Chapter 513: The Golden Snidget and the Bludgers

From the start of the match until now, the Quidditch Pitch had never been quiet. The crowd was a sea of cheering voices, punctuated by the rhythmic waving of colorful flags.

Looking down from the stands, the original Quidditch Pitch had been divided into three equal sections. There were no walls or visible barriers separating these areas, yet they remained distinct, as if magically insulated from one another.

At this moment, an unusual scene was unfolding on the pitch.

Krum's section was a flurry of movement, drawing attention as five identical Matagots chased him relentlessly. Their pursuit turned his area into a spectacle, with countless eyes riveted to the chaos.

Fleur's section was equally captivating, though in a different way. She seemed to be performing a peculiar, graceful dance, circling the Matagot near her. The creature made no immediate moves to attack but watched her intently. Occasionally, Fleur would stretch out her hand toward the golden key hanging around the Matagot's neck. Each time, it would spring to the side, adopting a defensive posture. Yet, when Fleur resumed her hypnotic dance, the Matagot would once again relax.

Some in the crowd began to notice that the Matagot's reactions were slowing. It was becoming evident that if this continued, Fleur would eventually succeed in snatching the key. While her section was quieter than Krum's, her unique approach held its own allure, keeping many spectators focused on her graceful movements.

In stark contrast, Kyle's section was eerily still. There was no dramatic chase, no spellbinding dance—just Kyle and his Matagot, locked in an unmoving face-off on the ground, as if both were petrified. The initial attention directed at him had long since dwindled to near silence.

"What on earth is Kyle doing?" Fred Weasley exclaimed, lowering his flag, which read, Support Kyle, the Hogwarts Champion. He flexed his aching arms after waving it for so long.

"Can Matagots cast Petrification Spells?" George asked, his tone laced with confusion.

"No, they can't," Cedric Diggory interjected firmly. "Matagots are known primarily for their ability to divide themselves. They can't perform any other magic. My father mentioned them once during that magical creature smuggling case a few years back. He said it was a nightmare trying to round up just three of them. I looked into Matagots after that and learned all about them."

"So what's he up to, then?" George persisted.

Cedric shook his head. "I don't know. But Kyle must have a plan."

Meanwhile, in the front row of the stands on the far right, the judges sat in their golden chairs, observing the match closely. Madam Maxime leaned back slightly, her expression contemplative as she whispered, "What is he doing?"

Professor Lochneal, seated behind her, replied thoughtfully, "I'm not certain. But the boy is friendly with Scamander. Perhaps he's using some specialized method."

"You think he knows how to calm the Matagot?" Madam Maxime's brow furrowed deeply. That possibility troubled her. If Kyle could indeed pacify the Matagot, Beauxbatons would lose a critical edge.

"Perhaps," said Professor Lochneal after a thoughtful pause, casting a glance toward Dumbledore. As though making idle conversation, he continued, "Mr. Scamander is a remarkable Magizoologist. I might be slightly more comprehensive than him in my studies of Matagots, but in every other regard, I must humbly admit I fall short. It's a shame he isn't here today."

Madam Maxime nodded, understanding the implications. Although Lochneal's expertise with Matagots gave him a slight edge over Newt in this specific area, that advantage was significant, given that Matagots were central to this competition.

Despite her earlier frustrations about being unable to stop the other Champions during the first round, Maxime found some solace in the thought that Lochneal's insights might still give Fleur an advantage.

"Ah, look!" A cry of surprise snapped Maxime out of her thoughts. She instinctively turned her gaze toward the arena, and a pleased smile spread across her face.

Fleur had secured the golden key from the Matagot's neck and was now sprinting toward the door.

"Oh!" Another startled exclamation followed almost immediately. Maxime assumed something had happened in Krum's area. Upon closer inspection, she saw him employing a clever Transfiguration Spell to distract the Matagot. While the spell was impressive, it wasn't extraordinary enough to warrant such a loud cheer. Puzzled, she turned her attention toward Kyle's section.

"What?!" Maxime abruptly stood from her seat, her expression one of pure shock.

Kyle, who had appeared to be frozen in place moments ago, had suddenly sprung into action. Without warning, he lunged forward, catching both the audience and the Matagot off guard. Before anyone could react, Kyle deftly snatched the golden key from around the Matagot's neck, as effortlessly as if he were picking a baked potato off a plate.

The contrast between Kyle and Krum was striking. While Krum was still being chased relentlessly by a determined Matagot, his robes reduced to tattered strips, Kyle had managed to retrieve his key with startling efficiency. Many spectators scratched their heads in disbelief, struggling to reconcile the disparity in their approaches.

Having secured the key, Kyle leaned in close to the Matagot and whispered softly, "Now you hurry and chase me. That will count as completing the task. I'll leave dried Long-whiskered Barracuda for you—by the forest at sunset. Look for the third tree behind the cabin. Hurry, and don't let the Kneazle get to it first."

With that, Kyle bolted toward the door. The Matagot, true to his word, sprang after him, leaping nimbly in pursuit.

Kyle increased his pace, and the Matagot mirrored his movements, staying just inches behind. The chase was electric, drawing excited cheers from the crowd.

"I knew it! I knew it!" Fred cheered, waving his flag with renewed energy. "Kyle must have been confusing the Matagot all along. Look—it worked!"

"Come on, Kyle, hurry!" George shouted, leaning over the railing.

Kyle reached the door and, with practiced precision, inserted the key into the lock. Behind him, the Matagot swiped, leaving three long claw marks down the back of his robe.

"Click!"

The lock disengaged, and Kyle pulled the door open. As he stepped through with one foot, the world around him seemed to shift violently. The Matagot vanished, and so did the door.

The Quidditch Pitch transformed dramatically. Like a puzzle being disassembled and reassembled, the field expanded outward, becoming vast and surreal. Then, the ground beneath Kyle began to crumble—starting from the far edges and rapidly closing in, until only a precarious one-foot radius remained intact around him, as though he were perched on the edge of a towering cliff.

The spectators watched with bated breath, their mouths agape. As the ground fell away, a dazzling golden light erupted from below the cliff. In a blur, it shot upward, leaving a shimmering golden trail in its wake.

"Oh, a Golden Snitch!" someone in the stands cried out.

"No!" Cedric corrected excitedly, lowering his Omnioculars. "That's not a Snitch. The Snitch doesn't have a long beak. That's a Golden Snidget—a rare, protected magical species banned from trade worldwide. The Golden Snitch was actually created as a replacement for the Snidget."

Before anyone could respond, a heavy, iron-gray ball shot into the air, eliciting more gasps.

"Look, a Bludger!" someone exclaimed.

George leapt to his feet, his excitement palpable. "Are they setting up a Quidditch match? Imagine a Quidditch game as part of the Triwizard Tournament—that'd be brilliant!"

In a sense, George was correct—but only partially.

While a Quidditch game typically required three types of balls, the current scene featured only two: one dazzling Golden Snitch and an alarming swarm of twenty-nine furious Bludgers.