— — — — — —
"At last—it's my sister's turn!"
As soon as Quinta was helped off the field, the Dragonologists rushed in, surrounding the enraged green dragon. Wands flashed as calming charms were cast in quick succession. Only when the beast's fury began to subside did they move in with specially forged chains, guiding it away from the arena.
"My sister is next."
Gabrielle clenched her tiny fists and pumped them excitedly, her bright eyes fixed on the entrance to the field, her face brimming with anticipation.
Monsieur and Madame Delacour straightened in their seats, exchanging a worried glance. Even though Tom had assured them Fleur would be perfectly safe, a parent's anxiety was hard to shake.
Especially after watching Quinta leave the field injured and bleeding—they could hardly sit still.
"Gabrielle, stay here with your aunt and uncle. I'm heading down to cheer your sister on."
Gabrielle tried to follow, but Tom gently passed her into Madame Delacour's arms.
The woman smiled warmly at him, her eyes filled with approval. She gave her daughter a soft pat, signaling her to behave. Her satisfaction with this future son-in-law was practically overflowing.
Of course, Tom wasn't going down there just to cheer. He meant to put their minds at ease—he was heading closer to the field to keep watch, just in case anything went wrong.
By the time Tom reached the corridor behind the judges' stand, Fleur stepped onto the field with light, graceful strides. Catching sight of a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye, she flashed a radiant smile, and more than half of her nerves melted away.
Compared to the other champions, Fleur was at a natural disadvantage against dragons. Her Veela heritage made her more susceptible to a dragon's overwhelming presence. It was exactly why she had been so tense.
But after spending the entire previous night tangled up with Tom, things had changed. When it came to bloodline and sheer dominance, Tom far surpassed these dragons by an absurd margin. That closeness had, to some extent, helped stabilize her.
At the very least, standing before the Norwegian Ridgeback now, the magical creature blood within her remained steady, showing no signs of disturbance.
Fleur quickly fell into rhythm.
Her approach, like the little fox's, was hypnosis. In that sense, the two of them were surprisingly alike—one a great yokai, the other of Veela descent, both adept at mental magic.
Still, compared to the inherited arts of Tamamo-no-Mae, Fleur's hypnotic spell was noticeably weaker.
She moved continuously across the field, wand sweeping through the air as she murmured a steady stream of incantations under her breath.
It was an incredibly complex spell.
A full five minutes passed before the Ridgeback's eyelids finally drooped shut, its massive body sinking into deep slumber.
Fortunately, nothing went wrong after that. Even as Fleur reached the safe zone, there wasn't the slightest sign of the dragon waking.
The moment she secured the golden egg, the Dream Arena erupted into thunderous applause.
Maxime smiled and clapped with practiced elegance, though a trace of worry lingered in her eyes.
Fleur's performance had been flawless—but with Kamio setting such a high bar earlier with a much faster time, the judges' scoring would inevitably be affected.
Once Fleur succeeded, Tom quietly slipped away. With a flicker, he vanished and reappeared inside a secluded luxury box.
The room was lavishly appointed—soft velvet carpets underfoot, a crystal chandelier casting warm light. Inside were only four people: Nicolas Flamel, Perenelle Flamel, Newt Scamander, and Tina Scamander.
Tom strolled over with a grin and plopped into his seat, nudging the man on his right. "Teacher, didn't expect you to enjoy this kind of spectacle. Who said he wasn't coming earlier?"
Nicolas didn't even lift an eyelid. "I'm here with Newt. As for why he came—you already know."
"You say that, but you were practically glowing when Newt invited you," Madame Perenelle said with a smile, effortlessly calling him out.
Nicolas instantly turned his head away, face flushing red.
Tom and Tina couldn't help but laugh out loud. Only the ever-kind Newt managed to restrain himself, merely twitching his lips as his gaze stayed fixed on the arena.
"I'm not here for the spectacle," the old man insisted stubbornly. "I'm just curious about Ariana's condition. After all, her resurrection has a lot to do with alchemy."
Thankfully, Ariana stepped onto the field at that moment, and everyone's attention shifted to her.
Nicolas didn't bother with the viewing screen. Instead, he cast an enhanced vision spell on himself and moved to the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the girl intently.
...
Across the stands—and in front of countless scrying mirrors around the world—wizards sat up straighter, focusing in.
Of all the champions, Ariana was undoubtedly the most unusual.
Albus Dumbledore's younger sister.
The chosen successor personally appointed by Gellert Grindelwald.
Two identities that couldn't have been further apart, now residing in a single person. It was something no one would have dared imagine before—but reality often proved stranger than fiction.
Many were secretly hoping she would fail—proof that Grindelwald had made a poor choice, that his so-called heir was unworthy.
Some even went further, wishing she might die in an "accident." If that happened, maybe it would push the two titans back into open conflict.
As if sensing the malice both inside and outside the arena, Grindelwald let out a cold chuckle from the judges' panel. A faint, mocking smile tugged at his lips as his gaze swept across the crowd, full of disdain.
People… always so fond of indulging in impossible fantasies.
And always so eager to treat those stronger and sharper than themselves as fools.
As the stadium fell into a sudden hush, Ariana finally made her move.
The little witch raised her wand. Her lips didn't move at all, yet a blazing red streak shot out from the tip, tearing through the air.
The Hungarian Horntail, which had been glaring at her with savage intent, let out a piercing scream.
"ROAAAR—!"
"My word! It's the Stunning Spell!" Bagman's voice shot up, unable to hide his excitement. "There it is! The first champion in this tournament to launch a direct attack on a dragon!"
"The spell struck cleanly—right in the Horntail's left eye! It's gone berserk! Look at those flames… over forty feet long!"
His rapid-fire commentary barely kept pace as waves of shocked cries rippled through the stands.
Ariana's choice stunned everyone.
It was far too aggressive. No hesitation at all. She had gone straight for the most vicious dragon in the lot and provoked it head-on.
The Stunning Spell was especially effective against dragons. The searing pain spread from the eye throughout the entire body, driving the Horntail into a frenzy. It threw its head back and roared wildly, flames pouring from its jaws, twisting into a blazing vortex midair. The heat made the very air crackle.
Its remaining good eye locked onto Ariana. With a violent beat of its massive wings, it surged forward, whipping up a gale. Its barbed tail lashed out with a shriek, striking toward her like a steel whip.
Bang!
Albus Dumbledore shot to his feet so abruptly his chair scraped loudly behind him. The Elder Wand was already raised, aimed straight at the dragon. He didn't care about the competition. If there was even the slightest chance Ariana might be hurt, he would intervene without hesitation.
As for the judges' scores afterward, they meant nothing. The sheer courage she'd shown in attacking the dragon head-on deserved full marks. Anyone who dared score her lower would find his own standards… adjusted accordingly.
A hand settled lightly on his wrist, pressing it down just a fraction.
Grindelwald had risen as well, his tone calm. "Have a little more faith in me. And in Ariana."
Dumbledore didn't seem to hear him. His gaze remained sharp as a blade, locked onto the dragon in midair.
He wasn't the only one tense. In the stands, Aberforth was reacting much the same way.
At this very moment, Aberforth was cursing Tom up and down in his head.
Then suddenly, Dumbledore seemed to notice something. The tightness in his shoulders eased, and the tension in his eyes faded by more than half.
Many softer-hearted students, however, had already squeezed their eyes shut.
Ariana stood frozen in place, as if stunned. Facing the incoming tail strike, she made no move to defend herself.
Crack!
A dull, bursting sound echoed out, like a balloon popping.
The dragon's tail smashed into the "girl," shattering her in an instant.
No blood. No body sent flying.
It wasn't real.
It was only a lifelike illusion.
The Hungarian Horntail froze for a split second, thrown off by the empty strike. Its full-force attack missing its mark caused it to lose balance. Its massive body spun twice in the air before crashing heavily to the ground, kicking up clouds of dust.
It shook its dazed head, scanning frantically for its target.
At last, it found her again.
Not far away, atop a small rocky rise, Ariana stood calmly. Her lips moved in a low chant, wand aimed steadily at the dragon.
A faint hiss cut through the air.
A wisp of eerie blue flame drifted slowly from the tip of her wand, flickering with an unsettling, oppressive aura.
Dumbledore's tense expression froze.
Inside the private box, both Newt and Nicolas wore strange looks.
They recognized that magic.
Anyone from old Paris would.
Grindelwald using it was one thing.
But Ariana…?
Dumbledore drew in a deep breath, a thousand unspoken complaints stuck in his throat.
Well, damn.
Now that was something.
.
.
.