If it weren't for you, how could Prefect William cancel the Quidditch trials? You dare not play fair with me! Do you think you can scare me with a powerful spell? In fact, you dare not play with me at all. Quidditch battles!"
Marcus shouted these words at the top of his voice, drawing more and more Slytherin students into the common room, including William.
"I remember saying that if anyone has an issue with Mr. Moriarty and Jericho joining the team, they should come to me!" William's face darkened. "As a seventh-year prefect, I have the right to deduct house points. Marcus Flint! Ten points from Slytherin for your ignorance and insolence!"
He then turned his gaze toward Leon Minchum. "And you, Leon! I know time is short—who doesn't? That's why I skipped the Quidditch trials. But thanks to Marcus Flint, our precious time has now been wasted!"
William's voice was razor-sharp. "You must take responsibility for this. Arrange a trial for both of them before this afternoon. If you fail, you will lead Flint and his supporters into the match against Gryffindor yourself!"
Leon's face twisted into a grim expression. Marcus had always been one of his staunchest supporters—he couldn't just ignore this matter. If he did, his authority would be completely undermined.
He stepped toward Moriarty. "Believe me, I did not instruct Flint and Ralbo to do this to you."
Moriarty studied him. He knew Leon wasn't that foolish or reckless.
"But there's no point in discussing this now," Moriarty said evenly. "Flint has chosen to challenge me in Quidditch. Fine. Let's settle everything with this trial."
"I agree! But I have one more condition," Marcus sneered, flashing his crooked front teeth. "The loser will give everything to the winner! If you lose, you'll hand over everything—your knowledge, your wealth, and your wand! Do you dare, boy?"
"Flint!" Even Leon thought he had gone too far.
Slytherin had an unwritten rule: no matter how students competed, their family legacies were off-limits. Marcus was openly violating that principle, and Leon couldn't support him on this.
"Marcus Flint! Don't even think about it!"
A commanding voice cut through the crowd. For a moment, the younger students thought Professor McGonagall had arrived.
But it was Lilith. She strode in, looking sharp and composed, her expression deadly serious, her eyes exuding raw authority.
"Don't think we don't see through your little scheme," she said coldly. "What's left of the Flint family? Nothing. Only your father, struggling to hold onto scraps. If you lose, what do you have to offer Mr. Moriarty?"
She walked between Moriarty and Marcus, eyes locked onto Marcus like a predator sizing up its prey. "Let me remind you—there are more than 700 documented Quidditch fouls. The Department of Magical Sports never publicized them all, but I happen to know one:
Five hundred years ago, a French player and a renowned Italian player made a private wager. The loser would serve the winner for life. The French player won and forced the Italian to throw a match at the World Cup. Everyone knows what happened next—the fallout changed Quidditch history. Such wagers are now considered illegal.
But! Why don't we bring back this bet, just this once? That would be fair, wouldn't it?"
Moriarty's eyes gleamed with intrigue. He had been considering how to bring the Flint family under his control. Lilith had just provided the perfect opportunity. But there was something mischievous in her gaze—was she planning something else?
Marcus was fuming, but Lilith's words had backed him into a corner. He clenched his jaw. "Fine! If I lose, I will swear allegiance to you! But if you lose, you'll strip naked before the whole school and run into Knockturn Alley on your own!"
Without waiting for a response, he stormed out.
Leon, ignoring Marcus's tantrum, announced to everyone that the trials would take place that afternoon and then left to get Professor Slughorn's approval.
The Trial Begins
That afternoon, the entire Slytherin Quidditch team assembled. They brought their own brooms, protective gear, and, of course, the Quidditch balls.
Marcus donned his uniform and padding, making him look even bulkier. He held the Nimbus 1700 that Leon had lent him.
Moriarty, too, borrowed a Nimbus 1700, courtesy of William. Dressed for battle, he and the players made their way to the Quidditch pitch.
The stadium was an expansive oval. At its center was a small two-foot-diameter circle where the balls would be released. At each end, three goalposts of varying heights stood as the scoring zones.
The stands were packed. Word had spread, and every student without an afternoon class had come to watch.
Leon outlined the trial's rules:
"This trial is for the Chaser position, so the Golden Snitch will not be released. The match will last one hour. Whoever scores the most goals in that time will be declared the winner."
Moriarty noticed Marcus smirking at him. Of course. Marcus had planned this with Leon. He knew he couldn't beat Moriarty as a Seeker, so he had chosen to compete as a Chaser instead.
Loud boos erupted from the stands, particularly from the Gryffindors.
William shot Leon a sharp look, but Leon ignored him, mounting his broom and taking off as if nothing had happened.
Marcus did the same, laughing as he soared into the sky. He turned back and taunted Moriarty, "Come on, boy! Let me show you what it takes to be a real Chaser!"
"Before you become a Chaser, you should first learn how to be a competent wizard," Moriarty shot back as he lifted off effortlessly.
The whistle blew, signaling the start of the match.
A black iron Bludger and a red Quaffle were released from the center circle. Marcus lunged forward, seizing the Quaffle first. He shot toward the goal and hurled the ball hard.
He scored! Marcus laughed at Moriarty triumphantly.
But soon enough, the goalkeeper threw the ball back into play.
Moriarty hung low on his broom, gripping the handle tightly with both hands and feet. Using this technique, he spun the broom like a drill, maximizing his speed.
Like a streaking silver bullet, he darted toward the Quaffle, snatching it before Marcus could react. Within seconds, the ball sailed into the goal.
Moriarty scored!
The stands erupted.
Lilith turned to those around her and grinned. "Did you see that? He moves like a shooting star!"
Jericho, meanwhile, studied Moriarty's maneuver. He had modified the Sloth Grip Roll, adapting it for offensive play.
Marcus paled as the goalkeeper tossed the ball back into play.
"Take him down with a Bludger!" Marcus barked at a Beater.
"Mind your tone," the Beater replied lazily, not even looking at him.
Marcus fumed. Meanwhile, Moriarty scored a second goal.
Another Beater—one of Leon's supporters—flew up to Marcus and whispered something. Marcus grinned wickedly.
Moriarty saw the exchange and smirked. "Has anyone ever told you your teeth look like a Whomping Willow is growing in your mouth?"
"You'll regret this!" Marcus growled.
The next Quaffle was released, and Moriarty soared forward. But then he felt a Bludger streaking toward his back.
Marcus, too, sped toward the goal, weaving erratically, preparing to intercept Moriarty.
Jericho pounded the railing. "They must've bewitched the Bludger to lock onto Mr. Moriarty!"
Marcus sneered. "Give up, boy! Either you fall, or the Bludger crushes you!"
Moriarty simply smiled, balancing on his broom like a skateboarder.
Gasps and cheers filled the stadium.
Marcus suddenly found Moriarty rocketing toward him—then, at the last moment, diving straight down!
The bewitched Bludger missed Moriarty and nearly took off Marcus's head instead.
Marcus froze in terror. Meanwhile, Moriarty executed a breathtaking maneuver, sending the Quaffle ricocheting into the goal.
The crowd erupted, their cheers like thunder in the sky.