Under Professor McGonagall's guidance, they bypassed the main entrance of the Quidditch stadium and arrived at a secluded side gate.
"You'll have to go in on your own. Bagman is already inside."
Outside the entrance, Professor McGonagall gave the two of them a deep look before adding, "And lastly… good luck."
"Thank you!" Unlike Harry, who was visibly tense, Ino nodded seriously, stepping forward first.
After passing through a narrow passageway, just wide enough for a single person, the space suddenly opened up into a large tent.
"Ah-ha! Our Hogwarts champion has arrived! Come in, there's less than fifteen minutes left to prepare."
Ludo Bagman, the Director of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, greeted them enthusiastically, standing up with a broad smile. Though clearly middle-aged, his excitement made him appear ten years younger.
"Thank you," Ino responded politely and took a seat on one of the benches.
Though he knew that Marcus had already secured a deal with Bagman, Ino had no intention of being overly familiar with him. After all, as one of the judges, Bagman's role needed to remain impartial—acting too friendly would only raise suspicion.
Bagman, not being a fool, quickly caught on to Ino's reaction. Instead of pressing the conversation, he turned toward the passageway.
"Ah-ha, our fourth champion has arrived! Harry Potter!"
Once again, his tone was full of enthusiasm—perhaps even more so than before.
Krum and Fleur exchanged subtle glances, their brows furrowing slightly at the excessive excitement in his voice.
Meanwhile, Harry, already in a foul mood, felt an inexplicable surge of irritation. He hated being called "the fourth champion"—as if he were an unwanted extra in the Triwizard Tournament.
Suppressing his frustration, Harry merely nodded before taking a seat on the other bench.
"Alright! Now that everyone is here, it's time to go over the basics. I doubt any of you need this explanation, but protocol is protocol…"
Even after Harry's cold reaction, Bagman remained in high spirits, his expression brimming with excitement—as if he had just won a bag of Galleons.
"...And that's the situation," Bagman concluded after explaining the rules and safety measures. "For your protection, the hourglass is set to a maximum of thirty minutes. Of course, you may surrender at any time—once the signal is given, ten experienced dragon handlers will intervene immediately. You have my word."
As he spoke, he retrieved a small canvas bag from a nearby cabinet.
"Now, let's begin the draw. This will determine your order and which dragon you'll be facing."
The moment Bagman pulled out the bag, Ino noticed the other three champions visibly pale.
It was understandable. Even the eldest among them was only seventeen. No matter how talented they were at school, facing a five-X-rated dragon was enough to make anyone anxious.
"I'll go first—if no one objects."
Eno slowly stood up, meeting the gazes of the other three.
This decision was made on the spot, but he had his reasons. The first to compete would always be under the most pressure. Unlike the original trial of retrieving a golden egg, the revised version of this task was a direct battle—far more dangerous. A single mistake could have irreversible consequences.
Bagman, indifferent to the order, simply nodded. His earnings came from broadcasting rights and merchandise sales; the sequence of competitors made no difference to him.
As for the other three champions, the moment someone volunteered to go first, they instinctively nodded in agreement—none of them eager to take the lead.
Taking in their reactions, Ino smiled and stepped forward, reaching into the drawstring bag.
A palm-sized miniature dragon appeared in his hand, drawing everyone's attention.
"Oh-ho! The Norwegian Ridgeback!" Bagman announced cheerfully before glancing at the other champions.
"For fairness' sake, I'll ask one last time—do any of you wish to redraw? If not, the result stands."
The Norwegian Ridgeback was one of the most aggressive dragon species, similar to the Hungarian Horntail, though lacking the latter's deadly tail spikes.
Bagman fully expected this to be a rhetorical question—after all, it wasn't like they had drawn the relatively docile Welsh Green. However, the other champions had done their research. Upon seeing the Norwegian Ridgeback, not one of them objected.
"Alright then! Best of luck, Mr. Swinburne!"
With no protests, Bagman motioned for the others to continue drawing.
Standing aside, Eno watched as fate seemingly repeated itself—Harry once again drew the Hungarian Horntail and was assigned the second position.
Bagman, despite his usual exuberance, couldn't hide a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.
"Now, I must take my leave to fulfill my duties as a judge. Listen carefully for my call—it will be your turn in order."
With that, Bagman lifted the tent flap and stepped outside.
A few minutes later, Bagman's amplified voice rang out:
"And now, let us welcome our first champion into the arena—Hogwarts' own Ino Swinburne!"
Amidst thunderous applause and cheers, Ino stepped out of the tent.
The moment he emerged, thousands of eyes locked onto him.
Acknowledging the crowd, he smiled and waved before shifting his gaze to the center of the arena—where dragon handlers had temporarily restrained the Norwegian Ridgeback. Floating above it, a massive magical hourglass marked the time limit.
"Champions, prepare!" Bagman's voice boomed. "Begin!"
The dragon's restraints were released, and the hourglass began its slow descent.
"Winter is coming."
Ino gently flicked his wand.
As the words left his lips, snowflakes began drifting from the sky. A bone-chilling mist spread across the ground, creeping toward the dragon.
The legacy of the White Witch's ice magic once again revealed its power.
Within moments, the battlefield was transformed into a frozen wasteland. The snowfall wasn't limited to the stadium—Hogwarts, the Forbidden Forest, and every visible inch of land were now blanketed in white.
Sensing danger, the Norwegian Ridgeback immediately launched an attack.
Though grounded by heavy iron chains, it was not completely immobilized. From thirty feet in the air, a torrent of scorching flames erupted from its maw.
Ino remained unfazed. Without an incantation or unnecessary movement, he merely lifted his wand again.
At that instant, the falling snow changed.
No longer gentle flakes drifting from the heavens, they became a raging blizzard, swirling with deadly precision.
If the previous snowfall had been a serene winter morning, then now it was a full-force arctic storm.
The blizzard surged forward, colliding with the dragon's fiery breath.
A battle between ice and fire had begun.
In the sky, the snowfall intensified.
While the dragon's flames could easily melt ice, they were no match for the relentless storm.
Before long, the fire was extinguished, consumed by the overpowering cold.
The stands erupted with cheers.
Ino, still ignoring the dragon, turned to the audience and gave another wave.
To an outsider, it might have seemed like unnecessary showmanship, but in truth, it was a calculated move.
After all, it had only been a few minutes—he needed to give the Ridgeback time to recover. Otherwise, if the dragon became too frightened, it would lose its fighting spirit, and the intended visual spectacle would be diminished.