The students erupted in an uproar, following Moody's gaze toward the stands.
Douglas and Dumbledore had appeared there at some point.
Moody pointed his weathered wand straight at Douglas.
Its tip glinted coldly in the sunlight.
"I heard you put on quite a show in Italy."
There was a provocative rasp in Moody's voice.
"Taming a werewolf, capturing a Holy Relic alive..."
Irrepressible gasps broke out among the crowd.
The Ministry of Magic had kept this news tightly under wraps, leaving the students with no way of knowing.
"Stop hiding behind your desserts and this bunch of students who haven't even been weaned!"
Moody's roar shook the entire Quidditch Pitch.
"Come down!"
"Let these children see what a real duel looks like!"
"Or are you nothing more than a nanny after all?"
Moody's challenge echoed over the pitch, shrill as a hawk's cry.
Before his words had faded, a gentle yet irresistible force softly carried Harry, who was on the arena, and Crabbe and Goyle, who were still sprawled on the ground, out of it.
Their toes touched the ground, and they looked toward the stands, still shaken, toward the man at the center of the storm.
Douglas remained comfortably seated in his chair, with even the faintest hint of a smile on his face.
It was as though the roar that had shaken the entire pitch had been no more than a dull gust of wind from afar.
He leisurely raised his bone china teacup and took the last sip of warm milk tea.
The crisp clink of cup against saucer rang out with particular clarity in the deathly silent pitch.
He set the empty cup steadily on the small table beside him before turning to Dumbledore.
"It seems today's tea break will have to end early."
An amused