Just as day turns to night, and the four seasons cycle through the year, all things in the world follow certain rules.
Magic is no exception...
To cast a spell properly, a wizard must not only possess talent but also follow the established “magical process” with absolute precision.
The pronunciation of the spell, the arc of the wand’s movent, and the control of magical power during casting—these determine whether a spell succeeds. And with more advanced magic, the wizard’s own conviction becos an essential factor.
These unchanging elents form the rules of magic...
But among them exists a rare exception.
Under normal circumstances, a wizard cannot divide their focus to cast two spells at the sa ti. No amount of effort or persistence can overco this limitation.
Forcing it could even cause irreversible harm to the caster.
Which is why, for most wizards, casting only one spell at a ti has quietly beco an unspoken rule of magic...
Yet across the long history of the wizarding world, a few naturally gifted prodigies have always erged.
The founders of Hogwarts’ four houses, Dumbledore currently seated at the judges’ table, and even the Dark Lord who once plunged the British wizarding world into chaos—all were such brilliant, exceptional figures.
Wizards refer to these rare individuals as...
“Those who break past limits... To think he’s grown this far already?”
Dumbledore’s quiet remark snapped the other two headmasters back to awareness. As they recovered, Karkaroff and the others imdiately turned to him, demanding answers.
“Dumbledore, we expect an explanation!”
“That’s right! We were never told soone like this would appear in the Triwizard Tournant. This is unfair, Dumbledore!”
Unlike the young wizards cheering because Draco had struck the Thunderbird so effectively, the two headmasters—standing among the highest tiers of the wizarding world—fully understood the aning behind what they had just witnessed.
Aside from envying Hogwarts for producing such a promising wizard, they were now deeply troubled by which school would ultimately win the championship.
Because they knew that Draco, who had mastered double casting, was not soone their students could possibly defeat.
And this wasn’t sothing as simple as comparing using one wand to using two...
…
Unlike what Dumbledore and the professors had seen, most of the audience didn’t witness advanced wandless magic or the deeper aning behind double casting.
What they saw was the Thunderbird rolling out of the dust in a spray of feathers—and the proud, striking figure who made their blood surge with excitent.
Just monts earlier, Draco had hurled a massive boulder and blasted the Thunderbird away—the very one Fleur had accidentally drawn toward them...
“Draco!”
“Draco!”
“Draco!”
“Draco!”
Silence fell for one heartbeat, then the arena erupted in cheers so loud they seed ready to shatter the magical barrier.
Because of Draco’s stunning display, the young wizards temporarily forgot that the figure before them was the much-disliked Slytherin, even forgetting his potential status as a Death Eater.
Of course, the handful of people—including Ron Weasley—who had been hoping for Draco to fail looked far from happy...
As for the Slytherins, there was no need to ask. They had completely abandoned their usual aristocratic composure. Faces flushed and necks red, they roared alongside the so-called half-blood wizards, cheering wildly for Draco.
Now and then, one could even spot a young Gryffindor hugging a young Slytherin—a shocking and bizarre sight.
The unity and warmth among the students brought tears to Professor McGonagall’s eyes. Compared to a certain wizard known for sowing division, perhaps the stern and earnest Minerva McGonagall was the one most fit to be Hogwarts’ Headmistress.
And the wizard who felt this most deeply—and was most delighted by it—was undoubtedly Hermione Granger.
Although, if she had to pick a side, she would still choose Draco’s, seeing the tension between the two houses easing was sothing Hermione truly welcod.
However, now that the imdiate danger had passed, Hermione’s priority was figuring out how to pry that half-Veela girl away from Draco.
Because the beautiful witch from Beauxbatons was clinging tightly to Draco’s arm...
...
Inside the arena, Fleur, who had been facing the Thunderbird head-on, stared blankly at the long trench the tumbling creature had carved.
Deep gouges in the earth, toppled trees, and golden feathers scattered along the man-made path—every part of it told her exactly what Draco had just done.
Whether from magical exhaustion or sothing she couldn’t quite na, Fleur held tightly onto the arm that made her feel safe, her gaze dazed as it drifted to Draco’s profile...
“So... it’s over? We defeated the Thunderbird? We... we’re safe?”
Draco had intended to correct her use of “we,” but hearing Fleur’s trembling voice—full of the relief of soone who had brushed past death—and noticing a faint stirring in the dust ahead, he decided not to answer imdiately.
Fleur didn’t seem to notice the silence. All she wanted was to finish this task and get back to the carriage for a proper sleep.
‘Once I sleep, everything will be fine.’
Aside from the anxious flutter in her chest, that was her only clear thought.
Unfortunately, things weren’t nearly as simple as Fleur imagined. Draco shattered her hopeful illusion outright...
“Over?”
“Well... didn’t you defeat the Thunderbird?”
“You’ve got the wrong idea. What made you think—”
BOOM!
A violent snap of wings tore through the dust, revealing the massive silhouette hidden within.
Raindrops were sucked upward in that instant, a sign of the terrifying power coursing through the creature.
The sight, combined with Draco’s unfinished words, made Fleur’s expression freeze...
“So tell —what made you think a Thunderbird is that easy to deal with?”
“Screech!!!”
The battle reignited!
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