The Snitch flared again.
Southern quadrant.
Mid-altitude.
Daring them.
Cassius did not move immediately.
Instead, he reached inward.
Not to his magic.
To the broom.
The Aeriusbolt Supreme hummed beneath him, layers of woven enchantment thrumming like a restrained storm.
Safety dampeners.
Acceleration governors.
Stability compensators designed to keep the broom within "approved competitive tolerances."
Tolerances built around Firebolts.
Around predictability.
Around fairness.
Cassius's fingers tightened along the grip.
"Enough," he breathed.
A pulse of magic flowed from him into the core runic lattice hidden beneath the polished wood.
The first limiter dissolved silently.
Then the second.
The broom's hum deepened.
The air around him seemed to recoil.
Below, Bulgaria scored.
110–100.
Britain answered.
110–110.
The match was teetering on inevitability.
The Snitch darted toward the upper stands.
Krum moved first.
Cassius followed.
No—
Cassius vanished.
The Aeriusbolt did not accelerate.
It detonated forward.
Wind didn't scream—it shattered.
The world narrowed to a golden flicker and a crimson blur to his right.
Krum reacted instantly, pushing his Firebolt to its limit, body folding tight, jaw set in ferocious concentration.
For the first time, Cassius began pulling ahead.
Not by meters.
By inches.
The Snitch corkscrewed violently, adaptive charms flaring as it sensed impossible pursuit velocity.
It ricocheted off the northern ward and shot downward at a punishing angle.
Cassius followed without hesitation.
The stadium tilted.
The pitch rushed upward in a green blur.
Krum was still there—still terrifyingly close—but he was straining now, Firebolt vibrating beneath the stress.
The Snitch flattened.
Cassius didn't reach.
He cut underneath it.
Predicting not its movement—but its panic.
The reinforced enchantments forced it to dodge toward open space.
Which he had already taken.
Krum lunged from behind.
Cassius inverted mid-dive, twisting around the Snitch's projected path with impossible precision.
The Aeriusbolt screamed in exultation as its true speed finally manifested, breaking through the artificial ceiling the Ministry inspectors had assumed was its limit.
For a heartbeat, time fractured.
Seventy thousand voices.
Bludgers mid-flight.
Quaffle suspended between chasers.
Krum's outstretched hand.
And the Snitch.
Cassius extended his arm—not where it was—
But where it would flee.
His fingers closed around warm, vibrating gold.
The whistle detonated.
Silence.
Then—
Pandemonium.
The stadium erupted into a physical force.
Sound itself became a wall.
Fireworks exploded in red, white, and blue overhead as the scoreboard flared brilliantly:
Britain 260 – Bulgaria 110.
Krum pulled up sharply beside him, breathing hard, eyes locked on Cassius's closed fist.
No resentment.
No denial.
Just recognition.
Cassius met his gaze.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Krum inclined his head.
A warrior's acknowledgment.
Cassius returned it.
The Firebolt slowed.
The Aeriusbolt hovered effortlessly, its hum settling back into a restrained purr as Cassius quietly reinstated the limiters.
Too late for secrecy now.
The world had seen.
He rose higher, lifting the Snitch into the air.
The British section of the stadium lost all restraint.
Flags erupted.
Illusionary lions roared again.
The Union Jack unfurled in shimmering light across the sky.
He began his victory lap.
Not hurried.
Not wild.
Controlled.
Measured.
Circling the stadium at a breakneck speed as if it was his intent to collect a high five from every single fan.
Then he climbed.
Higher.
Toward the very top tier of the stadium.
He knew exactly where they sat.
He had seen them earlier.
Harry.
Lily.
The Potters framed in red-and-gold scarves among the crowd.
Cassius angled the Aeriusbolt deliberately toward them, slowing just enough to hover within clear sight.
The Snitch glittered between his fingers.
He did not smile broadly.
He did not wave.
He simply held their gaze for a heartbeat too long.
A silent statement.
This is what greatness truly looks like.
Then flipped backyard and proceeded to dive straight down like a meteor before dismounting at speed onto the pitch.
Below, his teammates were already celebrating wildly—chasers embracing midair, beaters whooping as they hurled Bludgers harmlessly skyward in triumph.
The British Keeper was crying openly.
Even the captain, stoic for most of the tournament, was shouting himself hoarse.
The roar did not diminish.
Teammates crashed into him seconds later, nearly knocking him off balance as they surrounded him in a chaotic embrace.
"You mad genius!"
"You absolute menace!"
"You did it!"
Cassius allowed the contact.
Allowed the noise.
Allowed the appearance of exhilaration.
But was the only one among them who was restrained.
In the back of his mind he was already settled and preparing for the attack that was set to come.
The death eaters had failed in there first statement against the powers of light with the death of the carrows, pettigrew, and the loss of Bellatrix Lestrange.
Now the only death eater who escaped from Azkaban who yet survived was sure to send out the signal informing the entire world his master was not dead and gone, but instead alive and well back in Britain for the first time since his defeat around thirteen years ago.
Even as the thousands of fans started to filter their way out of the stadium and started to kickoff the celebration that followed, with the bulgarian fans drinking away their sorrows.
But as the celebrations were truly starting in earnest, Cassius had changed from his quidditch gear into his standard robes, both of his wands ready and waiting in their holsters.
By his sides offering controlled celebratory gestures were the girls, each likewise dressed for function rather than form.
Cassius had warned of the risk behind these competition, a world stage for the forces of darkness to make a statement while giving the ministry a facefull of mud.
Though the security for the even was considerably better than that which Cassius knew occured origionally but even still.
Death eaters were present.
Lucius Malfoy for certain was present having been spotted enjoying himself in the Ministers box alongside his son Draco.
And just as he predicted right at the height of the celebrations explosions started to occur across the camping grounds.
With the fireballs being launched panic began to take place, with thousands of wizards running and screaming running this way and that.