Chapter 695: The Trophy's Trap
Clementine bit her lip tightly, peering through the bushes at Wade and Harry, who stood beside the Triwizard Cup, deep in conversation. Driven by the Cheetah Magic Puppet’s relentless urging, she had circled the area again and again—only to finally spot the Trophy.
But she’d arrived too late. Those two had already been there before her.
Yet they hadn’t touched the Cup. Instead, their expressions were grim, locked in what seemed like an urgent exchange.
Clementine’s fingers dug into her palm, nails biting deep.
Something was wrong. Everything was wrong.
Why had Wade Gray’s Magic Puppet led her straight to the Trophy’s location?
Had the puppet betrayed the Gray family?
But even if that Alchemy construct had turned against its creator… could it truly help her?
She wasn’t some mindless creature with only seven seconds of memory. She knew—with crystal clarity—that she and the Cheetah shared no bond of mutual aid. In fact, she’d killed its companion right before its eyes.
Yet…
The chance to become a Champion was now within reach. No matter how she obtained it, simply touching the Trophy would mean she had bested Wade Gray himself.
The temptation was like poison—sweet, irresistible.
Clementine raised her wand, whispering,
“Trophy, come to me!”
“Triwizard Cup, come to me!”
But the golden Trophy remained utterly still—obviously protected by a counter-charm.
Of course. The Tournament organizers wouldn’t be so careless.
A pang of disappointment washed over her.
Even if Wade and Harry were unaware of their surroundings, she knew she couldn’t hope to overpower them in a sneak attack.
But…
Had the Cheetah brought her here just to witness her own failure?
If its purpose were truly so simple, she might have felt relieved.
She turned, scanning the undergrowth for the Cheetah.
The moment she looked back, her breath caught.
There it was—just a few meters behind her, its mouth slightly curled, those round eyes now sharp with mockery.
It looked like it was saying: “Look, isn’t this exactly what you’ve dreamed of? I’ve shown you the way.”
Cold dread flooded her veins.
She felt it now—the chilling certainty.
This wasn’t a path to victory.
It was the gaze of a predator watching its prey walk blindly into the trap.
Her blood turned to ice. A shiver raced up her spine.
Then, clarity struck.
This Cheetah’s behavior—something’s off. It must be reported to Wade Gray.
Even though it was his Magic Puppet, she couldn’t shake the instinct: this wasn’t just the will of the Gray family.
Whoever was behind this—whatever the puppet’s true intentions—only Wade Gray could stop it now.
Determined, she spun around—only to find that the two figures had vanished.
Just one Blue Bird, in a suicide dive, slammed into the Triwizard Cup and vanished without a trace—no feather, no spark, nothing left.
“…What?”
She stood frozen, breathless.
Crack!
A sudden snap of a twig cut through the silence.
She whirled around—her heart hammering.
The Cheetah Magic Puppet had crept up within five meters, unseen, its eyes flickering in the dim forest like dying embers.
Clementine stumbled backward, hands raised.
“Wait! I’m sorry! I truly regret what happened to your companion! But the others are all in the Stadium—this was competition! Blazing Flame Spell!”
The Cheetah leapt aside with unnatural grace. The spell struck a cluster of branches, exploding into a shower of sparks. Clementine paled.
“Obstacle Course! Split-into-Parts Spell! Thunder Explosion!”
She hurled spell after spell, but the Cheetah moved like a ghost—dodging each one effortlessly. Then, it suddenly bared its fangs, muscles coiling like springs, and launched itself forward.
The killing intent was palpable—so sharp, so immediate, she had no doubt it would tear her throat open if given the chance.
She screamed, throwing up a Shield Charm and fleeing blindly.
Fear screamed at her to run—her survival instinct overrode every thought.
And in this place, with no other choice…
She turned and lunged for the Trophy.
Her fingers brushed the cold metal—
And the world twisted.
Whoosh!
The Cheetah, slowed only for a heartbeat by the Shield Charm, surged forward. It passed through the exact spot where she’d stood—just as a searing pain ripped through her back.
Everything spun.
The Cheetah stood still, scanning the area.
Silence.
No master. No enemy. No Lizard. Not even the Blue Bird that had filmed the Tournament.
It stared at the thorn-covered hedge, utterly lost.
After a long moment, it cautiously extended a claw—touched the Trophy.
And vanished.
…
Harry staggered to his feet, knees aching from the impact. He straightened his glasses and looked around, voice tight.
“Where… are we?”
“Not school. Not the podium.”
Wade shrugged casually, but his eyes were sharp, alert. He pulled Harry up and scanned the surroundings, then tapped three times on the badge pinned to his chest.
Under the pale moonlight, Harry saw it—
They stood in the central courtyard of an abandoned abbey. The once-grand arches were half-collapsed, crumbling stone pillars jutting into the sky like broken fingers. Shattered stained-glass windows still held fragments of religious scenes, their distorted silhouettes eerie in the dark.
A broken Madonna statue leaned crookedly in a patch of weeds, its face worn smooth by wind and rain.
Farther away, the bell tower stood intact—miraculously so—though dark stains spread down its wall, like dried blood.
Harry gripped his wand, palms slick with sweat. Wade crouched, studying strange, radial marks on the ground.
“Someone cast Dark Magic here,” he said. “But not the one we’re after. Look at these symbols—they’re not his.”
He didn’t finish.
A flash of blue light cut through the air.
The familiar Blue Bird appeared—dazed, disoriented—then began circling, observing.
As it flew, golden light seemed to spill from its wings—like dust from a dying star.
Then Harry noticed it—
A thin veil of golden mist had begun to rise around them, unnoticed until now.
“What is this?”
He instinctively raised a hand to cover his nose—only to gasp in horror as he watched his fingers shrink, visibly, rapidly.
He turned to Wade—
And saw the same thing.
Their bodies were shrinking. Faces rounding, eyes growing wide and innocent. Limbs shortening. Their robes slipped off, hanging loosely on their shoulders like oversized nightgowns.
Time was reversing.
The realization faded quickly—his mind clouded, as if wrapped in a thick, foggy veil.
“Kill the bird!”
A rasping voice erupted from the darkness.
The Blue Bird startled, flapping wildly—but was struck by a blinding flash of light.
It shrieked—a sound like breaking glass—then shattered into a thousand pieces.
The last image: two small children, dressed in ill-fitting clothes, staring around in bewildered silence.
Harry opened his eyes.
He clutched the hem of his oversized “sleeping gown” with chubby little hands, utterly lost.
Why am I here? Why am I not at the Dursleys’?
Then, a voice—small, innocent, yet harsh—cut through the silence:
“Hey, kid. Who the hell are you?”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
