Chapter 270
Harry slowly woke from his deep sleep.
The sharp smell of disinfectant drifted into his nose, making him sneeze reflexively.
He opened his eyes—
And immediately saw the familiar white ceiling above him.
"Professor Dumbledore!"
The first thing Harry tried to do after waking up was speak, but the moment he opened his mouth, he realized something was wrong.
His throat felt completely blocked.
No sound came out at all.
"You're awake?"
Madam Pomfrey immediately walked over to check on him before quickly turning away again. She headed toward a nearby table and began preparing potions.
Harry lay flat on the bed, watching her movements from the corner of his eye.
She poured potion ingredients into a cauldron, and bubbling sounds quickly filled the room.
Unlike the usual bitter, pungent smells of potions—
Today's potion smelled oddly sweet and pleasant.
Almost tempting enough to make him inhale more deeply.
"Your throat may have suffered a bit of damage," Madam Pomfrey explained while working. "Perhaps from gravel or something sharp. You probably won't be able to speak for a while."
Harry immediately gave up trying to talk.
"Drink this. You'll feel better."
Madam Pomfrey helped him sit up and handed him the potion.
"Oh, and congratulations on winning the Triwizard Tournament," she added casually. "Your friends already came to visit you earlier. Several boys and one girl."
Harry immediately guessed she meant Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and probably some of his dormmates.
"Oh, right," Madam Pomfrey suddenly remembered. "Professor Dumbledore said that if you woke up, I was supposed to notify him immediately. Stay here and don't move. I'll be right back."
With that, she hurried out of the room.
Only after she left did Harry finally have time to organize his thoughts.
Was everything that happened merely a hallucination?
No.
The Triwizard Cup sat quietly on the bedside table beside him, close enough to touch.
Someone had clearly polished it already.
Under the sunlight streaming through the window, the trophy gleamed brilliantly, reflecting light into Harry's eyes.
"Does everyone already know Voldemort has returned?"
Harry couldn't help wondering.
But he quickly rejected the idea.
Madam Pomfrey had acted completely normal.
Harry still remembered how terrified everyone became whenever someone merely mentioned Voldemort's name aloud.
If people truly knew he had returned—
Hogwarts would never be this calm.
Dumbledore must have concealed everything.
Soon, the door opened again.
Albus Dumbledore stepped inside alone.
Madam Pomfrey remained outside.
"I need to speak privately with Harry," Dumbledore said gently.
"Of course, Professor Dumbledore."
Harry saw the white nurse's cap nod before the door closed once more.
Dumbledore walked directly to Harry's bedside, pulled over a chair, and sat down.
"Professor!"
Harry instinctively tried to sit upright—
But the moment he moved, sharp pain spread through his entire body, as though all his bones were falling apart.
"Lie down, Harry."
Dumbledore looked at him quietly with his blue eyes.
For a moment, relief rose from the depths of the old man's gaze.
Compared to Harry's safety—
Everything else suddenly seemed less urgent.
"This is… a complicated matter," Dumbledore said slowly. "It may take a long time to explain everything from the beginning. But before that, Harry… I owe you an apology."
Then Dumbledore raised his wand.
"Finite."
The incantation rang softly through the infirmary as he pointed the wand toward Harry's throat.
A warm white light flashed.
Immediately, the uncomfortable blockage vanished.
Harry blinked in surprise.
"You weren't truly injured," Dumbledore admitted calmly. "Your throat was fine. It was merely a small spell of mine… because for the time being, I needed to prevent you from speaking about what you saw."
"Yes, Professor."
Although Harry was full of questions, he obediently suppressed his curiosity for now.
Dumbledore suddenly lifted his wand once more and tapped several points around the room.
Invisible magic quietly spread outward.
"Our next conversation must remain confidential as well," he explained.
Then the old man finally spoke the truth directly.
"Voldemort has returned."
"What you experienced during the final task was neither illusion nor accident. It was a conspiracy specifically targeting you."
"I understand that now," Harry replied quietly.
"The fake Professor Moody helped you quite a bit throughout the tournament, didn't he?"
Harry froze awkwardly.
"Y-Yes… Professor."
Being caught cheating made him extremely uncomfortable.
But Dumbledore didn't pursue the topic.
"He never intended to kill you during the tournament," Dumbledore continued calmly. "On the contrary, he wanted you to win. He needed you to touch the Triwizard Cup after it had been transformed into a Portkey."
"And yes," Dumbledore added, "Professor Moody was an impostor."
"Why would they go through all that trouble?" Harry asked.
"And Mad-Eye Moody was fake the entire time?"
"At first, all I knew was that there was some conspiracy involving you," Dumbledore explained. "I suspected it might be connected to Voldemort's resurrection. Perhaps he's superstitious—believing that the place where he fell should also be the place where he rises again. But these were merely my guesses."
"Not long before the third task began, the impostor accidentally exposed himself through a small detail. We captured him and administered Veritaserum. He confessed many things."
"But unfortunately," Dumbledore continued heavily, "we only learned that the plan revolved around you. We never discovered the Portkey itself."
"Otherwise, I would have stopped the tournament immediately. Not only your life—but the lives of all four champions—were in danger."
"Just as he was about to reveal the crucial details, the impostor suddenly regained his senses. Perhaps his loyalty to Voldemort overcame the Veritaserum. Or perhaps the dosage was insufficient."
"In any case… we never learned the final step of the plan."
"We only learned where Voldemort intended to hide after his resurrection."
"Then, after waking up fully, he committed suicide before I could stop him."
Dumbledore lowered his eyes slightly.
"At first, I assumed Voldemort planned to abduct you directly. I never expected him to turn the Triwizard Cup itself into the Portkey."
"So I went alone to Little Hangleton—the location Barty Crouch Jr. revealed."
"Even for me," Dumbledore admitted quietly, "without evidence, there was no justification to halt the tournament or mobilize Aurors."
Harry listened silently.
"I still don't fully understand what happened afterward," Dumbledore continued. "By the time you arrived, Voldemort had already regained his body. I confronted him immediately."
"But your arrival disrupted my original plan."
"Only then did I finally understand their true objective."
"Did his plan fail?" Harry asked carefully.
"Perhaps." Dumbledore's voice sounded dry and tired. "At the very least… you survived, Harry."
"But I only dragged you down," Harry said guiltily.
"No," Dumbledore replied firmly.
"You showed tremendous courage and wisdom worthy of a Gryffindor."
Harry lowered his head slightly.
"Then… what happens now?"
"I will tell everyone the truth when the time is right," Dumbledore answered. "But before that, there are still matters that must be resolved first."
"So until then… I need you to keep everything secret."
"Can you promise me that, Harry?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry answered quietly.
And so—
The Triwizard Tournament ended.
The outcome exceeded everyone's expectations, yet somehow still felt reasonable.
No one knew where fate's river would flow after such an unexpected turn.
Some people were delighted by the result.
Others were not.
A few days later, the official award ceremony for the Triwizard Tournament would be held.
The students of Gryffindor were already eagerly anticipating it.
After all—
Harry Potter had won the tournament and brought immense honor to Gryffindor.
The House Cup was practically guaranteed now.
Harry recovered quickly as well.
His injuries were mostly superficial.
After resting only a few days, he was discharged from the hospital wing.
"To be honest, Harry," Ron said sincerely one evening while sitting beside him at the table, "I really admire you."
He genuinely looked proud of his friend.
That night, Gryffindor Tower held a celebration party for Harry's victory.
Snacks were piled across the tables like miniature mountains.
Scarlet ribbons decorated both the fireplace and the ceiling.
Fred and George Weasley wandered around carrying mugs overflowing with butterbeer, laughing loudly while circling Harry.
"I really want to know how you did it," Hermione suddenly said.
Her sharp eyes locked onto Harry suspiciously.
"How exactly did you overcome all those obstacles?"
Unlike everyone else, Hermione did not seem completely happy.
Or rather—
She couldn't relax until her doubts were answered.
Everything felt wrong to her.
First, Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum were eliminated far too quickly.
Their failures almost seemed specifically designed to target their weaknesses.
That alone already felt suspicious.
And then there was Malfoy.
When he exited the maze empty-handed, everyone initially assumed he had already won.
Yet he voluntarily withdrew instead.
And despite his explanation about encountering an "unbeatable obstacle," Hermione had not seen the slightest trace of frustration on his face.
That bothered her the most.
The more she thought about it—
The stranger everything became.
Harry's path through the tournament had simply been too lucky.
So lucky that it felt unnatural.
As though an invisible hand had been helping him the entire time.
During the first task, Harry somehow obtained information from Rubeus Hagrid.
Before the second task, he had once again received advance information from some unknown source.
And then there was Barty Crouch's mysterious disappearance.
And finally—
Harry's bizarre reappearance after the third task.
The way he suddenly appeared with the Cup looked disturbingly similar to Portkey transportation.
Hermione remembered that sensation vividly from the Quidditch World Cup.
She and Harry had both become terribly dizzy afterward.
She had never forgotten the feeling.
So why had Harry collapsed unconscious after touching the Cup?
What exactly happened after that?
Throughout the tournament, Hermione had suppressed her curiosity because she didn't want to interfere with Harry's competition.
But now—
She needed answers.
"Well… about that…" Harry stammered awkwardly.
"Come on, tell us!" students around them shouted excitedly.
"We all want to hear what happened in the maze!"
"Can we talk about it another day?" Harry asked weakly.
He had already promised Dumbledore to keep everything secret.
"Oh… alright."
The others looked disappointed.
Hermione, however, frowned even more deeply.
"Come on," Ron quickly interrupted, trying to ease the atmosphere. "Tonight's supposed to be a celebration! We should relax and enjoy ourselves, right?"
"Exactly!" Fred and George added together. "Questions can wait until later!"
Soon, the Gryffindor common room returned to its lively celebration.
But Hermione's unease only deepened.
And under her increasingly suspicious gaze—
Harry felt his scalp tingle nervously.
Keeping secrets really was painful.
Now, more than anything else—
He only hoped Dumbledore would reveal the truth soon.
Otherwise, enduring this kind of "torture" would become unbearable.