Roman stared at Moriarty's outstretched left hand, his face unreadable. Beneath the surface, he clenched his teeth, tension ballooning in both cheeks.
It was as if they were playing a strategic game of wizard chess—and Moriarty's knight had just eliminated his king. Roman could feel the invisible strings; he was being manipulated.
Despite his young age, Roman was no coward. On the pitch, he fought with bravery and resolve, though his talent had its limits. His frustration stemmed not from fear but principle. He locked eyes with Moriarty, thoughts swirling.
Why does he get to join the team just because he says so? Why must he take command the moment he appears?
A twelve-year-old boy, representing the nation—regardless of legality—was a gamble. If the game ended poorly, the world would question the British magical community. The prestige of the United Kingdom's wizarding status might plummet.
And who would take the fall?
Moriarty? Could he bear the weight?
Roman, as captain of the England national team, refused to let that happen. He would win—and decisively so.
Initially, he had planned to keep the match balanced, allowing the Dream Team to put up a decent fight. A respectable end for both sides.
But now? That plan was off the table.
The only path forward was total domination. With real effort and ruthless precision, he would crush Moriarty's ambitions at the roots and sever his path into the professional Quidditch world.
Roman composed himself, forcing calm into his expression. He addressed Moriarty gravely.
"I'm returning 'this opportunity' to you as it is," he said, voice steady. "You think the world is simple. But it keeps spinning like a Quaffle. Strength may force the rules to bend—but only briefly. No one stays strong forever."
These were no empty words. In his years navigating the professional circuit, Roman had seen brilliant talents rise and fall. Stardom came quickly—and faded faster. He had watched prodigies go from unknowns to legends, only to fade into obscurity.
The magical world was a strange and indifferent place.
Roman didn't agree with Moriarty's philosophy. Still, he accepted the handshake and gripped tightly.
"Moriarty Slytherin," he said with determined intensity. "Let this match be your lesson—while you're still young."
Moriarty tightened his grasp, squeezing until Roman's knuckles turned white.
"Then we have a deal, Captain Roman," Moriarty said coldly. "If the Dream Team wins, neither you nor your players will stop me from entering the national team."
Roman's jaw clenched. "Fine. And if we win? You stay at Hogwarts."
"A wizard's word is binding."
Moriarty released his grip, gave a fleeting glance at the nearby Dream Team members, and turned toward the castle. The team followed behind him like shadows.
No one stepped in their path—not after seeing the strength Moriarty had just displayed.
Dumbledore stepped forward kindly. "Please, come in. Would you care to rest first? Hogwarts is prepared to offer any pre-match accommodations you require."
Roman, his expression composed once more, shook his head. "No need, Headmaster. We'll warm up on the pitch."
As they walked away, Roman flicked his wrist discreetly behind his back, rotating his sore left hand.
The kid's got bite.
"I felt like I was being stared down by a basilisk," muttered the explosive-haired teammate. "He's got venom in that brain of his."
Professor Pipepins led the national team toward the Quidditch pitch, with McGonagall and a wave of students trailing behind.
The match was nearing, but before it began, a group of special guests would arrive.
Roughly six minutes later, twelve ornate carriages soared through the sky in perfect formation. One bore a peacock perched proudly on its roof.
Ludo Bagman clicked his tongue. "That peacock's a dead giveaway."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Mrs. Malfoy generously funded today's event. She also convinced the Board of Governors to reward the victors with 50,000 Galleons."
"And she invited the referee too, didn't she?" Ludo asked.
Dumbledore nodded, his smile hinting at approval. "Indeed."
"Tactful woman," Ludo muttered.
The carriages touched down gracefully on the lawn. The school governors emerged, many accompanied by their families.
Mr. Greenglass, speaking on their behalf, exchanged pleasantries with Dumbledore and Ludo before heading into the castle with the others.
By 8:30 a.m., the Quidditch stands were overflowing. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had magically expanded the bleachers to accommodate the crowd.
Hogwarts' extended family had all turned up—Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, and the children of various prominent wizarding families. The younger ones ran wild through the stands, thinking themselves the center of attention.
Even Hagrid, Filch, and Mrs. Norris had their spots—Mrs. Norris curled contentedly on her cushion.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and young witches and wizards—the match is about to begin!"
Ludo's voice echoed from the highest professor's stand. Clutching a golden microphone and amplified by the Sonorus charm, his booming voice silenced the crowd.
"I'll be your commentator today—Ludo Bagman! Let's first take a look at the teams' condition."
He grinned broadly. "Introducing the Dream Team! Look to the left lawn—there they are!"
The Hogwarts side erupted with cheers.
"Their formation is clean and their gear spotless. They're ready to fly!
Captain and Seeker: Moriarty Slytherin, leading the charge.
Chasers Jericho, Tonks, and Leon stand at his side—looks like he's placing his faith in their scoring power.
Beaters Charlie and Marcus—look at the size of those arms! Don't knock poor Captain Roman into St. Mungo's!"
Ludo's joke made students laugh heartily as he shot a panicked glance toward Roman.
"Ahem," he continued, straightening his expression. "Despite being students, the Dream Team radiates confidence. Definitely no amateurs here. The national team should be cautious.
Now, let's check out Roman's side!"
Roman raised his hand in a calm wave, dressed proudly in England's official team robes. Cheers rang out, especially from the boys.
Draco Malfoy and Nott pumped their fists.
"Wait for it! Captain Roman will put Moriarty in his place!"
Mrs. Malfoy gave Draco a gentle tap. Some of the nearby girls had started glaring daggers at him.
"Mr. Moriarty is a captain too," said a fifth-year girl, rising with conviction. "Ladies, we can't let Roman Reigns steal the spotlight. His name must blaze across the skies!"
Almost instantly, chants filled the air.
"MORIARTY WINS!"
"FOREVER SHINE!"
"DREAM TEAM VICTORY!"
Delicate voices echoed like a melody through the stands, a testament to Moriarty's influence.
"Can you hear this uproar?" Red Nose whispered, nudging his teammate.
"I'm not deaf," the explosive-haired boy replied with a laugh. "Just overwhelmed."
Roman frowned but remained silent. This home advantage… it's overwhelming.
In high-stakes matches, even the smallest edge could decide victory.
The chants rang loud until nine o'clock, with many girls hoarse from cheering.
"Don't worry, sisters!" Gemma Farley appeared with a massive bucket. "Throat lozenges for all—just one per person! And yes, they're mint!"
A shrill Beep! cut through the air as Referee Petris blew his silver whistle.
Fifteen brooms shot skyward, scattering as players assumed their positions.
Six Chasers surged toward the Quaffle like comets.
Marcus swung hard, the bat connecting with a resonant bang, launching the Bludger toward Red Nose and Explosive Head!
On the other side, the national team's Beaters targeted Jericho.
"Trying to take him down already?" Leon shouted, spotting the oncoming Bludger. "Guess Maxi really roughed you up, huh?"
He returned fire with his own Bludger—aimed straight at the Magician.
"They're going head-to-head! My Merlin!" Ludo exclaimed, springing up.
"No one's holding back! The Dream Team and the national side are all-in!
Jericho's drawing the bulk of attention—watch out, boy!
And over there—look up! The captains!"
Ludo cupped his hands and squinted skyward. "Moriarty and Roman—both flying hard! They launched the moment the whistle blew and haven't looked back!"
Thousands of heads turned simultaneously as the two Seekers soared higher and higher, dancing on the wind like shadows on the clouds.