章 512: 0511 Karkaroff
In the depths of the midnight hour, the fierce winds whistled their haunting melody across the Hogwarts grounds, their ghostly sound intertwining with the thunderous crashes of relentless waves against the cliffs below. The combination created an almost supernatural seaside symphony that echoed through the castle's stone corridors.
The massive oak doors of the castle stood majestically open for the momentous Triwizard Tournament champion selection. The bitter October wind, carrying with it the crisp scent of autumn leaves and salt spray, poured through the entrance like an invisible flood, its haunting sound was like of a banshee's sorrowful wail as it swept through the entrance hall.
The entrance hall was illuminated as bright as a summer's day by the combined radiance of four massive bronze torches and the Goblet of Fire placed on the high platform.
From the Hufflepuff basement corridor, Cedric and his loyal band of house-mates emerged like thieves in the night, their excitement barely contained behind nervous grins and stifled laughter. Cedric's mates clustered around him, their eyes darting watchfully about the hall. After carefully ensuring they were alone in the vast space, they approached the Goblet with growing excitement.
The silvery Age Line encircling the magical artifact was gleaming like moonlight on water. Cedric crossed the boundary nervously and, in one fluid motion, tossed his carefully prepared parchment bearing his name and house into the dancing flames. The group held their collective breath, watching as the blue-white fire consumed his offering, accepting his bid for glory. Once they re-confirmed the goblet hadn't rejected and thrown out Cedric's entry, the group celebrated briefly before sneaking away.
Throughout the long night, this scene had repeated itself countless times, each potential champion approaching the Goblet with their own mixture of determination, fear, and hope.
In the comfortable dimness of his office, Bryan lounged on his leather sofa, holding a steaming cup of fragrant tea that sent white vapor curling through the air and said casually, "Diggory has impressively solid fundamentals and remarkable dedication. His performance in my physical education classes also consistently stands out. I believe he has a good chance of becoming Hogwarts' champion—"
Dumbledore carefully picked cookie crumbs from his long beard. The evidence of his single-handed annihilation of Bryan's carefully selected box of mild-flavored pastries lay scattered before him like the aftermath of a particularly pleasant battle. His blue eyes twinkled with warmth as he said, "Pomona will certainly be delighted—"
He paused thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "I've always believed that Hufflepuffs deserve recognition for their kindness, loyalty, diligence, and their enduring commitment to what is right and just."
Bryan nodded slightly in agreement, his thoughts turning to the rich history of Hufflepuff House.
After the other three Hogwarts founders had passed away one after another, Helga Hufflepuff became the school's first headmistress. In those dark and dangerous times, when the magical community lived under constant threat of persecution, she had stood alone as guardian of the school. Her dedication had been so complete that she had nearly exhausted both her personal wealth and her family's fortune in her determination to keep Hogwarts' doors open to all who sought magical education.
Moreover, Bryan thought of the lesser-known but equally significant fact that it was Helga Hufflepuff who had first brought the house-elves to Hogwarts at a time when such an action was considered radical. In an era when Muggle-born students were regarded as little more than dust beneath pure-bloods feet, Helga's compassionate act spoke volumes about her character.
Bryan had often pondered whether her decision had been influenced by the horrifying things she must have heard from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw about the house-elves' conditions in the secret chambers beneath Azkaban.
As the night wore on, more students crept into the entrance hall like shadows, each approaching the Goblet with their own dreams of glory. Bryan, watching from his vantage point, estimated that approximately a quarter of Hogwarts' eligible students of Age had already submitted their names tonight.
Outside, the moon hung like a blurred pearl behind thick clouds, its position shifting gradually across the vast expanse of the night sky. In the Student Safety Office, Bryan and Dumbledore sat in silence, each immersed in their respective books, their minds swimming in oceans of magical knowledge.
Tick—
The sudden, sharp tick of the clock announcing one o'clock shattered the quiet meditation. Through the continuous ghostly howls of the wind and the surrounding darkness, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hall. Bryan carefully marked his place in his spellbook and turned his attention to the unfolding scene.
The Durmstrang group emerged from the shadows into the Goblet's light, their thick fur cloaks wrapped tightly against the chill. Within their group, Viktor Krum's usually strong figure looked notably thin, as his body seemed a little hunched against some unseen discomfort. Dark circles shaded his eyes, prominent against his tanned complexion, and his characteristic thick black eyebrows drooped with evident exhaustion.
"How are you holding up, Viktor? Can you hold on?" Karkaroff's voice carried an unusual note of genuine concern, his typically stern demeanor softened by worry for his star student. The rest of the group showed varying degrees of fatigue, but none appeared as affected as Krum.
In response to Karkaroff's concern, Viktor could only manage a weary shake of his head before being overwhelmed by a forceful need to blow his nose, and that sound echoed in the vast space.
"When we return to the ship, you can take some Sleeping Draught to ease your discomfort, Viktor," Karkaroff said, his voice carrying both concern and barely concealed frustration. His long, silver-streaked goatee quivered slightly as he spoke, revealing his agitation. "Beyond that, you must find the strength to endure—"
He paused, dark eyes scanning Krum's face. "While I anticipated some difficulties, I hadn't expected England's relatively mild climate to affect you quite so severely. Our winters at Durmstrang are far more brutal, after all—"
From the group of students behind Karkaroff, a scrawny boy with long ears and nervous hands stepped forward hesitantly. Poliakoff, whose small body seemed even smaller beneath his heavy fur cloak, gave his suggestion with the timidity of one well-acquainted with his headmaster's volatile temper.
"Perhaps, Headmaster Karkaroff, we could take Viktor to the hospital?" His voice quavered slightly in the vast space. "Surely Hogwarts must have medical facilities for their students?"
Karkaroff's caring expression vanished instantly, replaced by a mask of fury that twisted his facial features into something almost inhuman. He whirled around with such force that his silver furs created a whooshing sound in the quiet hall, fixing the boy with a glare that could have frozen flame.
"Hospital!" He spat, the word dripping with contempt and paranoid suspicion. His yellowed teeth flashed in the torchlight as he lurched on the now-trembling student. "So, you would hand Viktor over to them? Give Hogwarts the perfect opportunity to poison or sabotage our champion? Keep your foolish thoughts to yourself, you troublesome little boy, before they cause irreparable damage!"
The force of Karkaroff's outburst reverberated through the entrance hall. Poliakoff seemed to shrink further into himself with each repetition, his face showing regret and embarrassment.
Viktor, perhaps trying to resolve the tense situation, tried to move past Karkaroff's protective posture toward the Goblet of Fire. Despite his illness, he maintained the powerful grace that had made him famous on the Quidditch pitch, though his movements were notably slower than usual. Another tremendous sneeze wracked his body but he pressed forward determinedly, clutching his entry parchment in one large hand.
"Wait, Viktor!" Karkaroff's sharp command came. His entire behavior had shifted to one of alertness, dark eyes narrowing as they fixed upon the ancient artifact before them. He quickly positioned himself between Viktor and the Goblet, and he drew his wand. The wandtip ignited with a soft glow as he began a meticulous inspection of the area within the Age Line.
The gathered Durmstrang students watched this display with a mixture of curiosity and uneasiness, their eyes darting between their headmaster's suspicious roaming and Krum's confused expression.
Viktor's thick eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown, creating deep furrows in his forehead as he observed Karkaroff's increasingly elaborate examination.
Karkaroff waved his wand in the air as he circled the platform. Each tap of his wand against the Goblet's surface produced subtle variations in the magical flames, which he studied with the intensity of a scholar examining an ancient text.
"What exactly are you looking for, Professor?" Viktor's usually gruff voice was made even hoarser by his illness.
"We must have the greatest caution, Viktor—" Karkaroff replied distractedly, his attention never wavering from his magical investigation. The flames of the Goblet cast strange shadows across his angular face, deepening the lines of paranoia etched there.
"When you have lived as long as I have, seen what I have seen, you learn that appearances can be desperately deceiving. We are dealing with the most cunning wizard of our century, a master of deception who hides his true nature behind a carefully constructed mask of benevolence and virtue." His voice dropped to a whisper, though it carried clearly to his students. "There is every possibility that this goblet has been enchanted to discriminate against and filter out the finest students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons!"
"You mean Mr. Watson?" Krum asked incredulously. "But he seems so... straightforward and direct, He doesn't seem like someone who would do such things. "
Karkaroff's laugh was sharp and unpleasant.
"I'm talking about Albus Dumbledore—" His yellowed teeth gleamed in the magical light as his lips curled into a knowing sneer. "Your naive perception of Dumbledore's character reveals your youth, Viktor. One does not become the greatest wizard of our time through simple righteousness and good intentions. When it comes to schemes and plots, even the Dark Lord—"
Karkaroff caught himself abruptly, the words disappearing in his throat as his head snapped around, with his dark eyes darting to every shadow in the vast hall and his hand instinctively rose to his left forearm. Only after a thorough scan of their surroundings did he allow himself to relax slightly.
"As for Bryan Watson—" Karkaroff continued, finally stepping back from the Goblet with obvious reluctance. He turned to face Krum fully, his expression turning serious. "I understand your admiration for his magical abilities, Viktor, but don't forget what I told you about Watson—how he outmaneuvered both us and Beauxbatons to make Hogwarts the host school for the Triwizard Tournament. His methods are no less cunning than Dumbledore's, perhaps even more aggressive."
His gaze swept the entrance hall once more, taking in the cold stone walls and ancient tapestries with unveiled contempt. The torchlight caught the silver in his hair and beard, making him appear momentarily older, and creepier.
"In any case, we must be extremely careful... I even suspect that if Hogwarts doesn't win the tournament in the end, Watson might directly sabotage you and the Beauxbatons champion. After all," his voice dropped to a whisper, "those who appear most straightforward often harbor the deepest capacity for treachery."
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章 513: 0512 Truth
Karkaroff indeed doted on Viktor Krum. After Krum put his name into the Goblet of Fire and confirmed there were no mishaps, Karkaroff immediately put his arm around Krum's shoulders and steered him away, completely ignoring the disappointed expressions of the other students he had brought. Bryan believed that even if the tournament rules required each school to provide a certain number of candidates, Karkaroff might have brought only Krum to compete.
For this surveillance, Bryan had added some functionality to the Omniculars' terminal - it could now not only show images but also transmit sound.
In the warmth of the office, neither Bryan nor Dumbledore showed the slightest reaction to Karkaroff's earlier disparaging remarks about them. Their faces remained emotionless, calm even, as they watched the Durmstrang group fade from the magical surveillance image like ghosts dissolving into mist.
"This is unexpected--" Bryan slowly rose, walked to the fireplace, and took the brass kettle from the shelf to refill his cup with hot water. Holding the cup, he gazed through the gap in the curtains at the Durmstrang students and their teacher walking towards the ghostly ship by the lake in the darkness.
"I thought Voldemort would contact his old servant and have him act on his behalf, After all, compared to the difficulty of infiltrating Hogwarts, Karkaroff would find it easier to act —" His voice trailed off, leaving the thought suspended in the warm air of the office.
"You don't understand Tom well enough, Bryan--" Dumbledore said calmly. "Unless absolutely necessary, I believe he won't risk exposing his identity to his former followers before regaining his powers. Especially since, after his defeat by Harry years ago, Professor Karkaroff's actions might not seem particularly loyal in Tom's eyes."
Bryan nodded slightly, keeping his gaze on the Durmstrang group until they returned to their ship.
The night sky above was a canvas of darkness, with the moon struggling to pierce through dense layers of clouds. What little light managed to break through aided only to emphasize the overwhelming darkness, making the shadows seem deeper and the autumn chill more penetrating.
Shifting his attention, Bryan surveyed the rest of the grounds. The Beauxbatons carriage was completely dark with all lights extinguished.
The sudden sound of movement from the entrance hall drew their attention sharply back to the magical surveillance. Though no figure was visible to the eye, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed through the space, descending cautiously the grand staircase. The invisible one made its way to the entrance hall, finally coming to a stop before the age line drawn by Dumbledore.
The hidden figure seemed to be conflicted and hesitant, not acting rashly. For a moment, only the crackling of burning torches and the sharp, frightening wind howls could be heard in the hall.
This silence lasted for about ten minutes.
Finally, determination won out over caution. The invisible student stepped across the magical boundary. Dumbledore's age line responded with wisps of silvery mist, like breath on a cold morning. One second passed, then two, then three— When nothing immediate happened, a soft sound of suppressed cheer escaped the invisible figure's lips.
Standing beneath the Goblet of Fire, she clutched her carefully prepared parchment, her invisible smile already tasting the sweetness of anticipated glory.
However, fate—and Dumbledore's magic—had other plans. Without warning, an invisible force seized her with the strength of a giant, spinning her through the air like a medieval trebuchet's projectile before unceremoniously depositing her well outside the age line.
"Oh!"
Her cry of surprise echoed through the hall as she landed roughly on the polished marble floor, the impact forcing her invisibility to waver. As the pain became bearable, she struggled to get up, and instinctively touched her face. Then, she felt a bushy beard.
"Oh!"
The Ravenclaw girl cried out for the second time— where once had been the smooth face of a young girl, there now grew a magnificent beard worthy of a medieval wizard.
The embarrassment was complete when she realized her Disillusionment Charm had failed completely, leaving her transformed state visible to any who might pass by. Overcome with shame, The Ravenclaw girl fled up the stairs, her sobs echoing in the empty corridor.
"To be fair, Miss Fawcett's Disillusionment Charm was quite proficient—" Bryan chuckled.
"I agree with your assessment, Bryan—" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement as he responded, "At Hogwarts, Ravenclaw students invest the most effort in their studies, so their grades are generally better than the other three houses. It's always been that way. Honestly, I didn't expect anyone to brew an Aging Potion so quickly. Miss Fawcett must have been well prepared in advance—"
Tap, tap, tap--
At that moment, a rhythmic sound of something hitting the floor interrupted Bryan and Dumbledore's conversation, drawing their attention back to the commotion in the entrance hall.
"Professor Moody?" Bryan's voice carried a note of suspicion as he watched the figure materialize from the darkness. "What's he doing down here at this hour?"
"I guess Alastor is on patrol--" Dumbledore said calmly, stroking his silvery beard. "Alastor has fought evil his entire life. His experience and instincts are no weaker than ours. Clearly, he too realizes that if someone were to try something, tonight would undoubtedly be the most opportune moment--"
The scene unfolded exactly as Dumbledore suggested.
Professor Moody stopped outside the age line, leaning on his staff. His blue magical eye spun wildly in its socket, seemingly observing if any ill-intentioned individuals were lurking nearby. After a minute, having confirmed the area was safe, he began circling the Goblet of Fire. Both his eyes were fixed on the rough surface of the goblet, as if, like Karkaroff, he was checking whether anyone had tampered with it.
After a while, Professor Moody stopped. He gazed for a moment at the sleeping portraits on the wall, then turned and left the entrance hall, heading towards the castle grounds.
"Planning to patrol the grounds?" Bryan took a sip of hot tea and shook his head slightly. "He should have put on some extra clothes. It's not that warm outside. If he falls ill, I'll have to cover the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes again--"
Dumbledore smiled helplessly.
It must be said that sometimes, the Slytherin traits in Bryan were very obvious. One shouldn't expect him to be particularly tolerant towards people he didn't like.
Dumbledore was about to make some excuses for Alastor's rash behavior in the entrance hall at the beginning of the school year, but suddenly, the very rhythmic sound of a staff hitting the floor was heard again, interrupting what Dumbledore was about to say.
Moody, who had left the castle just minutes ago, had returned. He didn't go upstairs directly but stopped once again outside the age line. His magical eye swiveled left and right a few times before locking onto the Goblet of Fire placed in the center of the circle. The broken face that appeared in the center of the Omnioculars' captured image wore a deep expression.
Thud--
Bryan slowly placed his teacup on the mantelpiece, staring directly at the light and shadows, his eyebrows slightly raised, his purple eyes as deep as an abyss.
On the sofa, Dumbledore's back quietly left the soft backrest. His face turning expressionless, a hint of coldness shone through his blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. In the breeze formed by the heat radiating from the fireplace and the chill squeezing through the door cracks, Dumbledore's silver hair and beard swayed gently.
After standing in silence for a while, Moody, with a grave expression, crossed the age line and positioned himself under the Goblet of Fire. He put his hand in his pocket and when he took it out, his palm held a folded piece of paper.
A flash of pale spell light appeared, and the blue-white flames erupting from the Goblet of Fire began to shake violently. Even the roughly carved goblet itself shook fiercely, as if resisting something. But finally, this resistance was suppressed, everything returned to calm, and the piece of parchment in Professor Moody's hand disappeared into the flames that had just been disturbed.
Gulp, gulp, gulp--
Moody's motion of opening the flask he always carried was almost desperate. He took several large swigs of the drink, and the irregular breathing and sudden liquid rushing down his throat caused him to cough violently twice.
Seeming to realize he had made a lot of noise, Professor Moody limped away, leaning on his staff. He didn't go upstairs but instead quickly walked towards the side of the entrance hall, his figure swiftly disappearing into the shadows of the underground passage leading to Slytherin.
"How interesting--"
In the sky, the clouds parted, revealing the moon.
Bryan picked up his teacup again, calmly looking at Dumbledore, who returned the calm gaze, and repeated, "How interesting--"
The clouds, heavy and ominous just moments before, gradually parted like a theatrical curtain drawing back, revealing a brilliant full moon that cast its ethereal silver light across the Scottish Highlands, as all the dust finally settled.
In the office, Bryan and Dumbledore sat facing each other on the sofa. Both of their expressions were calmer than the other had expected - no shock, no anger, no agitation or confusion. There was only a hint of relief now that the final answer had been revealed.
The once-roaring flames in the massive stone fireplace had dwindled to glowing embers and the light from the wall portraits became the only illumination in the office. Bryan leaned back into the soft sofa, his gaze following the wisps of steam rising from his teacup as he absently stroked his chin.
"The flask contained Polyjuice Potion?"
"I share your conclusion, Bryan—" Dumbledore's response came with his characteristic tranquility. "This reveals at least one crucial detail: the genuine Alastor must still be alive. The impostor must be keeping him close by to harvest his hair for the potion. Hmm, I believe Alastor should be somewhere in the Impostor's office. What do you think, Bryan?"
"A reasonable conclusion, indeed—" Bryan responded with a slight incline of his head, his penetrating gaze cutting through the room's misty atmosphere to study Dumbledore's aged face which bore a somewhat cryptic expression.
Bryan couldn't suppress a surge of admiration for the man before him.
Despite Alastor Moody having been Dumbledore's trusted confidant and friend for countless years, the discovery of his friend's dire predicament hadn't shattered the Dumbledore's composed demeanor. He showed no apparent worry for Moody's fate.
When circumstances demanded clear-headed analysis and cold, calculating rationality, Albus Dumbledore demonstrated why he was renowned as the greatest wizard of the age - his ability to set aside personal feelings in favor of logical deduction was truly remarkable.
"What continues to perplex me—" Bryan began after several moments of contemplative silence, his eyes meeting the brilliant blue gaze that peered out from behind Dumbledore's signature half-moon spectacles.
"I recall a conversation from last year, during the incident when the Dementors invaded the school grounds in pursuit of Sirius. You said you noted certain peculiar changes in my Patronus charm. At that time, you mentioned possessing the ability to perceive, to some degree, the state of an individual's soul. Professor Dumbledore, given this capability, shouldn't you have been able to detect the Polyjuice deception, especially considering Professor Moody was your old friend?"
"I won't attempt to justify what was clearly an oversight on my part, Bryan, and it was indeed a terrible mistake—"
For the first time that evening, a trace of bitterness crept into Dumbledore's expression, manifesting at the corners of his mouth in a way that aligned more closely with what others might expect from someone who had discovered such a betrayal.
"I placed my complete trust in Alastor Moody. He served not only as my capable assistant but also as an unwavering supporter through countless situations, and I allowed this trust to breed complacency. It blinded me to the impostor's suspicious behavior after their arrival at Hogwarts. As for the matter of perceiving one's soul—"
Dumbledore paused meaningfully, his eyes twinkling with a light that seemed to outshine the dim illumination of the office.
"While I do indeed possess this remarkable ability, such extraordinary magic isn't as straightforward as summoning a plate of sherbet lemons from the kitchen with a simple charm. It takes a considerable toll on the wielder. Until I glimpse Tom's ultimate fate, I hope to carefully maintain my health. If Tom were to learn that I've grown so frail that I need assistance just to walk these halls, it would bring him considerable satisfaction. Additionally, As a professor, I wish to maintain a certain dignity in front of my former students—"
Bryan gazed deeply at Dumbledore, whose eyes remained frank and steady, uncertain whether this explanation was a cover-up or the truth.
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