Ludo Bagman's voice rang out over the entire arena like a magically enchanted brass gong.
"Now, let us give the warmest applause to our first champion-"
"The glory of the Northern Border, the pride of Durmstrang-"
"Viktor Krum!"
"ROAR!"
The Durmstrang students erupted in a perfectly synchronized battle cry.
Their roar was unified, filled with iron discipline, and the blood-red flags in their hands waved into a burning sea.
Wand in hand, Krum entered the arena.
His steps were steady, each footfall landing on the scorched earth with a solid echo.
But his tightly tensed shoulder muscles and faintly bloodshot eyes betrayed the power surging and roaring within him.
At the High Table, Karkaroff's hands were clenched into tight fists, his knuckles white from the force.
At the other end of the arena, an elegant yet deadly figure slowly emerged from behind a huge, half-melted rock.
The Swedish Short-Snout.
Its beautiful ice-blue scales reflected a cold, metallic sheen in the afternoon sunlight.
It had appeared.
Then it caught the peculiar scent in the air.
A powerful presence emanated from Krum, both familiar and unfamiliar-the presence of its own kind.
Krum noticed that its behavior was utterly unlike the caution described in his information.
The Swedish Short-Snout paced restlessly, its molten-gold slit pupils instantly locking onto him.
A low, hostile hiss rose from deep within its throat.
In the shadows by the Dragon Reserve's exit, Charlie's brow furrowed tightly.
"Something's wrong."
He lowered his voice as he spoke to Douglas beside him.
"Short-Snouts don't behave like this."
Douglas said nothing, merely watching the arena with interest.
"They're natural ambush predators. Cautious, patient, even a little timid."
Charlie began speaking rapidly, as though analyzing an experiment that had gone out of control.
"But look at it. It isn't hiding or observing."
The