They saw Moriarty and Roman soaring to a height of 100 feet, still accelerating. Their brooms climbed higher and higher, the two boys huddled closely together, shoulders pressing against one another as they competed fiercely.
"Moriarty? You're strong. Are you really... only twelve years old?" Roman asked during another close collision.
"I strongly suspect you've used some kind of dark magic—maybe you're secretly an old witch or wizard in disguise."
"Save the gossip for after the match," Moriarty shot back, tilting his broom's nose upward and leaning forward, surging toward the heavens.
Unwilling to be outdone, Roman mimicked the move, trying to rattle Moriarty with his words.
"You're fast, but push too hard and the broom won't hold up. Don't you feel any remorse? It's your partner, your comrade-in-arms, your—"
Roman abruptly stopped speaking when he realized his words had no effect. Moriarty was entirely unfazed, face set, soaring upward at incredible speed.
200 feet.
300 feet.
Higher still.
Ludo Bagman's voice quivered slightly. "Moriarty and Roman have climbed to no less than 350 feet, yet there's no sign of the Golden Snitch! How long will this contest last?"
The cheering had stopped. Fans on both sides were filled with anxious worry. A fall from that height could be fatal.
Dumbledore stood from his seat, Fawkes hovering solemnly above him.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Ludo suddenly shouted. "They're diving! So fast that their jerseys—national team and Hogwarts—slice through the air like blades! Judging by the movement, they're not guiding the brooms—they've let go completely and are falling straight down!"
"Oh—!" The audience gasped. Women and girls instinctively covered their mouths with their hands.
Moriarty and Roman plummeted swiftly to about 150 feet, their movements now clearly visible.
The spectators could see that neither of the boys had their hands on their broomsticks.
Ludo wasn't exaggerating. The two were indeed letting themselves fall, holding onto their brooms only with their legs.
Their postures mirrored each other exactly, and they descended at the same terrifying speed.
In the air, Roman pursed his lips, furrowed his brows, and glanced sideways at Moriarty, who was falling at an equal pace beside him. Seeing Moriarty's calm expression, Roman cursed inwardly.
Does this guy feel no fear?
Roman gritted his teeth, tensing every muscle in his legs to keep the broom steady. Then, relaxing the rest of his body, he shifted his center of gravity downward. His speed increased slightly, and gradually, he pulled half a head ahead of Moriarty.
Bang bang bang, bang bang!
Roman could hear his heart pounding in his chest, blood rushing to his head.
But he didn't care—he was all in.
From the kickoff, Roman hadn't gone after the Snitch immediately. Instead, he chose to compete with Moriarty directly, hoping to crush his momentum.
Roman was determined to win. And Moriarty? He had to match him blow for blow. He knew that the way to handle Roman was to push harder, stay on top—and so he made his move.
"Roman, watch this!" Moriarty called out. "My self-created world-class maneuver—Shining Tornado!"
Roman looked up slightly and saw Moriarty's legs crossed tightly on the broomstick.
His legs wound around the wooden shaft like two serpents, holding firm.
Moriarty stretched his arms wide. The rushing wind howled past his ears, but he felt nothing but exhilaration—embracing the wind like an old friend.
Wave after wave of wind-elemental magic poured out of his body, merging with the natural currents around him, forming glimmering points of light that sparkled in the sun.
Moriarty felt his magic almost physically connect with the wind. Controlling the broom, he began spinning in place. With his legs tightly entwined around it, the broom acted like a propeller, initiating a rapid rotation.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…
Moriarty spun faster and faster, the magic shielding him, gathering and pulling the surrounding winds to form a spiraling column—a tornado.
The audience erupted in stunned gasps. All eyes were glued to the figure twisting through the sky like a living storm.
Even the players on both sides instinctively froze, watching in disbelief.
Roman was dumbstruck. Was this even a Quidditch maneuver? This was pure magic!
Referee Pietris stood motionless, equally overwhelmed. In all his years, he had never seen such a technique.
If it was a broom technique, it was beyond belief.
If it was magic—then why couldn't he sense any magical fluctuations? Only the endless howling of wind filled the air.
His twenty-one years of experience had failed him. In this moment, knowledge became a burden.
No one could track Moriarty's descent.
At the heart of the tornado, Moriarty halted his spin. Now carried downward by the force of the wind, he surged past Roman in a blur.
Roman let out a wild yell. His body wobbled, and he nearly slipped from his broom. He quickly grabbed the handle with both hands, pressed his body flat against it, then veered off course in a clumsy retreat.
"Hey—!" Moriarty's Everlasting Shining fan group booed Roman loudly, then burst into cheers. "Moriarty! Moriarty! Ever Shining! Ever Shining!"
Ludo finally snapped out of his daze, shouting hoarsely, "I've just witnessed the birth of a brand-new technique! The referee made no call—it's legal! I've witnessed a miracle! More! I want more!"
"We want more new moves!" the fans echoed, their chants growing louder.
Moriarty waved to the stands, triggering another wave of screams. He stopped descending and hovered mid-air. His contest with Roman was over—it was time to rejoin the main match.
"Jericho!" Moriarty bellowed across the pitch. "Pass the ball!"
Jericho's reply came from a distance: "I can't!"
He was being relentlessly marked—by a magician.
Moriarty noticed the magician stalking Jericho from all directions, appearing behind him one moment and ahead the next, like an unshakable shadow.
Tonks and Leon faced similar predicaments. They were pinned by Bludgers and the fearsome Exploding Head, unable to break free. Fortunately, Tonks managed to snatch the Quaffle.
While Moriarty and Roman had been locked in their duel, the other six players had battled for control of the Quaffle. Charlie's well-placed Bludger had made a big difference, giving Tonks the opportunity to seize the ball.
But the national team's Bludger tactics were strange and difficult to anticipate, constantly threatening the Dream Team's three Chasers.
Every time Tonks tried to pass, a Bludger would zoom in, targeting the Quaffle itself.
"The technique of using Bludgers in tandem with the Quaffle is a legacy of the national team since 1736!" Ludo explained with pride. "Playing against the national team means experiencing the heritage of centuries! Every hit embodies the glory of past dynasties!"
The audience listened in awe—until they saw Moriarty and Roman move again.
"It's the Golden Snitch!"
Ludo's keen eyes, honed from years of commentary, caught sight of a tiny golden glimmer at the far right end of the pitch.
"Moriarty and Roman are diving after the Snitch—but look! Moriarty is ahead!
He's moving significantly faster than Roman. Was Roman affected by their earlier contest? Or... is the national team launching a new strategy?"
As Ludo spoke, Moriarty, flying at breakneck speed, glanced to his rear left. There, he spotted Roman waving a fist and signaling toward the Exploding Head.
The Exploding Head—Tonks' opponent.
Damn it, Tonks!
Their target was clear: the Quaffle in Tonks' hands.