After the tournament schedule was announced, the backlash was immediate—fans all over the wizarding world cried foul.
England's semi-final opponent? Bulgaria. Poland's opponent? Peru.
Both Bulgaria and Peru were recognized as top-tier teams on the international stage, each with a long-standing legacy and numerous appearances in previous World Cup finals. They were giants in the sport.
And what about the British team?
When the quarter-finals were evaluated, the general consensus was that the weakest team remaining was the East Ying squad, followed closely by the British.
Fans rewatched the quarter-final between Britain and France and reached a unanimous conclusion: had Moriarty not taken charge, Britain's journey would have ended then and there. Roman and the rest might have already packed up and gone home.
Some argued it wasn't just Moriarty—it was the Nimbus 1990S that tipped the scales.
But even that point circled back to Moriarty—after all, it was he who brought the broom to the team.
As for Poland, they were strong—no doubt—but still a tier below the likes of Bulgaria and Peru.
One word of difference—top team versus strong team—but the gap in meaning was immense.
Looking across the bracket, fans examined the Canadian and U.S. teams' semi-final opponents.
Canada faced Transylvania, while the U.S. would face East Ying.
Transylvania was a solid team, yes, but their golden age was long gone. It had been over 400 years since they last made it to the semi-finals—back in 1473.
Canada, the host nation, had their own advantages. Rumors swirled that during the match against Mexico, a Mexican player had been deafened by the thunderous cheers of Canadian fans.
And the East Ying team? They barely scraped into the top 16. Their presence in the quarter-finals was seen as pure luck.
It was a well-known fact that Asian wizards didn't favor broomsticks the way their European counterparts did.
Meanwhile, the U.S. team had been finalists in the previous World Cup, and their morale was sky-high.
Their Seeker, Maxi, was hailed as one of the best.
Fans believed there wasn't a single player who could rival him—not even Viktor Krum, Bulgaria's pride.
So...
The verdict was clear: rigged, absolutely rigged!
The outrage grew. Seasoned spectators and retired pros alike began whispering theories: the Canadian Ministry of Magic had colluded with the World Cup Committee to rig the brackets.
These suspicions quickly reached the ears of the international players. Roman Reigns brought them to Moriarty's attention during the British team's pre-match strategy session.
Moriarty simply smiled.
The matchups, he said, were no accident. The officials had tampered with the schedule—not just to ensure a U.S.–Canada final, but for profit.
Pure and simple: profit.
The Canadian Ministry of Magic was nearly bankrupt. They had borrowed 100,000 Galleons from Gringotts to construct Hyprosey Stadium.
To repay the debt, the Ministry had built dozens of hotels and restaurants around the venue. In previous Cups, spectators simply brought tents and cooked their own meals.
Room and board profits alone wouldn't make a dent in the debt.
So the Ministry went further—they colluded with World Cup officials to establish a gambling ring.
They designed the matchups to pit strong teams against weaker ones and ensured unexpected upsets. Betting pools exploded with gold.
It was a bold move, not unheard of in the world of football, but this time, they were playing with fire. The goal wasn't just to crown a champion—it was to take every last Knut from the fans.
With 80,000 fans attending the Cup, if even half of them bet a single Galleon, the Ministry would earn back their loan with room to spare.
And now, things were really heating up.
Moriarty steepled his fingers beneath his chin, his sharp eyes gleaming. The gambling underworld would be in disarray.
If he was correct, three main betting markets had emerged.
The first: the official market, run by the Canadian Ministry and World Cup committee.
The second: a private market, manipulated by Moriarty through the combined forces of the Flint and Foley families.
The third: the retail bettors.
Every Cup had its share of desperate gamblers hoping for one big win to change their lives.
Ludo Bagman was a textbook example. He wasn't alone—there were thousands like him, a teeming mass of retail bettors hungry for fortune.
To Moriarty and the officials, these gamblers were prey.
And they'd already made a killing during the Britain–France match.
But Moriarty wasn't done yet.
This time, fans had anticipated a clash between the U.S. and Bulgaria—a duel between Maxi and Krum.
That matchup would never happen. But instead, fans were gifted an equally thrilling prospect:
Moriarty vs. Viktor Krum
Chaser vs. Seeker
Moriarty had seized the spotlight and quickly wrote to Foley, urging him to escalate the stakes and introduce bonus bets.
Some of the proposed wagers:
"Who will win: England or Bulgaria?"
Odds: England (3:1), Bulgaria (3.5:1)
"Who catches the Snitch first: Roman or Krum?"
Odds: Roman (10:1), Krum (5:1)
"First team to score: England or Bulgaria?"
Odds: England (1:1), Bulgaria (2:1)
There was also a four-outcome roulette with the following odds:
1. Roman catches the Snitch, England wins – 5:1
2. Krum catches the Snitch, England wins – 6:1
3. Roman catches the Snitch, Bulgaria wins – 6:1
4. Krum catches the Snitch, Bulgaria wins – 6:1
This time, the Flint and Foley patriarchs were all in.
They were betting everything—and would return the favor with a gift to Moriarty when it was over.
The date: the first Tuesday in April. The match: England vs. Bulgaria.
"The semi-finals are here!" roared the announcer. "Welcome to the Final Four!"
His voice crackled with excitement, stirring the already energized crowd.
For once, Fleur Delacour was able to sit among the spectators—alongside her parents and little sister Gabrielle—to cheer on Moriarty.
"The clash of titans: England versus Bulgaria! The Nimbus 1990S versus the Nimbus 1700—"
"Ugh, advertisements again," Fleur muttered, frowning. She was eager to see Moriarty on the field, but the announcer rambled on about broom specs.
"How many Galleons did Nimbus pay this guy?" she scoffed. Her parents chuckled beside her.
She wasn't the only one annoyed. Most spectators were tired of hearing about the Nimbus 1990S.
Today, the stadium brimmed with Bulgarian supporters, clad in crimson red—the team's official colors.
At last, the commentator moved on: "And now, welcome—Team Bulgaria!"
Six players in red burst from the tunnel and soared into the sky.
"Let me introduce: Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vukanov! Volkov!"
Each name drew a thunderous cheer.
Spectators scanned the skies with enchanted binoculars, searching for one familiar face.
The announcer laughed, "Haha! Where's Krum, our young prodigy? His first time on the Cup stage—please welcome 13-year-old Viktor Krum!"
"Krum! Krum!"
The Bulgarian fans erupted in chants, tracking Krum with eager eyes.
He looked lean and intense, with a hooked nose and heavy brows, like a young hunting hawk.
"And now—Team England!"
Roman Reigns was the first to emerge, leading the team with confidence. Exploding Head and the others followed in a sharp formation.
"And last, but never least—Moriarty! Slytherin's own!"
"AHHHHH!"
The crowd exploded.
"Moriarty! Moriarty!"
To many, he was the brightest star of the tournament, no matter his position.
"Always shining! Forever shining!"
He glided gracefully on his Nimbus 1990S, bringing the British team face-to-face with Bulgaria.
He studied the Bulgarian players—young, maybe 20 at most.
They had the stamina and spirit to compete in at least two more World Cups.
Then, Moriarty noticed one player's unwavering stare.
Krum.
Their eyes locked.
Moriarty remembered the 422nd World Cup, where Krum caught the Snitch—but Ireland still won.
This time, Moriarty thought, you won't catch the Snitch—or win.
He returned Krum's gaze with a loaded glance.
Krum, still young, didn't understand.
They were technically the same age—but Krum was born nine months earlier, and thus a year ahead at Durmstrang.
"Roman, Exploding Head," Moriarty quipped, "He's your junior."
"Then let's teach him how high our standards are," Roman said with a grin.
"The higher the standard, the harder the fall," Exploding Head added, cracking his knuckles.
BEEP!
The referee's whistle pierced the sky.
"The first semi-final begins—England vs. Bulgaria!"