The Competition That Turns Into War… Again – Part 2
"Damn it… I have to hurry. The others have probably already found someone to fight for them," muttered Hermione, thinking seriously.
"Pipi," she called into the air.
With a crack, a tiny house-elf appeared out of nowhere. She wore a little dress and looked around until her eyes found Hermione.
"Miss Pipi is here!" exclaimed the elf, immediately running over to hug her mistress's leg with enthusiasm.
Hermione smiled fondly and gave the cheerful little elf a gentle tap on the head.
"Ah—no, Pipi mustn't," said the elf, stepping back at once and standing stiffly with a clumsy military salute. "Gris said that elves must serve their masters," she added seriously.
Hermione couldn't help but smile at the attempt.
"It's all right, Pipi. You can relax around me," she said kindly. "Could you please bring me the small chest beside my bed?" she added, crouching slightly to be at the elf's eye level.
"Yes! Pipi can!" replied the little elf before snapping her fingers and disappearing.
Hermione barely had to wait a few seconds before Pipi reappeared, placing a chest half her own height right in front of her with ease.
"Thank you, Pipi," said Hermione with a grateful smile.
"Hehe! Then Pipi will go back to being a hard-working elf," replied the little one with a bright grin. She gave a tiny wave and vanished again with a snap.
Hermione shook her head, amused. She couldn't get the image of the little elf out of her mind—the one who could rest whenever there was nothing to do but always insisted on finding something useful around the house.
She carefully opened the chest and looked inside for a moment, a mischievous smile curving her lips.
"I had planned to surprise them and defeat them all at once… but I suppose I can use it now. Either way, they'll be defeated," she murmured with satisfaction, picturing her friends' astonished faces as she won the competition.
She closed the chest, grasped the small handle that stuck out on top with both hands, and lifted it, walking forward with an eager smile.
Her path led her across the great bridge that floated above the water, where numerous people strolled about. There were even food stalls—vendors who had paid quite a bit to secure a place there rather than on the shore. After all, the bridge was the main passage toward the stands of the arena, and everything was arranged to keep the flow of people smooth and unobstructed.
"Oh, but what do we have here?" came a mocking, familiar voice.
Hermione stopped instantly and turned her head. There he was—the one they had thought they'd finally gotten rid of: Luis Carrow.
At his sides stood Crabbe and Goyle, and not far behind were Pansy Parkinson and her friends, along with a few other Slytherins who seemed to have regrouped after being separated into different schools.
Hermione tried to ignore them and continue walking, but Crabbe stepped forward, blocking her way.
"Hey, hey… where do you think you're going, little Mudblood? When your master talks to you, you're supposed to answer," said Luis with mockery and disdain, stepping a bit closer.
Then, as if realizing he'd come too near, he quickly covered his mouth with a handkerchief and stepped back. His friends burst out laughing.
"What do you want, Carrow? I'm busy," said Hermione firmly, glaring at him with annoyance while clutching the chest tightly.
"Oh, me? What could I possibly want from something like you?" replied Luis, his voice dripping with contempt.
"Then I'll be on my way," Hermione retorted, trying to sidestep Crabbe, who shifted again to block her path.
"Still… I've been hearing some interesting things," commented Luis with a proud smirk as he walked beside her, careful not to get too close, as if proximity alone could taint him. "Seems you're still clinging to Potter and Malfoy. Really, it's like you're trying to raise your own value. Funny, isn't it?" he said, glancing toward Pansy.
The girl frowned, her expression full of hatred.
"Do you think a pure-blood family would disgrace itself by letting a filthy Mudblood like her into their bloodline?" Pansy spat, unable to contain her revulsion.
"Well, that's the problem with our dear Malfoy. After all, he's always hanging around that Potter—the half-breed son of a pure-blood and a Mudblood," added Carrow, laughing mockingly.
"Are you finished?" interrupted Hermione, silencing Luis's laughter. He turned toward her, visibly irritated.
Her gaze was cold, sharp as a blade.
"I'm busy. So move," she said, shifting her eyes to Crabbe with a tone so icy it seemed to chill the air around them. The massive boy, who towered two or three heads above her, instinctively stepped back.
"Hahaha…" Luis burst into laughter. "And what could you possibly do, you filthy, rotting Mudblood?" he sneered, stepping toward her again—though still keeping his handkerchief over his mouth.
The Slytherins around them began laughing too, waiting eagerly for a spectacle.
Ever since Carrow had studied at Durmstrang, he'd become even more toxic, steeped in his own venom. He saw himself as a superior wizard—powerful among his peers. That pride pushed him to confront anyone he pleased.
"Luis? What are you doing here?" came a deep, authoritative male voice.
Everyone turned to look.
A tall man was approaching with a firm stride. He was an older version of Carrow—blond hair perfectly combed, expensive clothes adorned with gold chains and rings on both hands. He even had gold teeth. On the left side of his neck was a large tattoo of a serpent. His gaze was deadly, filled with contempt for the world, an arrogant gleam that regarded everyone as an enemy.
"Oh, father," said Luis, trying to sound confident. "Nothing, I was just teaching a Mudblood her place," he explained with a satisfied smile, as if he were doing the right thing.
The man looked at his son and then at Hermione, his face twisting in disgust.
"Then finish quickly," he said calmly, waving his hand as if it were a trivial matter.
"I'm afraid that won't be happening," came another cold voice.
The crowd that had gathered to watch what was happening parted instantly, making way. No one dared to interfere—after all, these were problems between children, and not just any children, but those of noble blood. They stepped aside as though a sea were being split open.
A man with a face as cold as ice walked forward at a measured pace, his frosty eyes scanning the scene as if analyzing every detail with calculated precision.
Beside him stood another man, his long hair framing a faintly mocking expression—one of clear disdain toward Carrow, as if silently saying, you're done for.
They were Edward, who was overseeing the water section to ensure order, and Sirius, the one who was supposed to be watching the entrances. Incidentally, the moment Sirius saw Lupin approaching, he had abandoned his post entirely; Edward had gone after him to drag him back.
Wherever they went, the two men drew attention—both elegant and striking, like noblemen. Yet there was a sharp contrast between them: one carried a wild, playful air, while the other was as cold and composed as a glacier.
Carrow's eyes widened, his mouth twisting in both irritation and unease as he saw the two approaching. He straightened at once, stepping in front of his son protectively, one hand brushing the hilt of his sword as a signal for the boy to stay close.
"Oh, Corvin Carrow," said Sirius, dragging out the name with mocking emphasis. "I thought you'd be with your delightful brothers in that hole of yours," he added, circling Corvin before stopping right in front of Hermione.
The nearby Slytherins instinctively took several steps back, watching as Corvin pushed his son behind him, keeping him out of reach—as if facing two predators: a lion and a great serpent.
Edward stood silently, observing. Sirius, meanwhile, wore a faint grin that suggested he wouldn't mind starting a fight. A bead of sweat slid down Corvin's temple as he felt completely trapped.
"Black, Greengrass," said Carrow, forcing his voice to remain steady as his gaze shifted from one man to the other. "It's just a fight between children. Do you really have so little noble honor that you'd attack a boy?" he said, noticing how their eyes occasionally flicked toward his trembling son standing behind him.
"What are you talking about?" replied Sirius with a laugh. "I don't have any noble honor at all," he added casually, dashing any hope Carrow had of easing the tension.
Corvin's stance grew even more defensive, shielding his son.
"Hahaha. Relax, I'm joking. I don't hold grudges against the children of my enemies," said Sirius, laughing as if sharing a friendly chat with an old acquaintance. Yet the word enemies didn't help in the slightest—because that's precisely what they were.
"Sirius, don't start a fight during the first tournament our families have organized," Edward said seriously.
"I know, I know," Sirius answered, lowering his battle-ready gaze with forced calm. Then he turned to Hermione. "Mione, you can go ahead now. And don't forget to tell my dear godson how his heroic godfather saved the day," he said with a teasing smile.
Hermione rolled her eyes before continuing on her way.
Sirius then turned his attention toward the Slytherin students, who immediately felt the air grow heavy around them.
"You brats, disappear too. This is an adult conversation," he said irritably.
As if granted a sudden pardon, they all scattered at once. Corvin gestured for his son to leave as well, staying behind to face the two men alone.
There he stood—one man against two monsters.
One was said to have a heart frozen to all except his own family: an authoritarian leader unafraid to dirty his hands, who, though claiming neutrality, could be far more ruthless than any dark pure-blood if crossed. The other was a reckless madman who had been a thorn in the Dark Lord's side countless times alongside his friends; rumor had it that his madness had grown several degrees worse after years in Azkaban, robbing him of the restraint he once showed when fighting for Dumbledore. Now, there was nothing left to hold him back.
At that moment, Corvin Carrow was the leader of the Dark faction—but nowhere near the level of those two men. Though he was the family patriarch thanks to wealth and social influence, personally he had always been rather useless. In his youth, he had wasted his fortune without thought for the future. Even his own son was a bastard he had brought from abroad after becoming head of the family.
"We'll talk somewhere else," said Edward, turning away and leading the path—not as a suggestion, but as an order.
Corvin drew a deep breath before replying. "You realize that attacking me would start a war, don't you? Even if your neutral faction has you as its leader, the other families aren't strong enough without you. If a war begins, everyone will suffer," he said quickly, trying to sound intimidating.
Sirius chuckled with mock amusement. "You do love jumping to complicated topics, don't you? Actually, what we want to discuss is payment—for those men who came to sabotage our work. I'm sure Edward has prepared quite the list," said Sirius calmly, though his wand had already appeared in his hand.
Corvin felt the open threat in those words. Worst of all, he had no one to back him up, no allies to pull him out of this mess. All he could do was follow them—hatred burning in his eyes.