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HP: Bloodraven Chapter 184 - Finale & Debut
🕑 Added 2025-06-15 14:51:42 +0000 UTCThe skies over the Pyrenees were a flawless blue—clear and cloudless, the perfect weather for a Quidditch grand finale. Below, the Beauxbatons stadium throbbed with energy. The crowd was in full swing, cheering and chanting, enchanted drums pounding like thunder. Fireworks cracked overhead, their echoes rolling through the mountains in waves.
It was the final game of the inter-school Quidditch tournament, and today, Hogwarts was set to face Beauxbatons. The players from both schools might be teenagers, but the match was already being hyped as one that wouldn’t lose to any professional league final.
The stadium looked unrecognisable compared to the earlier rounds. Everything—from the seating to the pitch, from the food stalls to the safety wards—had been upgraded to the highest standard. It was bigger, louder, and more spectacular than ever before, outshining even last year’s final by a mile.
Of course, it wasn’t just the Beauxbatons school administration that made it all happen. Behind the scenes, one man had pulled the strings, set the vision, and transformed the tournament into a spectacle that felt as grand as a global event.
Ever since Maverick’s rise to fame, everything he touched seemed to shine a little brighter. His company, Magitech, was growing faster than even he had expected, and its signature product—the Magic Vision—had already become a household name across Europe.
According to the latest reports from his regional managers, sales of the Magic Vision had more than doubled—almost tripled—in just the past few months compared to everything sold before his inauguration. And that was just one product. Magitech’s entire catalogue was flying off the shelves just as fast.
And just like his brand, Maverick made the most of his rising fame, using it to push the Quidditch tournament into the global spotlight. He was determined to turn it into more than just a European event—it had to be a worldwide spectacle.
He doubled the number of public Magic Vision units across major wizarding communities—from London to Cairo, Prague to Moscow, Mumbai to São Paulo, even New York. No corner of the world was left untouched.
Moreover, he donated thousands to low-income wizarding families, making sure as few as possible missed the match simply because they couldn’t afford it. Of course, it put a dent in his wallet—but to Maverick, it was an investment.
From the very beginning, Quidditch had only been the gateway. The real goal was to get Magic Vision into as many homes as possible. Sports were just the start, and the gadget’s true potential was still waiting to unfold.
Today’s match would be broadcast live to every corner of the magical world. And if the projections were even half-accurate, this one game would have more viewers than any Quidditch World Cup final in recorded history.
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Boom. Boom. Boom.
Roar. Roar. Roar.
The stadium shook as the pre-match festivities reached their peak. Live bands played atop floating platforms, dancers with enchanted ribbons moved in dazzling formations across the skies, and fireworks burst overhead in vibrant magical colours.
Maverick sat at the front of the VIP section, dressed not in traditional robes, but in a sleek charcoal coat lined with silver trim. To his right sat Maxime at center front, and on her other side, Dumbledore.
The old wizard had come in person today—but that didn’t mean McGonagall had stayed behind in his place. There was no way she would miss the final. It was Flitwick who was holding the fort while the two heads were away.
Around him, the guest list sparkled with high-profile names. The two deans and their delegations from Durmstrang and Koldovstoretz were in attendance, along with the Ministers from the four participating countries. Diplomats from across Europe had also made the trip. Even the President of MACUSA had accepted the invitation and arrived in person, flanked by her magical secret service.
Ancient wizarding families, noble patriarchs, and renowned scholars sat shoulder to shoulder, and even the ICW had sent a special delegation led by senior officials.
In other words, legendary figures from every corner of the magical world were present—making the VIP section the single most concentrated gathering of power and influence anywhere in the wizarding world today.
The stadium buzzed louder than ever, excitement rippling like a living wave across the sea of spectators. Students hoisted enchanted banners that shimmered with animated school mascots. Vendors floated through the aisles, selling levitating snacks. Flags snapped. Horns blasted. The air crackled with energy.
Then, high above the pitch, the enchanted scoreboard flared to life:
HOGWARTS vs BEAUXBATONS
1992–1993 INTER-SCHOOL QUIDDITCH TOURNAMENT FINALE
The referee blew his whistle—
—and the sky exploded.
It was war.
Brooms blasted off like cannonfire, leaving streaks of scarlet and blue ripping through the air.
The crowd roared as Bludgers screamed across the pitch like thunderous metal, Quaffles hurled toward goalposts, and Chasers weaved through defenders in blurs of speed that brought the stands to their feet.
A shot. A dive. A save.
A steal. A spin. A near miss.
Every moment was a heartbeat from disaster. The match was chaos in motion. fast, fearless, and furious. Neither side gave an inch.
And above it all, two figures—a boy and a girl—carved wide arcs through the clear sky, eyes sharp, searching for the tiniest glint of gold.
It was just as thrilling as last year’s finale—if not more—from start to finish. Every five minutes, the crowd let out a collective gasp at some reckless manoeuvre—followed by a deafening roar when it was pulled off.
Of course, trained professional witches and wizards were stationed all around the stadium and on the pitch, ready to intervene if any student pushed the limits too far and risked breaking their neck.
And roughly every quarter of an hour, those officials had to step in. After all, what’s an entertaining game of Quidditch without a little blood? By the two-hour mark, half the players on both teams had already been rotated out—either worn down by the brutal pace or flattened by a well-aimed bat or Bludger to the face. Yet the tempo never faltered—not for a single beat.
The audience—whether roaring from the stands or watching from across oceans—loved every second of it. Maverick had unleashed a fleet of enchanted cameras, each many times smaller than even a Snitch, to capture the match from every breathtaking angle. And through the Magic-Vision, every dive, dodge, and collision unfolded with cinematic clarity—like the viewers were right there, flying through the storm beside them.
Three hours in, the score stood at 140 for Beauxbatons and 130 for Hogwarts. The match was speeding toward a close faster than expected, with goals from both sides crashing like a relentless barrage. But thats what kept everyone glued to their spot from the start. Uninterrupted, raw international.
Eventually, even the Seekers were swapped. Beauxbatons sent in an older boy to replace their half-blood prodigy, and from Hogwarts, Marcus was taken off—bringing in Harry Potter.
The Boy Who Lived shot into the air like a rocket, climbing straight up until he soared far above everyone else. His eyes cut through the sky, sharp as a hawk’s, hunting the ultimate prize—while his counterpart mirrored his ascent below, one eye fixed on the skies, the other locked on him with a predator’s stare.
The last goal seemed cursed, or perhaps the keepers had gained a sixth sense. Neither side would let the Quaffle slip past.
After three and a half hours, the score was tied at 140–140. The next score would decide everything. The atmosphere crackled with electricity like never before.
Then, suddenly—Beauxbatons’ Seeker made a sharp dive that sent the crowd, commentators, and spectators near and far gasping as one. Without a doubt, he had spotted the Snitch.
Harry Potter didn’t hesitate. Without a second thought, he bolted straight for his rival—not the Snitch. He didn’t even bother searching for it; his only goal was to stop him first.
But—
GOAAAAL!
ROAAAAR!
The deafening roar of the crowd ripped through the air, forcing both seekers to halt mid-flight. The final goal had been scored—before either of them even made it halfway to the golden speck.
They glanced up at the scoreboard. The Beauxbatons Seeker shouted in triumph and shot toward his teammates, arms raised, while Harry just hovered there, staring, his face falling. Today wasn’t his day.
Who would’ve thought? Beauxbatons Academy of Magic—dead last in last year’s tournament—had clawed their way from the bottom to become champions.
Sure, they had scraped through a few matches on luck. But not today. Today, they bled. They sweated. They fought, neck and neck—and they won.
High up in the VIP box, Olympe Maxime, the Ministry officials of Magical France, and the many noble families representing the country all but leapt to their feet and stepped up to the glass, grinning widely as they clapped and cheered for the victors.
The rest of the spectators applauded as well, though the British delegation—and Professor McGonagall in particular—looked utterly dejected. The poor woman looked as if the entire Gryffindor house had just failed Transfiguration—absolutely heartbroken.
Sigh...
“Headmaster, looks like we can’t take the trophy back.”
It would be a lie if Maverick said Hogwarts’ defeat didn’t bother him as well. After all, they were his students too who had lost.
"Yes, how unfortunate," the old man said with a heavy sigh of his own. "But there can only be one winner," he added, glancing at Olympe, who stood glued to the glass, still applauding.
Honestly, this was the first time Maverick had seen this half-blood show such genuine enthusiasm for her team’s victory. Then again, it was an incredible comeback. It was her school, and she was the host, after all. Even if Quidditch as a sport didn’t mean much to her, Beauxbatons was her face to the world.
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The celebration lasted for half an hour, followed by the awards ceremony. This year, Hogwarts only took home one prize—Best Keeper—claimed by Oliver Wood for the second year in a row. There was no doubt his name was on every professional team's scouting list, and it was very likely that, if he wished, he'd go pro after graduation.
Beauxbatons secured both Best Seeker and Best Chaser, while a player from Durmstrang walked away with the Best Beater award. At last, the Champions Cup was raised by Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, as dazzling fireworks lit up the twilight skies above the stadium.
Maxime concluded the evening with a short speech, noting the tournament's success and teasing the expansion of participating schools for the following year—which had already been decided to take place in Russia.
As the crowd dispersed, only the four teams and their respective delegations remained behind for a grand closing feast hosted by Beauxbatons. Maverick observed the mingling students with interest. Players from different schools were freely mixing, and, as expected, the boys—especially the better-looking ones—were surrounded by flocks of giggling girls.
And, of course, there was little Potter, seated beside Fleur Delacour again this year. Three more young witches were cozied up around him.
Sitting on the elevated staff stage, Maverick watched the scene unfold with mild amusement.
Am I the main character, or is this kid the main character? he wondered with an inward chuckle.
In the days that followed, the tournament made headlines across the wizarding world. Newspapers everywhere covered the exciting final, spotlighting individual standouts and speculating about their professional futures.
But this time, it wasn’t just the newspapers carrying the news. Magic Vision—previously assumed to be a gadget meant solely for broadcasting magical sporting events—surprised everyone by launching a new program called The Wizarding Daily, which aired a special feature covering the tournament.
The wizarding world was caught off guard—after all, nothing like this had ever been done before. Those of Muggle origin, familiar with television, immediately understood what was happening. The rest, after a few evenings of watching the program, began to grasp it too.
It was essentially like reading the news—only now, someone was reading it for them. And for many, that was undoubtedly far better than flipping through a newspaper each day.
From the very first broadcast, the response was overwhelmingly positive, and sales of Magic Vision devices surged rapidly as a result.
A certain golden-haired beauty rose to fame almost overnight, quickly becoming the face of the program. She could be seen anchoring the broadcast from behind a sleek, enchanted desk.
In the first few days, she focused on narrating the story of the tournament, playing key highlights. But as the days went by, she gradually began covering other major magical happenings from around the world as well.
Yes, Isabella had finally completed her internship at Maverick’s Muggle grandparents' news network. And now, with a bit of help from her father—and from Maverick—she had launched the wizarding world’s very first video journalism company, The Magical News Network. The inter-school tournament had served as the perfect stage for her debut.
Of course, it was still in its infancy, broadcasting only a single evening program for now—but that was bound to change as the company matured, more people were trained, and her team continued to grow.
Maverick had chosen not to get involved, leaving everything in her capable hands and assisting only when she asked. And he had no doubts—none at all—that she would make it a roaring success.
