The wind stilled.
The entire Quidditch Pitch fell into a strange, stretched-out silence.
Sunlight shone on Moody's scar-covered face, but could not penetrate the storm in his intact eye.
He showed not the slightest fear.
This elite Auror, who had emerged from the sea of blood of the First Wizarding War, saw only prey, never fear.
"Hurricane!"
Moody roared, carving a rough circle before him with his wand.
A powerful whirlwind, visible to the naked eye, sprang up from the ground.
It did not blow toward Douglas, but swept precisely over the two buzzing golden swarms.
The gale tore brutally through the bees' orderly formations like an invisible hand.
They scattered in all directions, tumbling through the air, temporarily stripped of any ability to attack.
Before the whirlwind subsided, Moody had already turned.
Without even looking at the scattered bees, he stamped his wooden leg hard against the platform, steadying himself.
His wand jabbed in quick succession.
"Impedimenta!"
Two invisible barriers, like transparent walls, instantly formed at his sides.
The charging golden Monks' heavy footsteps stopped abruptly.
They slammed headfirst into the barriers with two heavy booms, their towering bodies swaying violently as they were forcibly halted.
In a flash, the threats from two directions were neutralized.
Moody's electric-blue magical eye had already pierced through every distraction, locking firmly onto the one true enemy at the center of the platform.
Douglas moved.
He did not charge like a warrior.
His light steps shifted unpredictably, every rise and fall of his body, every extension of his arms carrying the grace and swiftness of a white crane.
He seemed not to be entering a battle, but stepping into a carefully choreographed dance.
The students below the platform almost forgot to breathe.
This was nothing like the duels they knew.
There were no