The next afternoon brought an even more electrifying atmosphere to the stadium, with an eager audience packed in to see an action-packed game between the two teams that had been last year's champions and runners-up.
The moment the referee's whistle blew, it was clear this was going to be anything but a slow or boring match.
Both teams wasted no time. They charged into the game with aggressive, fast-paced play from the very first minute.
The Quaffle moved so fast it was almost a blur as it passed from hand to hand with incredible precision, while the Chasers from both teams darted through the air like arrows and weaved between Bludgers and teammates alike.
It didn't take long before cheers erupted from the stands—Hogwarts had scored the first goal with a clean shot through the left hoop, just past Durmstrang's Keeper.
But Durmstrang answered almost instantly. Their Chasers pushed back hard, cutting through Hogwarts' defense with raw power and tight coordination. Within minutes, the score was tied, and the tension in the stadium thickened.
High above the pitch, Marcus circled like a hawk, eyes sharp as he scanned the skies for even the faintest glint of gold. Unlike in last year's first game, his focus had matured—he didn't let his guard down for even a second.
His opponent, a boy who looked no older or stronger than Marcus, tracked his every move while keeping one eye on the sky. It didn't matter who spotted the Snitch first—what counted was who had the better skill when it came to catching it.
Down below, the game grew fiercer by the minute. Beaters from both sides sent Bludgers flying with brutal precision, forcing players to duck, roll, and swerve through the air.
This wasn't just a friendly match. It was a battle to settle old scores, and neither team was holding back.
The score kept changing faster than anyone had expected, but it wasn't one-sided. Every goal from one team was met with an answer from the other—an eye for an eye. Before the first hour had even passed, the score was already tied at ninety to ninety.
For the audience, it couldn't have been more entertaining. More goals meant more action, and more action meant more excitement. From the very first whistle until now, the match had been pure thrill.
Steven watched his boys with a satisfied smile. Their hard work during training was showing, plain as day. Last year, against this very same team, they had no choice but to stay on the defensive, and they had only won by a stroke of luck.
This year, though, things were different. Hogwarts wasn't just keeping up—they were matching Durmstrang blow for blow, their offense just as sharp. Watching the pace of the game, Steven had a feeling it might all be over before anyone even caught the Snitch.
His eyes drifted to the boy who had pulled off the miracle last year, wondering whether he should let him play. Harry noticed his coach looking his way and instantly lit up. He wanted to be out there, soaring through the sky. But Steven only glanced at him for a second before turning his attention back to the game.
Marcus was doing exactly what was expected of him, and he didn't look the least bit tired. If anything, he thought may be switching out the Beaters instead.
"Fred!" Steven called out to one of the redheads after finally making up his mind.
The twins didn't even bother to troll Steven by pretending to be each other like they usually did. And Steven did point to the right one—after all, they might look identical, but their jersey numbers didn't.
"Get ready. I'm sending you up in five minutes."
"Understood, coach," Fred said with a firm nod.
He then glanced at his brother first, who gave him a wide grin. There was no jealousy in George's face—only genuine pride. He looked truly glad that his brother was going in first.
Five minutes later, Fred shot up into the sky, and ten minutes after that, George followed. Steven, seeing his Beaters starting to tire from the relentless swings, made the call to substitute both of them out.
The game was still as fast-paced as ever, but with the twins now on the field, he hoped to gain the upper hand offensively before Durmstrang had a chance to do the same.
And the plan worked just as expected. With fresh blood, Hogwarts was able to apply more pressure on their opponents and soon scored two goals, taking the lead. Durmstrang's coach was no amateur either. He quickly recognized the problem and followed suit, substituting his own Beaters to match Hogwarts' advantage.
Another hour flew by, and the energy in the stadium was as fierce as ever. Roars, shouts, and screams reverberated through the air, the crowd on fire with excitement. Even the commentator—a professional in the field, brought in by Maxime for this very occasion—couldn't contain his awe, praising the match as one of the most thrilling and entertaining games he'd ever witnessed, rivaling some of the best professional matches he'd seen.
Goals came in rapid succession, one after another, and within just two hours, the score had skyrocketed to a staggering 140 to 120—26 goals scored by both teams in that short span.
It was incredibly rare to see such a flurry of consecutive goals, even in professional games, but it was happening right before their eyes. It was hard to imagine how the intensity could possibly rise any further.
Hogwarts now needed just one more goal to win, but Durmstrang had switched tactics, tightening their defense into an almost impenetrable wall. The Hogwarts Chasers darted back and forth, trying to find an opening, but the relentless pressure from Durmstrang made it nearly impossible to break through. Every time they came close to a shot, a Durmstrang player was there, blocking or intercepting.
One more goal. That's all Hogwarts needed to seal the deal, but Durmstrang wasn't about to roll over. They fought back with fierce determination, knowing that their chance of victory could slip away in an instant. It was a battle of wills now—one more strike, and the game would be decided.
The atmosphere heated up even more when the Durmstrang Seeker made a sharp move from way up in the sky. He finally spotted it—the Snitch. Just a flicker of gold near the lower-level stands, barely visible at first. He quickly glanced at his opponent's position, then, without hesitation, shot forward.
Marcus, still some distance away was eyeing for the same target when it all happened. He hadn't locked onto the Snitch yet, but in a situation like this, it didn't matter. He would find it eventually by following his opponent's lead.
For now, though, stopping the other seeker from catching it was the only thing that mattered. So without a second thought, he, too, bolted in the same direction diving after him, determined not to give the opponent an easy win.
The crowd was on the edge of their seats when the Durmstrang Seeker suddenly plunged downward. The game had come down to that moment once again—the frantic, heart-pounding chase. Every spectator in the stands held their breath as the Seeker's movements grew more precise with every inch he closed in on his prize.
The commentator started announcing in frantic bursts. "And there they go! It's neck and neck, folks! It's a race to see who gets to it first!"
The crowd roared in approval, and the air cracked with excitement.
The Durmstrang Seeker's face was set in a determined grimace as he locked onto the golden Snitch barely glimmering just a short distance ahead of him.
And Marcus was catching up fast, directly on his tail. Every eye in the stadium was glued to the two Seekers as they dived, one chasing the other, faster and faster.
But as the two flew closer and closer to the Snitch, something unexpected happened. Hogwarts' Chasers somehow had taken advantage of the sudden attention on the Seekers. They, in a burst of raw speed and determination, stormed Durmstrang's defense, seizing that brief distraction caused by the chase.
Then, a lightning-quick pass from Cedric threaded through two defenders and landed cleanly in Roger's grip. Without wasting a heartbeat, he twisted mid-air and launched the Quaffle with everything he had—like a missile ripping through the sky, it tore straight toward the Durmstrang hoop.
"Could it be?!" the commentator shouted as his voice trembled with excitement. "No one's paying attention to the goalposts! No one's—"
"HOGWARTS SCORES! They've done it! They've scored! They've scored 150 points!"
A mighty roar erupted from the crowd when the ball flew clean through the hoop, a perfect shot.
ROARRR!
The entire stadium erupted in jubilant chaos, the stands shaking with the sound of thousands of fans screaming in unison. The Hogwarts players, grinning ear to ear, embraced each other mid-air, their victory sealed with that one final goal. The scoreboard flickered briefly, confirming the score at 150-120 in Hogwarts' favor. The game was over.
At that exact moment, the Durmstrang Seeker's fingers brushed the Snitch—so close he could almost close his fist around it. But it was too late. The final goal had already been scored. It didn't matter whether he caught it or not. The game was over.
The commentator, breathless, could barely keep up. "Unbelievable! The game—the game—was won in the blink of an eye! One last goal from the Chasers, and Hogwarts takes the victory! What an ending!"
The Durmstrang Seeker couldn't help but curse loudly, but no one was paying him any attention now. Even Marcus, who had been right on his tail, had already turned back and didn't spare him a single glance.
Hogwarts' side of the stadium erupted into a wall of noise as the players descended near the stands. Back at the bench, Steven clapped his hands, a proud smile on his face as he gave a brief nod to his boys. They had done it. The Seeker's chase had been thrilling, but it was the teamwork, the strategy that had secured the win.
The crowd continued to cheer, chanting "Hogwarts! Hogwarts!" as the players landed. Even the Durmstrang team had to give them a nod of respect. They had fought well, but this time, Hogwarts had been just a little bit faster, a little bit sharper.
And as the dust settled, everyone knew this match would go down in history. A game of pure skill and intensity. And Hogwarts, once again, had proven they were a force to be reckoned with.
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