"Summon—Yurius!"
"Summon—Demi Gura!"
"Summon—Palpatine!"
"Summon—Nicolas Flamel!"
Lockhart called forth four renowned wizards in one go, rare cards he'd paid a steep price to acquire.
"Activate Spell—Protego Totalum!"
A powerful defensive spell, far stronger than the standard Shield Charm when backed by enough magic.
"Activate Spell—Eternal Freeze!"
If there was a spell card to rival Fiendfyre, it was this devastating freezing curse. It could freeze anything in its path, practically a counter to Fiendfyre itself.
"You, Harry Potter, have just two powerful hero cards and one spell. I've got four hero cards and two spells, each wizard a legendary name!" (According to the wizard card rules, the more famous the wizard, the stronger the card—special character cards like Dark Magician Girl being the exception.)
Lockhart leaned back smugly, watching Harry with a tactical smirk.
This time, I've got this in the bag.
Under relentless pressure, the combo of Dark Magician Girl and Dark Magician was quickly defeated, and Harry's ace card, Fiendfyre, was shattered by the freezing curse.
But even then, Harry didn't show a hint of panic.
"Activate Trap Card—Call of the Despicable Helpo! Sacrificing Dark Magician Girl and Dark Magician from the graveyard!"
"Summon—Blue Fiendfyre!"
"Special Summon—White Wizard Dumbledore!"
When a dazzling white-light Dumbledore appeared, wielding Blue Fiendfyre, Lockhart's alliance of four powerful wizards crumbled instantly.
No rule said a Dark Magic deck couldn't summon White Wizard Dumbledore.
As long as the conditions were met, it was fair game.
No matter how hard Lockhart tried, he couldn't turn the tide. His cards were mercilessly crushed.
Dumbledore's hero card hitting the field signaled the end of the match.
"Professor Lockhart, looks like I win," Harry declared, standing tall as the victor.
The game was over.
Just then, Dudley's ears twitched. He caught a sound from beyond the Great Hall.
A faint, rustling noise, like someone whispering indistinctly.
"Dudley, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, noticing him freeze.
As her voice broke the moment, the rustling vanished, as if it had been Dudley's imagination.
"I hope I misheard," Dudley muttered thoughtfully.
Not long after, one student slipped away from the bustling crowd of young wizards.
"Tch, what a boring wizard card tournament," Cormac McLaggen grumbled.
His words dripped with disdain, but his eyes were glued to Harry and the others on the stage, a flicker of envy betraying him.
Cormac McLaggen, the overly confident student who'd signed up for the tournament only to be knocked out in the first round.
He'd watched the top four battle it out, then the heated finals, all the way to the end.
Standing up, Cormac headed out of the Great Hall.
"Stupid tournament, stupid people," he muttered, kicking a stray pebble as he walked alone down the corridor. "Why wasn't it me who won? I'm clearly the better one!"
Giggle.
Suddenly, Cormac caught the faint sound of a girl's voice. He glanced up and saw a figure dart past.
Golden hair.
Without a second thought, he followed.
Who knows what got into him—his first instinct was to assume the figure wanted him to chase after.
He sprinted, desperate to catch a glimpse of who it was, but every time he got close, he only saw a fleeting wisp of golden hair.
His curiosity burned stronger.
The chase went on for who-knows-how-long. After rounding a corridor corner, he lost the figure completely.
The floor was damp, a small puddle glistening. As he hesitated, wondering whether to turn back, something caught his eye.
He stepped closer, curiosity pulling him in. On the wall in front of him, something shimmered. Squinting in the dim light, he made out words scrawled between two windows, about a foot off the ground, glinting faintly under the flickering torchlight.
The Chamber has been opened.
Beware, enemies of the Heir.
The words were written in what looked like blood.
And beneath them hung a furry, black shadow.
Cormac leaned closer and froze. It was a stiff, lifeless cat.
Mrs. Norris! The caretaker's cat!
The sudden horror sent Cormac stumbling back, landing hard on the floor. His hands touched the wet ground, sticky and reeking. Holding them up to the torchlight, he realized it wasn't water—it was blood. Bright, crimson blood!
Whose blood? Who'd been killed?
His mind went blank, his body frozen in place.
Meanwhile, the first-ever wizard card tournament had ended, and the young witches and wizards were streaming out of the Great Hall, heading toward the dining hall.
Cormac was just a short distance from it.
A low rumble of chatter grew louder, like distant thunder. From both ends of the corridor came the sound of countless footsteps climbing the stairs, mixed with excited laughter as students relived the tournament's highlights.
The first wizard card tournament was a resounding success. The young witches and wizards would never forget it, especially the gleaming Galleons in the champion's hands.
It had everyone buzzing with anticipation for the second tournament.
The students pushed and shoved their way through the corridor, rounding the corner.
Then they saw it—Mrs. Norris, hanging lifelessly. The lively chatter and laughter died instantly.
Cormac, covered in blood, sat alone in the middle of the corridor. The crowd fell silent, pressing forward to gape at the horrific scene.
Then, a chorus of screams from the girls echoed through the castle.
"What's going on here? What happened?"
Filch came running, hands over his ears, clearly drawn by the screams. He pushed through the crowd with his shoulders, then stopped dead. He saw the blood-red words and Mrs. Norris hanging beneath them.
Stumbling back, eyes wide with horror, he clutched his face.
"No! Mrs. Norris! You—you—what have you done?!"
Filch's bloodshot eyes darted around before locking onto Cormac, drenched in blood.
"You! It was you! You killed my cat! You killed her! I'll make you pay!"
Filch's furious roar echoed through the empty corridor.