Chapter 268
"Quick! Get Madam Pomfrey! The champion is injured!"
In his haze of half-consciousness, Harry Potter heard frantic shouting ringing around him from every direction. He tried to force his eyes open, but his eyelids felt unbearably heavy.
Then darkness swallowed him again.
"Where's Professor Dumbledore?!" Ron Weasley shouted anxiously as he crowded beside Harry.
"I'm here."
Albus Dumbledore appeared through the crowd with his hands clasped behind his back. The students immediately stepped aside for him.
"Harry needs rest. Take him to the hospital wing first, Madam Pomfrey."
The matron nodded silently.
The chaotic Quidditch pitch gradually quieted.
Only then did people suddenly realize—
Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang Institute, had also disappeared from the judges' stand for quite some time.
During the Triwizard Tournament, both headmasters had vanished one after another.
What exactly had happened?
No one knew.
Perhaps they had simply gone off with stomach aches.
After all—
Hadn't Dumbledore returned safely after the match?
"Are you alright, Draco?"
Pansy Parkinson looked at Draco Malfoy worriedly.
By now, Malfoy had already returned to the stands and was sitting together with his parents and Pansy.
Not long ago, he had slowly walked out of the maze empty-handed.
The moment the Gryffindors realized he wasn't carrying the Triwizard Cup, they had burst into loud cheers.
His face looked pale.
Pansy assumed he was upset about losing the championship.
"He was just lucky," she comforted softly.
"Yes… his luck really is good," Malfoy murmured.
At that moment, he noticed Dumbledore glancing briefly in his direction and giving the slightest shake of his head.
The exhaustion in the old man's eyes was unmistakable.
Clearly—
Things had not gone according to plan.
"Draco, as long as you're safe, that's enough." Narcissa Malfoy gently touched her son's shoulder. "Look at the others. Every single one of them came out injured."
Unfortunately—
She was comforting the wrong person.
"I'm fine, Mother." Malfoy pressed a hand against his forehead as though tired. "I'm just a little sleepy."
"Then go back and rest later," Narcissa said tenderly.
Over in the Beauxbatons section, Fleur Delacour still looked dazed.
Harry Potter had actually won the Triwizard Cup just like that?
She simply couldn't believe it.
She did not believe Draco Malfoy would lose to the so-called savior.
When Malfoy had emerged from the maze earlier, Fleur had already assumed the champion was decided.
She never expected him to surrender.
Especially—
When he had no cup in his hands at all.
"It seems our brave champions encountered quite a few hardships inside the maze."
At that time, Ludo Bagman had spoken with a trembling voice, though nobody noticed anything strange.
"Now… let us wait quietly for the final champion to return. Will Mr. Harry Potter of Hogwarts create a miracle and claim victory? Or will this Triwizard Tournament end without a champion at all? Let us wait and see!"
Bagman's amplified voice echoed across the stadium.
After some time—
Harry suddenly appeared in the center of the field.
Face-down.
Still clutching a cup-shaped object in his hand.
"Our brave Hogwarts champion, Potter, has returned to us!" Bagman shouted loudly. "It seems he is the winner of this tournament!"
The Gryffindors erupted into deafening cheers.
The noise was so overwhelming it felt capable of piercing the clouds.
"However, it appears our brave warrior has suffered injuries. The medical staff will begin treatment immediately. Perhaps we will soon learn exactly what happened inside the maze."
"Congratulations, Dumbledore," said Olympe Maxime gracefully, though her expression still carried a trace of unwillingness.
"Thank you, Madam Maxime," Dumbledore replied with a nod after returning to the judges' platform.
Yet there was no joy on his face.
Only heaviness.
Only exhaustion.
"Dumbledore! Dumbledore!"
A frantic figure stumbled up the stairs toward them.
Several times he nearly fell.
Dust covered his clothes, dirt smeared his face, and there were fresh scrapes across his skin.
"Karkaroff?" Madam Maxime frowned immediately.
She had never liked the man to begin with.
Seeing him in such a disgraceful state only made her dislike deepen.
"That man! That man really has returned!" Karkaroff grabbed Dumbledore's arm with trembling hands. "You were right, Dumbledore! You were right! You must save me!"
"Which man?" Madam Maxime asked sharply.
Then her expression changed abruptly.
Memories surfaced—
The brief private conversation the three headmasters had once shared.
"Dumbledore…" Her lips tightened. "Are you talking about… him?"
Not long after Fleur and Viktor Krum had left the competition earlier—
Karkaroff had suddenly sucked in a sharp breath.
His arm—
Burning.
The pain crawled through his nerves like fire.
But the physical pain was nothing compared to the terror rising in his heart.
Fear.
Dread.
Hesitation.
This time, the Dark Mark hurt far more than before.
A voice deep inside him screamed endlessly—
He has returned.
Will you answer the summons?
But if he truly went—
If he obeyed that call—
He knew exactly what awaited him.
Death.
Or worse.
Endless torture before death.
"Yes, yes… tonight we can continue our conversation properly," Dumbledore had once told him calmly. "Last time was too rushed. Perhaps I failed to fully convince you then, but now—"
"I believe you! I believe you!"
Karkaroff's curly goatee trembled wildly as he interrupted him.
His pupils contracted in fear.
He clung desperately to Dumbledore like a drowning man clutching driftwood.
Only now did he realize how foolish he had been.
A year ago, Dumbledore's warnings had frightened him.
But after enough time passed—
He had forgotten.
Humans only truly panic when danger arrives directly before them.
Back then, under Dumbledore's guidance magic, Karkaroff had understood how serious the situation was.
Yet afterward—
He buried it.
Ignored it.
Continued scheming during the Triwizard Tournament.
Continued playing dirty tricks.
It was only halfway through the tournament, when the Dark Mark first began to ache again, that he slowly started to feel uneasy.
He had even secretly sought out Severus Snape for confirmation.
And today—
When his master summoned them once more—
When the Dark Mark burned like fire beneath his skin—
Only then did he truly believe every word Dumbledore had spoken a year ago.
Those warnings had never been meant to frighten him.
They had been the truth.