Chapter 314. Toyed with in the Palm of Torch's Hand
Fleur pushed herself up from the ground, but she did not move on to the next step at once. Instead, she stayed where she was, watching the dragon before her warily.
At that moment, it was Torch who moved.
"Wait! What is the dragon about to do… it's reaching for the egg beneath its own feet!"
With Bagman's commentary ringing out, everyone clearly saw a strange scene.
The dragon slowly stretched out a foreclaw and, with one sharp talon, lightly flicked the golden egg away from beside its foot.
The golden egg rolled a few times across the grass and came to a stop less than two metres from Fleur.
The entire audience held its breath, unable to tell what the dragon meant to do.
Next, Torch cocked its head at Fleur, nudged the golden egg forward again with its claw, and made a "please" gesture.
"Merlin's beard!" Bagman cried. "It seems our Miss Delacour's charm is extraordinary—she's actually made a dragon offer up the golden egg of its own accord! This is absolutely unprecedented!"
But warning bells were clamouring in Fleur's head.
"No, something's wrong…?"
She muttered under her breath, tightening her grip on her wand.
As a witch with Veela blood, she knew very well the limits of her allure on magical creatures—and dragons were definitely not included.
Seeing that Fleur still did not move, Torch tapped the ground impatiently with its claw, shoved the egg forward again, and let out a low, urging gurgle.
This made Fleur begin to doubt her own judgement a little.
"Could it be…?"
She took an experimental step forward. The golden egg was only an arm's length away, and the dragon still showed no sign of attacking.
"Oh, be good, child," she murmured soothingly. However, just as she reached out to touch the golden egg, Torch suddenly hooked it back with its claw.
Fleur looked up and saw Torch wearing a distinctly human, crafty expression—it was clearly playing.
Up in the stands, Adrian Wesson covered his face helplessly.
Poor Miss Delacour—she was being toyed with in the palm of Torch's hand.
"Ah, it appears Miss Delacour's attempt isn't going so smoothly," Bagman said, his tone tinged with glee.
Fleur had, of course, already realised Torch had no intention of letting her take the golden egg—it was only playing a game.
A glint of cold light flashed in her eyes, and her silver hair stirred though there was no wind.
"This is not a game!" she said, angered.
Her wand whipped sharply; a blinding red flash shot straight at Torch's eyes, like a flare bursting in mid-air.
Everyone instinctively covered their eyes.
Torch squeezed its eyes shut on reflex and let out a disgruntled whine.
Fleur seized the chance, sprinted forward, and reached for the golden egg again. But the instant her fingers were about to touch it, Torch's eyes snapped open—and there was not the slightest sign in those golden, slit pupils of having been dazzled.
"It was playing dumb!" Ron shouted from the stands.
Torch snorted triumphantly; with a flick of its talon, the golden egg sailed into the air like a ball.
Fleur had to leap to grab it, only to see Torch get there first, catching the egg in its hand and even shaking its head as if in showy pride.
Watching this, the crowd began to whisper among themselves.
Why did this second bout look so different from the first?
It felt more like a bit of fun than a contest for Champions.
Fleur on the field, however, did not see it that way.
"Enough!"
Fleur was thoroughly enraged.
She swept her wand in a wide arc, then let out a shriek—part bird, part human—piercingly sharp.
"!"
On the judges' dais, Madam Maxime shot to her feet.
Dumbledore said something beside her, and she sat down again, though worry still showed on her face.
After Fleur let out that eerie cry, Torch's movements suddenly stalled. Its slit pupils dilated; its foreclaws, which were cradling the golden egg, froze in mid-air as if someone had pressed a pause button.
The whole arena fell into uncanny silence.
Then, something stranger still occurred.
At Fleur's feet, mushrooms and flowers began to sprout in an unending flow.
They grew rampantly, soon forming a ring that enclosed Fleur at its centre.
Seeing this marvellous sight, the audience broke into discussion at once.
"What is that?" Lupin looked to Adrian Wesson, puzzled.
Though conjuring flowers and mushrooms was not especially difficult magic, this was clearly not the right moment for it.
Mushrooms were unlikely to be part of a dragon's menu.
"It's a fairy ring," Wesson said thoughtfully, taking in the scene. "You may have heard a similar tale—a fairy ring formed of mushrooms and flowers, said to be where Veela dance. If anyone accidentally steps inside, misfortune and sickness will dog him for life."
"Sounds like a curse," Lupin frowned—then realised something. "Wait, that girl is a Veela."
"Half of a half," Wesson nodded.
He already had a guess: this was magic triggered by Veela blood.
But…
Was Veela blood really this strong?
Look at Torch now—completely dazed, clearly stripped of its self-will.
On the field, Fleur held her head high and walked towards Torch with graceful steps, the flowers at her side setting off her beauty all the more.
When she came to a halt before it, the massive Chinese Fireball actually sank down like a little dog, presenting the golden egg to Fleur with reverent care, its eyes full of infatuation.
"Now that's better."
Fleur said softly, took the golden egg, and turned away without a backward glance.
Only when her figure had completely disappeared did Torch finally come to its senses. It looked around, bewildered.
All that remained before it was a ground littered with mushrooms and flowers.
The stands erupted into uproar.
Bagman stammered out the announcement: "The… the task is over! Miss Fleur Delacour has successfully taken the golden egg. Judges, if you would give your scores."
After a brief murmur of conferring, the judges quickly began scoring, raising their wands; the silver vapour spilling from the tips formed into great hovering numbers.
"Oh—ten, nine, six, nine, seven!"
"Forty-one!"
"Miss Fleur Delacour's final score is—forty-one! She is, for the moment, in the lead!"
While Bagman excitedly announced the scores, Wesson turned his gaze to Madam Maxime.
In the instant she turned her head,
Wesson keenly caught a trace of displeasure in her expression.
It seemed Fleur's performance had not been what she had expected.
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