The Quidditch World Cup finals stadium was filled with the tremendous cheers of a hundred thousand wizards.
Moonlight spilled across the grass, casting a dazzling green glow.
The Omnioculars Sirius had given him finally showed their true value at this moment.
No longer Ron's toy for repeatedly watching old wizards pick their noses, but a tactical analysis tool.
When the slow-motion analysis function activated, the field situation instantly became clear.
Harry stared through the eyepiece as purple explanatory text suddenly flashed.
[Hawk's Head Attack Formation]
"Three Chasers advance in an arrow formation, using triangular positioning to compress defensive space, forcing opposing players to retreat to the goal post area. Attack threat level ★★★★☆"
Before he finished reading the tactical analysis, the three Irish Chasers had already moved as the text described.
Green-shirted figures traced precise arcs through the air, like three green arrows loosed from a bow, diving toward the Bulgarian goal.
The Firebolts' high speed created airstreams that even fluttered the flags at the field's edge.
Before long, the lens displayed another line of text.
[Porskoff Ploy]
"A Chaser carries the Quaffle while feigning an upward flight, creating the illusion of a one-on-one scoring opportunity.
After enemy Chasers are drawn away, the ball is passed to a teammate below.
The core of this tactic is timing control. First created by Russian Chaser Petrova Porskoff in 1976."
Harry watched with fascination; his gaze locked on the Irish Chaser.
He clutched the bright red Quaffle as his broomstick shot upward.
Two Bulgarian Chasers took the bait, immediately accelerating in pursuit.
But just as his wrist lifted to pass, a Bulgarian Beater on the other side seemed to sense something.
He suddenly abandoned his original plan, gripped his bat tightly with both hands, the muscles in his arms taut, and with a "bang" struck a Bludger toward him!
However, the Irish Chaser wasn't to be trifled with either.
Since he was using this tactic, he was naturally prepared for being targeted.
So, when the Bludger flew toward him, he agilely dodged to the side, simultaneously dropping the Quaffle downward, the motion as fluid as if rehearsed a thousand times.
In this way, they still successfully executed the Porskoff Ploy.
His teammate below caught it steadily, traced a beautiful arc through the air, held the Quaffle for less than three seconds, then passed it precisely back to another Chaser who had been positioned behind in the earlier Hawk's Head formation.
That Chaser received the ball without hesitation and shot toward the Bulgarian goal like an arrow from a bow.
The Bulgarian Keeper, wearing a golden headband, stood with legs shoulder-width apart, hands in defensive position, ready and waiting.
Who knew the Irish Chaser wasn't in a hurry—he calmly made a motion to shoot left.
The Keeper reacted extremely quickly, his body lunging left, arms extended to intercept.
But the moment he dove, he discovered in shock that the Quaffle was still with the opposing Chaser.
Oh no, a feint!
But it was too late.
In that instant, the Irish Chaser's wrist gave a light push, and the Quaffle "whooshed" precisely into the right goal!
"Troy scores!"
Commentator Ludo Bagman finally had his moment, his voice full of triumphant excitement, even slightly cracking.
"10-0, Ireland leads! This is the first goal of the match!"
Cheers instantly erupted throughout the stadium. Irish fans waved green scarves and flags, green waves surging through the stands.
Even Bulgarian supporters couldn't help applauding this spectacular goal.
Good plays transcend loyalties—such tactical coordination deserved everyone's acclaim.
"What?"
Hearing the commentary, Harry anxiously searched everywhere through the Omnioculars, shouting loudly.
"What 10-0? Levski clearly had the Quaffle!"
"Dear Harry, that was fifteen seconds ago."
From just Harry's words, Sherlock knew he must be addicted to the Omnioculars' slow-motion analysis function.
He shook his head with a smile and patted Harry's shoulder.
"Mate, I suggest you temporarily stop using the slow-motion function."
"Huh?"
"That's right, Harry!"
Hearing Sherlock's words, Hermione loudly echoed.
"Look at the field! If you don't watch at normal speed, you'll miss the exciting scenes."
Hearing Sherlock and Hermione's words, Harry quickly lifted his gaze from the Omnioculars.
He just caught sight of Irish Chaser Troy flying around the field in celebration, arms spread wide, moonlight shining on his green jersey, extraordinarily brilliant.
The referee in the center of the field didn't blow his whistle to stop it—after all, this was the first goal of the entire match. Whether spectators or referee, everyone was particularly tolerant, no one was objecting to this celebration.
The Irish mascots also seized this opportunity to begin their performance.
The leprechauns who had been obediently waiting on the sideline all took to the air. Thousands upon thousands of golden light points sparkled in the moonlight, quickly gathering into a giant shamrock.
The leaf patterns were clearly visible, even the tiny grooves along the leaf edges could be seen.
The Bulgarian players were indifferent to this, paying no attention.
But on the other side of the field, the Veela mascots looked at the Irish leprechauns with dark expressions.
Even with anger, their faces were still so beautiful one couldn't look away.
Everyone in the box was also very excited.
From this goal onward, the match had truly begun.
Sirius and Mr. Weasley slapped their thighs in approval.
The Weasley children's voices rose one after another.
"Well done!"
"Brilliant!"
"Spectacular, truly spectacular!"
Almost everyone was loudly cheering for this beautiful goal.
Hermione excitedly hugged Sherlock's arm with one hand while vigorously waving the other, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
Only Harry was angry—angry at himself.
He had missed the first goal of the match!
How could he make such a rookie mistake?
"Don't worry, Harry."
Seeing this, Ginny quietly moved closer to him and said softly.
"The Omnioculars will record this match. After the game ends, you can still use the replay and analysis functions to watch it again."
Hearing Ginny's comforting words, Harry felt slightly reassured.
He then obediently adjusted the speed knob back to normal speed and continued watching the match.
Among those seated in the box, the ones with the best Quidditch talent were naturally Harry, Charlie, and Sherlock.
Harry and Charlie needn't be mentioned—both were ace players for Gryffindor and had both lifted the Quidditch Cup.
Although Sherlock hadn't joined the house team, his ability and insight were unquestionable—even now, former captain Wood hadn't given up on getting him to join the Gryffindor team.
So before long, the three of them spotted the key patterns.
Bulgaria's Chasers moved with precision and decisiveness. The strength and angle of their passes were first-rate, whether high-altitude passes or low-position coordination—there were no obvious weaknesses.
Clearly, they hadn't reached the World Cup finals by luck.
But everything fears comparison.
Although Bulgaria was strong, unfortunately, there's always someone stronger.
If Bulgaria's Chasers were world-class, then Ireland's were super world-class.
To put it another way—they had reached the top of the hundred-foot pole and climbed one step further.
Ireland's Chasers each moved smoothly and skillfully, as if the broomsticks were extensions of their own bodies.
What was even more remarkable was their seamless coordination with each other.
Just from their positioning and subtle movements, they could predict each other's passing routes, as if they could see through each other's minds.
Under their combined efforts, Ireland's entire offensive system was simply...
Flawless!
The rose-shaped badge on Harry's chest kept shrilly calling out their names.
"Troy—Mullet—Moran!"
Troy, Mullet, Moran.
Shortly after the match began, Harry had firmly memorized their names—even though today was the first time he'd learned of them.
Just ten minutes later, Ireland scored two more goals through exquisite coordination, changing the score to 30-0.
This brought even more overwhelming cheers and applause from the green-clad Irish supporters.
The Irish leprechauns also spared no effort in beginning their performance.
Under these circumstances, the trailing Bulgarian team naturally wouldn't back down.
Besides the three Chasers, the two Beaters also gave their all.
Finally, after they exerted every ounce of strength, they successfully struck a Bludger toward an Irish Chaser.
Twice in succession, Ireland's Chasers were forced to scatter, having to abandon optimal offensive formations like the Hawk's Head.
At last, a Bulgarian Chaser finally seized the opportunity and broke through Ireland's defense.
He nimbly dodged two defending players' interceptions, struggled past the Keeper, and smashed the Quaffle hard into the goal frame!
After scoring, he even roared to the heavens.
Bulgarian supporters, suppressed for so long, finally got this opportunity and immediately cheered frantically.
As Bulgaria's mascots, the Veela naturally weren't to be outdone and immediately began celebrating.
"Oh no, quickly plug your ears with your fingers!"
Seeing the Veela start dancing, Mr. Weasley hurriedly shouted a warning.
Sirius, as another elder, just smiled without speaking.
He seemed to quite enjoy watching these young wizards in the box make fools of themselves because of the Veela—including his own godson Harry.
However, Harry obediently took Mr. Weasley's advice.
He not only plugged his ears with his fingers but also closed his eyes.
Clearly, although Sherlock had already said he should be mentally prepared and use this opportunity to train his resistance.
Harry was also very clear that his ability to resist beautiful temptation wasn't strong enough yet.
Since he lacked confidence, in order not to let his attention stray from the match, he simply chose not to look or listen.
Seeing this, Sirius quietly sighed, a hint of regret flashing in his eyes—it seemed there was no hope of watching the spectacle.
Feeling someone pat his shoulder, Harry lowered his hands from his ears.
Ginny's soft reminder came from beside him. "It's okay now, Harry."
Harry opened his eyes and found the Veela had stopped dancing and returned to their designated positions.
He couldn't help but breathe a long sigh of relief.
"Thank you, Ginny."
After thanking Ginny, Harry refocused his attention on the match.
Commentator Ludo Bagman gave the impression of reciting a menu, calling out the names of players from both sides one after another.
"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova!"
Strangely, Harry and Ron had always considered their memories poor.
But at this moment, for some reason, both not only memorized these tongue-twisting names but could even match the names to the players on the field one by one.
Until Bagman suddenly called out in his booming voice.
"Oh my God!"
In that moment, the hundred thousand wizards throughout the stadium instantly fell silent, even the sound of the wind became clear.
Everyone's gaze locked onto the two Seekers.
Bulgaria's Krum and Ireland's Lynch.
They were rapidly descending through a cluster of Chasers, their broomsticks moving so fast they almost left afterimages, as if about to crash headfirst into the hard turf.
Clearly, both must have spotted the Golden Snitch.
Harry followed their descent through the Omnioculars, squinting as he searched for the Golden Snitch among the chaotic players.
"Oh no, they're going to crash into the ground!"
Hermione couldn't help crying out.
Her body trembled slightly with tension, and her hands unconsciously gripped Sherlock's arm tightly.
"Hermione, I can understand your nervousness, but doing this is still somewhat inappropriate."
Sherlock suddenly said.
Hermione froze first, then released her grip as if burned, her cheeks instantly flushing deep red, even her ears turning pink.
Only then did she realize that when she'd hugged Sherlock's arm with just one hand earlier, it had been fine, but once both arms embraced his arm, the gesture became improper.
After all, she was no longer the little girl she'd been three years ago.
About to turn fifteen next month, her secondary sexual characteristics had begun to develop, creating subtle curves visible beneath her thin summer dress.
Just now, when her arms had tightened, they naturally pressed against Sherlock's arm.
And now in midsummer, the fabric barrier was particularly thin.
She hadn't noticed before, but now recalling it, Hermione found that subtle contact remarkably vivid.
She could even vaguely sense the muscle definition of Sherlock's arm through the fabric.
Needless to say, Sherlock had only given the reminder after clearly feeling this delicate contact.
Very consistent with his straightforward style.
Fortunately, everyone's attention was on the Quidditch field, so no one noticed them.
But even so, Hermione still felt her cheeks burning hot enough to fry an egg. She quickly lowered her head, staring at her shoe tips, though her vision was somewhat unfocused.
"I—I didn't mean to..."
Her voice was barely a whisper. She didn't dare look at Sherlock's eyes, could only stare at the ground, repeatedly defending herself in her mind.
God could be her witness, this time really wasn't intentional!
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