After picking herself up from the ground where Torch's "sneeze" had deposited her, Fleur rose to her feet. Rather than rushing into another hasty attempt, she remained motionless in the center of the arena, her eyes locked onto the enormous dragon in front of her.
Every line of her body spoke of a mind rapidly recalculating, discarding assumptions, and formulating new approaches.
It was Torch who chose to break the stalemate, and he did so in a manner that sent murmurs of confusion through the stands.
"Wait! What is our Fireball doing now?" Bagman's voice had a tone of genuine bewilderment that cut through his usual showman's polish. "It appears to be... reaching for the golden egg beneath its feet!"
Through his narration, everyone clearly witnessed a peculiar scene unfold.
The fire dragon slowly extended its front claw, using one sharp talon to gently nudge the golden egg out from beside its foot.
The golden egg rolled several times across the grass before coming to rest less than two meters away from Fleur.
The entire audience held their breath, unable to understand what this fire dragon intended to do.
Then Torch tilted its head to look at Fleur, used its claw to push the golden egg forward a bit more, and made an expression that seemed to ask, "Well? Aren't you going to take it?"
"Merlin's beard and butterbeer!" Bagman's voice cracked with excitement as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we are witnessing something unprecedented in the annals of magical sport! It appears that Miss Delacour possesses such remarkable charm that she has actually convinced our Chinese Fireball to voluntarily surrender its treasure! This is absolutely extraordinary!"
But even as the crowd's excitement reached fever pitch, alarm bells were sounding in Fleur's mind.
"No, this isn't right," she whispered to herself, her grip on her wand tightening.
As someone who had lived her entire life with the double-edged gift of Veela blood, she understood better than anyone the precise limits of her supernatural influence. Her charm could affect humans with shocking effectiveness, could influence magical creatures of moderate intelligence.
But dragons? Dragons were among the oldest, most magically resistant creatures in existence.
Seeing that his apparent offering was being ignored, Torch showed impatience. His head tilted the other way, and he made a sound that was part rumble, part sigh—clearly the dragon equivalent of an exasperated "Well?"
With emphasis, he tapped one claw against the ground. Then, he pushed the golden egg forward yet again and made more encouraging rumbling sounds deep in his throat.
The show of apparent benevolence caused doubt to creep into Fleur's mind. Everything she knew about dragons told her this was impossible, but the evidence of her own eyes was undeniable.
Could she have been wrong about the scope of her abilities? Could there be aspects of her Veela heritage that even she didn't fully understand?
"Could it be...?" The question escaped her lips in barely more than a breath, hope and skepticism mixing in her voice.
Against every rational objection her mind could muster, she found herself taking a tentative step forward. The golden egg gleamed in the sunlight, now tantalizingly close—close enough that she could make out every detail of its surface.
Another step brought her within arm's reach of her prize. Torch continued to watch her approach with what appeared to be encouraging interest, making no move to reclaim his treasure or assert his territorial rights.
If anything, he seemed pleased by her decision to trust his apparent generosity.
"There's a good boy," Fleur whispered, her voice carrying the same soothing tones she might use to calm a nervous horse. Her free hand extended slowly toward the egg, fingers trembling with a mixture of anticipation and lingering doubt.
The moment her fingertips brushed the warm gold surface, Torch struck with the lightning reflexes. One enormous claw swept forward in a motion too quick for the human eye to follow, hooking the golden egg back with ease.
Fleur found herself grasping empty air, her momentum carrying her forward into an off-balance stumble that nearly sent her falling again. As she straightened and looked up, she found herself staring into Torch's face and the expression she saw there was unmistakably human in its mischievous satisfaction.
It was clearly just playing with her!
The dragon's eyes literally twinkled with amusement, and his entire posture radiated the smug satisfaction of a practical joker whose prank had gone off perfectly.
In the stands, Adrian couldn't help but cover his face with one hand.
"Ah, it seems Miss Delacour's latest attempt was unsuccessful," Bagman's commentary carried a hint of schadenfreude. "Our Chinese Fireball appears to be quite the trickster! How... entertaining."
Fleur needed no commentary to understand what had just occurred.
Without needing anyone else's reminder, Fleur had obviously noticed that Torch had no intention of letting her have the golden egg—it was merely playing games.
Something cold and dangerous flickered in her blue eyes, and her silver hair began to move with its own wind, rising and falling like sea grass in an invisible current. The Veela blood that had been simmering beneath the surface of her control suddenly surged toward boiling point.
"This is no game!" she said angrily.
She swept her wand sharply, sending a blinding red light directly at Torch's eyes like a flash-bang grenade that exploded in the air.
The explosion of light was so intense that even spectators in the furthest reaches of the stands instinctively threw their hands up to shield their eyes. For a moment, the entire arena was filled in shades of dazzling crimson, and the afterglow left dancing spots across everyone's vision.
Torch also reflexively closed its eyes and let out a dissatisfied whimper.
Fleur seized this opportunity and rushed forward, reaching for the golden egg once again. But just as her fingers were about to touch it, Torch suddenly opened its eyes—and those golden vertical pupils showed no trace of being dazzled at all!
"It's faking!" Ron shouted from the stands.
Torch snorted smugly and flicked the golden egg into the air with one finger like a ball.
Fleur had to jump up to reach for it, only to watch Torch catch it first with one hand.
The spectators in the stands began whispering among themselves at this scene.
"How is this second match so completely different in style from the first?"
"This seems more like watching a comedy performance than a championship contest."
"Is that dragon actually enjoying itself?"
"I've never seen anything like this in my life."
But down in the arena, surrounded by the laughter and commentary of thousands of spectators, Fleur saw nothing amusing about her situation. What the crowd perceived as entertaining spectacle, she experienced as humiliation at the claws of this creature.
The final straw came when Torch, apparently deciding that his juggling display had gone on long enough, caught the golden egg and held it in the air like a trophy, turning his head from side to side as if acknowledging applause from an appreciative audience.
"ENOUGH!"
Fleur was thoroughly enraged.
Her wand moved through the air in sweeping gestures that left trails of silver light, and then she opened her mouth and released a cry that emerged was part bird, part banshee, part something else—a piercing shriek that seemed to bypass the ears and strike directly at the centers of the brain.
In the judges' section, Madame Maxime half-rose from her seat, her massive body was suddenly tense with what might have been alarm or anticipation.
Dumbledore's hand touched her arm gently, and he murmured something that caused her to slowly settle back into her chair. But her expression remained troubled, and her gaze never left the arena floor.
After Fleur's strange cry, Torch's movements suddenly froze. Its vertical pupils dilated slightly, and its pose holding the golden egg in its front claws became fixed in mid-air, as if someone had pressed a pause button.
The entire arena fell into an eerie silence.
Then another strange thing happened.
Around Fleur's feet, mushrooms and flowers began growing from the earth in an endless stream.
These flowers and mushrooms grew wildly, quickly forming a circle that surrounded Fleur at its center.
Witnessing this magical scene, the audience immediately began discussing it amongst themselves.
"What is this?" Remus asked, his voice tight with concern. As someone who had spent his adult life across the line between the civilized magical world and forces that predated human understanding, he recognized dangerous magic when he saw it, even if he couldn't identify its specific nature.
"It's a fairy ring," Adrian replied, his tone thoughtful as he watched the supernatural show. "Perhaps you've encountered similar legends in magical folklore—fairy rings are formed of mushrooms and flowers, rumored to be places where Veela danced under the full moon. According to the old stories, if any mortal accidentally steps into one of these circles, misfortune and worsening sickness will follow them for their life."
"That sounds like a curse," Remus observed, his mind automatically categorizing the phenomenon. Then he realized something. "Wait—that girl is a Veela."
"One-quarter," Adrian confirmed with a nod. "Though apparently a rather potent quarter, given what we're witnessing."
His own mind was working as he observed the scene below.
This had to be magic triggered by Veela bloodline—heritage-based abilities that activated only under conditions of extreme stress or emotional extremity. Such magic was notoriously unpredictable, often far exceeding what the wizard's apparent power level should have been able to achieve.
But even accounting for that... was Veela heritage really capable of this level of influence?
Looking at Torch now—he was completely dazed, obviously having lost all autonomy.
On the field, Fleur held her head high, walking toward Torch with elegant steps while the flowers beside her made her appear even more beautiful.
When she came to a stop in front of Torch, this massive Chinese Fireball actually crouched down like a little dog, respectfully presenting the golden egg to Fleur with eyes full of infatuation.
"That's more like it," Fleur said softly, her voice carrying satisfaction.
She reached out to take the golden egg and turned to leave without a backward glance.
Only when her figure had completely disappeared did Torch finally come back to its senses. It looked around in bewilderment, finding only scattered mushrooms and flowers before it.
The audience erupted in an uproar that dwarfed even their enthusiastic response to Cedric's performance.
Conversations exploded across the stands as spectators tried to process what they had witnessed, their voices creating a noise of wonder, and confusion.
"Did you see the way that dragon just... submitted?"
"I've never heard of magic being that powerful."
"Those flowers—they were growing out of nothing!"
"Is that even legal in competition?"
Bagman, for perhaps the first time in his professional career, seemed genuinely at a loss for words. His usual smooth commentary had been replaced by stammering attempts to describe events that fell well outside the normal parameters of magical sport.
"The... the match appears to be concluded!" He finally managed, his voice carrying across the arena with noticeably less confidence than usual. "Miss Fleur Delacour has successfully obtained the golden egg through what can only be described as... unprecedented magical techniques. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have all witnessed something truly extraordinary today!"
After a brief consultation, the judges quickly began their scoring, each raising their wands as silver smoke emerged and formed numbers.
"The scores are in!" Bagman announced, his voice regaining some of its usual dramatic flair. "From the judges, we have... ten points! Nine points! Six points! Nine points! Seven points!"
"That brings Miss Delacour's total to forty-one points!" He continued. "She has taken the lead in our tournament!"
As the crowd's cheers washed over the arena in waves, Adrian's attention was drawn to a different kind of drama playing out in the judges' section. His eyes found Madame Maxime, and in the instant before she turned away from the arena floor, he caught an expression that seemed not pleased with her student's victory.
Where pride and satisfaction should have appeared across her face, Adrian detected instead what looked remarkably like displeasure, or perhaps even concern.
It appeared that Fleur's performance, spectacular as it had been, might not have unfolded according to anyone's expectations, including those of her own mentor.
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