"Whoa!"
Fred and George let out a synchronized yelp, corkscrewing their brooms in a frantic 360-degree spin.
They barely evaded the curse streaking toward them, yet both felt an ominous, burning sting across their backsides.
—Was this some new kind of broom rash?
The twins exchanged a worried glance, itching to scratch but too proud to do it mid-air.
Down on the arena floor, Durmstrang's champion—the brooding Quidditch prodigy Viktor Krum—slowly pushed himself upright, wand glowing like a live coal in his blackened fist.
He glared up at the sky with eyes that blazed like torches, his soot-streaked face set in granite determination.
An aura of indomitable majesty rolled off him.
"—The real battle begins now," he declared, each syllable carved in stone.
It would have been impossibly cool…
If he weren't currently charred head-to-toe like a forgotten barbecue.
Fred and George, never ones to miss an opportunity, cupped their hands and shouted down:
"Blimey, the charcoal's talking! Anyone got marshmallows?"
Harry stayed wisely silent, granting his Seeker senior the last scraps of dignity.
Krum's chest heaved, eyes bloodshot.
I never thought I would make such a rookie mistake—
Underestimating him.
Ethan Vincent… you are truly worth crossing wands with!
He vaguely sensed that the scarlet lightning carried some lingering side-effect, but pride shoved the thought aside.
His gaze shifted to the ornate chest sitting innocently in the center of the arena.
A single shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds, bathing it in golden light, making the gemstones and gilded filigree sparkle like something out of a pirate legend.
The lost treasure of some forgotten age, begging to be claimed.
So this is the prize for slaying the dragon?
Heh. Ethan still has a shred of decency left.
Krum's cracked lips curved into a grim smile. He would win this. He had to.
In a low, rumbling voice he announced:
"My apologies, but the Hungarian Horntail is dead. Our temporary alliance is over. I will not yield the stage—"
"This chest, and the right to face Ethan Vincent in true combat, belong to me!"
Harry and the twins: "…"
You conveniently forgot to mention the part where it tries to eat you, mate.
George whispered to Fred, "He actually thinks that's a reward chest?"
Fred snickered. "Still too pure for this world."
Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, sharing a solemn nod with the twins.
He cast one last pitying glance at the oblivious Durmstrang champion, then banked his broom sharply and shot off toward the competitors' exit.
As the trio primarily responsible for bringing down the dragon, their scores were already guaranteed. They were running on fumes anyway. Best to quit while they still had eyebrows.
Lee Jordan's amplified voice boomed across the stadium:
"—And Hogwarts' three warriors return safely to the tent! The only school with all champions still in one piece!"
The stands exploded into cheers.
"So, what will our final warrior on the field—Durmstrang's own Viktor Krum—decide to do?"
Krum blinked, momentarily thrown.
He hadn't expected the Hogwarts trio to bail so decisively—like they were fleeing the plague.
He shook his head. Their scores were secure; of course they'd leave.
But he wanted more than points.
He wanted the fight of his life against Ethan Vincent.
Ethan! I'll make the whole world watch me tear you down!
First things first, though.
He holstered his wand and strode toward the chest, anticipation flickering across his singed features.
He stopped before the gold-threaded, jewel-encrusted box and reached out.
What sort of prize had Ethan prepared? Some forbidden dark artifact, perhaps—
Click.
The lid lifted.
Krum's face froze in a relaxed half-smile.
The very next instant—
CRUNCH!
An enormous maw erupted from the chest like a desert sandworm exploding from the dunes, rings of razor-sharp teeth clamping down on Krum's head and yanking him bodily inside.
"AAAAAAGGGGHHHH??!!"
A bloodcurdling scream tore through the silent arena.
His wand clattered to the ground. Two kicking legs were the only part of Viktor Krum still visible, thrashing wildly as the "treasure chest" dragged him in.
"NO—GET OFF—DON'T YOU DARE—AAAAAHHHH!!!"
The terrified bellows of the stoic northern champion echoed across the lake.
Slowly, the kicking grew weaker.
And weaker.
Until the legs disappeared entirely with a wet, final-sounding gulp.
The audience sat in stunned silence, jaws on the floor.
No one had any idea what fresh horror lurked inside that pretty box.
Then, as one, understanding dawned on thousands of faces, followed immediately by relieved grins.
"I knew it. I bloody knew Ethan wouldn't just leave a nice present."
"Of course it wasn't a treasure chest—it was a Mimic!"
"Suddenly everything makes sense again."
At the judges' table, Headmaster Karkaroff slammed his fist on the railing so hard the wood splintered.
He rounded on the British officials, wand out, practically foaming.
"The task is over! What is this nonsense?!"
Ludo Bagman hunched like a man expecting lightning to strike him personally and sighed.
He'd known this Tournament was going to end in an international incident.
Dumbledore merely twinkled over his half-moon spectacles, stroking his beard.
"Now, now, Igor. Ethan did promise dragons for the first task. He simply never specified they would be the only creatures involved."
Karkaroff's expression said are you kidding me right now.
Dumbledore's smile widened serenely.
"I believe young Mr. Vincent wished to teach a valuable lesson about the perils of greed and temptation. Most educational."
Karkaroff looked ready to suffer an aneurysm.
Two more tasks. Two more of whatever that was.
Was it too late to forfeit the entire school?
Lee Jordan cleared his throat over the microphone.
"Er… upon closer inspection, that is indeed Viktor Krum in there. He is no longer moving. Someone owl the funeral home—"
"Gryffindor minus ten points, Jordan."
"Cough—regrettably, Champion Krum has fallen to Ethan's final trap! Swallowed by the Mimic!"
"With no active champions remaining on the field, I declare the first task of the Triwizard Tournament—"
"Concluded!"
"And the winner—Hogwarts!"
"Jordan, the scores aren't even up yet!"
The giant magical scoreboard flared to life anyway.
Hogwarts: 1st place, by a country mile.
Durmstrang: 2nd.
Beauxbatons: a distant 3rd.
The moment the rankings appeared, the arena detonated.
"HOGWARTS! HOGWARTS!"
Students poured from the stands like a crimson-and-gold tidal wave, hoisting Harry, Fred, and George into the air again and again.
Fireworks screamed skyward, bursting into the shape of a roaring lion that bathed the castle in scarlet light.
Exhausted, bruised, half their eyebrows singed off, the three champions couldn't stop grinning.
The late-autumn sun warmed their upturned faces as they shouted along with the crowd:
"Enlightenment Society—victory!!!"
"Long live Ethan!!!"
Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked like they'd swallowed lemons whole, yet even they couldn't quite hide the grudging respect in their eyes as they watched the black-haired figure drifting down from the sky on lazy currents of air.
Karkaroff muttered under his breath, "He is… formidable, I'll give him that."
At least where the Dark Arts were concerned, the boy was untouchable.
Only Mr. Crouch frowned, repeating the shouted name under his breath.
Enlightenment Society…?
It sounded disturbingly familiar—like whispers he'd heard in the Ministry corridors lately.
[Congratulations! You have perfectly completed the first task and delivered an unforgettable spectacle to the masses!]
[Soul Fusion +1.6%]
Ethan exhaled, feeling magic rush back into his veins like cold spring water after a drought. Pure exhilaration.
"Whew—painting that much rune-work in mid-air really takes it out of you."
"But 1.6% in one go? Worth every drop."
[Light Intensity Increased]
[A young, lonely soul awaits you tonight. Please remember to speak with her in your dreams.]
A young soul?
Ethan arched a brow.
Definitely not Lily Potter—too old.
Then who…?
A weak, rasping voice interrupted his musing.
Krum—now rescued and sprawled on a stretcher, face pale beneath the soot—lifted his head with heroic effort.
"I… I will defeat you next time, Ethan Vincent… mark my words…"
Still issuing challenges after being eaten alive. Northern stubbornness at its finest.
Ethan gave an approving nod.
Then, ever helpful, he leaned in with a sunny smile.
"Oh, one more thing—tell the Healers to lift the death curse while they've got you on the table."
Krum blinked, confused. "…Death curse?"
Ethan waved a hand airily.
"Nothing serious! Just a little side-effect of my red lightning. Take a few hits and your body starts shutting down bit by bit. Perfectly manageable."
Krum exhaled in tentative relief.
Ethan's smile widened, innocent and chilling all at once.
"Though in your case it's a touch more… creative."
"You're going to be nurturing something special in that stomach of yours for a while~"
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