"It was Moriarty who taught me!" Jericho shouted proudly to the stands.
Roman muttered under his breath, "Your heart is big enough, and your hearing is good too…"
A trace of surprise flickered across Ludo's eyes, and his evaluation of both Moriarty and Jericho rose to another level.
"I said he created a new playstyle. Do you believe it, Roman?"
"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it, but the facts are right there!" Roman scratched the top of his head and exclaimed, "He's swinging like mad, darting left, right, up, down—thank Merlin the broom didn't toss him off! How is he doing this?"
"I think," Ludo said slowly, "it's Mr. Moriarty's design paired with that child's natural gift. Don't you think the name Blanche sounds familiar?"
"Maxi Blanche III." Roman's eyes narrowed, a glint of understanding flashing across them.
Ludo nodded. "The American team already released its roster. Maxi is still captain, and next year they're coming strong…"
"Jericho's on the move! You won't want to miss this, gentlemen. Let's turn our eyes to the pitch."
Dumbledore's timely interjection pulled them back into the present. They immediately focused on the field, where Wood's head was snapping side to side.
He couldn't keep up with Jericho's erratic patterns. His eyes were beginning to sting, and a tear rolled down his cheek.
"There's the chance!"
Jericho seized the perfect moment and sprinted straight for the center hoop. Wood lunged in desperation.
With a grin, Jericho jerked his broom to a sudden stop.
He tossed the Quaffle overhead, pivoted, and sent it flying through the far hoop behind Wood.
"Goal! Slytherin scores—10 to 0 against Gryffindor!"
Tonks was the first to shout: "Jericho faked a charge and switched directions at the last second, completely wrong-footing Wood!"
A small snake in the Slytherin stand waved a green-and-silver flag, hollering, "Sprint Boy! Sprint Boy!"
"Jericho earned the nickname 'The Speedster' last year for his agility," Tonks added amid the cheers, "but this goal shows us another side—his cunning. Poor Wood couldn't keep up!"
Wood began flying in tight circles, disheartened. He had to regain focus before the next play.
Charlie soared up beside him, offering quiet encouragement before rallying the team.
"We rushed in too hard," Charlie admitted. "Our whole focus was offense. They picked us off one by one. We need to switch it up."
"But… do we even have a backup plan?" Mandy asked in a small voice. Charlie froze—if Gryffindor didn't charge, what were they?
Charlie's eyes drifted to Slytherin's side of the pitch. The players were clustered around Moriarty, who was clearly giving instructions.
Charlie had a sinking realization. They'd been studied. They'd been predicted.
They wanted the win so badly that Gryffindor had become predictable.
"The Quaffle's back in play, but the Gryffindors look stunned!" Tonks called from the commentator's booth.
Charlie blinked and saw Leon with the ball—but Slytherin wasn't rushing to attack. They were moving leisurely, like a lazy broom ride.
"Form up! Defensive formation!" Charlie shouted, then darted toward Leon.
"Forget the Snitch?" Moriarty faked a dive. Charlie didn't bite.
Moriarty pulled up and called to Leon: "Pass to Jericho. Everyone else—spread out!"
Leon obeyed, and Jericho broke forward alone, Quaffle in hand.
Tonks cried out, "Is it Jericho's birthday? Because the Slytherin team is handing him all the spotlight!"
"The star of the Slytherin team has become the Speedster. But what of Moriarty—the one who led them to victory against the Weasley twins last year? What's he planning?"
Tonks' voice dropped to a hushed tone. "He's always been hard to read. Even this—letting Jericho concede a goal—could be calculated."
Students and teachers rose to their feet, searching for the Quaffle.
Mandy had stolen it, and Charlie rushed over, yelling, "Slow down!"
But it was too late. Slytherin's defense was a trap—a wide net closing in.
Charlie grew frantic. Every time he tried to intercept, Moriarty was there to block him.
"I never realized you had stamina on top of speed!" Charlie panted, while Moriarty flew effortlessly, not even sweating.
"Charlie," Moriarty said coolly, "Gryffindor's traits are so obvious. It's easy to counter them. You've probably realized it, but you can't change it. It's in every Gryffindor's nature."
Moriarty motioned toward the game. Mandy weaved left and right, but Leon and the Slytherin Chasers were surrounding her like fishermen circling their prey.
Eventually, Mandy lost control of the Quaffle. Slytherin countered with long passes, finishing again with Jericho's precise shot.
"Second goal! And five minutes faster than the first!" Tonks announced. "Gryffindor needs to adjust. I know it's hard to change a team's core identity, but Slytherin has adapted brilliantly.
Three years ago, they were infamous for dirty play. That started changing when William Romot became captain.
Last year, Moriarty joined, bringing discipline. They cleaned up their act.
And this year, they've evolved again—strategically. They've dissected Gryffindor's strengths and flipped them into weaknesses.
Gryffindor's fierce desire to win has become its Achilles' heel."
The crowd of Gryffindors fell into stunned silence. They never imagined the match turning this grim.
"As a commentator, I shouldn't be biased," Tonks continued, "but Charlie—change your tactics. Fast. Or else this will be a massacre.
Let's hope Gryffindor doesn't suffer its worst defeat in a thousand years."
Tonks sat back. She knew Gryffindor was outmatched. Her thoughts drifted to Slytherin's next match. What strategy would Moriarty use against Hufflepuff?
The silence in the stands mirrored the gloom on the pitch.
The problem wasn't Gryffindor's skill—this team had mastered professional-grade techniques.
But Moriarty had crushed them tactically from start to finish.
Would Gryffindor stop attacking?
Of course not. Lions never retreat. They'd charge even if it meant dying mid-leap.
Slytherin simply waited—marking whoever held the Quaffle, stealing it cleanly, and feeding it to Jericho.
Jericho, however, was exhausted. He had to face Gryffindor's Beaters, Keeper, and defenders alone. Every shot he made was hard-earned.
But each time he scored, all the fatigue melted away. Soon, the score was 80–0.
That number spelled doom—catching the Snitch wouldn't save Gryffindor now.
Professor McGonagall left early. Many Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs followed, intent on studying the match before facing Slytherin.
Moriarty ended the match mercifully by catching the Snitch before Jericho could net a ninth goal. He kept the lead under 300 points.
Surprisingly, both sides respected each other deeply.
The professors praised the teams—each embodied their House spirit.
Gryffindor charged with reckless courage, refusing to surrender.
Slytherin fought with precision and cunning, executing a masterful plan.
In the post-match quiet, Ludo and Roman discussed the upcoming Slytherin–Hufflepuff game, scheduled for the second Tuesday of November.
Moriarty personally invited them.
This time, Charlie would take Tonks' place as commentator.
"It's my first time doing this—so if I slip up, don't hex me too hard, alright?"
He cracked a few jokes, warming the crowd before the match began.
Slytherin's Beaters opened strong. Moriarty had entrusted them with the new tactic—"Key Strike." The whole team's strategy now revolved around them.
Tonks had done her homework, adjusting Hufflepuff's style and building a tough forward line and tight defense.
They battled neck and neck, exchanging goals. The score climbed to 60–40, Slytherin holding a narrow lead.
Tonks herself nearly fell from her broom after a double hit from the Slytherin Beaters!
Of course, Moriarty wasn't about to let her crash. He caught her mid-fall, placing her back on her broom gently.
Their close contact sparked outrage among Moriarty's female fanbase, who glared at Tonks and accused her of monopolizing him.
Moriarty, ever-focused, ordered the Beaters to resume targeting Hufflepuff's Chasers.
He wouldn't let sentiment ruin the match. The game had only just begun.
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