Sunlight spilled through the sky, the clouds torn apart as if split open by Fiendfyre, revealing the long-hidden blue above.
For a moment, in their daze, everyone thought they were seeing two suns.
No—one of those "suns" was thrashing wildly across the sky, tumbling in frantic struggle.
If you listened closely, faint wails drifted from it…
Wails filled with despair.
The entire arena fell into a chilling silence. No wizard dared speak.
Dry throats swallowed instinctively, as if trying to steady the unease running through their bodies.
Most of the wizards present had no idea what had just happened. That uncertainty shifted the way they looked at Draco—something new colored their eyes.
A change in attitude, a change in thought.
After all, dread grows from the unknown, and the unknown is the source of fear…
"What did you do? You didn't touch even a trace of Fiendfyre!"
While others' expressions were gradually turning wary, Fleur—completely unaware—stepped forward in excitement, as if expecting Draco to freely share his method with her.
Where did this girl's confidence come from?
Maybe because of the falling fireball, Draco, in a fairly good mood, didn't ignore her. He gave a casual explanation instead.
"Probably because… of sweet biscuits."
"...Huh?"
Sweet biscuits?
Fleur knew perfectly well what they were—she just had no idea what kind of Merlin-forsaken answer that was supposed to be.
She'd half-expected him to ignore her, but she definitely hadn't expected him to respond with something this bizarre.
What did that have to do with her question?
"You're just brushing me off, aren't you? Hmph! It's not like I even wanted to know. No! I don't want to know at all!"
Draco glanced at Fleur's indignant little pout and the way she jerked her head away, then shrugged and raised his wand.
He hadn't forgotten that without the counter-spell, Fiendfyre didn't simply fade on its own.
And the flames were already licking at the magical barrier, making ripples across its surface…
As for Fleur's odd reaction—Draco found it strange too—but after successfully pulling off the Fiendfyre, he was in a good mood and didn't mind responding.
"What I said earlier was all true."
Fleur stole a glance at his focused profile, her body giving the slightest sway.
"Hmph!"
Her soft huff sounded again, showing she still hadn't forgiven him—but her expression had softened, and she even started wondering whether that invisible way he'd defeated the Thunderbird really did have something to do with… sweet biscuits?
Otherwise, why would Draco repeat it?
Their time together hadn't been long, but after working side by side, Fleur felt she'd begun to understand Draco just a little.
The prouder someone is, the less likely they are to lie…
Noticing Fleur genuinely pondering over it, Draco—still working through the Fiendfyre counter-spell—lifted an eyebrow.
'Strange as it is, nothing I said was actually wrong.'
His gaze shifted to the fireball that had finally stopped moving. His thoughts drifted unexpectedly to his mother.
If she hadn't been so obsessed with cooking for herself, always baking trays of sweet biscuits for him to try, he might never have found inspiration in her kitchen—might never have discovered this "magic" at all.
Who would have imagined that a pure-blood heir with a house-elf at home would ever get the chance to fiddle with Muggle kitchen tools?
Looking around at the wizards staring at him with bewildered expressions, Draco calmly flicked his wand.
After that day, he'd realized one thing.
Muggles… weren't completely lacking in value.
And wizards from Muggle families shouldn't be underestimated either.
Maybe it was exactly this mindset that had drawn Hermione closer to him…
...
After Draco withdrew the Fiendfyre, the arena was nothing but scorched earth and cracked ground.
As the magical barrier slowly faded, the trapped heat rushed out, letting everyone feel just how blistering it had been inside.
Only now did the gathered wizards truly understand that the Champions had been fighting a deadly Thunderbird in such brutal conditions.
What drew even more startled gazes was the ordinary flame still burning on the Thunderbird's corpse. It was only at this moment that everyone realized the fire that killed it wasn't Fiendfyre at all, but common flames—flames that could be blocked with a simple Charm.
That discovery shocked them more than anything else...
Setting aside the unknown method Draco had used, the crowd stared blankly as he reeled the Fiendfyre back in. Little by little, mouths finally closed and frozen minds began moving again.
For them, time had only just resumed.
Then the noise erupted—
"So brutal. There's nothing left."
"Did you see? Professor Snape went in with a few Ministry wizards and pulled the Magical Creatures out. Otherwise they would've all died."
"I saw that too. Professor Snape looked absolutely furious."
"But… are you saying the Thunderbird was really taken down just like that?"
"We all saw it, didn't we? Its body is still burning over there. But… it seemed almost too simple."
"Simple? You probably didn't even recognize that fire earlier, much less know how to cast it."
Voices of doubt, awe, excitement, disbelief—every kind of conversation filled the stands.
As for the actual result of the match, that had been completely forgotten for the moment.
But as the flames shrank under Draco's control and the magical barrier dispersed without warning, the sharper students immediately realized the first task had officially ended...
"The barrier… it's gone?"
"Yeah. At this point, there's no way to continue. And there isn't a second Thunderbird to keep Draco's group in check."
"I wonder how many points taking down a Thunderbird is worth."
"Wait! Speaking of the other Champions…"
It was only then that most of the wizards—including several professors—remembered that the Triwizard Tournament actually had four Champions.
Not just Draco Malfoy, who looked as if he'd stepped straight out of a legend, drawing every pair of eyes to him.
And not the other participant who had stood behind him the entire time—Fleur, watching like a dazed mascot.
Of course, the crowd hadn't completely forgotten the remaining two Champions.
The Weasley family, filled with a strange sense of anticipation, looked toward the field the moment the barrier vanished, searching for one particular figure.
Except…
Where was the Chosen One, Harry Potter?