After the training ended, Harry collapsed onto the grass, his body covered in charred marks, blood oozing from his wounds.
His robes were tattered and full of claw marks.
"Harry!" Hermione and Ron hurried over.
Charlie pulled a pile of Potion bottles from his pocket and tossed them to the two.
"Give him the healing Potion first, and use Essence of Dittany for the external wounds."
Ron frantically unscrewed the cap and poured a bottle into Harry. After Harry drank it, his complexion improved slightly.
Hermione took the Essence of Dittany and carefully applied it to the wounds on Harry's arm.
Ron helped from the side, his movements as stiff as if it were his first time caring for a patient.
"Does it hurt?" Ron asked.
"No kidding." Harry replied weakly.
Ron was silent for a moment, then suddenly spoke up.
"I'm sorry, Harry."
Harry was stunned for a moment.
"I shouldn't have doubted you." Ron lowered his head, his voice muffled.
"You never put your name into the goblet of fire, yet I..."
"Forget it." Harry interrupted him.
"I know you didn't mean it."
Ron looked up, his eyes a little red.
"Really?"
"Really." Harry grinned, but it tugged at his wounds, making him wince in pain.
"But you have to treat me to Honeydukes sweets for a month."
"Deal!" Ron finally smiled.
Hermione watched the two make up, relieved.
She continued applying the medicine to Harry, her movements much gentler.
Harry lay there for a while, then suddenly thought of something and looked at Charlie in despair.
"Do I still have to come tomorrow?"
"Of course." Charlie said matter-of-factly.
"Just kill me now." Harry closed his eyes.
"I don't want to live anymore."
After an afternoon of struggle, Harry had completely realized the gap between himself and the Dragon.
He didn't think he could survive against this Dragon after just twenty-some days of training.
You have to know that Norbert was intentionally sparing Harry's life because of Charlie's orders.
But would the Dragon in the arena hold back? Harry found that highly unlikely.
Rather than being tortured for twenty-some days and then going to die, he might as well just die now.
Charlie didn't speak, standing in place for a moment.
This time he didn't pressure Harry; after all, Harry's ability was limited.
Some things, no matter how much you force them, might not be achievable, like math problems.
"Harry, facing a Dragon is indeed difficult, but don't give up. You need to play to your strengths; think about what you are good at." Charlie asked.
Charlie's reaction surprised Harry; he had expected Charlie to use all sorts of coercion to make him comply.
But this gentleness actually made Harry uncomfortable.
Harry opened his eyes and looked blankly at the sky. What was he good at? Expelliarmus?
But what use would Expelliarmus be against a Dragon? Make it unable to perform?
"Harry is the best Seeker." Ron suddenly said.
Harry was stunned, his eyes instantly lighting up.
That's right, he was good at Quidditch, good at flying!
Charlie snapped his fingers.
"That's it, bring your firebolt tomorrow."
Just then, Hermione suddenly thought of something, and her brows furrowed.
"But in the Triwizard Cup rules, champions can only use their wand; they can't bring broomsticks inside."
The hope that had just ignited in Harry instantly extinguished, and he collapsed back down. Charlie, however, was unconcerned.
"That's easy to solve." He turned to look at Harry.
"If you perform well with a broomstick tomorrow, I'll let you learn the Summoning Charm. Using a wand to summon a firebolt shouldn't count as breaking the rules, right?"
Hermione's eyes lit up.
"If it's summoned with a wand, it should be fine."
"Even if someone has an objection, since it wasn't written in the rules beforehand, Harry's score should still count."
Ron also got excited.
"Harry, this way you can ride your firebolt during the competition!"
Harry was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when he saw Charlie give him a meaningful smile.
"There are still twenty-some days until the competition." Charlie said slowly.
"If you can't learn a Summoning Charm in twenty-some days, then you can just wait for death."
Harry closed his eyes.
That's better, this is the Charlie I know.
In the following days, Harry was dragged off to training by Charlie every day after class.
The first time he faced Norbert while riding his firebolt, Harry's flying skills were fully displayed.
He dodged flexibly in the air, performing all sorts of high-difficulty maneuvers, and almost all of Norbert's flames and claw strikes missed.
"Beautiful!" Ron shouted from the ground. Hermione couldn't help but applaud.
With the firebolt, Harry was basically never hit by Norbert.
Occasionally he was grazed by the aftermath of Dragon fire, or scratched by the wind of its claws when he couldn't dodge in time, but compared to being chased all over the field before, this was practically heaven.
Norbert chased him a few times and couldn't catch him, gradually losing interest and lying on the ground yawning.
Seeing this, Charlie gave Norbert a strict order—it must go all out.
Consequently, Norbert perked up again and chased even more vigorously.
Although he would still get injured occasionally, thanks to Charlie's various Potions, Harry would appear on the training ground the next day, full of life.
After seven days of continuous training, it was another weekend.
Harry's performance satisfied Charlie, who gave him a day off.
This resulted in Harry being nowhere to be seen for the whole day.
Ron said Harry had been lying in the dormitory all day, and even his meals were brought to him by Ron. The only thing he could move was his mouth; everything else hurt.
After finishing lunch, Charlie also wanted to go back to the dormitory to lie down for a while.
Just as he reached the stairwell, his path was blocked by a few sixth-year girls.
"Mr. White, could you give us an autograph?" The lead girl's face was flushed, and she looked at Charlie with sparkling eyes. The other girls nodded along, staring at him longingly.
Charlie stopped, a bit confused.
"Why are you asking me for autographs? I'm not a celebrity."
The girls immediately started chattering to explain.
"Mr. White, you are currently the hottest favorite to win the Triwizard Cup in all of Britain!"
"Not just Britain, the entire European wizarding world is talking about you!"
"The Daily Prophet reports your deeds every day—defeating a Troll at eleven, killing a Basilisk at twelve, and clearing Sirius's name last year..."
"Yes, yes, yes, and your feat of repelling Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup!" The lead girl pulled a stamp out of her bag with Charlie White's name in fancy lettering.
"Look, there's even a fan club for you now." The girl said excitedly.
"We are all members of the fan club."
"Attending school with you, there's no telling how many people in the fan club envy us."
"How come I didn't know about this..."
"Because you are too low-key." The girls' eyes were sparkling with stars.
"You are so powerful, yet you never show off; that is the true demeanor of an expert."
Even with Charlie's thick skin, being praised like this to his face was a bit much, and he just wanted to get rid of these people quickly.
"Um... you want autographs, right?"
The girls immediately handed over their bags. Charlie took the pen and signed his name on each of their bags one by one.
When he got to the last one, the girl suddenly pulled out her shoulder strap, her face flushed as she said,
"Mr. White, could you sign here?"
Charlie's hand paused in mid-air.
He was now significantly taller than these sixth-year girls, and from this angle, with the strap pulled out, it was hard not to see some things that shouldn't be seen.
The corridor suddenly went quiet for a few seconds. The other girls covered their mouths and giggled, clearly having egged her on.
Charlie took a glance and then withdrew his gaze, calmly writing his name on the shoulder strap.
"There you go." He returned the pen.
The girls ran off excitedly; in the corridor, one could still hear their hushed laughter and discussions.
Charlie rubbed his temples—fangirls are truly terrifying.
"Mr. White is quite popular." Charlie looked up; Fleur was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with a faint, ambiguous smile on her lips.
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