HP:BSG - Chapter 679: The Heir?

In the stands, wizards from all over the world exchanged shocked glances. Whispers rippled through the audience like waves spreading across a pond.

“Bloody hell! Was that a Fire Spell?”

“It’s got to be some trick from these British wizards. They must’ve been hiding their strength in the first two rounds, just waiting for a final, fatal strike!”

“Whether they win or not still depends on luck… Maybe our country’s champion will encounter the Goblet of Fire first. We can’t give up now!”

“That child is only fourteen… and with that kind of skill…”

“A hundred Galleons— I bet he’s Dumbledore’s secretly trained apprentice. You know, not just a normal teacher-student relationship, but an ancient mentor’s legacy— one-on-one, meticulous instruction…”

At the edge of the stands, a “middle-aged wizard” who had been smiling leisurely slowly put away his grin after hearing the crowd’s chatter. He gave a low, cold snort through his nose.

“Sir,” whispered the wizard sitting beside him, leaning closer. Beneath the cloak was Delaine’s frowning face. “Won’t people start guessing… about his connection with us?”

The “middle-aged wizard” sneered. “Let them guess. I’d like to see— even if they do figure it out, what can they possibly do about it?”

Sunlight brushed across his sharply defined profile, casting strange shadows over his face.

On the other side, Antoine chuckled softly. “I actually think… when the truth is shocking enough, people will come up with more reasonable lies to explain it.”

“Otherwise…”

His gaze shifted, and a playful tone colored his words.

“They might just start wondering— whether the greatest dark wizard and the greatest white wizard of this age have joined hands once more, after a hundred years apart…”

At those reckless, almost blasphemous words, Delaine’s eyes went wide in shock and his face cleared as though scrubbed clean by surprise.

He stole a glance at the “middle-aged wizard,” only to find that his leader, though expressionless, was not actually angry. In fact, there was the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Delaine fell silent, deep in thought.

Meanwhile, over at the judges’ table, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge had cold sweat soaking the rim of his bowler hat.

“Merlin’s beard…”

Fudge’s lips trembled, his voice squeezed out like steam from a boiling kettle. Countless horrifying images flashed through his mind.

He had always known that Dumbledore never sought the position of Minister. But whenever the old headmaster meddled in Ministry affairs, Fudge had been filled with resentment, even to the point of scheming how to ruin Dumbledore’s reputation.

But now— realizing that Dumbledore might have developed a new interest in power— all Fudge’s ambitious thoughts shriveled up in an instant, leaving only a bone-deep chill.

It felt as though he were sitting comfortably in a high-backed chair, enjoying lunch… while a monstrous beast with crimson eyes watched him hungrily from the shadows behind.

When the French Minister of Magic leaned over and said cautiously, “Your young British wizard is truly impressive,” Fudge’s forced smile looked like it had been struck by a Petrification Charm.

He stared at the image on the giant screen— the spider’s corpse scattering into the wind— and shuddered violently.

For the first time, he seemed to truly understand: if Dumbledore’s student is capable of such power…

Then what, exactly, is Dumbledore himself capable of?

Perhaps it is time to step down from the position of Minister for Magic…

The thought suddenly surfaced in Fudge’s mind, startling him so much that he hiccuped. A wave of deep reluctance and resentment surged in his chest.

In a panic, he fumbled for his pocket, ready to pull out a piece of chocolate to calm his nerves. Beside him, Umbridge leaned closer and said in a sweet and sticky as syrup voice:

“Minister, don’t you think there’s something terribly wrong with the way Hogwarts educates its students? Perhaps the Ministry should… offer some special guidance… and oversight.”

She knew perfectly well what kind of suggestion her superior wanted to hear. And since her own magical ability was fairly ordinary, she couldn’t truly grasp what the Fire Spell on that scale actually meant.

In her eyes, the greatest power in the world had always been authority— lofty, unshakable authority.

But Fudge was no longer listening. He said weakly to the young man sitting behind him, “I need… I need a cup of hot cocoa…”

Sitting behind the Minister, Percy Weasley was staring blankly at the image before him, mind racing through every book he had ever read, trying to imagine what kind of modifications could make a Fire spell so devastating.

When Fudge’s trembling voice reached him, Percy froze for two seconds— then his body reacted before his mind did, springing up from his seat.

“Yes, Minister! I’ll prepare it right away!”

He bowed deeply as he spoke, then hurriedly jogged down from the platform.

Only then did Dumbledore withdraw his gaze from the Streaming Mirror. He did not respond to the murmurs of suspicion and speculation around him. Instead, his eyes followed Percy’s hurried figure— that once-brilliant student of Hogwarts— and a silent sigh echoed in his heart.

He didn’t believe Percy’s desire for power was wrong. After all, in youth, who hasn’t longed for the strength to change the world?

But power is like a hungry Dementor— if one doesn’t know restraint, it will never be satisfied. It will gnaw at the soul, bite by bite, until a person is left utterly unrecognizable.

That young man, now flushed and trembling, bent low with exaggerated respect as he handed the steaming cup of cocoa to Fudge. There was no longer a trace of the bright eyes, straight back, and proud bearing he once had.

…

Crack.

Wade stepped on a patch of charred leaves, and a crisp and brittle sound came from beneath his boots.

The heat from the Fire Spell still lingered in the air. Occasionally, a few sparks flickered, but the Forbidden Forest had fallen into an eerie silence— even the faint rustling sounds had vanished.

It was as if every danger had, in an instant, retreated far away from where he stood.

Wade waited for a few seconds, then took out his compass to check his direction before continuing forward.

The compass pointed straight toward the location of the Goblet of Fire, but traversing the forest was difficult— paths were blocked by towering trees, and sometimes he came across swamps or deep pits.

He glanced at the bluebird nearby and sighed.

If he could transform into a falcon, the trophy would already be in his hands… But for the sake of a mere tournament, it wasn’t worth exposing his identity as an Animagus.

The forest seemed completely cut off from the outside world. Twice he tried summoning his broomstick with Accio, but there was no response— which, oddly enough, made him feel relieved.

In terms of flying, Harry and Krum were both far better than he was. Being unable to use a broom to reach the finish line was, in fact, an advantage for Wade.

After a moment’s thought, he stepped off the main path and found a hidden spot to stop. Raising his wand, he cast a spell— the magical aura rippled outward like waves in water.

In an instant, the entire area seemed to come alive. Countless materials began to wriggle and tremble!

Moss peeled from tree trunks with a rustling sound, thorny vines twisted like serpents, strands of unicorn tail hair hidden in dead leaves floated upward, feathers of unknown birds drifted together, mushrooms released clouds of spores as they slid across the ground, and even insect shells and pebbles began to roll and clatter.

From the stands, someone shouted in outrage—

“He’s making Magic dolls again! That’s not fair!”

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