"Where's Roger Davies?" George asked flatly.
Beside him, Fred cooperatively put on a vicious expression, scanning the crowd.
In a chaotic free-for-all like this, powerful teams like theirs were already at a disadvantage. And now that Cedric had become a Champion, they were bound to be targeted even more fiercely.
On top of that, the professor had hidden traps in the forest.
They didn't even need to ask. The moment they thought of the maze the professor had used for last year's assessment, they instantly knew what kind of exquisitely unhinged traps were waiting inside.
"He's already gone into the forest to prepare for battle. Stop wasting time looking for him," a muffled voice said from somewhere in the crowd.
Cedric immediately saw through Davies's clumsy attempt to deceive them and dragged him out.
"Miss Delacour, please don't worry about me. They wouldn't dare—mmph—do anything to me—"
Davies was hauled off to a corner by the three of them, still shouting toward Fleur, who looked utterly unconcerned.
"Quit it!" George snapped, pulling his hand away from Davies's mouth. "We need to talk about cooperation!"
"Cooperation?" Davies blinked.
"Why should I cooperate? I could just stand by and watch you get eliminated like last time."
"Oh please," George sneered, pointing at the students who were clearly wary of Fleur. "You think being runner-up will keep you safe this time?"
"If you'd kept the same lineup as before, maybe no one would've bothered targeting you," Fred added, patting his cheek. "But things are different now."
Cedric sighed, adopting a tone that sounded almost considerate.
"Fleur is the Champion of Beauxbatons. She'll attract just as much attention as we do."
"So," George concluded, "if we don't team up, forget beating those Durmstrang brutes. We'll probably end up hand in hand, taking last and second-to-last place together."
Davies's expression turned serious at once.
He might be a shameless hanger-on, but he wasn't an idiot. He immediately grasped what they were up against.
"How do we cooperate?"
Seeing how quickly he came around, Cedric and the other two exchanged satisfied looks.
"Simple. Everyone thinks we're at odds," George said. "So first, we pretend to deal with you. Then you blend into the crowd as if you're our enemy."
He glanced toward their classmates. Quite a few teams had already finished discussing tactics and were starting to look their way.
"When the time comes, we coordinate from both sides, lure them into the traps, and then join forces to wipe out the other teams. Clean up all our competition."
"How do we pretend?" Davies asked blankly.
"Like this."
George shot Fred a wicked grin. The two of them promptly slammed their fists into Davies's shoulders.
Davies went sprawling onto the grass. As he tried to sit up, Cedric gave him a light kick, sending him back down again.
The three of them then sauntered off to line up with the others as if nothing had happened.
"By the way," George muttered, suddenly looking a little guilty, "after that, he's not going to get so mad that he backs out of cooperating, is he?"
"Relax," Cedric said calmly. "He knows better than anyone that Fleur isn't exactly welcomed by the Beauxbatons students, and the Hogwarts students will be wary of them too. Working with us is their only real shot at winning."
George's guilt vanished instantly.
"That makes sense. Besides, they've got four people. If it comes down to one-on-one at the end, they'll still have the advantage. No wonder he agreed so quickly."
Cedric, however, frowned.
"What is it?" Fred asked.
"The trick we used last time won't work anymore…"
Cedric looked up—and met the professor's smiling gaze.
In truth, Cedric and the others weren't the only ones huddling in secret discussions. All the students were doing the same. After the previous experience, they finally understood the difference between fighting and fighting on a battlefield.
The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students weren't foolish either. Knowing they were outnumbered, they had decisively chosen to form an alliance.
Tver had deliberately delayed the start of the match to give them time to work out their tactics.
Only after the discussions gradually died down did he raise his wand and blanket the arena in thick white mist.
"Line up properly and follow behind me in order!"
Just like last time, Tver led them along the edge of the Colosseum, assigning each team to a different starting position.
But this time, there were half again as many participants, and the arena itself had doubled in size.
In this round, the real difficulties would be the traps and navigating the terrain.
If they focused solely on treating their opponents as enemies, they would very likely lose their way in the forest.
That was precisely Tver's intention—he wanted them to experience what it felt like when cooperation and confrontation existed side by side.
Of course, it also gave him the perfect opportunity to observe Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor.
"This time, the white mist won't disappear completely. It'll only thin out somewhat. So finding the right direction will be even more important."
The students waiting for the start froze for a moment. The voice sounded as though the professor were whispering right beside their ears, yet at the same time distant and drifting, as if carried from far away.
Before they could fully process it, the mist before them began to thin.
Just as he had said, it faded—but did not vanish entirely.
It was like murky lake water that had cleared halfway: no longer opaque, but far from transparent enough to see straight through.
Cedric's expression grew serious. He lifted his wand and fired a streak of red light into the distance.
Pop.
The red glow dissipated about twenty feet away.
"Magic's restricted?" George asked in disbelief.
"Exactly. Not just our vision—our casting range is capped at twenty feet as well."
"And we can't use the trees as markers anymore," Fred said helplessly.
They turned to look. A small blasted notch had appeared in one of the conjured trees—but it was tiny, and already knitting itself back together.
Seeing that, George could only muster enough strength to complain.
"I always thought people calling Professor Fawley the second Dumbledore meant sometime in the future. Turns out they meant right now."
"With power like this, if this were a real battlefield, the only thing I'd be thinking is: never end up on the professor's bad side."
"And hurry to find him—or wait for him to come rescue us," Fred added in perfect sync.
"At least it won't be easy for others to find us either," Cedric said, forcing himself to focus.
The mist was actually an advantage for stronger teams like theirs.
Even if they ran into opponents by accident, it was unlikely to be a large group.
In this environment, it was hard enough just to find anyone at all.
George realized the same thing and tugged Fred along as they followed Cedric.
"I swear the professor does this on purpose—every time he finds a new way to mess with our heads. He never plays by the rules."