The Sphinx scratched through its mane, pulling out the slip of parchnt before angrily tossing it to the ground.
Writing a letter?
Write what letter?! Did he look like the kind of Sphinx that wrote letters?
Besides—
What kind of magical creature would ever willingly write to a wizard who was clearly eyeing it as potential magical material?
The Sphinx was far more intelligent than centaurs.
It hesitated, wavered, then cautiously picked up the parchnt again and tucked it back into its mane. It couldn't give the wizard an excuse—what if he took offense at its refusal and decided that was a good enough reason to attack?
Harry walked forward.
The path narrowed, leading to a fork at the end.
He glanced to the right, sensing a complex magical fluctuation.
Reinforcing himself with Protego, he stepped forward.
Outside the maze.
Ludo Bagman was on the verge of tears.
"Potter is close! He's always been sharp—he's chosen the correct path! Just a little further down this corridor, a single turn, and he'll see the Cup!"
The Gryffindors clenched their fists, holding their breath, afraid that any noise from outside the maze might sohow disturb Harry inside.
Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley massaged their sore necks, aching from being craned upward for so long, but none of them dared to look away from the enchanted screen.
Vernon's face was pale.
At ho, he had often complained to Petunia about how "those freaks probably teach all sorts of dangerous things at that school." But that was just talk—he hadn't actually believed it.
Now, watching this, he realized they really did send fifteen-year-olds to fight terrifying creatures.
He gripped Petunia's hand tightly.
Dudley's eyes were filled with fear. He had once been curious about Hogwarts—had even wished, just in case, that he might turn out to be a wizard too.
But the mont he saw the Blast-Ended Skrewt, he regretted that thought.
That giant crab—
Wouldn't it eat him alive?
And even if he could eat it instead, he'd probably burst from overeating.
Wizards were far too dangerous.
He had thought young wizards spent their ti eating sweets, goofing around, and copying their cousin's howork.
Inside the maze.
Harry continued forward.
He turned a corner—and there it was.
At the very center of the maze, sitting at the end of the path—
The Triwizard Cup.
The distance between them was less than fifty ters.
If he grabbed it, the Tournant would be over.
But...
Where were the Death Eaters?
Because he had captured Corban Yaxley, had they simply abandoned their plan—thrown away a year's worth of preparation?
Did Tom have ti to adjust his sches?
Or—
Did he still have the patience to wait?
Harry had moved slowly through the maze, partly for the materials, but also to avoid any traps the Death Eaters might have set.
But he hadn't encountered anything.
It felt... like a normal trial.
The closer he got, the slower he moved.
Ludo was growing restless, pounding the table in frustration.
"What is Potter doing? He's so close!"
"No magical creatures! No other champions interfering!"
Victory was right within his grasp—so why was he slowing down?
Every minute of delay ant another thousand Galleons lost!
Hurry up!
But he couldn't communicate with Harry. All he could do was watch helplessly as the boy took one cautious step at a ti, casting spells over the fifty-ter stretch, taking a full three to four minutes to cross it.
Harry stood before the Cup.
Its golden twin handles glead, surrounded by dozens of layered enchantnts.
Common charms—durability, dust-repelling, even so ornantal spells Harry recognized but had never bothered to learn.
He flicked his wand.
The feedback was clear—no malicious curses on the Cup.
His amulet remained silent.
His instincts sensed no danger.
He reached out—
And touched the Triwizard Cup.
Outside the maze.
Ludo's voice erupted in a deafening cheer.
With a flick of his wand, Harry's image on the screen expanded, filling the entire display.
The Weasley twins' alchemical broadcasting tools stuttered for only a mont before adjusting, perfectly displaying the scene.
"Harry Potter!"
"The Hogwarts Champion—he's about to claim the Triwizard Cup! Everyone, look at the ti! Eighteen minutes and thirty-two seconds!"
"He's done it within twenty minutes!"
The audience erupted—so in cheers, others in groans.
Because this had been one of Ludo's betting options.
"Will Potter be the first to touch the Cup? How long will he take?"
Ludo was grinning from ear to ear.
Between the fifteen-minute and twenty-minute bets, he had raked in over three thousand Galleons.
He continued to shout, his tone smug, his earlier frustration now completely gone.
"At Potter's speed, we can expect him to return within ten minutes!"
"Now, let's see how much of a challenge Krum and Delacour can put up—"
He choked mid-sentence, eyes widening in absolute shock.
His voice died in his throat, sending him into a violent coughing fit.
At the judges' table—
Dumbledore leapt to his feet, his face grave.
The audience fell silent.
The very air seed sucked from the stadium, leaving it in a vacuum.
On the screen—
They watched.
They saw it happen.
The mont Harry's hands touched the Cup—
He twisted and vanished.
"Where did Harry go?!" Petunia gasped, stunned. "Is... is that supposed to happen?!"
Hermione clenched her fists, shaking her head.
"No. I don't think so."
Vernon gestured wildly at the screen. "Where is he?! He just disappeared!"
Hermione swallowed hard.
"A Portkey."
"Soone turned the Triwizard Cup into a Portkey. It's taken Harry... sowhere else."
She paused, then added:
"It ans... he's been teleported."
Ron's voice was tense, quiet.
"It's the Death Eaters' plan."
Outside the maze.
Snape, the designated ergency responder, gritted his teeth and turned sharply toward the judges' table.
His gaze landed on two people—
Dumbledore, whose expression was terrifyingly severe.
And Karkaroff, whose face held the faintest trace of schadenfreude.
Snape strode toward them.
"Bastards—"
One had failed to prevent this.
The other had refused to make a decision—to reestablish contact with the Death Eaters.
And now—
This was the result.
The sensation of a Portkey was unpleasant.
His navel yanked, his body twisting, spinning in nauseating spirals.
Luckily, Harry had already experienced this once before.
The mont he felt himself being transported, he raised his wand and reinforced Protego.
He landed.
Before he could even see his surroundings—
Red.Orange.Light everywhere.
Nearly ten spells hurtled toward him in unison.
CRACK!
His shield shattered instantly.
He felt the magic pressing in.
Ahead.
Nothing behind him. Nothing to his sides.
He rolled backward, dodging, instantly recasting Protego and adding Protego Maxima.
More spells—
Wave after wave—
Striking without pause.
His reinforced shield—broken again in under three seconds.
But those three seconds were enough.
Enough for him to breathe.
Enough to analyze his surroundings.
Harry Potter had arrived—
In a graveyard.
Tall weeds. Dim torchlight flickering in the distance.
A massive cedar tree at the cetery's edge.
A small, low chapel.
And standing atop the hill—
A ruined manor.
He knew this place.
He had just been here.
Little Hangleton.
The Riddle Manor.
Spells kept coming. But their accuracy wasn't great—most barely grazed him, slamming into the ground instead and kicking up plus of dust.
And—
The spells themselves were oddly harmless.
Stupefy.Petrificus Totalus. The most dangerous so far had only been Cruciatus.
Not one Killing Curse.
Harry rolled behind a tombstone. A few more spells struck, shaking the stone, cracks spreading from the impact points.
"Bombarda!"
A furious voice roared the spell.
Harry flicked his wand. Several nearby tombstones twisted and lded together into a massive stone slab, absorbing the explosion before shattering into pieces.
He counted.
Twelve enemies.
Most of them... were familiar.
He had seen them before.
At the Quidditch World Cup.
Only one person was missing—the one he suspected was Barty Crouch Jr.
He wasn't here.
Spells still rained down.
This ti, the Death Eaters were smarter.
Six of them took turns, maintaining a relentless barrage.
Harry was about to counterattack—
Then—
A sharp, cruel voice cut through the air.
"Enough. Enough. Stop it."
"If you failed to kill him in the first instant, then you should stop."
"Potter is not so worthless fool you can swat like an insect."
The voice was familiar.
He had heard it once before.
In his first year.
On the back of Quirrell's head.
Voldemort's voice.
Harry whistled.
"So this is your grand plan, Tom? After an entire year of scheming, the big final move was just turning the Triwizard Cup into a Portkey?"
"All that effort... just to drag to your dear old father's grave?"
The voice ca again—
Tinged with anger.
"Potter. You know quite a bit, don't you?"
"I probably know more than you think," Harry replied lightly.
"For example, back when you were at Hogwarts, you used to sneak into the girls' bathroom every night."
The Death Eaters wavered.
A ripple of confusion in the air.
"Or how about when you graduated—you seduced a sixty-year-old widow just to con her out of—"
The ripple turned to shock.
"ENOUGH!"
Voldemort's voice snapped, furious.
"Potter, I didn't expect you to be the kind of person to spread gossip like so common witch."
Harry smirked.
"I'm just repeating facts. You're the one who did them."
"Those details don't matter." Voldemort's voice smoothed out, regaining its calm. "Potter, I have no desire to be your enemy."
"Because you think you'd lose?" Harry cut him off bluntly.
The Death Eaters shifted again—nervous, unsettled.
Voldemort hesitated. Just for a mont. Then, ignoring the question, he continued:
"Shall we make a trade?"
"You're looking for Avalon, aren't you?"
The question hit Harry like an arrow through the chest.
How does he know?
Soone told him.
Who?
Snape? Dumbledore's old fla? Soone else?
No—no.
Harry had to trust them.
Which ant—
There was another way he could have found out.
Harry kept his tone light.
"A place all four Founders sought? Of course I'd be interested."
"I, too, once followed in their footsteps," Voldemort said, pride slipping into his voice.
Harry exhaled.
So it was the Founders' relics.
"Of course, I surpassed them all," Voldemort continued, voice dripping with arrogance. "The four Founders never found it—but I did. I not only found it, but I entered it."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
He said nothing.
The silence stretched.
Both of them waited.
Waited for the other to speak first.
Voldemort broke first.
"Aren't you curious, Potter?"
"Curious what's inside Avalon?"
"Oh?" Harry's voice was deliberately indifferent, as if humoring him.
"Go on, then."
"Potter, hiding behind a tombstone is no way to have a discussion."
"Co out."
"Face ."
Harry snorted.
"Your welco committee was ten spells to the face the mont I landed."
"Forgive if I don't feel particularly inclined to step into the open."
"We weren't friends before," Voldemort admitted smoothly, "but you've proven your strength. Perhaps we could be."
Harry scoffed.
"You really are a coward, aren't you?"
"You're offering information about Avalon," Harry continued, "so what is it you want in return?"
"Yaxley told your little plan this year wasn't to kill ."
"You wanted sothing else from ."
The Death Eaters stirred.
Yaxley?
Their trusted Yaxley... had betrayed the Dark Lord?
"I need your blood," Voldemort said plainly.
"Co out."
"Just a drop or two."
"And I will tell you everything."
"Where Avalon is."
"What's inside it."
He paused, then added:
"I'll even give you a hint."
"Inside Avalon, there is soone from your Potter bloodline."
"Soone... with eyes like yours."
Eyes like mine?
Snake-like?
A Witcher?
Geralt?
"Don't bother hiding your thoughts from , Potter."
Voldemort chuckled softly.
"I know far more than you think."
"The Founders? Avalon? You're searching because of him, aren't you?"
"So?" Voldemort pressed.
"It's a fair trade, isn't it?"
"I just need a drop or two of blood."
His voice turned velvety, dripping with persuasion.
"Co now, Potter."
"Co out."
"Look at ."
"See how weak I am."
"I cannot harm you."
"I promise—I will not let my followers attack you."
"Just... co out."
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