The Thunderbird soared back into the sky, and for a moment the cheers froze.
Then the arena burst once more into wild, frenzied excitement.
Rather than watching the fight end quickly, the wizards wanted to see a truly even match—a wizard against a magical beast...
So unlike Hermione and Pansy, who were practically praying for the match to be over, the rest of the audience felt far more excitement than disappointment at seeing the Thunderbird rise again.
And because of that, Draco's performance didn't just impress them—it inflamed them.
The clash of strength against strength sparked their admiration and fed their growing frenzy.
They wanted more. More spectacle, more thrills.
But even among the roaring cheers, dissenting voices still existed.
It wasn't fear over how dangerous the match was, nor concern that the event was too brutal.
It was simple unwillingness to see Draco receive so much praise.
Among those voices were the wizards who had been shocked by Cedric Diggory's failure to be chosen, and of course the entire Weasley family, who had long been at odds with Draco.
While the rest of the wizards eagerly awaited Draco's next move, these people were hoping someone—anyone—would step in and steal his momentum, ideally by defeating the Thunderbird before he could.
"Have they all forgotten he's a Death Eater? And they're actually cheering for him?"
"Where's Harry? Has anyone seen him? If this goes on, that Death Eater will steal all the attention!"
"Sure, the rules don't say you have to beat the Thunderbird, but we can't let Malfoy keep this up!"
"Guess all we can do is hope Harry makes a move..."
Because they were on good terms, Cedric Diggory had taken a seat beside the Weasley twins.
Probably convinced Draco had stolen the champion spot that should have been his, Cedric—the well-recognized leader of Hufflepuff—was now discussing the match with the Weasleys.
Naturally, all of it was unfavorable to Draco.
Anyone overhearing them might have thought they were serving as Harry Potter's personal tactical advisors...
…
Harry Potter—the one Cedric Diggory and the others were so concerned about—was staring at the Thunderbird soaring through the sky, his eyes clouded with a tangled, unreadable mix of emotions.
At some point, the Disillusionment Charm on him had quietly faded.
So under the pounding rain, his thin frame—slightly underfed from childhood hardships—was exposed.
Even though he was no longer invisible, there was no real need to recast the spell now.
After several clashes between the Thunderbird and Draco, every other magical creature in the arena had been frightened into hiding. Even the brainless trolls had crept to the edges of the field, trembling. Under these conditions, whether he was concealed or not hardly mattered anymore.
Yet despite the match seeming easier, there was no relief or joy on Harry Potter's face. Instead, a faint, almost imperceptible bitterness lingered there...
"To think so many people are cheering for him... even Seamus..." Harry looked toward the stands, dazed. If Slytherin's excitement was understandable, then his own house's reaction was the part he simply couldn't make sense of.
In his memory, it wasn't long ago that they were booing Draco. And now, with hardly any time passed, they were standing on the same side as those Slytherin students.
Even the weather doesn't change that fast...
"Why is it like this? It shouldn't be like this!"
Besides the pulsing magic in the air, the cheers echoed relentlessly, no matter how he tried to ignore them.
Harry didn't notice it at first. But when he saw those familiar faces cheering for Draco Malfoy—faces red from shouting, neck veins bulging with excitement—slowly, a flicker of jealousy and betrayal surfaced in the heart of the so-called savior.
He had sacrificed countless hours of rest for this tournament, dedicated unimaginable effort, even mastered advanced magic like the Disillusionment Charm in a short time.
Yet the result was nothing like he'd hoped.
Under Alastor Moody's training, he believed his strength had finally caught up to Draco Malfoy's.
All he needed was a chance.
Talent and ability—Harry Potter wanted to prove he had both.
And thinking of that, if he were the one facing it...
"Even if I confronted the Thunderbird head-on, I wouldn't do any worse than that Death Eater!"
Feeling the rising tension on the battlefield, Harry tightened his grip on his wand and stepped forward, as though arriving at a critical decision.
But just as he was about to leave, an unsettling voice reached him.
"I've been waiting for you, Harry Potter."
...
"Viktor? I thought something had happened to you. Thank goodness you're alright."
From the depths of the forest emerged the competitor the commentator had never once mentioned—Durmstrang's champion, Viktor Krum.
Truth be told, had Viktor not appeared now, Harry would have assumed he'd been eliminated long ago.
Yet for some reason, the Viktor standing before him gave off a strange feeling, as if he were an entirely different person...
"Yes... truly wonderful~" Viktor murmured.
From within the shadows, Viktor Krum's low voice sounded nothing like someone happy to see a friend. It was more like the barely suppressed thrill of a hunter spotting prey walk straight into his trap.
But Harry, whose focus remained fixed on Draco, failed to notice anything strange about him...
Without even glancing back, Harry stepped forward again.
"You're here for the task item, right? I'm not going. I'm going to defeat that Thunderbird—before that Death Eater does!"
"Oh? But wouldn't it be even better to complete the task first, then go defeat the Thunderbird?"
"..."
Thud.
Harry's halted footsteps brought a small smile to Viktor's lips.
He knew his words had struck exactly where they needed to—because this savior, desperate to prove himself, was easy to sway.
But it wasn't just Viktor's words that changed Harry's mind.
It was the flames—the flames staining the entire sky red.
They came from the direction of Draco Malfoy...
...
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