Chapter 313. Fleur and Torch
"Cedric!"
"Cedric!"
Cedric had not even appeared yet when thunderous cheers rolled across the stands. The Hogwarts students shouted his name in unison, waving black-and-yellow Hufflepuff scarves.
This was the home-turf advantage.
At that moment, on the field—
Cedric took a deep breath, tightened his grip on his wand, and stepped out of the tent. Sunlight struck his face, and he narrowed his eyes a fraction.
He could feel countless eyes on him from the stands, and in the centre of the arena the railings around the blue Swedish Short-Snout had vanished. The dragon lashed its tail in agitation, and a few blue sparks puffed from its nostrils.
Clearly, the dragon felt a touch of unease under so many stares.
"Now—begin!" boomed Bagman's voice, echoing through the stadium.
Wesson felt reasonably at ease about Cedric.
Sure enough, the result did not disappoint him.
Cedric's method for dealing with the dragon was simple but very effective.
First, he used Transfiguration to turn a rock on the ground into a Newfoundland to draw the dragon's attention; then he conjured a flock of twittering birds to harry it; finally, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself.
It was a very successful combination of spells.
Cedric took the golden egg smoothly.
Unfortunately, on the way back the Swedish Short-Snout lost interest in the Newfoundland—and caught Cedric's scent.
Luckily, Cedric reacted at once and, the moment the dragon spewed fire, cast a Shield Charm.
The Shield Charm barely held against the flame, but he still lost a sleeve of his robes and half his hair—chalk it up as a small mistake.
Accordingly, Cedric's score was not high.
Out of a possible fifty, he received thirty-eight—neither high nor low.
Dumbledore gave the highest mark of the lot: nine.
After Cedric's run, everyone had a fresh sense of just how dangerous this task was.
"Can Harry really handle it?" Lupin said anxiously.
"No problem," Wesson nodded. "It's only a dragon."
Only a dragon?
Sirius Black snapped his head up beside him.
How unfamiliar that sounded.
"Mr Diggory's performance was surprising!" Bagman's voice rang out again. "Next, let us welcome the champion of Beauxbatons—Fleur Delacour! She will be facing—a Chinese Fireball!"
As with Cedric before, the dragon handlers hauled in a new cage.
But the Chinese Fireball inside was clearly more eye-catching.
It was alarmingly massive.
This breed from the East had always been synonymous with savagery.
Yet the Chinese Fireball in the cage was remarkably docile, even giving a lazy yawn. Its slit pupils were half-closed, showing not the least ferocity.
In fact, this was the very dragon Wesson had once raised—named Torch.
When Charlie selected dragons this time, he picked Torch too.
Though Wesson's mutation talent was aimed at plants, his research meant it had some effect on magical beasts as well—
—including (but not limited to) increased intellect and growth in size.
Wesson could only wish good luck to whoever drew Torch.
Once Bagman announced the champion's entrance, Fleur quickly came to stand before Torch.
"This dragon looks… off!" Her wand hand trembled slightly as she watched the unnaturally calm giant with wary eyes.
Then Bagman's magically amplified voice carried over the grounds: "It seems our dragon is in a fine mood today! Miss Delacour, please begin your performance!"
Fleur drew a deep breath and edged forward a few steps, closing the distance.
Unexpectedly, Torch only flicked its tail lazily—and even shifted of its own accord, revealing the glittering egg beneath its body.
"Er…" Fleur was at a loss. A buzz of chatter burst from the stands.
"Go on! It's letting you take the egg!" someone shouted from the terraces.
Fleur did not rush it. She stuck to the method she had prepared.
Composing herself—her silver hair catching the light—she raised her wand with poise and began to chant softly.
The tip of her wand glowed with a gentle pink light, like mist drifting toward Torch.
Watching from the stands, Wesson looked thoughtful.
It was likely some kind of allure-type magic with a hypnotic effect.
For Fleur, with Veela blood, charm magic was an excellent choice.
Their innate talent let them wield such magic with particular ease.
Once the pink light spread over Torch, the dragon, just as Fleur anticipated, began to sway; its eyelids slowly drooped—
—and it flopped to the ground.
Seeing this, Fleur let out a small breath.
It seemed her magic still worked on dragons—she had tried it earlier on her school's Abraxans, and they had reacted just like the dragon before her.
When the dragon lay completely still, Fleur carefully began to approach the exposed golden egg. All the while, she kept a guarded posture, ready for anything.
"Truly astonishing!" Bagman's excited voice echoed overhead. "Miss Delacour's magic is working a treat."
However, when Fleur was only three steps from the egg, the unexpected happened—the "sleeping" Torch suddenly opened one eye, gave a mischievous blink, and then let out a loud sneeze.
In an instant, a blast of heat flipped Fleur head over heels into the dirt, covering her in mud from head to toe.
She looked up in fright to find Torch cocking its head at her—was that… a human-like glint of mockery?
The dragon hadn't been affected by her magic at all!
This was outright teasing!
Fleur couldn't help bristling at the sight.
"Oh! Dear me!" Bagman's commentary barrelled on. "The dragon's awake! It looks as though Miss Delacour's magic hasn't had the best effect—what will she do now?"
From the stands, Wesson could only smile wryly.
From his vantage point, clever Torch had likely guessed exactly what Fleur meant to do—take the golden egg under its feet.
It had probably decided to treat Fleur as a sort of plaything, to spice up its boring dragon life a little. No surprise there: raised by him from a hatchling, Torch's wits easily outstripped its kind.
So—what would Fleur do next?
Wesson gazed curiously at the somewhat bedraggled figure in the arena.
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