After fighting until this point with their bodies battered and their magical reserves nearly depleted, the remaining members of the champion teams looked at each other in complete bewilderment. Their exhausted faces showed confusion and uncertainty, unsure of what exactly Malfoy was trying to say with his cryptic statement.
With a sharp whoosh of displaced air, Hermione patted the head of the Thestral she was riding, though she couldn't see it, she could feel the coarse texture under her palm.
She suddenly descended to land smoothly beside Harry and asked urgently, "Does that mean there's a second round, or even a third? Are the remaining students from the other houses responsible for the remaining challenges ahead?"
Draco glanced at Hermione with an expressionless face that revealed nothing, seemingly disdainful of answering her question. But eventually, after a long pause, he gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. "Yes. The second round."
Ron still sitting somewhat unsteadily on top of his invisible Thestral mount and gripping the mane tightly, immediately showed a look of absolute despair spreading across his face.
He wailed dramatically, "If each house is responsible for one separate challenge, does that mean there will be four complete rounds total? We'll never survive!"
"Wait just a moment!" Fleur suddenly cried out with sharp alarm.
She stared at Malfoy with deep suspicion and growing concern. "You said we passed the first assessment, but Beauxbatons has already lost its crest to you, haven't we? So how can we have passed?"
Malfoy said coldly, his voice flat and factual, "The real assessment was never about the crests—it was to defeat us in combat. As long as you achieve that objective, you will have completed this round of trials successfully. The crest is not a necessary factor for victory, but rather a necessary factor for failure. Do you understand the distinction?"
The Slytherins, true to their word, apparently had no intention of continuing to resist anymore. They all put away their wands accepting their defeat.
Astoria bit her teeth tightly against the pain, and dragging her injured left arm carefully, walked to the edge of the camouflaged trap that Neville and his group had cleverly created. She waved her wand with her good hand to gently lift the still-unconscious Daphne Greengrass out from the bottom of the deep pit.
"A necessary factor for failure?" Harry repeated looking confused.
The trio controlled their Thestrals to land in a clearing. Harry nimbly dismounted and patted the snorting Thestral's head in thanks, then turned to frown at Malfoy with puzzlement. "What exactly does that mean?"
"Before defeating us, if all four crests had been taken and held by us, then everyone would have lost their qualification to compete. The competition would have ended immediately." Draco explained in a flat tone that had no gloating.
"Your final score would then have been evaluated based solely on your performance during the battle against us—how well you fought, how long you lasted."
He raised his wand and shot red sparks high into the sky, the magical flare signaling his official withdrawal from the competition.
Those who were still conscious and capable could continue the challenge forward. But despite this opportunity, no one cheered with joy or celebrated their hard-won victory. They were all too busy pondering Malfoy's cryptic words.
Hermione narrowed her eyes, her brown pupils were constantly flashing with understanding as pieces clicked into place in her mind. The crest wasn't actually important as a victory condition—defeating Slytherin was the true standard for advancement?
From this cleverly designed rule structure, it was glaringly obvious that Professor Watson had been deliberately misleading everyone earlier with his vague instructions, misdirecting their focus. But Hermione had no time or energy to be angry about this tactical deception. After all, Professor Watson wasn't doing this sort of thing for the first time.
However, Hermione's mind had already grasped the deeper lesson.
If the true assessment standard was to defeat Slytherin, this was not something any single champion team could possibly accomplish alone, no matter how skilled. It would require several different sides working together, pooling their strengths to achieve it.
And in fact, that was indeed exactly the case. In Slytherin's ultimate defeat, all four teams had made different but crucial contributions to the final outcome.
If Fleur hadn't cleverly damaged Malfoy and his team's broomsticks in their earlier encounter, denying them aerial mobility... If Cedric's team hadn't fought desperately and exhausted Malfoy's group to their limits... If Viktor hadn't brought his people to provide timely reinforcement at a critical moment... If Hermione and the other two hadn't arrived on Thestrals to deliver the decisive final blow—
No one had consciously seen through this implicit but obviously more reasonable victory condition that Professor Watson had hidden within the challenge.
Yet through all sorts of coincidences, accidents, and individual choices, the four teams had ultimately worked together in spontaneous unity to complete this challenge.
With a sharp rustle, the leaves shook urgently as several safety officers riding standard school broomsticks appeared suddenly in this clearing, descending through gaps in the canopy.
When Professor Snape dismounted smoothly from his broomstick, he wore a lazy expression on his sallow face which those who knew him well recognized typically indicated his mood was actually fairly good.
Under many silent, watchful gazes, Snape waved his wand with a casual flick. A conjured stretcher suddenly appeared beneath Daphne Greengrass's unconscious body, gently lifting her body up from the forest floor.
"Let me examine your injury, Greengrass—" Snape took Astoria's injured left arm with gentleness and examined the wound carefully for a moment, his black eyes narrowed in concentration.
His expression darkened slightly as he assessed the damage. He flicked his wand in several precise patterns and cast a series of healing spells in rapid succession, after which Astoria's pained, strained expression eased considerably as the magic took effect.
"Will it leave a permanent scar, Professor?" After hesitating nervously, Astoria asked softly, her voice was small and worried. For a young woman, such things mattered.
"I don't believe so, Greengrass, but you had better see Madam Pomfrey as soon as possible for proper treatment." Professor Snape's dark eyes shifted to look at Neville with distinctly cold intensity. "You should thank Mr. Longbottom for showing mercy and pulling his strike."
Swept by Snape's grim, sharp gaze that seemed to see right through him, Neville felt his scalp literally tingle with uneasiness. He knew with sinking certainty that for the next period of time in Potions class, probably the rest of the term, his life was destined to be rather unpleasant.
"I must take her away now, dear—" On the other side of the clearing, having carefully placed Triana on a conjured stretcher, Madam Hooch said to Fleur in an unexpectedly gentle, sympathetic tone.
"But she'll wake up very soon, ma'am!" Fleur protested indignantly, gesturing at her unconscious teammate. "She hasn't permanently lost her ability to compete. Just give her a few minutes!"
"But she lost consciousness during the end of the first-round phase of the competition, which by the rules means automatic failure and elimination," Professor Septima Vector who was efficiently placing both Poliakoff and Lanquarde on separate stretchers, turned back and said to Fleur in a surprisingly humorous tone.
"Otherwise, for all those injured contestants, should we also heal their wounds completely and send them back onto the field repeatedly? That would create an endless cycle that would never conclude, wouldn't it?"
Fleur's face fell, and she had nothing to say in response to this logic. She could only watch helplessly, her hands clenched in frustration, as Madam Hooch gently levitated and took away her teammate on the floating stretcher.
Viktor could only sigh deeply with unwillingness and disappointment.
"Now, does anyone else want to voluntarily withdraw from the competition?" Madam Hooch looked around at everyone still standing on the battlefield with concern. Her sharp gaze finally settled with particular worry on Neville.
Among everyone present on the clearing, Neville's injuries were visibly the most severe and alarming.
Having engaged in sustained close-quarters combat with Draco, trading blows at point-blank range, his entire body was covered with cuts, burns, and bruises. His forehead bore a particularly frightening blood scab that had formed over a nasty gash.
"You look badly hurt, Neville." After hesitating and exchanging glances with the others, Cedric walked to Neville's side and looked at him earnestly with concern. "I think you should really go down to the hospital wing for proper treatment."
When the fierce battle had finally ended and the adrenaline began to fade, the sharp pain from his numerous wounds immediately became clear to Neville's nervous system.
He gingerly brushed his fingertips across the scabbed wound on his forehead and immediately grimaced in intense pain, while the many wounds covering his body transmitted waves of agony that tormented his raw nerves.
"Hiss—" Neville drew in a sharp, hissing breath through clenched teeth. "I don't want to be stubborn or play the hero. It really hurts quite a lot, honestly. But I have a way to deal with the injuries well enough. So, I'm staying in the competition, Madam Hooch."
"Oh, I was actually planning to withdraw and rest—" Luna shrugged her shoulders and said with her typical cheerful, dreamy tone, "But if you're staying, Neville, then I'll stay too."
"If you've already made your decision and you're certain," Madam Hooch looked at Neville and Luna with approval and respect shining in her eyes,
"then good luck to you both. Come on, Severus, Septima, let's take these poor injured children for proper medical treatment. Oh, and the brave little warriors from Slytherin, you'll all leave with us as well."
Madam Hooch waved her wand, summoning several additional school broomsticks.
"Here—" After mounting the summoned broom, Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out Beauxbatons' distinctive crest.
He tossed it casually to Fleur, who caught it reflexively. "The crest is the gateway to access the next challenge."
Having said this, Draco pushed off slightly with his feet, rising smoothly into the air. He glanced sideways at Harry one final time then followed the three professors as he slowly rose higher into the canopy.
Soon, he and the other Slytherins had completely disappeared from the sight of the four remaining champion teams' members.
"The gateway to the next challenge." Fleur held the recovered crest carefully, turning it over and examining it from all angles with a genuinely puzzled expression, searching for hidden mechanisms.
Ron, Cedric, and Viktor also took out their respective teams' crests, studying them with new understanding.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
With four consecutive shrill, piercing cries that made ears ring, the four crests suddenly flew from their surprised owners' palms as though yanked by invisible strings.
The magical badges rapidly enlarged in the air, growing to tremendous size. After landing with heavy thuds that shook the ground, they transformed seamlessly into doorways identical to the ones the champions had passed through when first entering the Forbidden Forest at the competition's start.
"Again? Seriously?" Ron rolled his eyes wearily, his whole body was sagging with exhaustion. "More mysterious doorways?"
Never mind Ron—everyone's faces showed varying degrees of exhaustion and apprehension. This high-intensity competition had already taken far too severe a toll on their bodies, minds, and magical reserves.
"Wait just a moment," Neville suddenly said, then turned and ran into the woods without explanation.
Within their line of sight, they watched as he bent down and carefully selected among the plants, vines, and shrubs in the forest, before running back carrying an armful of specific plant leaves.
"Here—" Neville distributed the medicinal plants to everyone in turn with generosity. "The juice from crushing these particular leaves can help wounds heal faster and relieve pain."
"Oh, you're truly noble and kind!" Fleur said, genuinely moved by this selfless gesture after all they'd been enemies just minutes ago.
After hesitating, Harry looked questioningly at Hermione and Ron. "We should be generous too, shouldn't we? Share what we have?"
Ron shrugged his shoulders and voluntarily removed his backpack from his back, opening it wide. He began distributing the remaining food they'd gathered to the other exhausted contestants on the field.
Half an hour later, the four teams stood once more before the mysterious transport gates.
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