As the cheers nearly shook the stadium apart, Wade and Harry had already quietly slipped down from the high platform.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick stood not far away with their faces brimming with irrepressible joy. Yet McGonagall's face carried a trace of pallor, as though she was still worried about her students.
They waved for the two to come over. As soon as they approached, McGonagall immediately stepped forward and gripped Harry's shoulders tightly.
"Magnificent, Potter!"
Her voice trembled slightly:
"Truly outstanding—whether it was that dive past the dragon earlier, or later, your decisiveness in defeating that Durmstrang boy… oh, you must go see Madam Pomfrey… and you as well, Grey. Filius, take Grey to the medical tent—"
Professor Flitwick, who was nearly dancing in excitement as he clung to Wade's arm, instantly began ushering him aside when he heard McGonagall's words.
"Yes, yes, you both must go to Madam Pomfrey first."
"I'm not injured, Professor," Wade said.
"Oh, my boy, it's not only visible wounds that require treatment." Flitwick beamed. "Madam Pomfrey knows exactly what to do."
"Forgive me, Professor," Wade said softly. "I didn't follow your advice."
"No, no, no, dear Wade. It's true I suggested you keep a low profile during the tournament, but what you did was by no means bad… In fact, it was even better."
There wasn't a trace of reproach in Flitwick's tone. Instead, his face broke into a brilliant smile as he said cheerfully:
"Watching you out there reminded me of myself when I was young—full of fire, fearless, stunning everyone with my strength!"
"By Merlin!"
Flitwick suddenly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the moisture in his eyes.
"I nearly forgot what I used to be like… and I told you to suppress your brilliance. For the sake of a smooth competition, I made you learn restraint, even at the cost of enduring slights and gossip…"
"But the young should be young! Keep that edge, child! Let everyone see that Ravenclaw, too, can shine in crucial moments—that we are not cowards who only hide behind prudence!"
"Who would dare call you cowardly, Professor?" Wade laughed. "You were a champion of the Dueling Tournament. No matter who your opponent was, I believe you always had the courage to stand against them."
"Haha, that was ages ago… I didn't think you'd remember." Flitwick tried to suppress the smile tugging at his lips.
"But once you graduate, perhaps you could enter the Dueling Tournament yourself. With your strength, I'm sure you could bring home another championship."
The two chatted and laughed all the way to the medical tent. Pulling aside the heavy canvas flap, they stepped inside—only to be stunned by the vastness of the space within.
Dozens of beds stretched in two rows, and more than half were already occupied.
Some students' robes were charred, their bodies covered in burns. Some had thick layers of green ointment smeared across their faces, groaning in pain. Others sat sullenly with arms or legs in slings.
Many lay unconscious, still not awake, and the air was heavy with the scent of potions.
With so many patients, Madam Pomfrey naturally could not handle it all alone. The Ministry had therefore summoned several healers from St. Mungo's, who darted busily between the beds like hummingbirds.
"Last time I saw so many injuries like this was during the Quidditch World Cup riot!"
A bald healer grumbled loudly as he smeared ointment over a student's arm. "What on earth was the Ministry thinking? Sending a bunch of students to fight dragons? Even grown wizards wouldn't dare such madness!"
"I've always said this tournament should never have been revived! Weren't the lessons from centuries ago enough?"
A female healer with gold-rimmed glasses said coldly, "Some fools only care about making headlines, never about the lives they're gambling with!"
"Come here, child."
Another kind-faced healer pulled Harry over. Looking at the wound on his leg, she gasped and her round face was filled with pity.
"Heavens… and you walked all the way here like this? Poor boy, how much pain that must have been."
With a flick of her wand she levitated Harry onto a bed, then carefully dripped potion over his wound.
Madam Pomfrey, who had just finished tending to another patient, hurried over. She looked Wade up and down in surprise and asked, "Grey, you're not injured?"
Wade smiled faintly. "I was lucky."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the groans in the tent suddenly ceased. Every conscious champion turned to look at him with a gaze as sharp as blades.
Amina sat bolt upright with a livid face; Olga's expression was dark and his eyes glinted with something unreadable; Seraphina gave a cold snort and rolled over to turn her back on him.
Even Krum, who had not faced Wade directly, was watching him with a grave expression and his brow furrowed in thought.
Of course, not everyone glared. A rare few remained calm—even smiling faintly in acknowledgement, like Uagadou's Baboucarr—but they were exceptions.
During the earlier treatments, the St. Mungo's healers had already overheard the students' complaints and tales of Wade's feats. Now their hands slowed, and their eyes darted to one another in astonishment as they snuck glances toward him at the doorway.
Madam Pomfrey, however, stood stern and unshaken by the emotions in the room. She simply raised her wand and ran another diagnostic spell over Wade.
"No trace of magical injury…" she muttered, reaching up to the shelves and pulling down a pale blue potion. She shoved it into his hands with no room for refusal.
Wade frowned at the bottle. "Madam Pomfrey, I truly don't need—"
"Yes, you do." Her voice carried unquestionable authority. "Do you think casting spell after spell comes without cost to your mind? Drink it. This sedative will ease your overstrained nerves."
Wade cast a pleading look toward Professor Flitwick—but the head of Ravenclaw, who had been treating him like a treasure moments before, now stood three meters away, gazing very intently at the patterns on the tent's ceiling, as if deciphering some profound magic.
"…Fine." Wade sighed, uncorked the bottle, and drained it. The potion was as foul-tasting as ever, making him grimace and bare his teeth.
A cool sensation slid down his throat into his stomach, then spread throughout his body. His heartbeat slowed, his mind cleared as if washed by spring water, and the emotions from the match drained away until he felt detached, like a mere spectator.
Only then did Madam Pomfrey nod in satisfaction, pointing him to an empty bed. "Good. Sit and rest quietly for a while. When the task is completely over, someone will come fetch you."
She hurried toward another unconscious student. Just then, the tent's flap opened again, and a boy was carried in—his body scorched black, bloodstained all over.
Wade turned his head for a glance. It was Ito Yasushi from Mahoutokoro.
The healer who rushed forward to receive him gave a sharp shriek, while the Auror who brought the boy in explained hastily in a low voice:
"A Hungarian Horntail… it had already been enraged by the earlier champions. This lad tried to imitate Potter and fly past it, but when he dodged, the dragon caught him…"
Harry had nearly forgotten the suffocating pressure of the dragon earlier, but now, looking at the boy on the verge of death, a cold sweat broke out silently across his back.
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⭐Harry Potter: Becoming a Study God (HP:BSG)- 200+ Chapters
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