Theodore said, "Next."
The pitch did not answer.
That was already an answer.
Before this, the Ten Absolute Arrays had been arrogant. It tested the stands, the scoreboard, the dungeons, the corridors, and the players. Every move carried the same confidence.
It believed Hogwarts was food.
It believed the tournament was bait.
It believed Theodore Snow was only one person.
Now, six nails sat inside the formation.
The pitch core was pinned.
The scoreboard was pinned.
The Red Water route below the dungeons was pinned.
The Earth Fierce passage was pinned.
The hidden connection was pinned.
And the severed hand from beyond the gate had become the sixth nail.
The formation finally understood pain.
That made it quiet.
Madam Hooch gave the players five minutes to recover.
Most of them used the time to sit on the grass and rethink their life choices.
One guest Beater stared at his broom and whispered, "You're not cursed, are you?"
The broom did not respond.
He looked relieved.
Then worried, because he had expected that relief to feel more convincing.
In the stands, the students slowly started talking again.
The fear had not fully disappeared, but it had changed shape. They had seen something impossible reach through the pitch. They had also seen Theodore tear off its hand.
For young wizards, terror and excitement were separated by a very thin line.
Fred and George crossed that line first.
Fred stood on his seat and shouted, "Official new rule!"
George followed at once. "If a giant hand comes out of the pitch, Theodore keeps it!"
Ron stared at them.
"You two are insane."
Fred looked offended. "We are keeping morale alive."
George nodded. "Very important war work."
Ron looked down at his Chomping Cabbages.
One of them was staring toward the center of the pitch, unusually obedient.
That made Ron uncomfortable.
"Don't start acting mature," he told it. "It's creepy."
The cabbage opened its mouth and bit his sleeve.
Ron relaxed a little.
"Good. Still normal."
Near the commentator's box, Hermione gripped her notebook with trembling fingers.
Not from fear.
Not only fear.
She was angry.
The more the array attacked, the clearer its methods became. It never fought like a person. It pulled fear from children, twisted cheers, poisoned water, corrupted rules, and used every weakness in the school's structure.
It did not care who died.
It only cared what could be used.
Hermione hated that.
Her fire-crab pendant warmed against her chest.
Huhu seemed to feel the same.
Harry stood near the player entrance and looked at Theodore.
He had seen powerful wizards before. Dumbledore. Snape. Professors dueling in class demonstrations.
But Theodore felt different.
Not because he was stronger.
Because when something terrible appeared, Theodore did not push everyone away and win alone. He made the whole school move with him.
Harry looked at the willow branch in his hand.
He suddenly understood a little more.
A sword was not only for cutting enemies.
Sometimes, it was for cutting open a path so others could stand.
On the pitch, Theodore lowered his gaze.
The severed-hand nail had sunk deep into the Wuzhuang foundation. Willow Immortal was digesting it slowly. Not eating. Not exactly. More like turning a hostile bone into part of a wall.
The process was rough.
The hand belonged to the hidden will behind the array. Even torn away, it carried something cold and ancient. Several roots had blackened when they touched it.
Yimu Divine Light repaired them.
Wutu Divine Light held them steady.
Theodore did not rush.
Good materials needed careful handling.
Dumbledore approached from the edge of the pitch.
The Headmaster had left the stands after the gate closed. The crowd barely noticed. Everyone was too busy pretending they had not almost panicked.
He stopped beside Theodore and looked at the grass.
"Is it gone?"
"No."
"I suspected as much."
"It has learned pain, not retreat."
Dumbledore's eyes moved toward the players.
"And the match?"
"Continue it."
Dumbledore sighed softly.
"You do enjoy giving Minerva reasons to be angry with me."
Theodore glanced at him. "She already had enough."
"That is true."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Dumbledore asked in a lower voice, "What came through the gate?"
"A hand."
"I noticed."
"A piece of the will behind the formation."
Dumbledore's expression became more serious.
"Not Tom?"
"No. Voldemort is being used."
The words were plain, but they landed heavily.
Dumbledore looked toward the castle.
Toward the tower where Quirrell was bound.
"Tom has spent his life believing he uses others."
"That makes him easier to use."
Dumbledore's smile faded.
"A cruel lesson."
"A useful one."
Theodore looked toward the stands.
"The next attack will not be random. It has lost too much. It will either try to save the remaining nodes or force the pitch core to explode."
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened.
"Can it?"
"Yes."
"Can you stop it?"
Theodore smiled.
"Probably."
Dumbledore looked at him over his half-moon spectacles.
"Mr. Snow, I have learned to be wary of that word."
"It keeps life interesting."
"Indeed. Far too interesting."
Madam Hooch blew her whistle.
The five-minute break ended.
The players rose again, visibly reluctant.
Theodore left the center of the pitch and returned beneath the stands. The match had to continue, but now the formation was no longer hiding its hostility. Every prepared defense tightened.
Flitwick added another layer of charm to the commentator's box.
Sprout's plants dug their roots through the lower stands.
McGonagall's stone beasts climbed onto the railings and crouched like hunting cats.
Filch pasted talismans so fast even Mrs. Norris had to hurry to keep up.
Lee Jordan cleared his throat.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the match resumes after a short interruption involving… field maintenance."
Hermione looked at him.
"Field maintenance?"
Lee whispered, "I'm doing my best."
The players kicked off again.
This time the crowd clapped in rhythm before cheering. Nobody told them to. They had learned.
The rhythm spread through the stands, rough but steady.
The pitch core stirred under the grass.
The clapping made it harder for Falling Soul to spread.
The laughter earlier had weakened fear.
The covered metal had reduced Golden Light.
The sealed routes limited Earth Fierce and Red Water.
The array had fewer easy tools now.
So it chose a harder one.
The temperature dropped.
A white frost line appeared at the center of the pitch.
Theodore's eyes moved.
Cold Ice.
The frost spread quickly, but not across the grass.
Across the air.
Thin ice formed around the flight path, invisible unless sunlight struck it. A player flew through one patch and his broom slowed sharply. Another nearly hit a wall of frozen air and swerved at the last second.
Madam Hooch shouted, "Lower altitude!"
But the frost had already spread above them like a transparent net.
Harry's branch pulled upward.
He swung, cutting one strip of cold air.
His arm shook from the impact.
Too heavy.
This was not wind.
Hermione saw the frost glint.
"Lee! Tell players to follow Madam Hooch's lower path. No high dives!"
Lee shouted at once.
Ron opened the cabbage box, then stopped.
His cabbages could bite brooms, ropes, railings, cursed brass, and possibly dignity.
They could not bite cold air.
One cabbage tried anyway, leapt upward, snapped at the frost, and fell back into the box looking offended.
Ron patted it.
"Good effort."
The frost net lowered.
The players were being pushed toward the ground.
Toward the center.
Toward the cracked eye.
Theodore understood.
The pitch core was forcing all movement into one layer. Once every player flew low enough, it could combine Cold Ice with Heaven's Extinction and create a mass collision.
Efficient.
Ugly.
He liked the idea.
He disliked the target.
Theodore raised his hand.
Not toward the frost.
Toward Hermione.
The leaf talisman near her notebook burned with words.
Fire path.
Hermione stared for only a second.
Then she understood.
"Huhu."
The fire-crab pendant glowed.
Hermione pointed her wand upward.
"Lumos!"
This time the light did not spread wide.
It gathered into a warm beam and struck the first visible frost line.
The frost hissed.
Not enough.
Hermione gritted her teeth and lifted the pendant with her other hand.
The warmth deepened.
The beam turned orange.
The frost line melted.
A gap opened in the ice net.
Harry saw it.
He moved to the player entrance and shouted at the nearest Chaser.
"Through there!"
The player obeyed, ducking through the warm gap.
The others followed.
Ron saw the pattern and turned to the twins.
"Make people point at the orange light!"
Fred and George did not ask why.
They stood at once.
"New cheering target!"
"Everyone wave toward Hermione's light!"
The students, already accustomed to strange instructions today, actually did it.
Hundreds of eyes and hands turned toward the warm beam.
The pitch core had used attention earlier.
Now Theodore used it back.
The warmth around Hermione's light grew steadier as the crowd focused on it.
The frost net slowed.
Theodore smiled faintly.
The enemy had taught them well.
At the edge of the pitch, Professor Sprout clapped her hands once.
The potted plants near the lower entrance opened red flowers.
Warm pollen drifted upward, not enough to harm anyone, only enough to carry heat into the air.
Flitwick added a charm.
The warm current rose faster.
Madam Hooch immediately saw the safe route.
"All players! Follow the warm line! No tricks, no showing off, or I'll ground you myself!"
The players obeyed.
The Cold Ice net failed to push them into the center.
The pitch core trembled.
It tried to thicken the frost.
Theodore stepped forward.
He had waited for this moment.
Cold Ice had exposed its line.
Heaven and Earth in My Palm folded the frost path, the hidden red line beneath it, and the cold qi gathering over the pitch into a small space before his fingers.
This fragment resisted fiercely.
It was colder than the others.
More stubborn.
Theodore's palm frosted white.
Yimu Divine Light struggled slightly.
Wood disliked extreme cold.
So Theodore changed the order.
Wutu Divine Light sealed the lower structure first.
Then he borrowed the warmth Hermione had gathered through Huhu, the crowd, and Sprout's flowers, guiding a thread of it through the Wuzhuang foundation.
The frost cracked.
The Cold Ice fragment shrank into a pale blue bead.
Theodore pressed it down.
The seventh nail sank into the air route above the pitch.
Not the ground.
The air.
A dull crack echoed overhead.
The transparent frost net shattered into harmless snow.
The stadium gasped.
Then, because Hogwarts students were Hogwarts students, several first-years started trying to catch the falling snowflakes with their mouths.
McGonagall shouted, "Do not eat unknown magical snow!"
Ron, hearing that, immediately checked his cabbages.
One had its mouth open.
"No."
The cabbage looked offended.
The match continued under falling snow and nervous laughter.
Theodore looked toward Hermione.
She lowered her wand, breathing hard.
He nodded once.
Hermione's tired face lit up despite herself.
On the pitch, the seventh nail settled.
The array's movement slowed again.
The core was running out of comfortable choices.
In the Headmaster's office, Voldemort felt the Cold Ice node fall.
He went still.
Too many pieces had been taken.
Too many.
This was no longer a failed ambush.
This was Theodore Snow dismantling the Ten Absolute Arrays in public while letting children think they were watching Quidditch.
For the first time, Voldemort's anger had no immediate outlet.
The thing behind the formation had lost a hand.
The array had lost seven anchors.
Quirrell, half-conscious, whispered something before he could stop himself.
"My Lord… perhaps we should retreat."
The room went cold.
Voldemort's voice came like a blade.
"Never."
Quirrell closed his eyes.
That was the answer he feared.
At the stadium, Theodore felt the pitch core stop fighting.
The sudden stillness made him look down.
There were still three dangerous pieces left.
Flame.
Blood Transformation.
Red Sand.
The core had stopped attacking because it had chosen something final.
Theodore's expression sharpened.
Beneath the pitch, the three remaining nodes began moving at the same time.
Not separately.
Together.
The grass at the center turned dark red.
A dry wind rose.
And somewhere below, something began to burn.
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