"...and what banger of a start that is! Osman begins by not targeting the dragons, but the Hogwarts champions! But Wong doesn't take that lying down, he breaks off from the group and meets the challenge head on! It's Hogwarts against Durmstrang! Muggle against wizard! Who will come out on top?!"
"D-did you see how Wong moved?"
"I know right?! Is that even the movement of a Muggle - no, a human being?"
"Isn't that magic? How? I thought he was a Muggle?!"
"What about Osman? How the hell is he shooting from so far away?!"
"Not only that, but the speed and accuracy of his shots is terrifying..."
The whole crowd, regardless of what school they were apart of, all shared the excitement, even chattering amongst themselves. Some were taking bets on the outcome, others were analysing the competitors actions, and some just revelled in the atmosphere.
Dumbledore wore a small smile on his face. This was what this tournament was truly about, the interaction between students of different schools, different cultures, different ideals, all of it happening here, in this moment.
How could one not smile at such a scene?
However, that moment was quietly pushed down, for but a moment as he brought his attention to the woman at his side - a square-jawed witch with close-cropped grey hair.
"Madam Bones, it fills me with joy that you're able to attend today for this occasion," Dumbledore greeted warmly.
"Spare me the pleasantries, Dumbledore," her tone was curt, laced with an underlying tone of tiredness, one mirrored by her features — dark bags under her eyes. "You have no idea how it's been at the Ministry these past days. The amount of queries we've had to deal with because of that bumbling buffoon Barty and his son... it's enough to make an entire department mad."
"I would imagine," Dumbledore chuckled. "That is why I remained Headmaster after all."
Amelia Bones let out a sigh of frustration before glancing around, seeing the other teachers of Hogwarts around, as well as the other two Headmasters a fair distance away with their schools. All of them with their attention to the screens.
"I assume you've placed a silencing ward around us?" Amelia Bones asked quietly. "I'd rather our conversation not be overheard by... unwanted guests."
Dumbledore gave a slight nod, motioning toward the stands. A particularly eager reporter was busy interviewing students one by one, quill flying furiously.
"How she manages to gather information so quickly is beyond me," Bones sighed, rubbing her temples. "At this rate, everything will be public knowledge within a week, no matter how much we try to contain it. For context, what did you tell the other Headmasters? I'd prefer not to slip up in front of them."
Dumbledore's eyes drifted toward Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, both standing with their respective schools, cheering on their champions with the rest of the students. The judges panel was empty bar Bagman for the time being, with the judges agreeing to reconvene after they make sure everything is in order with their respective schools before taking their seats.
"The truth," he said simply. "That young Barty disguised himself as Alastor Moody in an attempt to harm Harry Potter."
"They didn't press further?"
"They're suspicious," Dumbledore admitted. "Particularly Igor. He was visibly shaken to learn that an 'old friend' had been so close without his knowledge. Still, for now, the Tournament seems to take precedence."
Bones crossed her arms, her expression sharp. "Honestly, Dumbledore, how could something like this happen under your watch? After everything that's occurred at Hogwarts these past few years, it's difficult to believe someone could impersonate a man you know personally."
"Barty Crouch Jr. was... exceptionally skilled," Dumbledore replied evenly. "And contrary to popular belief, I don't scan every mind I encounter, that would be both impolite and invasive. Not to mention, the real Alastor would have hexed me into next week if he'd suspected any intrusion." He gave a weary sigh. "But you're right. Ultimately, the responsibility falls to me. I allowed this deception to take root and grow to this point."
Bones paused, then took a slow, steadying breath. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to lay all the blame at your feet."
"No offense taken," Dumbledore assured her kindly. "You have every right to hold me accountable. Still..." His tone shifted, calm, but sharper. "Let's move on to a more pressing matter. Have you gleaned anything new from Barty? Anything about Voldemort?"
Bones exhaled heavily. "Not much. he's carefully obliterated any potential memory that could lead us to You-Know-Who. What we do know is that the plan to place Potter in the Tournament originated from him, and that he carried a lingering image of the old Riddle Manor. It's empty now, wiped clean of all trace. We still don't know his accomplice, or anything relating to You-Know-Who's current condition. All we're left with is scraps that we're doing our best to follow up on. Our recovery teams estimate it could take months, even years, to undo the magic he used."
"I suspected as much," Dumbledore murmured. "He likely erased it long before coming to Hogwarts, anticipating capture." His eyes darkened. "And what of Dracula's castle? Have you managed to locate it at all?"
"...Has he really gotten involved?" For the first time since she started speaking, her face turned a shade paler.
Even the name Voldemort failed to make her flinch. But this? The thought of that ancient being stirring again, of the Dark Lord seeking his partnership, was beyond frightening.
They were talking about a creature that could drown the world in blood at the peak of his power. The end of days, wrapped in human form.
"He has," Dumbledore said quietly, his gaze fixed on the floating screens above the arena. "After centuries of silence, Dracula has decided to move again. And with him comes the threat of utter annihilation."
Bones composed herself with effort. "There isn't a witch or wizard alive who can find his castle, not deliberately, at least. Except, perhaps..."
Dumbledore nodded faintly. "...It seems I'll have to intervene personally."
She stared at him, almost helpless. If there was anyone who could locate that cursed place, it was Albus Dumbledore—the first of two wizards who managed to set foot inside Dracula's castle and live to tell the tale within the past couple of centuries.
"I've been wondering," Bones said after a pause, her tone hesitant. "Even if it's not a permanent solution... if you were to fight Dracula, would you win?"
It was a question whispered throughout the upper ranks of the Ministry. If the ancient lord regained his full power, there was only one wizard who might stand against him—perhaps not to destroy him, but to stop him.
Dumbledore met her eyes, a small but steady smile forming on his face.
"I won't lose."
Bones blinked, then let out a soft laugh, tension breaking. "I suppose that would have to do. I just needed to hear it from you personally."
The sounds of the crowd drew their attention, as excitement once again roused their spirits.
"So that's the Muggle boy you let in, the one that created a near endless amount of grief for the Ministry a few years ago," Bones watched Vincent through the screens, darting around with inhuman speed. "You have no idea how many letters we got per day asking or trying to force an expulsion off this kid."
"From what I hear, that all died down the moment he killed the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets," Dumbledore mused.
"I'm more surprised that the boy wasn't harassed out of school given how the common pureblood acts these days."
Dumbledore gave a hearty chuckle, earning himself a strange glance by Amelia.
"As you'll soon see Madam Bones, Vincent Wong isn't exactly the easiest target to bully."
...
"Are you sure that it's ok to leave Vince back there?" Harry asked breathlessly.
"Out of all of us? Yes," Nicholas responded without looking over his shoulder. "Your lack of experience aside, neither of us would be able to reliably close the distance to Osman. It'd be worse if we chose to approach him together, and he manages to pick off even one of us. With Wong going at it alone, he should at the very least apply some pressure to Osman, enough to get him off our backs."
'You left another friend behind to take the fall for you,' Harry's mind chastised his inaction. 'Ah, I see... Is it because this is a Tournament? He's not in any danger of dying, so of course sacrificial play is practical. Very clever Potter."
"Shut up," Harry muttered under his breath.
Nicholas glanced back with a raised brow.
"Not you," Harry added quickly. "Just... talking to myself. Anyway—dragons. How do we find them?"
Nicholas raised his other brow but, mercifully, chose not to comment.
"Simple," he said. "We listen."
"Huh?" Harry blinked, thrown off.
"Pay attention to your surroundings, Potter. I won't always be around to hand you the answers." Nicholas slowed from a jog to a brisk walk, and Harry matched his pace. "I'll give you a moment to think. Remember the layout of the map, our starting position, and our current course. Where are we, and why does that matter?"
Harry frowned, thinking hard. Nicholas wasn't the type to entertain half-baked guesses; he wanted something that made sense.
"The Durmstrang champions were last seen near Osman's position," Harry began, cautious but steady. "And judging by the direction we've been running, we're closer to Beauxbatons' area."
Nicholas didn't interrupt, just kept walking, that slight glimmer of approval in his eyes telling Harry to keep going.
"With all the chaos back there... and based on what you said about dragons, they're either likely to attack Vincent and Osman, or be driven away from that area."
Harry's brow furrowed. He felt close, but something was missing. He replayed Nicholas's hint in his head—listen.
Then it clicked.
"It's not just the dragons that'd avoid the fighting—the other teams would, too," Harry continued, the realization dawning. "Since we haven't seen anything so far, it's more than likely someone has run into a dragon already."
A faint, rare glint appeared in Nicholas's eyes.
"And?" he prompted.
"If that's the case... we should be hearing or seeing something soon." Harry's expression shifted as he caught on fully. "You're planning to use another team's encounter as our chance to snag a dragon, aren't you?"
Nicholas gave a small, amused smirk. "Color me impressed. It seems you can think for yourself, though it was a fairly simple deduction."
The hollow praise made Harry grit his teeth. He'd been biting his tongue since training with Nicholas, but that did it.
"Hey," he snapped, irritation bleeding into his tone. "Do you have a problem with me or something? Ever since we met, you've been acting like I kicked your owl or something. What's your deal?"
Nicholas didn't even look back. "No, I don't have a problem with you, Potter. Just your existence."
"What the hell does that even mea—"
"Shh." Nicholas held a finger to his lips. "Listen."
Harry bit back his retort, straining his ears. At first, nothing—then, faintly, he caught it.
Distant shouting. The heavy snap of trees breaking. Then, a roar so powerful it rattled the air around them.
"Is it just me, or does that sound like it's coming this way?" Harry asked, uneasy.
"...We need to move," Nicholas muttered.
Too late.
A massive, metal soldier burst through the treeline, earth trembling under its steps. In its giant hand, it clutched the three Beauxbatons champions.
"Oh—'ello, handsome, Potter!" Eloise Bernard called out with a wave, hanging upside down from the construct's palm. "Fancy meetin' you here!"
"Focus, Eloise," Sylvie snapped, wand raised. Harry realized with dawning awe that the colossal automaton was her creation—and under her control.
"It's coming," Fleur said tensely.
Before Harry or Nicholas could ask what she meant, the forest behind them erupted again, something far larger forcing its way through the trees. Once the dust cleared Harry's eyes widened in absolute shock.
"No way..." Harry breathed out, "Why the heck is that here?!"
...
Be the best.
Be better than the best—and then go further.
That was what it meant to be an Osman. That was what being Pureblood demanded of me.
I convinced myself it was my duty.
Then he arrived: effortless, flawless. Everything I worked for seemed to come to him naturally, as if my hardest-won techniques were mere steps for him to leap over.
There was only one thing I still had on him: the breadth of my control.
My family hammered that into me—if I wasn't the best, I was worthless. Yet instead of crushing me, it gave rise to a different feeling.
I didn't want to beat him to satisfy them, or to prove some bloodline creed.
I wanted to beat him for myself.
Why?
Because he looked bored.
...
Bang!
Nikolai burst out of the explosion's smokescreen, a crimson-and-gold blaze lighting up the sky behind him. With a flick of his wand, the shattered splinters around him reassembled into floating platforms beneath his boots.
"He's shown fire, ice, and lightning so far," Nikolai analyzed, eyes flicking toward the haze below. "Five gems were embedded in that wand, which means he's still hiding two attributes. Its release speed isn't quite standard, but the raw firepower is immense. Trajectory's simple enough, though. As long as I keep my distance... victory's mine."
A black flash shot out of the smoke at breakneck speed right at Nikolai who was prepared for it.
"Reparo. Engorgio!"
Wood fragments surged outward, stretching into a barrier of jagged spikes aimed straight for the charging boy. Vincent didn't even slow down.
The Arc-Wand thundered like a cannon. A concussive blast tore through the air, obliterating the wall into splinters and halting his charge mid-flight.
"Gone," Vincent muttered, eyes narrowing as he scanned the smoke. He snatched a broken shard and hurled it downward, hitting something unseen and detonated into dust.
Below, Nikolai slid down a thin wooden ramp that shimmered into view, wand leveled upward.
"Seriously? Even transparent spells don't slip past you?" Nikolai chuckled. "Looks like I'll have to step it up."
"Still... the dragons." His gaze flicked to the treeline. "Even if I'm eliminated, if I mark one, Nina and Krum can finish the job. Not that I plan to lose."
"You look like you're having fun," Vincent called, just before spikes erupted beneath him. He fired twin blasts, one propelling him sideways, the other boosting his descent.
"Of course!" Nikolai landed in a roll, wand snapping upward. "What's life without a little joy?"
"Omagyosvam, nanasyam udar, unishtozhavam, Stupefy!"
The bolts missed, or so it seemed.
Vincent, landing hard on the ground, prepared to charge but froze. The air buzzed, and the hair on his skin rose, all in response to a danger he hadn't yet seen.
He dove aside just as red lightning ripped down from the clouds, scorching the ground where he'd stood.
"Chanting's full potential unleashed alongside incantations," Vincent muttered from behind cover. "So Nicholas wasn't exaggerating... Oi! Spikes and lightning?! You trying to kill me?!"
Nikolai tilted his head. "With what you can do, anything less would be an insult. Take it as a compliment."
"Flattered." Vincent burst from cover, hurling a conjured rod of ice.
Nikolai sidestepped, only to face a second one about to collide with his face. He barely ducked it, the rod slamming into a tree with a crack that made him wince.
"Such absurd power..." he muttered, sweat beading. "And I'm supposed to be the lethal one here?"
He sprinted. Vincent was on him instantly, faster, closing the gap like a predator.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
With a flick, Nikolai's footing, and himself, launched skyward in a burst of dirt. Vincent halted, shielding his face as debris flew past, watching Nikolai twist midair, wand leveled.
"Fumos!"
A dense smoke exploded outward, swallowing the clearing whole.
Vincent exhaled. "Just like my fight with Crouch, except this time, I'm the one in the dark."
He raised his wand, about to blast the smoke away, before an idea came to mind. "...No. Maybe I can use this."
...
Nikolai hid in a tree, his eyes glowing a faint white as he scanned his surroundings, almost as clear as day to him.
"He sure moved fast," he frowned.
It was barely a few seconds in between his casting of the smoke and the charm to see through it all. In that short span of time, Vincent seemed to have vanished. No matter where he looked, there was no sign of the boy anywhere.
"He shouldn't have made it that far, could he?" Nikolai focused his hearing, not willing to let even the slightest sound catch him off guard. "Hmm? Hang on, that silver rod... is that—ARGH?!"
The moment he focused in on the Arc-Wand, left lying in the open, a blinding flash of light scorched his eyes, nearly causing him to fall from the tree. His spell that allowed him to see through the thick smoke now backfired, intensifying the effect severalfold.
"A delayed spell?! He can do that?!" Nikolai tried rubbing the glare out of his eyes, succeeding in gaining back a little of his vision, only to be greeted by the sight of Vincent appearing right in front of him. "Crap."
He was promptly tackled out of the tree, his wand swiftly being taken from his grasp mid fall. Just as Nikolai was fearing the impact, he felt Vincent break their fall, catching him as they tumbled across the ground.
A sharp chill bit at Nikolai's skin as he came to, realizing he couldn't move, his arms and legs were locked in ice. Through the haze, he saw Vincent standing over him, a faint blue glow emanating from the gem in his hand. Nikolai let out a short, wry laugh as the realization hit.
"So the gems act independently, huh? Used that wand as bait, then circled around to freeze me," he said, voice steady despite his defeat. "Clever bastard. I'm beat. Go on, finish it."
Vincent tilted his head. "Your English is pretty good," he said suddenly.
Nikolai blinked. "What?"
"I mean compared to Krum," Vincent continued, his tone casual. "You're a lot easier to understand."
"Didn't really have a choice," Nikolai muttered, chuckling without humor. "My mother practically drilled it into me. Krum only started learning a few months ago, but the guy's a genius at whatever he touches."
"That's high praise," Vincent said dryly. "You look up to him or something?"
"Far from it." Nikolai's brow furrowed, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "If anything, I can't stand him." His eyes narrowed. "You're trying to fish for info on my teammates, aren't you? Crafty bastard."
"Caught me red-handed," Vincent admitted easily, pressing his palm against Nikolai's frozen chest, right over the crystal portkey. "Guess I'll be seeing you."
"Wait, just one thing," Nikolai said. "More of a favor, really. Don't know if I'll get another chance."
"...I'm listening," Vincent said warily. He doubted Nikolai could pull anything in this state, especially without his wand, but he stayed cautious all the same.
"If you ever end up fighting Krum... make sure you beat him."
"...Isn't he your teammate?" Vincent asked, raising a brow.
"Of course he is," Nikolai said, eyes unfocused for a moment. "But that guy... he needs to be knocked down every now and then."
Vincent stared for a beat, then sighed. "Sure. Why not." He cracked his knuckles. "This might hurt a bit."
"What do you—GWAH?!"
Vincent's fist slammed through the ice, shattering both the frost and the crystal portkey at Nikolai's neck. Space warped, and in an instant, the Durmstrang champion vanished in a flicker of light.
Vincent blinked, glancing at his empty hand—Nikolai's wand, which he'd been holding, had also disappeared.
"So it only teleports the wearer and their belongings..." he mused. "Huh. Complicated magic."
Vincent turned to retrieve his Arc-Wand, then froze.
A sound. Heavy, rhythmic.
Footsteps.
And not just one set.
"...Oh, you've got to be joking," he muttered, eyes flicking over his shoulder.
Two dragons emerged from the smoke and ruin of the forest—one a gleaming scarlet with a mane of flame, the other a black, thorn-spined monster whose scales glimmered like iron. Both fixed their eyes on Vincent with unmistakable hunger.
"The red one's a Chinese Fireball... I think," Vincent murmured, edging back a step. "And the other... Hungarian Horntail, right? The really bad one."
He tried to recall the rushed study session with Harry the night before the task. They'd skimmed through the known dragon species, crammed in names and sketches, but that was about it. Behavior patterns, instincts, weak points? All a blur. Still, one thing stuck: dragons usually didn't share territory.
"Most species fight to the death if another enters their range," Vincent thought grimly. "So why are these two working together?"
It made no sense. The Hungarian Horntail especially was infamous for its territorial nature; feral, cunning, and utterly solitary. Even experienced handlers hesitated to face one. And yet here it was, shoulder to shoulder with a Fireball, both prowling like a hunting pair.
"I just need to grab my wand—slowly," Vincent whispered under his breath. "No sudden moves, no noise—"
SNAP
He looked down at the broken twig beneath his boot.
"Oh come on, really...?"
Both dragons' heads shot up, nostrils flaring.
Then came the roar; deep, guttural, deafening.
Vincent barely had time to curse before they charged.
...