No!

The rain pounded against their heads, the cold seeping into their bones.

The lightning faded, and darkness swallowed their surroundings once more.

A deep, gut-wrenching chill froze them in place.

Had that moment just now… been an illusion?

Since when had such a dangerous, merciless Dark wizard appeared in Britain?

Another thunderclap rolled through the sky, and a flash of lightning illuminated the small graveyard again.

The sight remained unchanged.

That same figure.

The same field of corpses.

The same lifeless infant, lying cold and still.

Not an illusion.

"Gulp!" The sound of them swallowing was deafening amidst the heavy downpour.

They were officers from the Improper Use of Magic Office.

Technically, this should have been handled by the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, but the sheer scale of the Weather Charm was too large—it covered an entire town—and all the Aurors had been sent to Hogwarts.

So, the task had fallen to them.

A Weather Charm, in most cases, wasn't a particularly dangerous magical event. It was just… troublesome.

It usually happened indoors—many wizarding households cast Weather Charms on their ceilings for ambiance.

Seeing one outside was rare.

And when it did happen, it almost always meant one thing—a young wizard's accidental magic surge.

Because of that—

They had volunteered for this assignment, eager to escape the tedious, mind-numbing boredom of night duty at the Ministry.

A Weather Charm?

How bad could it be?

Now—

They wanted nothing more than to slap themselves.

Volunteer?

Of all the things they could have done, why this?

No one else in the Ministry was stupid enough to fight for work. Why hadn't they just gone along with the usual slacking off?

This was their punishment.

Never volunteer for work.

They finally understood the wisdom of their older colleagues.

If—just if—they made it out of this alive, work could go to hell.

The rain washed over them.

They looked at each other, barely a meter apart. Even in the near darkness, they could see the terror in each other's eyes.

They nodded.

A moment later—

One of them turned and ran.

The other raised his wand.

"You—Dark wizard inside the graveyard! We—We are not afraid of you!"

"We're elite Aurors from the Ministry! Surrender at once!"

Smack!

The one who had turned to flee tripped and fell flat on his face.

He scrambled up, staring in shock at his partner.

What the hell are you doing?

That was a mass murderer! At least dozens of bodies, including a baby!

Did he really think the Ministry was intimidating to someone like that?

Even normal wizards weren't afraid of the Ministry!

What were the odds a Dark wizard would be?

They were dead.

Completely dead.

Harry flicked his wand.

The storm settled, the rain easing, the wind dying down.

He muttered, "Lumos Maxima."

A bright white light flared, illuminating the scene.

The corpses.

The infant.

All of them coated in a pale, ashen glow, making them appear even more lifeless, like cold, grayed-out remnants of existence.

Silence.

The entire world was silent.

Not a sound.

The one still on the ground trembled violently, limbs weak, unable to rise.

The other, still standing, flinched, his feet slipping in the mud—he collapsed with a thud.

"You—what are you going to do?" The fallen officer stammered.

"We're—We're with the Ministry!"

"We're students of Professor Dumbledore!"

"You know Dumbledore, right? The greatest white wizard alive! He's defeated two Dark Lords!"

"Oh! And—and Harry Potter! The one who killed You-Know-Who! We're friends of his—!"

They shouted, putting every ounce of energy into their voices, as if the names alone could ward off the looming death before them.

The "Dark wizard" laughed softly.

Their blood ran cold.

He wasn't afraid?

Not even of those two names?

"I don't recall ever being friends with either of you," came the low, amused voice.

Their minds blanked.

They froze in place.

Dumbstruck, they watched as the "Dark wizard" lowered his wand slightly, letting the light shine fully on his face.

Black hair.

Sharp, handsome features.

Amber, cat-like eyes.

Harry Potter.

Their relief never came.

Instead, a new level of fear hit them.

They were done for.

The Boy Who Lived—the Savior of the Wizarding World—the Heir of Gryffindor—

Had fallen to the dark.

This was all Rita Skeeter's fault!

Why had she written all those articles attacking Potter?!

And now—

"Don't look at me like that," Harry said calmly.

"I'm not a Dark wizard."

"I was acting in self-defense."

"At least try to use your brains."

"Then again, I am assuming Ministry employees have brains."

"Tonight was supposed to be the final round of the Triwizard Tournament. Normally, I should still be at Hogwarts right now."

Something clicked in their heads.

They hesitated.

That was true.

But then why—?

"Which means this is not normal," Harry said, twirling his wand. The Triwizard Cup floated in the air beside him, slowly spinning.

"Someone cursed the Cup. Turned it into a Portkey. They kidnapped me here."

"They tried to kill a fifteen-year-old boy."

One of the officers hesitantly muttered, "A… priest?"

"No," Harry shook his head.

He flicked his wand again.

The Anti-Apparition Jinx lifted.

"Go back. Inform Fudge. He needs to come to Hogwarts."

"As for this—"

Harry's gaze swept across the graveyard, pausing briefly on the tiny corpse in the chair.

"Do either of you have a bag with an Undetectable Extension Charm?"

They shook their heads.

That kind of thing was reserved for higher-ranking officials. Not nobodies like them.

Harry sighed.

He pulled out a worn leather pouch—the same one he had once used to store Sirius's motorbike.

With a flick of his wand, the infant's corpse levitated and vanished inside.

The bag had been sitting unused for months.

The Sorting Hat preferred its new "body" and hadn't returned to the pouch in ages.

"Go back. Tell Fudge to immediately come to Hogwarts."

Another flick of his wand.

The Triwizard Cup shot into his hand.

The Ministry officials nodded frantically.

Harry's fingers barely grazed the Cup—

The Portkey's magic was still active.

A sharp pull hooked onto his navel, twisting him through space—

And in the blink of an eye—

He was back inside the maze.

—

Panic gripped Hogwarts, but the Triwizard Tournament continued.

They couldn't afford full-scale chaos.

And more importantly—

The Ministry couldn't afford the humiliation.

They had triple-checked the Cup. They had personally confirmed no enchantments had been placed on it.

Yet someone had done so—right under their noses.

If this got out, their already terrible reputation would collapse.

Most importantly—

If they canceled the Tournament, all bets would be void.

Ludo Bagman had spent too much time and too much money on this.

A canceled game meant losing half his profits.

Unacceptable.

So, he made an announcement:

"This was part of the final challenge! The Cup's true test! Only by passing could one truly claim victory!"

Dumbledore and Karkaroff were gone.

Snape and Flitwick were missing.

They were investigating.

If things went badly, they would cancel the match.

Krum and Fleur had no idea what had happened.

They were still setting traps.

And then—

Harry landed.

Gryffindor roared in shock.

Ludo instantly latched onto the moment, his voice light and cheerful again.

"Harry Potter has returned! He has passed the test!"

"He is safe!"

"He's soaking wet, so it looks like he had an unpleasant experience underwater!"

The Gryffindors erupted into cheers.

Hermione and Petunia both exhaled in relief.

"Harry's safe?" Petunia's voice trembled.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, but we still need to—"

"Ah-ha! Are all wizards this incompetent?" Vernon suddenly had the energy to yell again. "I knew it!"

—

At the judges' table, Ludo Bagman's excitement was cut short.

He glanced at his watch.

His stomach dropped.

"Potter—Potter took too long!"

"He spent over thirty minutes inside the Cup's test!"

"Now, he only has eight minutes left to get the Triwizard Cup out of the maze! If he doesn't, his total time will exceed an hour!"

Many students, caught up in Bagman's frantic energy, began to tense.

But soon, they realized—

Wait.

There wasn't a time limit on the third task.

What did it matter if Harry took over an hour?

Wasn't the winner just the person who retrieved the Cup?

Bagman looked miserable, his hands clenching into fists as he stared at the floating projection.

If Harry finished within the hour, Bagman won.

But if Harry didn't—

Bagman would lose money.

—

Inside the maze, Harry moved quickly.

Following the same path back, he retraced his steps toward the exit.

It had taken eighteen minutes to reach the Cup.

It only took five to return.

Bagman's eyes lit up.

"Three minutes left!"

"As long as Krum and Delacour's traps don't delay him for three minutes, I win!"

—

Inside the maze, nothing stood in Harry's way.

The Sphinx was gone.

The magical creatures had vanished.

Even the plants seemed to shrink away from him.

Finally, he reached a fork in the path.

He stopped.

Ahead—

Fleur's magic.

He flicked his wand.

Two small rocks twisted and transformed into rabbits.

They hopped forward—

And the trap activated.

A wave of frost erupted, instantly encasing the rabbits in ice.

They weren't dead—their eyes still twitched in terror—but they were completely frozen.

Harry stepped forward.

There was another trap ahead.

Fleur might have Veela charm, but she wasn't a seasoned hunter.

Her traps were sloppy.

Too obvious.

They sat in the exact places one expected a trap to be placed.

She might as well have put up a sign saying:

"Trap ahead! Step here!"

If anything, a sign might have worked better.

For Harry, they were no obstacle.

He easily navigated through them.

Bagman fist-pumped.

"YES! That's our Potter!"

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Powerstones?

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