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The second dive was worse.
Not because Cassius misjudged the Snitch.
Not because Krum outpaced him.
But because, for the first time in the tournament—
The Snitch did not behave correctly.
It streaked downward toward the eastern goal hoops, a perfect capture vector.
Cassius calculated wind resistance, Krum's angle of approach, the likely ricochet path if it banked left.
He committed.
So did Krum.
They closed from opposite sides, converging on the same glint of gold.
At three meters—
The Snitch stopped.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Midair.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Then it jerked straight upward in a violent ninety-degree ascent that would have snapped the wrist of any Seeker foolish enough to anticipate a natural curve.
Cassius aborted instantly, rolling sideways to bleed speed.
Krum did not overcommit either.
Both pulled up, hovering again in wary silence.
That had not been random.
Cassius narrowed his eyes, senses stretching outward once more.
The stadium was a roaring ocean of magic—seventy thousand signatures layered over each other—but the Snitch's synthetic core cut differently through the noise.
Sharper.
Denser.
More volatile.
He felt it now.
Reinforced enchantments.
The Snitch was not standard issue.
A World Cup Final demanded spectacle—and difficulty something that had not really been seen as of yet, and perhaps was picked up on that Cassius himself had been intentionally extending the matches for the fans, and for the girls who'd bet for him.
"They modified it," he muttered under his breath.
Below, Bulgaria scored again.
50–40.
Britain retaliated almost immediately.
50–50.
The match was balanced on a knife's edge giving the feeling that the match was truly intense giving no ground however for true sports fans this was like watching both runners up facing off after the true competitors had been disqualified.
Cassius rose higher than before, easily passing by the upper deck of the stadium stands, cassius even for a moment caught glimpse of the Potters and Weasleys watching the match as he zipped passed.
Of course they were traitourous citizens cheering for Bulgaria over Britain.
The Snitch zipped along the perimeter, tracing erratic spirals as though testing its limits.
Krum climbed with him.
No wasted movements, or loss of momentum.
Just relentless pursuit.
Cassius made the first gamble.
He cut diagonally across Krum's projected path, not chasing the Snitch directly but intercepting its likely rebound angle if it banked off the western stands.
Krum adjusted.
He didn't follow Cassius.
He anticipated the anticipation.
The Snitch darted downward between them.
Both reversed direction violently.
The strain rippled through Cassius's shoulders as the Aeriusbolt answered with blistering acceleration.
Wind screamed in his ears.
The Snitch juked left—
Then right—
Then executed a corkscrew so tight it blurred into a golden coil.
Cassius reached—
His fingers brushed air.
Krum's hand closed a hair's breadth away.
Neither caught it.
They overshot, forced to pull out before slamming into the pitch.
The crowd roared approval at the near capture.
Cassius did not look at the stands.
He was analyzing.
This Snitch was designed to punish prediction.
Standard Snitches responded to environmental variables—airflow, proximity to obstacles, pursuit pressure. This one reacted faster than physics allowed.
Layered acceleration charms.
Adaptive pathing.
Possibly even a minor sentience enhancement.
The Ministry wanted a legend forged tonight.
Below, Britain's Keeper blocked a brutal Bulgarian shot.
The Quaffle rebounded, leading to a swift counterattack.
60–50 Britain.
Equalizer came within moments thereafter.
60–60.
Cassius exhaled slowly.
This was no longer about patience.
This was about endurance.
The Snitch flared near midfield once more.
Krum moved first this time.
A sharp, committed dive that forced Cassius to react rather than initiate.
Fine.
Cassius mirrored at a slightly higher altitude, giving himself a vertical adjustment margin.
Krum's line was perfect.
Too perfect.
The Snitch veered late.
Cassius had left himself space.
Krum had not.
The Bulgarian had to tilt sharply to compensate, losing half a second of momentum.
Cassius surged past him—
For one heartbeat, victory was certain.
Then the Snitch ricocheted off incoming bludger, rebounding backward into Krum's trajectory like a deliberate betrayal.
Cassius twisted midair to avoid collision.
Krum reached—
Missed by inches.
They separated again, breaths sharper now.
The scoreboard read 80–70 Bulgaria.
Minutes were passing.
Real minutes as both sides endlessly desperately struggled in a never ending chase.
Below, the teams were beginning to feel it, if they carried on as they were now the game would truly come down to the better seeker if no one made a risky gamble.
Formations loosened slightly.
Bludgers struck harder.
Chasers collided mid-pass.
The stakes were bleeding into execution.
Cassius forced himself higher again, pushing into thinner air where the roar dulled slightly.
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.
Not to rest.
To listen.
Through the chaos of magical signatures, through the thunder of chants and collision of spells maintaining the wards, he isolated the Snitch's hum.
He opened his eyes just as it shot toward the Bulgarian goal hoops.
Krum anticipated.
Cassius anticipated the anticipation.
They collided shoulder to shoulder, neither yielding altitude.
The Snitch plunged straight down.
Both dove.
The pitch rushed up with lethal speed.
Fifty meters.
Thirty.
Twenty.
The Snitch flattened its descent at the last second, skimming inches above the grass.
Cassius flipped inverted, reaching downward from above—
Krum rolled beneath, reaching upward—
The Snitch slipped between their outstretched hands like mocking laughter.
They soared past the goalposts, barely avoiding impact.
Gasps rippled across the stadium.
Neither had been that close before.
They reset again.
The scoreboard ticked to 90–80 Britain.
Then 100–90 Bulgaria.
The back-and-forth was relentless.
In order to end this match Cassius would really need to release the limiters on his broom, the snitch could only have been 'programmed' based off of what had been seen or known of their brooms.
Krum had a Firebolt which was well known and documented, meanwhile he had a custom made Aeriusbolt Supreme, a one of a kind broom.
One which even when inspected by the national gaming commission, could not properly be verified as the many enchantments protecting the broom prevented the release of its makeup, and due to the registration magic only Cassius could ride this broom.
Therefore its true speeds were limited by what he was willing to show them.
But now, on the world stage to defeat his opponent and secure the victory for Britain, he would need to take off the limiters, and possibly even get his broom banned from future competition, but the risk was worth the reward.
And so resolving himself Cassius hunkered down hugging his broom tighter, prepared for the ride of his life as the speed achieved would rocket beyond anything he'd experienced in competition thus far.