Crack!
As the host finished introducing the champions, a bolt of lightning struck a tree in the arena—like a signal flare announcing the start of the first match of the Triwizard Tournament...
"Now! All four Champions are moving! What is this!?"
"Harry Potter!! Harry Potter is the first to charge forward!!"
The first to act—outpacing the other Champions—was the Chosen One from the western corner, Harry Potter.
His figure gradually faded from sight. If not for the faint human outline visible through the heavy rain, many would have believed Harry Potter had vanished entirely from the field.
"So it's the Disillusionment Charm! Yes—our fourth Champion actually mastered a high-level spell capable of concealing his form. Is this to avoid being detected by his opponents?"
The announcer's booming voice carried clearly even to Draco. But Draco wasn't surprised by Harry's impulsive move; instead, he casually rolled his wrist.
If Harry Potter didn't act recklessly, he wouldn't be Harry Potter.
While thinking this, under the weight of eager and malicious stares alike, Draco lifted his fingertips and cast a small spell over himself—one that shielded against wind and rain.
Notably, Draco never drew his wand.
Wandless casting.
And nonverbal, too.
Because the motion was so subtle, only the few young wizards keeping extremely close watch on Draco noticed what he was doing.
Until Fleur began behaving strangely...
"Oh! Our Delacour Champion has just demonstrated impressive Transfiguration—wait, is that an umbrella? Yes! She's transformed a fallen branch into an umbrella, and look at that—the umbrella is decorated with beautiful rose patterns! Wait… hold on…"
"What's going on?"
"She's not heading the right way!"
"Is she…?"
"Is she trying to take out another Champion first?"
As the announcer faltered, everyone in the stands felt something was wrong. The murmurs rising around the stadium were tinged with disbelief.
Because Fleur wasn't advancing toward the task objective.
Instead...
...
On the other side.
Rain drummed against the leaves while thunder rolled overhead, blending into a natural symphony.
Draco lifted his gaze toward the towering troll before him, the creature hefting a massive wooden club in one hand…
This "battlefield," meticulously crafted by the Ministry of Magic, was far from simple. The challenge wasn't just about testing the Champions' courage.
Under relentless storm and treacherous, uneven terrain, they needed to preserve their stamina, reach the mission objective intact, and then face the Thunderbird. None of this was as easy as it sounded.
To succeed, they needed not only bravery, but sharp observation and the creativity to use spells effectively.
More importantly, the battlefield hadn't been populated with only the Thunderbird...
Cornish Pixies, Danger Level: XXX
Trolls, Danger Level: XXXX
Merpeople, Danger Level: XXXX
From the spectator stands—blessed with a god's-eye view—and with the host narrating each detail, every wizard quickly understood that the field was crawling with dangerous magical creatures.
They understood exactly what the Champions would have to contend with.
But just when everyone assumed a brutal struggle awaited the Champions, Draco showed them—what it meant for a wizard to transcend the ordinary.
"Sectumsempra!"
BOOM!
Trees crashed to the ground. The curtain of rain before him split cleanly apart. Everything in Draco's path was torn away by the razor-sharp, invisible edge of the spell.
The troll standing against him collapsed once more under this lethal dark magic…
"I recall this is a piece of 'dark magic' you invented, Severus?"
"..."
"He ought to be at our Durmstrang, wouldn't you say, Albus?"
Whether deliberately or not, after seeing Draco dispatch the troll so effortlessly, the Durmstrang Headmaster—Igor Karkaroff, famed for dabbling in dark magic—let out a cold, derisive laugh.
As if Draco had somehow broken the rules.
"There's no rule against it, is there, Karkaroff?"
"Severus."
After briefly exchanging glances, Snape and Karkaroff turned their attention back to the field.
Snape was right—the rules of the Triwizard Tournament forbade only the three Unforgivable Curses.
Dark magic, strictly speaking, wasn't prohibited.
Of course, even if it wasn't banned, there was still the matter of optics. Especially here in Britain, a land once ravaged by Voldemort's followers…
Seeing Draco openly wield dark magic sent waves of shock through the Hogwarts students.
The Gryffindors, especially, shouted angrily and stared at him like he was some kind of criminal.
Yet the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students in the corner barely reacted.
Some even glanced at the outraged Hogwarts students as if they were the strange ones...
…
Draco withdrew his cold gaze from the troll's corpse, unmoved by the surrounding accusations.
Nor did he feel any pride over how easily he'd taken the creature down.
"Dark magic? Hah…"
Yes, dark magic required malice to reach its full power.
Yes, dark magic inflicted damage that was nearly impossible to heal.
Yes, dark magic was a force designed for harming others.
But—
Regardless of the magic, the true deciding factor was always the wizard holding the wand—not the magic itself.
Had Dumbledore, hailed as the greatest wizard, truly never cast dark magic?
Had the Aurors who once stood against Voldemort fought without ever needing such power to protect the wizarding world?
The answers were obvious.
But Draco had no interest in explaining.
Like a knight of ancient England after a duel, he slid his wand back into his cane, letting out a soft, cold laugh.
He didn't owe irrelevant spectators a single word.
Step.
His cloak snapped sharply in the wind.
His eyes gleamed gold in the shadows.
From the stands, Pansy and Hermione watched as that pale-gold figure walked through the rain, heading toward the center of the arena as casually as if taking a stroll.
The sight of his strong, confident silhouette made their hearts pound, their cheeks flushed pink despite the winter cold.
The boy they adored was shining before the entire world—
This was Draco's stage.