"Alright, everyone—let's turn our attention back to the match."
With a Sonorus Charm amplifying his voice, Dumbledore announced, "I have arranged for staff to patrol the perimeter of the maze."
"If any champion wishes to withdraw, they need only fire red sparks into the air with their wand. A staff member will then escort them out."
After finishing the rules, Dumbledore turned toward the four champions from the three schools.
"Champions," he said, "please come closer."
The four stepped up in front of him.
Lowering his voice so only they could hear, Dumbledore warned, "There will be no dragon, and no deep-water monsters in the maze—however, you will face challenges far greater."
"Once you enter the maze, the layout will begin to change. Your task is simple: find the Cup."
"And above all—be careful. On your journey, it is very possible to lose yourselves."
As he said that last line, Dumbledore's gaze shifted to Harry.
Of the four, Harry was the one he worried about most.
With Arthur present, Hermione wasn't someone Dumbledore needed to worry over at all.
As for Krum and Fleur—they were not Voldemort's targets.
Only Harry was.
And to this day, Dumbledore knew only one thing with certainty: Voldemort intended to strike at him.
Beyond that… he didn't know the plan.
Oh—there was one more thing.
Dumbledore also knew that Harry's name had most likely been thrown into the Goblet of Fire by the fake Moody.
That conclusion was something he'd pieced together after Arthur's earlier warning—after he discovered "Moody" was an impostor.
But knowing that didn't help much.
If Dumbledore had known ahead of time, he could've prevented Harry from becoming a champion.
But now the Tournament was already at its final task.
It was far too late.
Arthur had once told Dumbledore that Voldemort was most likely to strike when everyone was at their most relaxed.
Dumbledore found that frighteningly reasonable, and so he suspected the attack would happen within the next few days.
First, because summer holiday was almost here. Once Harry returned to his aunt's house, Voldemort's window would narrow drastically.
Second, because after the Tournament ended, everyone would loosen their guard.
If Voldemort wanted to make a move, that would be the perfect moment.
And Dumbledore's guess was… uncomfortably accurate.
Voldemort's plan was to move after the match ended.
Only—Voldemort's definition of "the match ending" wasn't the same as Dumbledore's.
To Voldemort, the "end" began the instant Harry touched the Triwizard Cup.
More precisely—
The Portkey disguised as the Triwizard Cup.
Because Hermione was an unpredictable factor—someone very likely to win—
"Moody" had not placed the Cup and the Portkey in the same location.
Instead, he had placed two "Cups" in the maze, in two different positions.
That way, no matter who reached the real Cup first, he could still guide Harry to the Portkey.
Fortunately, the magical Recording Stones Arthur sponsored didn't fully cover the maze.
There were still blind spots—dead angles where the audience could not see.
Otherwise, if everyone saw two Triwizard Cups inside the maze…
That would've been a disaster.
Still, the Recording Stones were a genuine obstacle for "Moody."
With them watching, he couldn't personally step in and steer Harry directly toward the Portkey.
He could only use the maze's traps and creatures to indirectly herd Harry toward the location where he'd placed it.
Which dramatically increased uncertainty.
Even "Moody" couldn't be fully sure it would work.
"Champions—prepare yourselves!"
Once the champions took their positions at their respective entrances, Dumbledore raised his wand.
"I will count to three—one—"
"BOOM!"
Before Dumbledore could finish, the cannon shot that signaled the start of the match exploded.
Dumbledore's expression went faintly haunted as he looked toward Filch.
The cannon had always been Filch's responsibility.
And in three tasks, it had never started normally even once.
Filch threw up his hands, looking innocent.
This time, he claimed, it truly wasn't him.
He hadn't even touched the cannon. It had fired on its own.
Dumbledore couldn't exactly argue with that. He waved a hand and signaled the champions to begin.
The four entered the hedge maze in ranking order—but even if they'd gone in together, it wouldn't have mattered.
Each champion had a separate entrance, and the maze began shifting the moment they stepped inside.
Hermione entered first.
The hedge behind her sealed, the entrance vanishing as the shrubs knitted together.
Harry entered next.
He glanced back—
And at that moment, "Moody" made a subtle gesture, pointing left.
Harry met his eyes and gave a small nod.
Then, the instant the hedge closed behind him, Harry turned decisively to the right.
Ever since Dumbledore discovered "Moody" was an impostor, he had warned Harry to be cautious.
Though "Moody" had taken care of him all year, Harry trusted Dumbledore more.
Not to mention—Arthur had said the same thing.
So Harry had already been guarding himself.
And now, faced with "Moody's" guidance…
He chose the opposite path.
If "Moody" had seen that clearly, he might've choked on his own fury.
Fortunately, "Moody" had a backup plan.
Before the match began, he had placed Krum under the Imperius Curse.
With Krum as his hand, he could still drive Harry toward the Portkey.
…
The view shifted to Hermione.
The maze constantly changed, but finding the correct path wasn't difficult for her.
She raised her wand and murmured, "Point me."
A ribbon-like stream of blue light unfurled from the wand's tip and drifted forward.
Where it pointed… was the correct route through the maze.
Hermione walked lightly, almost carefree—completely unlike the other three champions, whose faces were tense and guarded.
It was as if she weren't in a deadly shifting labyrinth at all…
But strolling through her own back garden.
At a crossroads, a Dementor suddenly lunged out from her left.
Hermione reacted instantly.
A Patronus Charm cracked like sunlight across its face.
The Dementor jerked back in pain and fled the way it came.
That effortless, almost casual move was captured by the magical Recording Stones and displayed for the crowd.
Even though Hermione couldn't hear them, thunderous applause erupted in the stands.
Arthur barely reacted.
A Dementor was nothing to Hermione. It wasn't worth getting emotional over.
What surprised him was the Dementor's presence at all.
After last term's incident—when Dementors had attacked students—
Arthur hadn't expected Fudge to dare bring them anywhere near Hogwarts again.
But it seemed Fudge was desperate to prove the Ministry under his leadership was not incompetent.
Like now—
Ministry staff were stationed all around the maze, patrolling to "ensure the champions' safety."
Their protection, however, was utterly meaningless.
Fleur had already been eliminated—knocked out by Krum, who was being controlled by "Moody."
Luckily, "Moody's" true goal was still to funnel Harry toward the Portkey.
He didn't want unnecessary complications, so he didn't kill Fleur outright.
Otherwise, Beauxbatons would've blacklisted the entire British Ministry.
Madame Maxime beating Fudge half to death would've been the mild outcome.
After stunning Fleur, Krum dragged her to the hedge wall and threw her into it.
The hedges, like living things, extended vines from their roots—wrapping around Fleur and swallowing her whole.
Fortunately, a Recording Stone captured the scene.
Otherwise, Fleur might not have been found until the match ended.
…
As for Harry—
He encountered one of Hagrid's "creations."
A Blast-Ended Skrewt.
It was only about fifteen centimeters long, but its danger level sat somewhere between a manticore and a fire crab.
It looked like a shell-less giant lobster—headless, twisted, somewhere between scorpion and crab.
Dozens of legs jabbed out at crooked angles, and the stench of rotten fish clung to it like a curse.
They could suck blood.
They could spew fire from their tails.
And worse—using that fire, they could rocket forward in a sudden burst, turning their spines into a moving weapon.
The moment Harry saw it, it charged—wild and violent.
Its tail-fire flared, propelling it forward at a speed even faster than a Snitch.
But Harry had expected this.
He twisted aside, narrowly avoiding the impact—
Then snapped his wand behind him and fired a Blasting Curse.
Hagrid had told him before: the skrewt's only weakness was its unarmored underside.
As it shot past Harry, its belly was exposed.
Harry seized that moment and struck.
One spell.
And the Blast-Ended Skrewt went still.
Advance Chapters Available on Patreon
patreon.com/WhiteDevil7554