.
Harry's branch twitched.
Theodore's eyes moved.
Golden Light.
But not attacking the students.
The shimmer crawled toward the players' goggles, broom buckles, badge pins, and anything polished enough to catch sunlight.
Madam Hooch had not blown the whistle yet.
The match had not resumed.
The core was trying to prepare the next attack in advance.
Theodore did not move.
Instead, he looked at Hermione.
Hermione understood after one breath.
"Lee."
Lee put a hand to his chest. "Ready."
"Announce that all players must remove reflective equipment for safety inspection."
Lee grinned.
"Attention, players! New safety rule! Remove goggles, shiny badges, polished buckles, suspicious buttons, and anything that looks like it might dramatically betray you!"
The players stared.
Madam Hooch stared too.
Then her eyes narrowed as she noticed the faint shimmer.
"All players, follow the instruction!"
The guest players obeyed quickly.
Hogwarts students were slower until McGonagall stood.
Then they became very fast.
The golden shimmer lost most of its anchors.
It withdrew angrily.
Ron leaned over the rail.
"Did we just beat an ancient murder array by banning shiny buttons?"
Theodore nodded.
Ron looked satisfied. "I like this version of fighting."
The pitch core did not.
The cracked eye beneath the grass narrowed.
The first nail held it in place, but it still had other methods.
Theodore could feel it searching.
Not for students this time.
For rules.
Ah.
So it had noticed the structure of the tournament.
The match itself had rules. Flying paths. Scoring conditions. Boundaries. Fouls. Whistle pauses. Crowd rhythm. Referee authority.
All those things created invisible order.
And order could be twisted.
Theodore looked toward Madam Hooch.
The next attack would target the game rules.
If the whistle, referee calls, scorekeeping, or flight boundaries were corrupted, chaos would return faster than any visible curse.
Theodore almost laughed.
The array was learning from them too.
"Interesting."
Hermione heard the tone and immediately felt nervous.
"What is interesting?"
"The pitch core is becoming smarter."
Ron closed his eyes.
"Why do you always sound pleased when saying awful things?"
"Because awful things are educational."
"That is exactly the problem."
Madam Hooch finally raised her whistle again.
The players mounted their brooms.
The crowd quieted, not fully calm but eager to believe the danger had passed.
Dumbledore's voice, magnified by magic, drifted over the stadium.
"Students and guests, thank you for your patience. The tournament will continue with additional safety procedures. Please remain seated, follow all instructions, and remember that panic has never improved a Quidditch match."
A few students laughed.
The tension eased.
The pitch core hated that.
The whistle blew.
The players rose again.
This time, the match resumed under a sky that looked perfectly clear and a field that was anything but.
For the first few minutes, nothing happened.
The Quaffle moved cleanly.
The Bludgers behaved.
The brooms flew properly.
The crowd slowly regained excitement.
Lee Jordan began commentary again, now without a megaphone and with far too much enthusiasm.
"And the Quaffle goes left—no, right—no, beautifully intercepted! Honestly, I'd say this is safer than usual, but Professor McGonagall is looking at me like she can hear thoughts!"
McGonagall could not hear thoughts.
But she could hear Lee.
That was enough.
Then the whistle in Madam Hooch's mouth turned black.
Theodore's eyes sharpened.
There it was.
Madam Hooch had not noticed yet.
She raised the whistle to call a foul.
If she blew it, the sound would carry Falling Soul and Heaven's Extinction together through the stadium. Not enough to possess everyone, but enough to confuse players in the air and spectators in the stands.
A single breath of confusion.
In a normal match, minor.
Here, disastrous.
Harry's branch pulled.
Hermione's pendant flared.
Ron's cabbages hissed at the same time.
But Theodore moved first.
Heaven and Earth in My Palm folded the space between his fingers and the whistle.
The blackened whistle vanished from Madam Hooch's mouth and appeared in Theodore's hand.
Madam Hooch froze.
Theodore crushed it.
A shriek burst from the broken metal, then died under Wutu Divine Light.
The crowd went silent again.
Madam Hooch stared at her empty fingers.
Then, without missing more than two seconds, she pulled a second whistle from her pocket and blew it.
Hard.
"FOUL! ALSO, NEW RULE! NO ONE TOUCHES MY WHISTLES!"
The stadium exploded into confused cheering.
Ron stared at her.
"Madam Hooch has backup whistles?"
Hermione said, "Of course she does."
Harry looked impressed.
Theodore looked at the black dust in his palm.
The pitch core had tried to corrupt authority.
Not bad.
But it had revealed another line.
He turned his hand.
The black dust fell into Willow Immortal's root below the stands.
The second nail was not ready yet.
Soon.
Under the grass, the cracked eye watched him.
This time, it did not attack immediately.
Theodore smiled.
The match continued.
So did the war.
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