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 movement, and the control of magical power during casting—these determine whether a spell succeeds. And with more advanced magic, the wizard's own conviction becomes an essential factor.
These unchanging elements 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 same time. No amount of effort or persistence can overcome this limitation.
Forcing it could even cause irreversible harm to the caster.
Which is why, for most wizards, casting only one spell at a time has quietly become an unspoken rule of magic...
Yet across the long history of the wizarding world, a few naturally gifted prodigies have always emerged.
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 immediately turned to him, demanding answers.
"Dumbledore, we expect an explanation!"
"That's right! We were never told someone like this would appear in the Triwizard Tournament. 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 meaning 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 someone their students could possibly defeat.
And this wasn't something 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 meaning 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 excitement.
Just moments 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 seemed 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 something Hermione truly welcomed.
However, now that the immediate 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 something she couldn't quite name, 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 someone who had brushed past death—and noticing a faint stirring in the dust ahead, he decided not to answer immediately.
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 me—what made you think a Thunderbird is that easy to deal with?"
"Screech!!!"
The battle reignited!