The red-black gate opened in the middle of the Quidditch pitch.
Only a crack.
That was enough.
The wind that came through it carried the smell of old blood, burned stone, and something colder than death. The students in the stands did not understand what they were sensing, but their bodies reacted first.
Some stopped cheering.
Some clutched the railing.
A few younger students began crying without knowing why.
Professor McGonagall stood at once.
"Students remain seated!"
Her voice cut across the stands like a whip.
Flitwick's wand flashed.
The barrier charms around the stands brightened.
Sprout's plants rose higher, leaves spreading like shields.
Filch slapped three talismans onto the west railing in a row.
"Anyone who runs the wrong way will answer to me!"
Strangely, that helped.
Fear needed space to spread.
Filch gave it rules instead.
At the center of the pitch, Theodore looked at the gate with interest.
Five nails now held the formation.
The first pinned the pitch core.
The second fixed the corrupted scoreboard.
The third sealed the Red Water node beneath the dungeons.
The fourth locked the Earth Fierce node in the west service passage, where it had tried to turn an evacuation route into a trap.
The fifth pinned the connection between the Ten Absolute Arrays and the hidden will behind them.
Those five nails did not destroy the formation.
They made it stay.
That was why the gate appeared.
The thing behind the array had finally stopped hiding its hand.
Hermione gripped the railing near the commentator's box.
"Theodore!"
He did not look back.
But a green leaf talisman flew from beneath the stand and landed in front of her.
Words appeared on it.
Keep the crowd steady.
Hermione took a breath.
"Lee."
Lee Jordan's face had gone pale, but he still leaned forward.
"What do I say?"
"Anything that makes them listen."
Lee looked at the gate.
Then at the frightened students.
Then he swallowed.
"Right."
He cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Everyone stay seated! This is still safer than leaving your seats! I repeat, anyone trying to stampede will be personally sorted into Filch's detention schedule!"
A strange wave passed through the stands.
Terror cracked.
Nervous laughter slipped in.
Filch shouted from below, "That is not a joke!"
The laughter grew a little stronger.
Good.
The gate disliked that.
Its edges trembled.
Harry stood near the player entrance, willow branch in hand. His palm was sweaty. The branch kept pulling toward the gate, but Theodore had not told him to move.
So he stayed.
That was harder than charging forward.
Ron stood with Fred and George, one hand gripping the cabbage box.
His Chomping Cabbages were silent.
All of them.
That frightened him more than their usual biting.
"Mate," Fred said quietly, no longer joking, "are those things supposed to be that still?"
"No," Ron said.
George looked toward the pitch. "Wonderful."
At the center, the gate opened wider.
A hand reached through.
Not a human hand.
It looked like smoke wrapped around bone, covered in incomplete array markings. It had too many joints and no skin. The moment it appeared, the grass beneath it turned gray.
The pitch core pulsed desperately.
It was no longer acting like a hunter.
It was acting like a servant opening the door for its master.
Theodore's eyes cooled.
"So that is your shape here."
The hand pressed against the edge of the gate, trying to widen it.
Beneath Hogwarts, the five nails lit at once.
The Wuzhuang foundation tightened.
The gate stopped opening.
The hand froze.
Then it pushed harder.
The first nail shook.
Students felt the pitch tremble.
Theodore raised his wounded hand. The cut from before had already closed, but a faint red-gold mark remained across his palm.
He pressed that palm toward the gate.
Heaven and Earth in My Palm unfolded.
The space around the gate bent inward.
The smoky hand tried to pull back.
Too late.
Theodore caught two of its fingers.
The stands went silent.
The thing behind the gate did not scream.
It pulled.
Theodore's sleeve snapped in the wind.
The ground under his feet cracked.
For the first time, everyone could see he was actually resisting something.
Hermione's face changed.
Harry took one step forward.
Theodore's voice reached him before the second step.
"Stay."
Harry stopped.
His fingers tightened around the willow branch until his knuckles turned white.
The smoky hand twisted, and a sound rang through the pitch.
Not a roar.
A command.
Several students' eyes immediately lost focus.
Falling Soul.
Hermione reacted first.
"Talismans!"
Harry grabbed his leaf talisman.
Ron did the same.
Across the prepared positions, the students Theodore had quietly marked earlier felt warmth rise from the leaf charms hidden in their pockets, sleeves, or collars.
Most did not know what they were.
They only knew the sudden dizziness vanished.
Dumbledore's voice followed from the stands, magnified by magic.
"Everyone, clap with me."
He clapped once.
Slow.
Steady.
McGonagall followed.
Flitwick followed.
Sprout followed.
Then the students.
One clap.
Then another.
The rhythm spread through the stadium.
The Falling Soul sound shattered under the clumsy human noise.
The smoky hand trembled.
Theodore smiled.
"Your voice is worse than Lee's commentary."
Lee, still pale, shouted automatically, "I heard that!"
The students laughed again.
The gate weakened.
The hand tried to retreat.
Theodore did not let it.
Wutu Divine Light locked the ground.
Yimu Divine Light flowed through Willow Immortal's roots and climbed around the gate like green chains.
The smoky fingers cracked.
Behind the gate, something finally became angry.
A red-black eye opened in the darkness beyond.
Much larger than the pitch core's eye.
Much older.
The moment it looked at Theodore, every nail beneath Hogwarts shook.
At the Black Lake, chains groaned.
The ancient being opened its golden eyes.
"Do not look too long," it warned.
Theodore answered without turning.
"I know."
"You do not."
"Then I will learn quickly."
The ancient being fell silent.
Possibly from annoyance.
Possibly from approval.
The red-black eye beyond the gate focused on Theodore.
The pressure rose.
The Wuzhuang foundation creaked.
The five nails held, but the fifth nail—the connection nail—began to burn.
Theodore narrowed his eyes.
So that was the price.
The gate could not fully descend while the connection was pinned, but the thing behind it could attack the nail itself.
If the fifth nail broke, the hidden will would retreat with its knowledge intact.
That would be a waste.
Theodore raised his other hand.
"Willow Immortal."
On the grounds outside the stadium, Willow Immortal moved.
Its branches lifted toward the sky.
Leaves burned with faint phoenix-like light.
Then every root connected to the pitch pulsed.
The Wuzhuang foundation opened wider.
Not enough to reveal itself to ordinary students.
Enough for the professors to feel it.
Dumbledore's eyes brightened.
Flitwick nearly forgot to clap.
Sprout whispered, "Beautiful."
Snape, standing in a shadowed entrance far from the crowd, said nothing.
But his face was no longer mocking.
Theodore pulled.
The smoky hand cracked at the wrist.
The gate convulsed.
The red-black eye glared at him from beyond the gap.
Theodore looked back calmly.
"You came through my door."
His fingers closed.
"Leave something behind."
The wrist snapped.
The smoky hand tore free from the gate and collapsed into Theodore's palm as a twisting black-red mark.
The gate slammed shut.
The pressure vanished.
The pitch core screamed beneath the grass.
A heavy thud rolled through Hogwarts as the sixth nail formed.
This one pinned the severed hand.
Not a node.
Not a path.
A piece of the invader itself.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then the grass at the center of the pitch turned green again.
The sky seemed brighter.
The brooms stopped trembling.
The stands remained intact.
The students stared at Theodore.
Theodore looked at the black-red mark in his palm.
It struggled once.
Then Willow Immortal's roots rose and swallowed it.
Far beneath Hogwarts, the Wuzhuang foundation shook violently, then stabilized.
The sixth nail sank deep.
The hidden will had lost more than a connection.
It had lost flesh.
Ron slowly lowered his cabbage box.
"Did Theodore just steal its hand?"
Harry let out a breath.
"I think so."
Hermione stared at the pitch.
Her heart was still pounding, but her eyes were bright.
Lee Jordan leaned over the commentator's box, voice trembling with excitement.
"Ladies and gentlemen… I have no idea how to commentate that."
Fred stood up.
"Then don't!"
George cupped his hands.
"LET THE MATCH CONTINUE!"
Madam Hooch stared at them.
Then at Theodore.
Then at the players, who were still sitting on the grass in various stages of fear and confusion.
Her jaw tightened.
She raised her backup whistle.
"Players! Five-minute recovery break! After that, we continue!"
The stadium erupted.
Not fully in joy.
Not fully in relief.
Something in between.
Theodore looked toward the pitch core below.
It had gone very still.
This time, not from patience.
From pain.
In the Headmaster's office, Voldemort felt the severed hand vanish into the Wuzhuang foundation.
His voice came out as a hiss.
"That was not mine."
Dumbledore looked at him.
"No."
Voldemort's face behind the turban twisted.
For the first time, anger mixed with something colder.
Realization.
The thing using his formation had just been wounded.
And Theodore Snow had done it by turning Voldemort's battlefield into a trap.
On the pitch, Theodore flexed his hand.
The red-gold mark on his palm faded.
Six nails.
The array was still not sealed.
But now the enemy could no longer pretend this was only a game.
Theodore looked at the sky and smiled faintly.
"Next."
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