The next day, Saturday.
The sun rose high!
On the field, most of the Little Wizards were in high spirits, as the third and fourth years were set to play their finals today.
At the teacher's table, Snape, with a gloomy expression, handed the Resurrection Stone to Howl.
Ignoring the noisy three Captains chattering in his ear, he looked at Snape: "It doesn't seem easy…"
Snape silently shook his head, rubbing his heavy, bloodshot eyes.
"You're right… a hazy dream… I knew her falseness early on; it saw my disgust towards him.
So she never actively mentioned him—but for her, caring for him was inevitable; if she didn't care for him, then she wouldn't be the one in my heart…"
Howl was silent for a long time; he had listened for a while, and even though the third-person pronoun in English could be distinguished in spoken language, he still didn't quite understand.
"All in all, it's over," Dumbledore suddenly said from behind.
After speaking, he looked at Howl helplessly: "How lucky you are not to have been forcibly interrupted by someone with violent means, like I was."
"Actually, strictly speaking, self-termination is more difficult," Howl corrected.
Dumbledore pondered for a moment, then had to nod: "I think you're right."
Then, he looked at the lively stadium: "How nostalgic, this vibrant grade!
Howl, you said before that you could arrange a halftime show, right? Do you think the children wouldn't mind an old man like me going up there?!"
"If you want to," Howl shrugged, then offered his suggestion: "Wear a leather jacket, braid yourself a goatee—create some contrast; I think they'll be very excited."
"Oh, then forget it." Dumbledore shook his head, not knowing if he was truly considering Howl's suggestion.
The match quickly began, and under Jordan's leadership, the Little Wizards' attention quickly focused on the competition.
This morning's finals were from the fourth year; after the preliminary and knockout rounds, six Little Wizards had made it here.
Soon, the first match began.
Cedric from Hufflepuff faced a Little Wizard from Ravenclaw.
Fred and George were also below the stage, analyzing.
"Kate's starting to sweat on her head, see?" George said, "Cedric is still very dominant."
"He's indeed a bit overly exaggerated."
They shared the same view, and even earlier, they had lowered Cedric's odds to prevent too much loss.
The Kate they spoke of was naturally the Little Wizard from Ravenclaw, who was now looking nervously at her opponent—Cedric.
The one who had continuously held the first place in that grade for many years!
This person had always been regarded as a great enemy by all of Ravenclaw!
To be precise, Hermione in the second year, Cedric in the fifth year, and Hedlund in the seventh year—all were great enemies of Ravenclaw!
"Fortunately, losing to the opponent isn't too shameful," Kate could only comfort herself.
However, soon, Kate was defeated as expected, not badly; Cedric dodged and weaved a few times, and his final move caught Kate off guard!
Soon, Kate was carried away!
"Your turn."
"Claiming first and second!" Fred and George bumped fists; although they acknowledged Cedric's strength, it didn't mean they would hand over the first place.
Then, the two bumped fists, and Fred stepped into the arena.
Arena draw—Blizzard!
Fred looked at the swirling snow and his opponent disappearing into the snow curtain, quickly changing his position.
Then, he even Transfigured his clothes into a white cloak.
He squatted on the ground, carefully creeping forward.
A moment later!
Bang—
"Fred Weasley!! Where did he pop out from, oh my goodness! He's simply a ghostly specter in the snow—wait, let's see how he dealt with his opponent?!"
"A… a club?! A snow cloak?!"
"An ingenious tactic—simply perfect!"
Jordan spared no praise for Fred, especially commending this strategy.
The Slytherin audience just felt disgusted—this is called a strategy?! Is this a Wizard's battle?!
Disgusting!
The third match also started quickly, with George facing a Slytherin Little Wizard.
Even before the arena was drawn, the tension was thick.
The two were bickering, the Slytherin slowly making threats, but George just cupped his hand to his ear, provocatively taunting.
This kind of slow-talking skill, like Snape's, was clearly not something that could be learned by imitation.
Arena draw—Grassland.
Suddenly, tall grass appeared, and George squatted down, disappearing from view.
"No way!!" The Slytherin Little Wizard raised his hand and cast a somewhat crude Expelliarmus.
But it landed in an empty space.
And… George's mouth didn't stop—
After four or five minutes of continuous output, the Slytherin Little Wizard finally broke down, starting to wave his wand aimlessly around.
A Flame Charm was even cast, instantly igniting the grassland…
As for the match result, as expected, George ultimately won, and also got a scorched head of hair.
"I'd rather suffer some superficial injuries," he said tragically.
By the fourth and fifth years, children at this age often liked to try growing beautiful long hair, and they were no exception.
"How pitiful," Fred also sighed, "Looks like someone has to cut their carefully groomed hair!"
"Damn it, you're with me!" George said.
"Impossible, men are long-haired animals."
"But if you don't cut it, Mom will be able to tell us apart later!!"
"This…" Fred thought seriously for a while, then turned his gaze to Jordan, who was commentating.
"Then him…"
"Hmm, we need to think carefully about how to trick, no, how to persuade him."
"What a pity… too hasty!" Professor Flitwick shook his head helplessly at the teacher's table.
Snape's face was very sour; he was already in a bad mood, and now it was even worse.
"I've long suggested that verbal assault should be included in training!!" he said darkly.
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