Chapter 218
The battle between the champion and the Fire Dragon did not turn into a direct clash of force.
Instead, the entire arena watched in suffocating tension as Draco Malfoy weaved through danger.
The dragon's tail, claws, and bursts of flame swept past him again and again—close enough to graze him, but never quite landing.
Because the Fire Dragon still guarded its egg, its movements remained somewhat restricted, keeping the fight confined to a limited area.
Even so, the destruction was immense.
Rocks shattered and flew outward, forcing several wizards in the stands to cast Shield Charms to block debris and maintain order.
Within a ten-meter radius of the dragon, not a single intact rock remained.
---
"Dumbledore, is your student planning to run the dragon to exhaustion?" sneered Igor Karkaroff, tugging at his goatee.
"I've seen nothing but a basic Blasting Curse—and a lot of running."
Olympe Maxime remained silent, her gaze fixed on the arena.
Albus Dumbledore only smiled faintly, ignoring the provocation.
"Do continue watching," he said calmly.
---
"Perhaps the champion is using the egg to restrain the dragon," Ludo Bagman speculated loudly.
"But stamina favors the dragon! This can't last forever—he must end it quickly!"
Then suddenly—
"Heavens! Why isn't he dodging?! Has he run out of energy?!"
---
Malfoy stopped.
In an instant, the Fire Dragon's massive head descended over him, casting a shadow that swallowed him whole.
"Karkaroff: If you don't intervene now, your student will be eaten," Karkaroff said, his voice trembling despite himself.
Dumbledore shook his head again.
"Watch."
---
The dragon froze.
Its enormous jaws halted just inches from Malfoy.
Only its breath moved—hot, damp, and crackling with blue sparks.
Malfoy's wand was pressed firmly against the dragon's nose.
The entire arena erupted.
"What incredible control!" Bagman shouted hoarsely. "A freezing spell—on a dragon?!"
---
"That's impossible…" Madam Maxime murmured in disbelief.
Even Karkaroff fell silent.
---
Dumbledore adjusted his glasses.
"Our commentator has misunderstood," he said gently.
"This is no freezing charm."
He pointed toward the dragon.
"During the battle, the dragon accumulated dust and fragments of rock on its wings and limbs. Mr. Malfoy applied a sticking charm—binding those fragments in place."
"And then—he transfigured them."
---
At that very moment—
the scattered debris began to move.
Stone and dust writhed like living things, spreading across the dragon's body—wrapping its limbs, wings, and neck.
They tightened.
Expanded.
Hardened.
In seconds, the Fire Dragon was encased—transformed into a massive statue of earth and stone, frozen in place at the center of the arena.
---
"My mistake!" Bagman corrected himself excitedly.
"This is advanced Transfiguration! And brilliantly executed! He even used the dragon itself to generate more material—perfect for binding!"
"The match should be over! All he needs to do now is retrieve the golden egg!"
---
Then—
"Wait… something's wrong!"
---
The dragon moved.
Very slightly—but unmistakably.
---
Malfoy remained in position, wand still raised, continuing to chant.
"Maintaining this transformation must require enormous magic!" Bagman continued.
"This could turn into a battle of endurance!"
---
But Malfoy wasn't casting a spell.
He was speaking.
Low. Steady. Strange syllables.
"Alright… Dragon," he murmured, breath slightly uneven. "Now we can talk."
---
The situation shifted again.
"The dragon is breaking free!" Bagman shouted in alarm.
Cracks spread across the earthen shell.
The tail broke loose first—snapping free and whipping through the air—
Then—
it stopped.
The dragon hesitated.
Its tail moved cautiously, as if remembering something.
Then it touched—
the golden egg.
---
The egg toppled.
---
The dragon's fury exploded.
It struggled violently, roaring, shaking its head, its massive body trembling with rage.
The stone bindings shattered completely—
collapsing into dust.
---
Screams erupted from the stands.
Many students shut their eyes, unable to watch.
Because now—
Malfoy stood alone.
No restraints.
No barrier.
No advantage.
---
And in the next instant—
it seemed inevitable—
that the arena would be stained with the blood of a champion.