After a mont of shock, both Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum accepted the result of Draco becoming a champion.
In fact, Fleur—who didn’t know Draco well—found herself even more pleased with how things had turned out.
After all, there was an age gap between them.
Talent mattered to wizards, yes, but without the accumulation of ti, raw talent alone wasn’t worth fearing.
More importantly, if she herself had been chosen as a champion, then Fleur was confident her abilities were nowhere near inferior—certainly not to anyone in this room.
So Fleur was more than happy with this result...
But not everyone could accept Draco’s selection so easily.
The commotion outside made that clear.
Even though most students had cald down under Dumbledore’s intervention, there were still so unwilling to accept it.
“Headmaster! There must be so mistake—shouldn’t we redo the selection?”
The speaker was Cedric Diggory, who should have been one of the most likely champions.
Rattled by the sudden plunge from hope to disappointnt, the Hufflepuff lost his composure entirely. He openly questioned the fairness of the process, forgetting completely that the man standing on the platform was Dumbledore himself.
“Yeah!”
“I think we should redo it too!”
“If I’d known, I would’ve entered as well!”
These murmurs rippled through the crowd, growing louder and louder as more students chid in.
Noticing the “enjoying-the-show” expressions on Maxi and Karkaroff behind him, Dumbledore pushed his glasses up without a change in expression. His gaze drifted toward the broken magical barrier around the Goblet, a subtle ripple flickering through his eyes.
Others might not know what had happened—but Dumbledore certainly did.
A worriso talent indeed...
...
Pansy’s mood was the complete opposite of what it had been at the start.
The gloom she’d felt earlier had flipped completely into smug delight.
Especially when she caught all those jealous, frustrated looks being thrown her way—her face only grew brighter, her lips curling up so proudly it was as if she were afraid others wouldn’t notice.
If Dumbledore hadn’t still been on the stage, Pansy would probably already be dragging Goyle and Crabbe over to those who’d mocked Draco from the very beginning, just to gloat in their faces...
Didn’t they say Draco wasn’t qualified?
And now?
Aside from the resentnt toward Draco being chosen, the bigger question bothering everyone was whether the age restriction actually worked. That was what all the students were desperate to know.
“Harry, what’s going on? George and the others definitely failed—so how…”
“No idea. But I’m pretty sure Diggory wants answers too.”
“Yeah, there’s definitely sothing wrong. But look at her… soone who didn’t know better would think she ca first in the year.”
Ron's words made Harry glance toward Hermione.
The excitent shining on Hermione’s face was impossible to hide. The last ti she’d looked this happy was the day she got full marks on her Transfiguration exam.
Ron’s comparison wasn’t wrong—it showed exactly how thrilled and proud she was that Draco had been chosen as a Champion.
Seeing that, Ron Weasley’s mood worsened, and he muttered under his breath:
“Maybe there wasn’t an age limit after all. Otherwise how did his parchnt get in the Goblet?”
“But… George and the others definitely failed.”
What none of them bothered to consider was why the Goblet would choose Draco instead of the older Cedric Diggory.
“What a sha. If I’d known this could happen, I would’ve tried to—whoa!?”
Seamus, who had been chiming in, froze mid-sentence, eyes widening as if he’d seen sothing terrifying.
At that mont, the Great Hall fell utterly silent, as though soone had pressed pause on the world.
Because the blue-white fla of the Goblet flickered again. Just like before, a slightly charred piece of parchnt shot out from the red blaze.
Right then—
Every wizard fixed their gaze on Dumbledore’s hand.
The Triwizard champions… could there be more than three?
...
Silence.
Tension.
Three chairs arranged in a triangle, each occupied by a student from a different magical school—three champions of the Triwizard Tournant, rivals staring one another down.
On the surface, the tournant was ant to promote exchange between the three schools—a friendly competition carried out in good spirits.
But beneath that was a contest of future magical influence—a struggle between three worlds for prestige and promise.
You could see it in the faint hostility on the faces of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students.
Just as Draco noticed now.
Fleur Delacour sat frowning, head slightly bowed. Viktor Krum, face set and eyes closed as though resting, didn’t even attempt to acknowledge Draco.
The room ant to welco the champions carried a strange, heavy solemnity.
Well… assuming one ignored Fleur, who seed a bit off...
In fact, Fleur herself had probably realized it by now. Sothing about Draco made her lose composure far too easily—completely unlike her usual self.
Just as Draco withdrew his gaze from the two of them, the door swung open.
“Harry?”
“What is it? Are you telling us to leave?”
Harry Potter stepped into the room looking completely unsure of himself. Faced with Viktor’s and Fleur’s questions, he seed even more flustered—especially under Fleur’s sharp stare, which made his limbs stiffen painfully.
“I… I’m not here to give a ssage…”
“Hm?”
“What do you an?”
While Viktor and Fleur looked confused, Draco lifted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he observed Harry, who seed both excited and nervous.
Harry stamred and failed to explain, standing there like a lost sheep. His blank, distracted expression made Fleur frown.
Just then, Ludo Bagman strode in, pulled Harry into a strong hug, then turned toward Draco and the others.
“What a delightful surprise—and what an unexpected one! Champions, allow to introduce… though it sounds unbelievable, this is the fourth Triwizard champion!”
“…..”
“…..”
“…..”
And just like that, Draco suddenly found himself far more interested in how this Triwizard Tournant was going to unfold...
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