The Goblet of Fire left behind by Dumbledore drew every wizard's gaze like the most dazzling treasure.
If the professors hadn't still been present, the excited, curious young wizards might have rushed up to touch the mysterious cup then and there.
Not that they could have. Before leaving, Dumbledore had clearly set magical wards around the Goblet of Fire.
According to him, they were meant to prevent underage wizards from entering...
Age restrictions, huh…
Draco had heard everything Pansy and Hermione said earlier. He understood well that becoming a school champion brought far more benefits than risks.
Even if danger lurked, it was still a tempting opportunity.
But...
The emblem on that wooden box—it's the Ministry's seal. That makes the Goblet's origin pretty obvious.
He withdrew his gaze from the Goblet and swept his eyes over the underage students buzzing with anticipation—especially the Weasley twins, whispering together with suspicious enthusiasm. They were clearly plotting how to sneak parchment with their names into the cup.
Whatever they were planning, Draco was sure of one thing: they were doomed from the start.
Even if the Ministry under Cornelius Fudge seems incompetent, it's still the highest authority in British wizarding society. There won't be any loopholes to exploit.
More importantly, even if they did find a way around the age line, the champion selection would never fall to them.
If anyone stands a chance...
At that thought, Draco's eyes drifted toward the Hufflepuff table—more precisely, toward the wizard who had recently risen to fame.
Cedric Diggory.
Hufflepuff's shining hope...
...
While Draco silently speculated about who might be chosen, Pansy and Hermione were locked in a tense silent exchange with Fleur Delacour across the table.
A faint spark of hostility hung in the air.
"The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland has a temperate maritime climate—mild and humid all year, with little seasonal temperature variation. If someone still finds it cold, perhaps this place just isn't suited for certain people."
Hermione spoke lightly to herself, but she still shot Fleur Delacour a pointed look, as if worried the message wouldn't get across.
Barely a second later, Pansy followed up, unwilling to be outdone.
"Being arrogant is still much better than eavesdropping. Besides, if Draco competes, no one else stands a chance. Draco killed a Basilisk with his own hands."
Hermione Granger, adept at citing facts, and Pansy, the sly witch of Slytherin, launched a coordinated verbal attack on Fleur Delacour.
Under their rapid-fire assault, Fleur's pale face visibly flushed.
Thanks to Headmistress Maxime's favoritism and the inherent charm of her Veela blood, Fleur Delacour had always been treated like a princess at Beauxbatons. She had never experienced anything like this.
Her small mouth opened and closed, but not a single word came out.
Seeing her crumble so easily, Pansy and Hermione exchanged a quick, surprised glance...
Meanwhile, Fleur's flustered, wronged expression—despite her attempt to hold her chin high—ignited righteous fury among the young wizards secretly watching. Their glares immediately shifted to Draco, as though somehow this was his fault.
To anyone unaware, it would look like Draco was bullying Fleur.
The intensity of the stares finally pulled Draco out of his thoughts.
The first thing he saw was the chaotic scene before him...
"Finished eating? Then let's go."
"..."
"..."
Draco's indifferent tone—and the way he simply stood up to leave—earned him matching exasperated glares from Pansy and Hermione.
But relief quickly washed over them. Draco clearly had no interest in the half-Veela before him, and that was exactly what they wanted.
However, Fleur Delacour clearly had no intention of letting the two girls deliver their blows and then escape unscathed.
"The Beauxbatons Champion will definitely be me. And you… Draco, was it? I look forward to meeting you in the Triwizard Tournament. But you should probably worry about that age issue of yours first. Hmph!"
Draco: ???
He stopped in his tracks, glancing back at the girl who had retied her scarf to hide her face and was now strutting away with her chin held high. His mind was full of question marks.
How had he managed to anger her?
More importantly—when had he said he was entering the Triwizard Tournament?
As the thought struck him, Draco slowly turned to look at Pansy, grinning proudly, and Hermione, whose guilty eyes darted everywhere but his face.
As expected—they were stirring up trouble again.
...
Noon.
As everyone ate, their eyes kept drifting toward the Goblet of Fire.
So far, not a single person had stepped up to enter their name.
And the deadline was tomorrow morning...
The Goblet sat atop the same stool used during the Sorting Ceremony, placed in such a conspicuous spot it looked as if anyone could just walk up and examine it. This unguarded and obvious placement had already made some students wonder whether they could sneak over at night and slip in a parchment with their name.
After all, most young wizards didn't really believe the Goblet of Fire could tell someone's true age.
But in truth, four thin golden lines had appeared on the floor, encircling the stool in a perfect ring.
Those who noticed them certainly didn't think the lines were meaningless...
"Draco, is that magic?"
"Not sure. I'd need to study it up close."
Draco's voice was filled with lively curiosity.
Clearly, compared to the Goblet itself or the title of Champion, Draco was far more intrigued by the magical barrier Dumbledore had placed around it. Pansy, who'd been hoping Draco would enter the Tournament, rolled her eyes at him...
Inside the Goblet, blue-white flames flickered.
That gorgeous, mysterious glow looked almost like it held the finest wine in the world, waiting for the chosen one to taste it.
Just then, the Durmstrang students moved toward the Goblet of Fire.
And leading them was the star player himself.
Viktor Krum...