Shortly after Fleur's performance had left the audience still murmuring in wonder, Krum quickly strode onto the arena floor.
As a Durmstrang student, he was obviously more skilled in dueling than his competitors.
Moreover, unlike the more subtle approaches of his early competitors, he seemed to prefer completing this trial in the most direct manner possible.
Upon entering the arena proper, he immediately began his attack. His wand cut through the air in precise arcs as he attempted to use a barrage of offensive spells against the Norwegian Ridgeback that awaited him.
The dragon on its powerful legs. Unlike the playful Torch or the relatively docile Welsh Green, this beast radiated pure predatory menace. Its yellow eyes burned with fury, and smoke curled ominously from its flared nostrils.
Krum's conventional curses struck the Norwegian Ridgeback's armored hide with flashes of colored light. But these offensive spells had frustratingly little effect on the dragon's naturally tough scales, which had been hardened by centuries of evolution into magical armor.
Each spell impact sent sparks like fireworks, but the dragon barely flinched. If anything, the magical bombardment only served to further enrage the already irritable beast.
Of course, despite his growing frustration, Krum was careful not to use any of the Dark Magic that formed the backbone of Durmstrang's curriculum, even though his school openly taught the Dark Arts.
Clearly, despite his youth, he understood the kind of trouble that could follow him long after the tournament ended.
The battle continued for several tense minutes, with Krum rolling and dodging as bursts of flame scorched the earth where he had stood moments before.
His dark hair became plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his appearance grew disheveled as he fought for his life.
Eventually, his persistence paid off. A Conjunctivitis Curse, a spell designed to inflame the eyes and cause temporary blindness accurately struck the Norwegian Ridgeback's eye with a sickly yellow flash.
The dragon immediately released a roar of pain and fury. While the magnificent beast thrashed and struggled, its great head whipping back and forth as it pawed desperately at its injured eye, Krum seized his moment.
He rushed forward through the chaos, and seized the golden egg that had been among the dragon's clutch.
Unfortunately, in its blind agony and rage, the dragon's massive claws and thrashing tail trampled many of the precious dragon eggs that surrounded its nest.
When the priceless dragon eggs were crushed, Bagman's face showed visible pain. Adrian, watching from the stands with his sharp eye, couldn't understand why the tournament organizers insisted on using real dragon eggs when perfectly working magical replicas could have served the same purpose.
This represented a considerable sum of money.
In any case, despite the costly collateral damage that would surely affect his score, Krum ultimately achieved his goal.
When the judges raised their wands and silver numbers formed in the air, he scored a decent forty points—a middling score that temporarily placed him in second position.
"Excellent! Now three champions have completed their trials with varying degrees of success," Bagman announced, his voice sounding clearly across the now-hushed arena. He dabbed sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief, clearly feeling the weight of the moment.
"Next, let us welcome our final champion—Harry Potter of Hogwarts!"
Bagman's magically amplified voice echoed off the arena as the spectator stands, filled with thousands of witches and wizards from across Britain and outside, erupted in thunderous applause and cheers.
If asked which of the four champions drew the most attention, sparked the most debate, or generated the most controversy, it would undoubtedly be the unexpected "fourth champion"—Harry Potter.
This match was his best and perhaps only opportunity to prove himself worthy of the title he had never sought.
Under everyone's expectant gaze, Harry slowly emerged from the shadowed entrance tunnel.
Now people could finally see him clearly in the afternoon light. His face appeared externally calm. But his knuckles around his wand, the slight tremor in his hands, and the way his green eyes darted nervously around the arena revealed that his inner state was far from composed.
The nervousness was natural, even admirable—only a fool would face a dragon without fear.
Harry walked to the designated starting point. He squinted against the bright sun as he observed his opponent for the day, trying to assess the threat through eyes that watered slightly in the glare.
It was a dragon with emerald-green scales, relatively small in size compared to the massive Chinese Fireball or the heavily built Norwegian Ridgeback. The creature was raising its neck alertly as it surveyed its surroundings.
Harry carefully studied the magnificent creature in front of him.
A Welsh Green!
The most common of the British dragon species, known for their intelligence, relative docility compared to their more aggressive cousins, and their preference for sheep over human prey.
But 'docile' was a relative term when applied to a creature that could incinerate a wizard with a single breath.
He could do this, couldn't he? The question echoed in his mind as he tried to summon the confidence that seemed to come so naturally to the other champions.
What did defeating a dragon require? He had asked himself this question a hundred times during sleepless nights leading up to this moment.
Courage, certainly—the kind of Gryffindor bravery that had been bred into his very bones through years of facing impossible odds.
Wisdom—the ability to think clearly under pressure, to find creative solutions when conventional approaches failed.
And most importantly, the one thing he sometimes doubted he possessed in sufficient quantity...
Powerful magic!
Harry suddenly remembered the Blasting Curse he had used during his frantic training sessions with Adrian. That had been the most satisfying, most devastatingly effective explosion spell he'd ever cast.
If he could somehow reproduce magic of that caliber, channel that same surge of power and intent, it would undoubtedly be capable of harming even the dragon before him.
When Harry was only a few steps away from the dragon, the creature finally reacted to his presence. It suddenly raised its head high, revealing the pale scales of its throat, and released a deafening roar that seemed to shake the arena.
Its scales bristled and stood on end like the hairs of an enormous cat, while wisps of gray smoke began to curl ominously from its flared nostrils—a warning sign that dragonfire would soon follow.
This was its final warning—a clear signal for the small human to come no closer.
Harry abruptly stopped his forward progress.
"Confringo!" he shouted with all the force his lungs could muster, pouring his desperate need for victory into the incantation.
Intense red light burst from his wand tip like a miniature star being born. The spell struck the dragon's left foreleg with precision, the explosive impact causing the Welsh Green to emit a shriek of pain and surprise.
It staggered backward several steps, a small patch of emerald scales had been blasted clean away, revealing the pink flesh beneath that was already beginning to weep crimson blood.
"Well done! That's our Harry!" Ron's voice cracked with excitement as he shouted from somewhere high in the Gryffindor section.
However, Harry showed no sign of satisfaction on his face as he observed the results of his attack. Instead of triumph, his expression showed only disappointment, and he released a quiet sigh that was lost in the noise of the crowd.
"As expected, it failed..." he muttered to himself.
Though the Blasting Curse he had just used was impressively powerful by any reasonable standard, it was nowhere near the level of magical power he had achieved that day during training with Adrian.
The dragon, enraged by the sudden and unexpected attack that had drawn its first blood, opened its massive mouth wide. With a roar that seemed to shake the entire world, it unleashed a torrent of scorching dragonfire.
Harry rolled hastily to his left as he sought to avoid the deadly flames. But even as he escaped the direct blast, he was still knocked flat by the superheated air wave that followed.
Immediate gasps of alarm rose from the spectator stands like a wave breaking against a shore. To the thousands of onlookers, Harry had clearly fallen into mortal crisis.
However, Harry didn't see his situation with the same panic that gripped the audience. As he rolled to his feet with movements made fluid by countless Quidditch matches and dangerous adventures, everything was still within his control.
"Protego!" He quickly cast the Shield Charm while constantly moving to different positions around the arena, never staying in one place long enough for the dragon to target him effectively.
He knew that he had to remain calm under pressure—an injured dragon was often more dangerous than a healthy one.
The Welsh Green, its injured leg causing it to favor one side, angrily lashed its powerful tail through the air. The tail, thick as a tree trunk and easily twenty feet long, created powerful gusts of wind that whistled through the arena and sent loose debris flying in all directions.
Harry seized the opportunity presented by the dragon's momentary imbalance, raising his wand again with renewed determination. "Stupefy!"
Red light shot toward the dragon's golden eyes like a crimson arrow, but this time the creature was prepared for his tactics. It jerked its head to one side with grace.
The stunning spell only grazed the corner of its left eye, leaving a small mark on the scales but causing no meaningful damage.
"Oh, it seems our youngest champion and the dragon are locked in a deadly combat," Bagman wiped sweat from his increasingly shiny brow and continued his commentary, his voice slightly breathless with excitement.
"But I must remind you, Mr. Potter, that your task is simply to retrieve that golden egg from the nest, not defeat the dragon! Now, let's see what develops next in this thrilling encounter..."
Seeing that his conventional offensive spells couldn't strike with sufficient accuracy against such an agile opponent, Harry immediately changed tactics.
He swiftly waved his wand in a complex pattern and called out with perfect pronunciation, "Incarcerous!"
Several thick magical chains burst from his wand tip like striking serpents.
"That's your magic, isn't it?" Remus turned to Adrian beside him on the platform with surprise.
"Oh, yes," Adrian nodded with a slight smile. "That's my specialty. But I must say, Harry's Binding Curse is hardly weaker than mine, and he's learned it remarkably quickly."
"Really?" Remus's eyes lit up with interest as he quickly turned his gaze back to Harry's performance. He had witnessed Adrian's binding curse in action before. Those chains had rendered him completely immobile even in werewolf form.
Under Harry's increasingly confident control, the magical chains writhed and twisted like living things. They coiled around the dragon's powerful body with precision, wrapping around legs, wings, and torso.
Due to the Welsh Green's relatively small size compared to its more massive cousins and its correspondingly modest physical strength, the binding curse proved extremely effective.
The dragon struggled furiously against its magical bonds, breathing out intense flames that heated the chains until they glowed cherry red, but the magically reinforced links remained completely unmoved.
Harry seized this golden opportunity, sprinting toward the dragon's nest.
As he ran, his spellcasting never ceased.
"Confringo!"
"Confringo!"
"Confringo!"
Three consecutive spells exploded above the dragon's head. It thrashed its skull wildly as black soot from the explosions splattered across the scales of its neck.
Finally, Harry reached the golden egg. The moment he grasped it, he simultaneously cast one final spell.
"Diffindo!"
Blue fire exploded between the dragon's brows.
"BOOM!"
A powerful shockwave immediately followed, causing the entire arena to tremble.
Under everyone's incredulous gazes, the Welsh Green's massive form suddenly swayed several times, its golden vertical pupils gradually losing focus.
It released a low whimper, its forelegs buckling as it crashed to the ground with a thunderous impact, raising a cloud of dust.
It had been knocked completely unconscious by a fourteen-year-old wizard!
The entire venue instantly fell into a deathly silence.
Ron and Hermione in the spectator stands sat with their mouths hanging open, too stunned by what they had witnessed even to cheer.
Harry, standing in the center of the arena with the golden egg clutched against his chest like a trophy, glanced at the fallen dragon with something approaching concern. Then he looked down at the prize in his arms.
Well, perhaps he wouldn't need to run for his life after all. The thought struck him as almost anticlimactic after all the terror and preparation.
But... why wasn't he hearing the roar of approval he had expected? Why had the crowd fallen so unnaturally silent?
He looked around the arena, searching the sea of faces for some clue to their reaction, and his eyes found Adrian. Adrian was nodding at him with approval.
This simple gesture, more meaningful to Harry than any amount of public acclaim, made him grin with unrestrained joy.
He waved enthusiastically toward Adrian's section, his earlier nervousness completely forgotten in the euphoria of victory.
"Harry Potter!"
At that crucial moment, someone in the crowd shouted out his name.
The single voice seemed to break whatever spell had held the audience captive. Immediately after, the entire arena from the Forbidden Forest's edge to the highest seats in the stands echoed with absolutely deafening cheers.
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