"Representatives from each Magic School will arrive at 6 PM on Friday, October 30th. Afternoon classes will end half an hour early…"
The massive notice was posted in the Entrance Hall, visible to everyone coming and going, and students hoping to participate in the tournament grew increasingly anxious.
"Only one week left!" Marcus Belby of Ravenclaw said worriedly. "But I still haven't mastered the Stunning Spell… I wish the Spell Study Group met every day."
"You're planning to enter the tournament too?" his friend Ford said with a laugh. "Do you really think you can be chosen as a Champion? A truly powerful person is teaching you right now!"
He gestured with his chin, and Belby turned to see Wade and a few friends walking over from the greenhouse.
Belby looked at his friend and said seriously, "Who knows what the criteria for selecting a Champion are? Given the danger of the competition, I think age will be a barrier. The school will prioritize adults."
Ford nodded gravely. "True… If a minor dies in the competition, the Ministry of Magic would have a hard time explaining it."
Belby didn't pick up on the teasing in his tone and continued, "And we don't even know what events there will be, right? In the past, there have been things like solving riddles, finding objects, identifying traps, memory tests, judgment, and leadership skills… Even if Gray is excellent, he can't possibly be better than everyone else in every way. We might still have a chance."
"Alright… I guess you're not entirely without a chance then…" Ford scratched his head. "Well, good luck."
Actually, the number of students like Belby, who firmly believed they had clear advantages in certain areas and still hoped to become Hogwarts' Champion, wasn't that high anymore.
Many students still talked about the tournament daily, but their mindset had shifted to simply wanting to watch the excitement.
After nearly two months of study and training, most students, like Ford, had recognized the gap between themselves and certain others and had given up the fantasy of being selected as a Champion.
However, the number of participants in the Spell Study Group didn't decrease; instead, it grew.
During the twice-weekly tutoring sessions, students felt that previously obscure concepts became clear. Each success accumulated into self-confidence and satisfaction, and that deep sense of accomplishment was so enjoyable, even more addictive than games.
Intelligent beings instinctively yearned to "become stronger," to control more power, and to see tangible results from their efforts.
It's just that, in most cases, learning was too difficult for people. Not seeing progress for a long time was a painful torment, so they gradually gave up, pretended they didn't care, and then were captured by some low-level pleasures.
But in the Spell Study Group, students often experienced that feeling of breaking through a bottleneck and suddenly understanding. They felt as if they had entered a light and fulfilling state, even wanting to remain immersed in it forever.
Therefore, some students who originally had no intention of joining later quietly started attending the sessions on time.
This included quite a few Slytherins, such as Draco Malfoy.
When Harry saw his "arch-rival" appear in the activity room, his eyes widened. Ron, Dean, and Seamus, all Gryffindors, wore mocking expressions, wanting to go over and taunt him.
But Hermione sternly stopped them.
"Have you forgotten the rules of the Spell Study Group?" the brown-haired girl said, crossing her arms. "Here, there's no distinction between years or houses. Everyone is treated equally, and anyone can come!"
"Hey, Hermione, who do you think we're doing this for?" Ron grumbled, annoyed. "Have you forgotten how that guy insulted you… and us?"
"Of course I haven't forgotten!" Hermione said unequivocally. "That's why I'm stopping you—not for him, but for yourselves! Do you want to break the rules and get kicked out of the Spell Study Group?"
Ron and the others: "…"
They looked back at the podium and saw Wade silently watching them, his gaze indicating no tolerance for them to cause trouble for Malfoy.
Dean mumbled softly, "Ravenclaw is really… isn't it right to stand up for your friends?"
Ron didn't say it aloud, but he thought the same thing—sometimes rules needed to be flexible.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, her gaze fixed on Dean, and said seriously, "Malfoy bullies others. We all know he's despicable and shallow. If we went to bully others, would you think that behavior is right?"
Dean: "…" Isn't it? That's Malfoy!
"Alright, there'll be plenty of chances to beat Malfoy up later, but don't cause trouble here." Harry walked over and pushed Ron and the others aside. "Don't forget what we came here for."
Pale-faced, Malfoy stood in the corner, staring blankly ahead, as if he had no idea that just a few meters away, the Gryffindors had just been arguing because of him.
His once arrogant face was now terribly haggard, with dark shadows under his eyes. His condition was clearly at its worst.
When the tutoring began, Wade didn't give him any special treatment. There was no targeting, no favoritism, just a normal attitude, as if the person standing there was just an ordinary passerby.
Before coming to the activity room, Malfoy had prepared for a fight and expected to be ridiculed by Wade, Harry, and others. He secretly gritted his teeth, thinking he could endure it.
But when Wade gave him a few pointers and then walked past, he realized—what was truly unbearable wasn't the disgust and hostility, but the feeling that he wasn't even being acknowledged.
At nine o'clock, the bell rang. Wade clapped his hands, announcing the end of the Spell Study Group for the day.
As soon as he heard that, Malfoy was the first to pull open the door and rush out. He hurried to the restroom, closed the door, and leaned against the wall, hoping the oppressive discomfort in his chest would pass quickly.
After a long while, he emerged from the stall, hands braced on the sink, staring at himself in the mirror.
"Ha, did you see him?" a boy loudly mocked. "If his dad weren't rich, who would even notice him?"
"Lucius Malfoy still hasn't been found?" another student asked.
"No, my uncle works at the Ministry of Magic, and he said Mrs. Malfoy has looked everywhere, not a single clue! If you ask me, he's definitely dead!"
"Then Draco will inherit a lot of money, won't he?"
"What good is just inheriting money? Does he have the ability to hold onto it?"
"I heard the Ministry of Magic is planning to investigate Lucius Malfoy's connection to the camp attack." Someone said gruffly. "If they confirm he was involved, their vault might be seized."
"Then our 'Young Master Malfoy' will have nothing… Hahahaha…"
The malicious laughter of the group echoed down the corridor, gradually fading. Malfoy felt a spasm in his stomach, his throat tighten, and a chill seep into his bones.
He could tell that the people talking… weren't his Gryffindor enemies, but fellow Slytherins.
But he didn't even have the courage to burst out of the restroom and confront them, to expose their hypocrisy and disgust.
At this moment, he realized with chilling clarity that he was no longer the "Young Master Malfoy" who hid under his father's wing and could do as he pleased.
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