[145] Twilight of the Youth

"Hall!"

"Hall!"

In the instant he was teleported away, Hall heard the sharp cries of Cedric and Harry.

Of the three champions who had stood before the Cup, only two remained.

Bagman, waiting outside the maze, ready to set off fireworks, froze. "The Goblet of Fire — it's gone?"

"What do you mean by that!" Snape charged forward, his black robes billowing, his eyes sharp.

Bagman flinched. Dumbledore spoke in a gentle but undeniable tone: "Mr Bagman, please explain."

"The Goblet's aura disappeared in the graveyard."

Dumbledore and Snape's expressions turned grim.

Madame Maxime stepped forward. "Dumbledore, is this not against the rules? Hogwarts has three champions. I do not wish to question a great wizard with such thoughts, but —"

First praise, then questioning. A master of language.

Dumbledore paid no attention. His gaze swept over the gathered crowd. "Where is Mr Karkaroff?"

Madame Maxime was startled. The others looked around, searching for the headmaster of Durmstrang. Something had gone wrong in the maze.

Dumbledore waited for no answer. He raised his wand. "The maze — open!"

The maze, which had nearly overwhelmed five champions, opened before him like a helpless child. It split apart completely, revealing four people inside. Fleur, spat out by the vines. Krum, unconscious. Harry and Cedric, standing together, panic on their faces.

"Headmaster! Headmaster Dumbledore!" Harry and Cedric rushed towards him. "Hall has been teleported away! The Goblet of Fire is a Portkey!"

Their words struck like a thunderclap.

The Portkey's teleportation was unpleasant. Hall landed in a roll, the way that minimised injury — experience honed by life. He shoved the Goblet into his pocket and looked around.

A graveyard. Sinister and terrifying. Surrounded by black mist, howling wind, and shadowy figures.

He looked at the tombstone ahead.

Tom Riddle

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Vol de Mort

Voldemort

(Leaping over death)

Writing his ambition on his own tombstone — exactly what Tom Riddle would do.

"Bombarda!"

Hall raised his wand and cast the spell. The tombstone shattered, fragments scattering everywhere.

An angry roar came from behind. "How dare you! Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Hall's wand was already in his hand. His powerful magic knocked the opponent's wand away with ease. He turned and smiled at the weathered, almost manic face behind him.

"Mr Karkaroff. What a coincidence."

Karkaroff stared at Hall's smiling face, his eyes blazing. "Why are you here?! Where is Harry Potter! Where is Harry Potter?!"

He walked towards Hall as he spoke. Hall appeared calm but was inwardly wary.

Today's events were all within Hall's expectations. If the Goblet were just a trophy, he would not have minded sharing the title of champion with others. A mere title — Hall did not care. But from the moment his and Harry's names had been spat out by the Goblet, Hall had been certain: the Goblet of Fire could not be just a simple trophy.

It was Tom Riddle's diary all over again. A carefully orchestrated resurrection.

"Mr Karkaroff, what makes you so certain Harry would win?" Hall faced him directly, taking a careful step back. "You have heard I am stronger than Harry. From Krum, perhaps."

Hall stared into Karkaroff's eyes without flinching. He was gambling that Karkaroff's secret was the same as his own.

Karkaroff froze. His face contorted with extreme pain — mixed with panic and pleading. He clutched his arm, kneeling on the ground, letting out uncontrollable wails.

"Master! I did not mean to betray you! I am your most loyal servant, your most loyal dog! Please forgive me!"

Hall did not back down. His face was expressionless as he looked down at Karkaroff, carefully examining every place on his body where he could conceal something.

Karkaroff's suffering was self-inflicted. Serving as Voldemort's lackey — this fate seemed perfectly fitting.

Where was the main soul piece needed for Voldemort's resurrection? That was the question. Considering the places Karkaroff could access, Hall figured it must be the fragment of Voldemort's soul that had been attached to Quirrell — the one still lurking at Hogwarts, refusing to leave. Hall had never understood what that fragment was trying to do at the school.

Now he understood. It was waiting. To meet with the other Death Eaters. To complete the resurrection.

The other Death Eaters could not infiltrate the school. But Karkaroff had been right there since the Triwizard Tournament began.

"Master... you will be resurrected... your loyal servant will find a way to bring you back to life..."

Karkaroff's wailing, initially full of vigour, gradually weakened. His head pressed against the ground.

"It does not matter if Harry Potter is not there... I will find another way for you, Master..."

In his agony, Karkaroff suddenly raised his head. His mad eyes now held an unnatural red light.

"The blood of the enemy! The enemy! He is your enemy too!"

Hall paid no attention to Karkaroff's words. In that moment, he saw what Karkaroff had hidden in his robes — an ordinary, palm-sized rag doll. If it were not for the fact that it was a doll Hall himself had created, he probably would not have recognised it.

Voldemort. Found.

[Learn Fiendfyre]

[Ding]

[Fiendfyre learned]

[Available Galleons: 69027 Galleons, 1 Sickle, 18 Knuts]

"Fiendfyre!" Hall waved his wand. A basilisk formed of flames roared into existence, baring its fangs and charging towards Karkaroff.

The surrounding temperature rose dramatically.

"Ah —!" Karkaroff screamed. "Aguamenti!"

Water flowed continuously, but to no avail. This was Fiendfyre — it could not be extinguished by ordinary means. The flaming basilisk lunged at Karkaroff, fangs bared, tearing and biting. The sound of flesh tearing, the crackling of flames, the smell of burning flesh. Hall watched with a smile.