Chapter 680: A Clash on the Narrow Path
"Where’s the unfairness?" Michael called out boldly, confident that the people in front of him couldn’t see him in the crowd. "The rules never banned Alchemy!"
"But this is Champion’s own Tournament!" roared a Durmstrang competitor, furious. "A Magic Puppet is like adding an extra helper out of nowhere—how is that fair?"
"Hah!" Fred whistled sharply, slinging an arm over George’s shoulder. "If that logic holds, then none of your competitors should use Dark Magic, and none from Wagadoo should use Transformation—otherwise, it’s not fair, right?"
"What?" The Wagadoo students caught on instantly and leapt to their feet. "Transformation is our core magic! How can you ban it?"
"Then why not just ban your wands altogether?" George shot back. "True skill lies in wandless spellcasting!"
The Headmaster of Wagadoo sat grim-faced on the Referee Bench, silently fuming at his students’ outburst. But with his naturally dark skin, no one noticed the shift in his expression.
It wasn’t strange that the Wagadoo students reacted so strongly—after all, Jabari, transformed into a mouse, was now darting silently through the shadows far behind Wade Gray, his tiny form moving with lightning speed. Even in the dense, complex forest, he navigated like a shadow, nearly invisible.
No matter how powerful Wade Gray’s Magic Puppet was, if Jabari could reach the Triwizard Cup first in the final moment, he could still claim victory. In fact, from this angle, his chance of winning might even be higher than Wade’s.
So when they heard the idea of banning Jabari’s Transformation, outrage erupted immediately.
"Ahem." The Headmaster of Ilvermorny cleared his throat, trying to calm the storm. "Now, now—what’s allowed and forbidden was announced well before the Tournament began. Yes, Wade Gray’s Alchemy is impressive, but isn’t it true that every other competitor has at least one unique magic they’ve mastered—something others can’t do?"
"Exactly!" George chimed in loudly. "Should we really have to list every allowed spell in advance?"
Their friend Lee Jordan played along with a grin. "Why not also rule that wands must be used with the left hand?"
The stands erupted in deliberate laughter. Even the Slytherin students joined in, their voices rising in mock cheer.
On the Referee Bench, Madam Maxime lifted her chin, ignoring the chaos and the audience’s mood. She turned only to Dumbledore. "Does this truly uphold the spirit of the Tournament?"
Dumbledore didn’t retreat as he usually did. Instead, he smiled faintly, fingers tapping the table. "If I recall correctly, the rules only prohibit external assistance. Alchemy is merely an expression of a competitor’s inherent ability. Unless you’d argue that Alchemy isn’t magic?"
Madam Maxime’s face darkened, but under the camera lights, she remained silent. Nicolas Flamel was still a board member of Beauxbatons! Her school received massive funding every year from him—enough to afford her prized, finicky Sigil Horse, to decorate her carriages in gold, and to maintain her refined gardens and elegant castle. She couldn’t afford to publicly denounce The Alchemist in front of the world.
In the silence that followed, Ludo Bagman declared with excitement: "Absolutely brilliant! Wade Gray’s mastery of Alchemy is astounding! And yes—completely within the rules!"
The Hogwarts students exploded into deafening applause and cheers, as if they’d already won.
Fudge’s smile strained at the edges. Umbridge let out a theatrical cough. Meanwhile, Percy Weasley, seated in the back, sat stiffly, scribbling furiously in his notebook—his face rigid with concentration.
Suddenly, his feather quill was yanked from his hand.
Percy spun around, furious—only to see Fred smirking behind him, having slipped up unnoticed.
"Give it back—"
Before he could finish, the notebook vanished from his grip. George snatched it from the other side.
The Weasley Twins glanced at what Percy had written, then exchanged a mocking glance.
George tossed the notebook back into Percy’s arms, arms crossed, studying his brother like he’d never seen him before.
Percy’s face flushed crimson, his freckles seeming to leap off his skin.
Fred cleared his throat with mock seriousness, leaning in to whisper: "My dear assistant, I think you’ve missed a crucial point. It should read: Prohibit any magic smarter than the Minister of Magic!"
"Then we’re doomed," George deadpanned. "Even with a size-three-plus font, you couldn’t list all the magic that’s allowed on a single sheet of paper!"
"You—!" Percy’s voice caught in his throat. His mouth twitched uncontrollably, his red-rimmed eyes glistening, as if he might cry.
Fred was about to say more—when, without warning, the entire stands erupted in a collective scream.
He whirled around, eyes locking onto the giant streaming mirror screen.
Viktor Krum, having taken a different path, had unknowingly drawn near Wade Gray’s location, guided by his compass.
And less than twenty meters away, Wade’s Magic Puppet was taking shape—hidden from view by the thick forest canopy.
Krum saw nothing.
Deep in the pitch-black forest, Krum’s wand tip glowed faintly. His thick neck leaned forward, posture eerily reminiscent of a Seeker scanning the stadium for the Golden Snitch.
Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the left.
A porcupine with venomous spines lunged forward.
Krum dodged instantly, sweeping his wand in a sharp arc.
"Stupefy!"
The spell struck the beast’s rear precisely. The creature crashed into the bushes, unconscious.
Krum exhaled slowly, cautious. He didn’t approach. Instead, he cast a Detection Spell to check for other hidden Seekers nearby. Then, checking his compass, he pressed forward.
"Stop!" A chorus of wails rose from the stands. Many clutched their fists, shouting desperately: "Turn back! It’s not too late, Viktor! Don’t go forward!"
Most of the voices came from Hogwarts students.
They supported their own school, yes—but they genuinely admired Viktor Krum, the Quidditch prodigy. They didn’t want to see him fall so early.
But no matter how loud the cries, they couldn’t reach Krum.
He moved forward with unwavering resolve, parting the hanging vines, weaving between ancient oak trees whose roots twisted like serpents.
When he looked up—his breath caught.
Wade Gray turned his head, surprised. Then, a smile spread across his face.
"Hasn’t the half-hour ban on attacking each other passed by now?" he murmured, gently raising his hand.
(End of Chapter)
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