Chapter 195
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The next day was Halloween, and it happened to fall on a Saturday.
Early in the morning, the Goblet of Fire was already surrounded by students.
Some cheered loudly.
Others stood by with bread and milk in hand, watching like it was a spectacle.
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A boy struggled forward.
The distance to the goblet was barely ten seconds on foot—
Yet for him, it felt like an insurmountable barrier.
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"I can't… I can't do it!"
Just as he was about to reach the goblet, he suddenly broke down.
He turned and ran.
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No one mocked weakness.
But losing control at the last moment—
That drew contempt.
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Malfoy watched carefully.
The boy's face was drenched in sweat.
His limbs trembled.
His eyes were filled with fear.
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"This doesn't feel like Dumbledore's usual style," Malfoy thought.
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In the past, Dumbledore preferred gentler methods.
Like when the Weasley twins tried to cheat the age restriction—
Only to grow ridiculous beards.
But this—
This was different.
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Malfoy stepped forward.
As soon as he crossed the red boundary, he felt it—
pressure.
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"It's within acceptable limits," he assessed calmly.
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But as he moved forward, the pressure intensified.
The air itself seemed to solidify, pressing against him from all directions.
Retreating eased it instantly.
Advancing made it worse.
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He tested something.
Using magic.
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The moment he cast a spell—
The pressure lessened.
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"The stronger the magic, the greater the relief…"
Malfoy quickly understood.
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This was a dual test:
Physical endurance
Magical capacity
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The deeper one went, the harder it became to cast spells—
And the harder it became to endure the pressure.
Most students would collapse under the combination.
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"It's a filtering mechanism," Malfoy concluded.
A way to eliminate those without sufficient magical reserves.
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Mana was the foundation of a wizard's strength.
Without it—
They were no different from ordinary people.
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Malfoy continued forward.
Calm.
Steady.
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To him, this level of challenge meant little.
Since obtaining Slytherin's potion method, his magical reserves had grown significantly.
He was already comparable to—if not beyond—an adult wizard.
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He reached the goblet.
Then stopped.
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"There's something else."
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A second enchantment.
Subtle—
But dangerous.
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As he approached, his mind filled with vivid images:
A dragon's fangs tearing into his throat
The depths of the Black Lake swallowing him whole
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This wasn't like a Boggart, nor like a Dementor.
It was something different.
A projection—
Of possible outcomes.
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A warning.
A threat.
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For weaker minds, it would shatter resolve.
Like the boy who fled earlier.
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But Malfoy remained unaffected.
His will was steady.
He didn't need Occlumency to resist it.
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Without hesitation—
He tossed his name into the Goblet of Fire.
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At that moment—
A gasp sounded behind him.
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Malfoy turned.
And raised an eyebrow.
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Neville Longbottom stood there.
Sweating.
Breathing heavily.
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Yet—
He had made it through.
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"Interesting…"
Malfoy observed him closely.
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Neville's transformation was obvious.
He was no longer timid.
No longer weak.
His build had grown stronger.
His presence more stable.
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And most importantly—
He had overcome his fear.
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"He got through… purely by endurance," Malfoy thought.
"A method Dumbledore likely didn't anticipate."
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A faint hint of amusement crossed his mind.
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"Congratulations," Malfoy said.
"Thank you," Neville replied, clearly exhausted.
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Their exchange was brief and quiet.
But the students behind them had seen enough.
Applause broke out.
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Anyone who passed—
Deserved respect.
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When Malfoy stepped away, Fleur approached.
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"Seems like your spotlight was stolen by that boy," she said lightly.
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"Perhaps," Malfoy replied with a shrug.
His tone remained indifferent.