The Triwizard Tournament crests hung along the walls, and the fire roaring in the hearth warmed the entire room. What drew the most attention, however, were the portraits lining both sides—whispering quietly among themselves.
Beyond those murmuring paintings stood two young wizards. One after another, the champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons—Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour—had arrived in the waiting room.
Neither made any move to speak. They only exchanged a brief look when Fleur entered, and that was the end of it.
The only thing between them was the sharp, assessing gaze of rivals...
No—something felt strange.
I remember his name was Viktor Krum, wasn't it? The Quidditch player?
Fleur took one of the three chairs, clearly meant for the champions, settling into it while her thoughts wandered.
This was honor, and it was responsibility.
Yet the thrill of being chosen faded quickly the moment she noticed Viktor Krum's stern, aloof expression—as if nothing about this impressed him in the slightest.
This was only the start, after all.
Thinking of the still-absent third champion, the part-Veela witch immediately recalled a certain arrogant boy.
Hmph. He doesn't even qualify to compete. What's there to brag about?
Remembering the annoyed expression of that Slytherin girl standing next to Draco just before the announcement, Fleur's delicate face blossomed into a stunning smile.
That smile brightened the entire room, a shimmer in the air accompanying the natural charm of her Veela blood. With her flowing silver hair and already striking looks enhanced by magical talent, Fleur—quietly pleased with herself—looked almost like a mischievous fox who had just stolen a treat.
Or a Veela dancing gracefully beneath the moonlight, enchanting to the point of being dangerous...
Yet as Fleur alternated between frowning and smirking to herself, lost so deeply in her thoughts, she completely forgot there was another wizard still in the room.
She didn't notice the subtle, barely detectable gaze fixed on her either.
It wasn't shock, nor admiration.
It was… disdain.
...
The soundproofing in the champions' room was quite good.
Even so, the moment the noise outside surged, it jolted the absent-minded Fleur back to awareness. It was enough to show just how loud the commotion must have been—otherwise, it wouldn't have reached her at all.
Huh? It's still not over? It's been ages…
Once she regained her senses, Fleur realized she'd already been waiting in the room for quite a while. Based on how things had gone earlier, the selection shouldn't have taken this long.
What she hadn't expected was that the Hogwarts champion still hadn't appeared. She had no idea what had happened.
Is something wrong? And that racket outside is way too loud.
She frowned lightly.
A witch capable of becoming a champion was certainly no fool, but with too little information, Fleur could only make guesses in her mind.
The notion of stepping outside to investigate disappeared the instant she glanced at Viktor Krum, who still sat motionless at her side.
If he could sit there so composed, she couldn't very well embarrass Beauxbatons by running around…
Just as Fleur lifted her chin, arms crossed, thinking this over, the sudden arrival of someone made her leap from her chair as if her tail had been stomped on.
Her reaction was like she'd seen a ghost.
"What are you doing here!? No—how did you even get in here!?"
Amid the protesting voices spilling in from outside, the wizard who entered didn't stop at her accusation.
Only after the door closed and the noise died away did he lean his shoulder against the wall, tilt his head, and ask in return,
"If you can come in, why can't I?"
"..."
"Besides, weren't you the one who told me to come? Well? I didn't disappoint you, did I?"
"Impossible… Why—Draco Malfoy!"
Staring at him in disbelief, finger pointed accusingly, Fleur watched Draco incline his head slightly before letting out a soft laugh.
"Obviously… because I'm the Hogwarts Champion."
That matter-of-fact reply left Fleur flushed and speechless. She wasn't stupid—she knew exactly what his presence here meant. And because she understood, the shock and frustration hit even harder.
But soon enough, Fleur seemed to remember something, and her expression sharpened. Lifting her chin with renewed pride, she declared,
"Unexpected or not, it doesn't matter. This just means I can show you my true strength. Even if you're younger than me, I won't hold back. The Triwizard Tournament champion will belong to our Beauxbatons Academy of Magic!"
"Oh?"
He had no idea where her confidence came from, but as a Slytherin, Draco had no intention of ignoring a challenge.
If he'd first wanted to be a champion simply to humiliate those wizards—and because there'd been no downside—then now, it seemed, he'd found an additional reason.
Interesting. So this is the charm of a Veela?
As he studied the girl before him, full of childish bravado, Draco found himself unexpectedly intrigued by the half-Veela witch…
Mixed blood was hardly welcomed in the wizarding world.
Giants, goblins, Veela—any trace of mixed heritage meant being unwelcome wherever one went, much less growing into someone confident and proud.
Hagrid was a good example. Beneath the carefree exterior lay far more insecurity than he ever showed.
So Draco wanted to know whether the confidence shining in Fleur Delacour's eyes was real… or simply a mask.
His gray eyes narrowed.
The Veela blood in Fleur made her instinctively shrink back. Confused, she glanced at Draco, who had already wiped the smile from his face.
"Hmph!" Fleur turned her head away sharply as Draco settled into the third chair.
At that moment, Fleur Delacour had no idea—
She had already caught the attention of a dangerous dragon...
...
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