Hermione walked calmly up to the feet of the Chinese Fireball.
She didn't immediately take the golden egg. Instead, she studied the dragon for a moment, then commented seriously:
"It's much uglier than our Ifrit."
Back when Ifrit was still inside his egg, he had originally been a Chinese Fireball as well.
The difference was that Arthur had nourished him with ancient dragon blood essence. The moment Ifrit hatched, he was already a True Dragon.
Strictly speaking, Ifrit had undergone a form of bloodline reversion and evolved into an entirely different dragon species, no longer belonging to the Chinese Fireball lineage at all.
At the level of a True Dragon, even the faint dragon might lingering on a single scale was enough to suppress lower dragon species completely.
With nothing more than one of Ifrit's scales, Hermione easily obtained the golden egg.
Of course, with her own strength, confronting the Chinese Fireball head-on wouldn't have been a problem either.
But again—if there was an easier way, why not use it?
She wasn't breaking any rules.
And if she really wanted to fight a dragon, couldn't she just go home and spar with Ifrit instead?
Against these fire dragons, it would be nothing but a one-sided crush—utterly boring.
Holding the golden egg, Hermione summoned a magnificent greatsword etched with golden patterns.
She tapped the ground lightly with her toes, leapt upward, and landed squarely atop the blade.
Amidst gasps and cries from the crowd, she flew on her sword, gliding straight toward Arthur.
Hermione had only recently mastered sword-flight with Arthur's help, and she couldn't resist showing it off.
The greatsword beneath her feet was called the Golden Order Greatsword—a legendary weapon Arthur had recently discovered in a cave deep within the Consecrated Snowfield.
Since Hermione had just learned sword-flight, Arthur had given it to her to use.
Incidentally, Ranni had mastered the technique as well. Arthur had prepared for her another legendary weapon—the Sword of Night and Flame.
The Golden Order Greatsword was a radiant blade modeled after the Elden Ring itself. It had been forged after Radagon became Queen Marika's consort, serving as a symbol of Radagon.
Legend held that the sword still bore traces of the greatsword once gifted to him by his first wife, Rennala.
This blade shared many similarities with Arthur's Dark Moon Greatsword, lending credence to those rumors.
What kind of emotions Radagon had felt when forging this weapon—whether regret ever crossed his mind for abandoning Rennala—Arthur neither knew nor cared.
What mattered was that Hermione had already reached him.
She dismissed the Golden Order Greatsword and threw herself into Arthur's arms.
Nearby, the Weasley twins immediately started cheering, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.
Arthur held Hermione, glancing toward the judges' stand as the scores were revealed.
Dumbledore, without question, gave 10 points.
Barty Crouch, under the influence of Barty Crouch Jr., also gave 10.
Madame Maxime and the Head of the Department of Magical Sports and Games awarded respectable 9s.
As for Karkaroff—he was just about to repeat his old trick and raise the 5-point placard.
Arthur shot him a cold look.
Imperio.
Karkaroff's expression blanked for an instant. Under Arthur's control, he stiffly reached to the side and raised the 10-point placard instead.
Arthur's movements were incredibly subtle.
After forcing Karkaroff to submit his score, Arthur implanted the memory that this had been his own willing decision, then cleanly withdrew the curse.
Even Karkaroff himself failed to notice he'd just been hit by the Imperius Curse. The other judges merely assumed he'd lost his mind and somehow decided to give Hermione such a high score.
Only one person in the stands sensed something was wrong.
"Mad-Eye Moody."
Not because he was stronger than Dumbledore, but because his prosthetic eye was a true magical eye—capable of seeing through all obstacles.
Even a boggart couldn't hide its true form from it.
Through that eye, 'Moody' clearly saw a brief moment of chaos in Karkaroff's thoughts—the unmistakable sign of Imperius.
Combined with Karkaroff's sudden score change, it wasn't hard to guess who was responsible.
The direct beneficiary was Hermione.
And the only one who would do something like that was Arthur.
At that moment, 'Moody' felt extremely relieved that he had already manipulated Barty Crouch into giving Hermione a perfect score.
Otherwise, Arthur might very well have seized control of Crouch as well.
The competition continued.
Once the handlers dragged the Chinese Fireball away and brought in the Hungarian Horntail, it was finally Harry's turn.
The Hungarian Horntail was widely regarded as the most vicious and aggressive dragon in the wizarding world—especially when guarding what it believed to be its egg.
In other words, Harry was facing hell difficulty.
The moment Harry stepped out of the tent, the Horntail whipped its tail at him.
Thankfully, Harry reacted instantly and dodged. Otherwise, even a few broken bones would've been a light outcome.
Seeing its attack miss, the Horntail unleashed a blast of dragonfire.
Harry dove behind a rock just in time.
When the flames subsided, he peeked out and swung his wand.
The stone beneath the Horntail's feet rapidly transformed into heavy chains that wrapped tightly around the dragon.
"Engorgio!"
Harry reinforced the chains with an Enlarging Charm to prevent the Horntail from breaking free.
Only then did he get a proper look at the beast.
Jet-black scales. Yellow eyes. Bronze horns. A tail lined with matching spikes.
Every inch of it screamed danger.
Harry turned away and headed toward the golden egg.
Behind him, the Horntail struggled violently.
The handlers had clearly used some method to make the dragons treat the eggs as their own.
And a dragon protecting its egg was at its most dangerous.
Especially a fully grown Hungarian Horntail—nothing like Draco's still-maturing Welsh Green from last year.
The chains couldn't hold it forever.
Just as Harry reached the egg, shouts of warning erupted from the stands.
He turned—and saw the Horntail free, glaring straight at him.
With a thunderous roar, it lunged like a pouncing tiger.
Harry barely dodged aside.
Having been restrained once, the Horntail took to the air, flapping low to prevent Harry from binding it again.
Harry could only dodge on the ground. Most of his spells were useless against the dragon's hardened scales.
Then—Moody's advice flashed through his mind.
Seizing a gap between attacks, Harry shouted a Summoning Charm.
"Accio Firebolt!"
He needed air superiority.
The Firebolt streaked onto the field.
Harry cast his Patronus to draw the Horntail's attention, then leapt onto the broom and kicked off hard, soaring toward the egg.
Realizing it had been tricked, the Horntail gave chase.
Just as Harry grabbed the egg, a stream of dragonfire burst from behind him.
Harry ignored it, clutching the egg and flying straight toward the judges.
He knew—once the egg was secured, the match was over.
And once it was over, others could intervene.
Harry trusted Dumbledore.
And Dumbledore didn't disappoint.
The Elder Wand flashed, blasting the Horntail backward midair.
Harry landed before Dumbledore.
"Well done," Dumbledore said approvingly. "Excellent strategy—though I'm afraid you'll need a new broom."
Harry looked down.
The tail of his Firebolt was on fire.
He quickly extinguished it with Aguamenti, but the damage was done. Most of the tail had burned away.
The broom was beyond repair.
Still—it had served its purpose.
The judges' scores followed.
Dumbledore: 10
Barty Crouch: 10
Madame Maxime: 9
Head of Magical Sports: 9
Karkaroff: 5
Harry's total edged out Fleur by one point, securing second place.
First place, without question, belonged to Hermione—only two points shy of a perfect sweep.
Krum, heavily favored by the students, ended up last.
It was a slaughter for the Weasley twins.
They'd made a killing.
Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room, holding half a Firebolt in one hand and the golden egg in the other.
The moment he stepped inside, the twins hoisted him into the air.
Cheers erupted from every year of Gryffindor.
As for how many of those cheering students had once worn badges reading "Potter Stinks"—
Well, that would remain a mystery.
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