[146] The Dragon's Game

Perfect timing. Time to send that fragment on its way. It had been lurking at Hogwarts, unable to contribute, unable to die — a situation Hall had found quite troubling. With Dumbledore present, Hall could not take the initiative to attack it. But now, the opportunity had presented itself.

Hall grinned. "Trying to use my blood to replace your enemy's blood? Tsk tsk. Now you know. I am not Voldemort's enemy. I am your father."

In just a few seconds, Karkaroff's body was engulfed in Fiendfyre.

"Oh dear!" Hall said, as if remembering something. "Mr Karkaroff, I almost forgot to mention — my Fiendfyre was aimed at that doll! If you do not want to get caught in the crossfire, throw the doll away quickly! I really mean you no harm!"

Karkaroff roared in fury. But Fiendfyre was worse than death. To die with Voldemort, or to let Voldemort die alone and become a true traitor — after experiencing the Fiendfyre, the choice was clear.

A small doll was thrown out.

"Karkaroff!" the rough-featured, incomplete doll roared angrily. "You —!"

The Fiendfyre basilisk released Karkaroff and lunged at the doll.

The sound vanished.

The Fiendfyre, having destroyed its target, went berserk once more. But before it could act, Hall moved.

[Learn Finite Maxima]

[Ding]

[Finite Maxima learned]

[Available Galleons: 69017 Galleons, 1 Sickle, 18 Knuts]

"Finite Maxima." This was a spell that normally required multiple casters — a spell to stop all spells. Casting it alone drained Hall's magic rapidly, squeezed him dry until only a thin layer remained.

All of this left Karkaroff, standing to the side, dumbfounded. What had happened? Could this really be done by an ordinary wizard?

Karkaroff had originally hated Hall. Because of Hall, he had betrayed Voldemort — right before Voldemort's eyes. But now, having witnessed Hall cast Fiendfyre and then Finite Maxima, he dared not move. His body, blackened and burned, trembled. His exposed flesh and nerves throbbed wildly. His chest heaved violently — just breathing took all his strength.

"Mr Karkaroff, I never imagined you could be so brave — single-handedly stopping Voldemort's return!" Hall seemed oblivious to Karkaroff's murderous glare. "You even saved an innocent student from being killed by Voldemort! I am so grateful!"

He took out the Goblet of Fire — the Portkey back to Hogwarts. He was about to activate it when he stopped.

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"Oh, right! I almost forgot." He glanced at the burnt-out doll and picked up the remaining ashes. "This thing... how did Voldemort get it? Maybe I will find something when I get back."

He put it away and activated the Portkey.

A three-way interrogation was nothing compared to this.

The three figures surrounding Hall could only mutter to themselves — Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, and Snape. Harry and Cedric could not squeeze in. Sirius circled Harry like a restless dog. Ron was practically jumping up and down in panic. Draco stood on the outermost edge, arms crossed, chin raised high, glaring at Hall with murderous intent.

Hall smiled weakly. What a sweet mess.

"How dare you!" Snape glared at Hall, his tone growing harsher. He did not claim to know Hall best, but he was certain that Hall's ability to say such things to Harry and Cedric meant the boy was not completely ignorant. A second-year student — how dare he!

Snape took a deep breath, mindful of Madame Maxime beside him, and refrained from saying more.

"Hall, my boy," Dumbledore said gently, his glasses flashing, "perhaps you could explain what happened in the maze? And this one who came back with you..."

Everyone's gaze followed Dumbledore's words and fell on the figure on the ground — burned beyond recognition, barely recognisable as human.

"Yes, Headmaster." Hall nodded obediently. He was a good boy. He had done nothing. Thanks to Headmaster Karkaroff for saving him — this unfortunate soul who had finally found the Goblet of Fire only to be teleported to Tom Riddle's grave.

Snape let out a snort.

Dumbledore watched Hall quietly, his eyes revealing understanding.

Hall met Dumbledore's gaze and puffed out his chest. "Thank you, Mr Karkaroff, for saving this innocent, defenceless student!"

Madame Maxime covered her mouth. "Oh! Headmaster Karkaroff — I never imagined he was such a kind person!" She did not doubt Hall's words. The Goblet of Fire had been tampered with. That much was clear. Why else would anyone turn it into a Portkey? Hall was just a second-year student, lucky and unfortunate — could he have orchestrated this? Even with his performance in the previous rounds, Madame Maxime could not believe Hall was capable. It must have been Karkaroff's doing.

To those who knew Hall well, however, every word he said was outrageous.

Draco glanced around, speechless at Hall's dismissive attitude. Then, to his shock, he discovered there really were people who believed it.

"No wonder!" someone in the crowd shouted. "I knew Weasley's luck could not be that good!"

"Wait — did none of you catch the point? Weasley clearly said —"

"Shh — quiet!"

The noise continued. Draco sneered and turned his head away. A bunch of people with problems.

But looking at the Goblet of Fire in Hall's hand, Draco's mood improved. He had made money on the bet. He, Draco Malfoy, had money again! Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, his annual allowance had always met his needs. Occasionally exceeding it, he could always ask his parents for more. Until a year ago. Draco entered Hogwarts and met Hall. Everything changed. Empty pockets, Galleons in Hall's wallet — that became Draco's daily routine.

Just as he was secretly thrilled, he met Hall's eyes in the crowd.

Hall smiled.

Draco froze.

With just one glance, Hall looked away. Draco began a new mental storm. What did that look mean? Could it be his wallet...?

Bagman stepped forward. "Tonight! Just now! The Triwizard Tournament champion has been crowned! He is — Hall Weasley!"

He waved his wand. All the fireworks prepared for the champion ignited at once. Boom boom boom — the sky lit up.

The students of the four houses were completely silent for a moment.

Gryffindor: The champion is at Hogwarts! But it is a Slytherin... Frustrating!

Slytherin: What? This guy actually won? Happy about beating Gryffindor, but our Galleons... Frustrating!

Hufflepuff: Cedric! Waaaaah! You lost so badly!

Ravenclaw: Ostracised by the other three houses as usual. Must be because we are too smart.