What Colin didn't know was that Rita Skeeter's fiery report about Karkaroff was like a match carelessly tossed onto a pile of bone-dry kindling, instantly igniting a firestorm of panic and speculation throughout the entire wizarding world.
The article claimed with bold certainty though providing no concrete evidence beyond circumstantial 'occurrences' that the former Death Eater had been actively plotting to help the Dark Lord's resurrection.
Though this explosive conclusion was merely Rita Skeeter's own sensationalized speculation rather than verified fact, the photograph accompanying her words was undeniably, terrifyingly authentic.
The Dark Mark glowing with light upon Karkaroff's exposed arm signified something far more disturbing than the past history: the Death Eaters were moving in secret once again.
Combined with the terrifying incident at the Quidditch World Cup several months earlier, when the Dark Mark had raged green against the sky for the first time in over a decade, rumors of Voldemort's impending resurrection spread throughout the magical community like a contagious plague.
No corner of wizarding Britain remained untouched by the spreading fear.
Even Minister Fudge's hastily arranged public press conference, where he insistently declared the whole affair to be "baseless fearmongering" and "irresponsible journalism," did absolutely nothing to calm the rising tide of public anxiety.
If anything, his desperation to minimize the threat only made people more suspicious that something truly terrible was brewing beneath the surface.
Meanwhile, in the warmth and safety of the Gryffindor common room, golden firelight swayed across the walls as logs crackled pleasantly in the hearth, sending irregular showers of sparks up the chimney.
Harry sat in one of the armchairs near the fire, the controversial Daily Prophet spread across his lap. He had naturally seen Rita Skeeter's sensational report, it would have been impossible to miss, given how many students were whispering about it in the corridors and common room.
He wasn't particularly surprised by the article's contents, since he'd been half a witness to the confrontation in the gardens that evening. Professor Westeros had later filled in the details he'd missed, explaining Karkaroff's Veritaserum-induced confession and the dark curse that had shattered his mind.
Rita Skeeter's article had, of course, specifically mentioned Harry's name multiple times; she never could resist making him the center of her stories, whether he wanted the attention or not.
The most provocative passage read:
"Sources close to the investigation confirm that Karkaroff entered Hogwarts with the suspected intention of targeting the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, specifically to prevent his master from being defeated by the Chosen One again after the Dark Lord's resurrection.
By forcing Potter's entry into the deadly Triwizard Tournament through tampering with the Goblet of Fire's ancient protections, Karkaroff clearly hoped to eliminate the only wizard who has ever survived the Killing Curse before his master could return to full power."
Harry felt a familiar twist of anxiety in his stomach as he reread those words. He couldn't possibly defeat Voldemort, not really. The first time had been his mother's sacrifice, not his own power or skill. What chance would he have against a fully resurrected Dark Lord?
When he'd caught a glimpse of Karkaroff's glowing Dark Mark in the photograph, his scar had throbbed. Though of course that was just psychological reaction.
"What do you think, Ron? About Karkaroff and everything the article's saying?" Harry turned his head toward his best friend, who sat hunched over a wizard's chess board several feet away, playing a listless game against himself.
"Whatever," Ron muttered without enthusiasm, not even bothering to look up from the board.
Harry felt somewhat helpless seeing this. He knew exactly what was causing Ron to act this way.
Ron was still upset; no, more than upset, was angry that Hermione had attended the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum as her partner. He'd been dwelling on it obsessively ever since that night.
Frankly, Harry didn't think there was anything particularly wrong with Hermione's choice of partner.
After all, from his personal interactions and first impressions during the tournament, Krum didn't seem like a bad person at all. He was quiet, somewhat awkward socially, but polite and genuinely skilled at Quidditch which Ron himself also admired some time ago.
Of course, that was just a surface impression based on limited interaction. Harry now understood that people could hide their true natures, especially if they'd been trained at a school like Durmstrang.
"Didn't you used to admire Krum?" Harry asked with a resigned sigh, hoping to break through Ron's brooding mood. "You had posters of him on your wall all summer. You talked about his Wronski Feint for hours after the World Cup."
Ron's fingers paused their movement over the chessboard, hovering in midair for several seconds. Then he shook his head sharply, jaw clenched with stubborn determination. "That's different now. Everything's different."
Before Harry could press the issue further, Hermione came rushing up the stairs from the girls' dormitory, her bushy hair appeared even more disheveled l and her cheeks were flushed with agitation. She carried a rolled copy of the Daily Prophet clutched tightly in one hand.
"Have you seen this?" She said breathlessly, slamming the newspaper down heavily on the small table between them with enough force to make Ron's chess pieces jump and topple.
Her finger poked reproachfully at Rita Skeeter's article. "Have you actually read what this woman is claiming?"
"We've both seen it, Hermione," Harry said gently, trying to throw calm in the face of her distress. "You need to calm down and breathe. Getting worked up won't help anything."
Hermione dropped into the armchair beside Harry, her hands twisting together anxiously in her lap. "I just... I can hardly believe it, even seeing the photographic evidence right there. Karkaroff actually wanted to harm you, didn't he? He was the one who tampered with the Goblet of Fire to force your name out as a fourth champion?"
"That's right," Harry confirmed with a slow nod. "Professor Westeros explained everything to me after it happened. But honestly, I don't really mind participating in the Triwizard Tournament, even though I know technically I shouldn't be qualified due to the age restriction."
"That's not the point at all!" Hermione's expression shifted to something graver and deeply concerned, her eyes widened with worry.
"Don't you understand what this means? Karkaroff didn't put you in the tournament because he wanted to give you an exciting opportunity. He entered your name for a very specific, sinister reason, he wants to get you killed through those dangerous tasks. The whole thing is an assassination plot!"
"I know," Harry replied with more confidence than he actually felt, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "But he was wrong about how it would go. The dragon couldn't do anything to me, could it?"
"That's true," Hermione acknowledged reluctantly, some of her panic easing slightly.
"Who would have thought a fourth-year student could handle a fully grown dragon alone like that? But Harry, I'm afraid he might have tampered with the later tasks as well."
"I'll be careful," Harry promised, though her words sent an uncomfortable chill down his spine. "I won't take any unnecessary risks."
Hermione's concerns did make disturbing sense when he thought about it carefully.
Although Karkaroff was now confined to a hospital bed at St. Mungo's with his mind shattered beyond repair, who could say definitively whether he'd left behind any other plans or backup schemes?
Dark wizards were known for their paranoid preparation and sinister plots.
"What do you think about all this, Ron?" Hermione turned to look at Ron expectantly, clearly hoping to draw him into the conversation.
Ron appeared completely uninterested in the entire topic of conversation. He squeezed the black knight chess piece in his hand with increasing pressure until it creaked, his eyes remained fixed on the board, deliberately avoiding looking up at either of them.
"Maybe you should discuss this whole situation with Krum instead," He said with bottled-up bitterness. "He'd definitely have more useful things to say about Karkaroff's character and methods than we possibly could. After all, he spent years studying under the man."
Hermione's eyebrows drew together in a confused frown, clearly detecting something sharp and critical beneath Ron's surface words. "Are you angry about something? What's wrong?"
Ron finally looked up. He said in a low, tight voice that trembled slightly, "I'm just trying to tell you something important, Hermione. You need to be more careful around Krum. Think about it logically, if Karkaroff is that kind of person, a Death Eater conspirator, then how can his star student be much better? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
Hermione's mouth fell open in surprise and indignation. "What are you saying? That's completely unfair! Viktor and Karkaroff are entirely different people! You can't judge someone based solely on their headmaster's actions!"
"Are they really that different?" Ron gave a cold, humorless laugh that sounded harsh and unfamiliar coming from him. His knuckles had gone white from gripping the chess piece so tightly.
"Everyone knows Durmstrang specializes in teaching Dark Magic and they're famous for it throughout Europe. And Krum is their absolute star student, their champion, someone Karkaroff personally selected to represent the school. Do you honestly think he's some innocent little lamb who doesn't know dozens of dark curses?"
"How can you say something like that!" Hermione's voice rose sharply with anger, loud enough to draw curious glances from several younger students studying near the windows.
"From everything I've observed spending time with Viktor, he's shown himself to be an upright and genuinely kind person! He's nothing like you're describing!"
"Viktor..." Ron muttered bitterly, as if the familiar use of Krum's first name pained him.
Then louder, with heavy sarcasm: "Oh? Is that so? You seem to know him remarkably well for someone you've known a few months. Tell me, has he ever used Dark Magic in front of you? Shown you any of those Durmstrang specialties? Because I guarantee there's no way a student at that school doesn't know plenty of dark spells."
Hermione opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again, momentarily rendered speechless by the direct accusation.
Harry, recognizing the argument was rapidly spiraling into dangerous area that might permanently damage their friendship, quickly interjected before either could say something they'd regret.
"Look, I won't completely rule out the possibility that Krum might be problematic or have ulterior motives, even though my personal impression is that he seems like a decent person. We just don't know enough yet."
Hermione turned to stare at Harry with an expression of complete disbelief.
"See?" Ron pushed his chair back and stood up abruptly shrugging. "Even Harry agrees with me. You shouldn't get too close to Krum, especially since he's—"
"Let me clarify what I actually meant," Harry interrupted firmly, holding up both hands in a calming gesture to prevent further misunderstanding.
"What I'm saying is this: regarding Krum's true character and intentions, I'll make a point to interact with him myself more directly. I'll observe him carefully and form my own conclusions about whether he has any ulterior motives toward you or anyone else. That's the fair thing to do: judge him on his own actions, not assumptions."
Ron pressed his lips together in a tight, disapproving line. He stood there for another moment, clearly wanting to say more but held back.
Finally, he just muttered, "Fine. We'll see about that soon enough," before turning on his back and departing the common room with stiff posture, climbing the stairs to the boys' dormitory without looking back.
Hermione watched his retreating figure climb the spiral staircase until he disappeared from view, her expression was uncertain and troubled.
After about ten seconds of heavy silence broken only by the crackling fire, she said with indignant frustration to Harry, "Ron is being completely unreasonable about this entire situation. I haven't done anything wrong."
"I think so too," Harry agreed sympathetically. "He's been in a terrible mood these past few weeks. I've never seen him like this before."
Hermione furrowed her brow in apparent puzzlement, as if genuinely confused by behavior that seemed obvious to Harry. "But why?"
"Who knows?" Harry shrugged. "Maybe he just really hates Krum for some reason. Professional Quidditch rivalry or something."
Hermione didn't look convinced, but she let the matter drop, reaching for her always-present stack of textbooks with a sigh.
Time moved forward with its usual pace, and the calendar quickly turned to mid-January.
The Christmas holidays had ended, school had been back in regular session for several days, and the castle had settled back into familiar routines of classes, homework, and Quidditch practice. There was now a little over a month remaining until the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.
One crisp morning, with frost still glittering on every surface and his breath misting in the cold air, Adrian made his way to a specific location by the Whomping Willow near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
The ancient, aggressive tree stood in its usual spot, bare branches occasionally twitching with suppressed violence, ready to thrash anything that came within reach. But Adrian wasn't here for the Whomping Willow itself.
In front of him in a small clearing, two massive brown figures roughly equal to Hagrid's height were moving—upon closer inspection, they revealed themselves to be tree-like humanoids with bark-textured skin and branch-like limbs.
They were Bart and Wika.
At the moment, they were engaged in what could only be described as a clumsily executed game of catch, tossing a battered Quidditch Bludger back and forth between them with varying degrees of success.
Both tree-beings moved with stiffness in their transformed state. This was especially noticeable in Wika, who had only recently gained the ability to shift from stationary tree form into mobile humanoid shape.
Wika was the mountain ash tree that had always stood beside Bart. After a long period of growth nourished by ambient magic from Bart, Wika had finally developed the same remarkable transformation ability that Bart possessed.
As for Bart himself, Adrian had been visiting him regularly during the past months, carefully monitoring his development.
Over that time, with patient work and proper magical nourishment, Bart had leveled up again.
Though Bart hadn't displayed any totally new abilities during this latest advancement, he had gained something equally valuable: the capacity to temporarily leave the Forbidden Forest's boundaries without suffering the weakening effects that had previously restricted him.
This expanded range gave him far greater utility and flexibility.
Watching the two tree-beings' Bludger-tossing movements gradually become more fluid and coordinated with each repetition, Adrian nodded with satisfaction at their progress.
Just then, Wika drew back one bark-covered arm and threw the Bludger with more force than before, sending it sailing high into the air in a steep arc.
Bart's wooden face brightened with excitement at the challenge. He leaped up with surprising agility, his rough bark arms extending to their absolute limit, fingers spread wide to catch the descending ball.
"CRACK!"
The sharp sound of splintering leather and crumpling metal rang out across the clearing like a gunshot.
The Bludger completely shattered in Bart's powerful palm, compressed beyond its capacity by the tremendous force of his grip. Fragments of torn leather and bent iron fell through the gaps between his wooden fingers like dark snow, scattering across the grass below.
Bart looked down at his empty hand with what might have been confusion, tilting his head like a puzzled dog trying to understand what had happened to his toy.
Seeing this unfortunate result, Adrian stroked his chin thoughtfully.
'Perhaps precise strength control and restrained force application should be also be added to their training.'
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