Hogwarts: Starting with full Unforgivable Curses

As the trophy, symbolizing the highest honor in the Triwizard Tournament, glowed with dazzling blue light and carried Dylan, Harry, Draco, and Cedric into the air, teleporting them out of the maze, Ludo Bagman on the commentary stand could no longer contain his elation. He jumped to his feet, raised his arms high, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "That was absolutely spectacular! This is definitely the most breathtaking final showdown I've ever seen!"

He raised his fist high above his temple, his face flushed with excitement, his voice trembling slightly with elation, yet still carrying clearly throughout the Quidditch stadium: "One spectacular performance after another, one incredible comeback after another! Thank you to all the warriors for giving their all and presenting us with such a magical feast that will go down in history!"

"Now, I officially announce!" Ludo's voice suddenly rose, carrying an unquestionable authority, "The warriors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with their perfect teamwork, extraordinary wisdom, and formidable strength, have successfully won the final victory in this Triwizard Tournament! They should already be on the champion's podium, guided by the trophy! Let us give the warmest and loudest applause to these young heroes!"

As soon as he finished speaking, Ludo immediately cast a silencing spell on himself, instantly lowering his voice considerably. He turned to look at Cornelius Fudge beside him, his eyes filled with anticipation and eagerness: "Minister Fudge, the awards ceremony can begin now. We should go down and present the honors to the champions!"

The principals and judges on the judging panel stood up, their faces beaming with satisfaction, and followed Connelly Fudge as they left the stands and headed toward the champion's podium.

Before Ludobagman's announcement had even completely faded, the entire Quidditch stadium had erupted in cheers.

Above the stands, thunderous applause surged forth like a tidal wave, lasting for a long time. Spectators rose from their seats, waving their arms and shouting the name of Hogwarts. Many couldn't help but jump up, their faces beaming with extreme joy.

Colorful magical fireworks soared into the sky from all parts of the audience, bursting into brilliant light in the dark night sky.

The Hogwarts students were clearly well-prepared, with fireworks representing the four houses taking turns to shine. The Ravenclaw eagle firework soared through the air, leaving a silver halo in its wake. The Slytherin serpent firework snaked and coiled, spitting out golden sparks. The Hufflepuff badger firework was endearing and exploded into a warm orange glow upon landing.

The Gryffindor Lion fireworks are the most majestic, their roar seemingly piercing the night sky.

Brilliant fireworks continuously pierced the night sky, illuminating the entire stadium as if it were daytime and lighting up the excited faces of every spectator.

Every time a new type of college fireworks went off, the cheers from the crowd would rise to a new level, and the joyful atmosphere would permeate the air as if it were a tangible thing, infecting everyone present.

As the warriors emerged from the maze, hearing the waves of cheers from the stands and feeling the joy and enthusiasm in the air, their sense of loss gradually dissipated.

As they watched the fireworks burst in the night sky and the four Hogwarts students accepting their glory on the podium, a relieved smile slowly appeared on their faces. Although they hadn't won the championship, the experience and growth they had gained in this competition were still treasures worth cherishing for a lifetime.

Despite the many complex thoughts swirling in his mind, English Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge could only suppress all his emotions, wear a formulaic smile, and steadily walk toward the champion's podium, preparing to complete this highly anticipated award ceremony.

Beside him followed a staff member dressed in a standard Ministry of Magic uniform, carrying an exquisite gold tray. The tray's edges were engraved with intricate scrollwork, giving it an air of solemnity. On the tray were four dark purple velvet bags, each embroidered with a three-dimensional Goblet of Fire in shimmering gold thread. The delicate patterns gleamed under the light, clearly indicating their high value.

As is customary for the competition, Cornelius Fudge, as the highest-ranking official in charge of the organizers, was required to give a brief thank-you speech before the official awards ceremony. He cleared his throat, raised his wand and cast an amplification spell on himself, and in a steady but unenthusiastic tone, he formally thanked all the warriors from the participating schools, the members of the judging panel, and the guests who attended the ceremony. His words were full of official rhetoric and lacked genuine emotion.

Connelly Fudge chose the safest and most conservative strategy.

He picked up the velvet bags from the tray one by one and handed them to Dylan, Harry, Draco, and Cedric in turn. With each bag handed out, he flashed his standard smile and took a photo with each of the four. Throughout the process, he did not engage in any unnecessary small talk, nor did he try to ask any questions about the details of the match or Dylan's abilities. He was clearly trying to avoid any situation that might cause embarrassment and simply wanted to complete the award ceremony smoothly.

Just as Fudge was awarding prizes to the four, the Hogwarts students on the viewing platform could no longer contain their excitement. They poured down from the platform and surged toward the champion's podium like a tide. Within minutes, the podium was surrounded by students, three layers deep, each with an excited smile on their face and a constant murmur of discussion.

Dumbledore stood at the edge of the crowd, a gentle smile still on his face. He quietly suggested to the headmasters and Fudge beside him, "Why don't we give the rest of the time and space to these children? They have been waiting for this moment for a long time."

After saying that, he raised his wand and cast an amplification spell on himself. His gentle yet penetrating voice immediately echoed throughout the Quidditch pitch, ensuring that every student could hear him clearly: "However, I have a small request. I hope everyone can restrain themselves a little... at least don't accidentally blow up Hogwarts Castle during the celebrations—after all, you'll be staying here for a few more days. Can everyone do this small request?"

Upon hearing this, Professor McGonagall, standing beside Dumbledore, raised her eyebrows instantly, a hint of helplessness flashing in her eyes. In the end, she gently shook her head, adjusted her glasses, and let out a soft sigh. She knew all too well the enthusiasm of these students; Dumbledore's "small request" might not be entirely fulfillable.

"Of course, of course, of course you can!"

"We absolutely will not blow up the castle!"

The students couldn't help but laugh at Dumbledore's joke, and they responded loudly in unison, their voices so powerful that they made everyone's eardrums buzz.

"That's wonderful!" Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction, and then, like Cornelius Fudge and the other headmasters, he smiled and gestured to those around him, and together they tried to clear a path through the surging crowd, slowly leaving the Quidditch pitch and handing over this joyful place entirely to the students.

With the principals gone, the students' enthusiasm exploded.

Many people continued to push forward, standing on tiptoe and craning their necks, wanting to get a closer look at the Triwizard Tournament trophy that symbolized the highest honor, their eyes filled with curiosity and longing.

The celebratory atmosphere in the Quidditch stadium was intense, the dazzling fireworks mingling with the cheers of the students. But suddenly, a sharp, piercing pain shot through Harry's forehead, from the lightning bolt-shaped scar. The pain intensified, like an invisible flame burning his skin, spreading along his veins to his entire head. Beads of sweat instantly welled up on his forehead, trickling down his cheeks and soaking his collar. He instinctively clenched his teeth, immediately activating his Occlumency technique to try and block out the sudden pain. Although the stinging and burning sensation didn't completely disappear, it was significantly reduced under the Occlumency's control, eventually transforming into a burning sensation similar to the palms of someone clapping forcefully for a long time—barely bearable.

Harry's attempt to endure the pain from his scars didn't escape Sirius's notice. Sirius had been standing at the edge of the crowd, watching Harry's every move. When he saw Harry's face suddenly turn pale and his body sway slightly, Sirius quickly squeezed through the crowd.

Sirius reached out and firmly supported Harry's arm, giving him solid support, his voice full of concern: "Harry, what's wrong with you?"

He reached out his other hand and gently wiped the sweat from Harry's cheek. Looking at the boy's sweaty, pale face, his brows furrowed tightly, and his tone became increasingly urgent: "Why do you look so pale? Are you feeling unwell?"

“I’m fine…” Harry shook his head, trying to force a relaxed smile, but the muscles in his face stiffened uncontrollably, and in the end he only showed an expression that was worse than crying. “I’m probably just too tired from the game and the noise around me made me a little dizzy.”

Ron, standing to the side, also looked worried. He immediately recalled Harry's previous experiences with the pain of his scar, and his heart skipped a beat. He tentatively asked, "Harry, is your scar hurting again? Is... it moving again?"

Hermione's expression mirrored Ron's, her brow furrowed and her eyes filled with anxiety. She immediately suggested, "We can't let our guard down! Let's go find Headmaster Dumbledore now; he'll surely know what to do!"

As she spoke, she tried to pull Harry in the direction the headmasters had left.

While Harry endured the pain and was surrounded by his companions asking him questions with concern, Karkaroff was leaving the Quidditch pitch with a group of Ministry of Magic staff and Hogwarts professors.

As he walked, he suddenly stopped, his face turning deathly pale, devoid of any color, with veins throbbing on his forehead.

A sharp, burning pain suddenly shot through his left arm, as if it were being pressed hard by a red-hot iron. The pain was intense and persistent, almost making it impossible for him to stand. This intense pain seemed to have the power to break the forgetfulness spell, forcibly tearing open his deliberately sealed memories—more than ten years ago, when he was still a loyal Death Eater under Voldemort's command. Those bloody, fearful, and submissive images flooded into his mind like a tide.

He knew all too well what this pain meant. Back when he was a Death Eater, whenever a companion failed to complete Voldemort's orders due to the resistance of the Order of the Phoenix, or when Voldemort summoned all his followers for important matters, the Dark Mark on their arms would send out this excruciating pain.

This pain is Voldemort's most direct call to arms, and the wisest choice is to drop everything and rush to Voldemort's side to answer the call.

Those Death Eaters who dared to ignore the summons or could not provide a reason that satisfied Voldemort would ultimately suffer the same cruel punishment as those who failed to complete their mission.

Karkaroff still remembers the time he was delayed by an accident and failed to respond to the call in time. The torment of the Cruciatus Curse lasted only a few seconds. The excruciating pain that went deep into his bones and felt as if his soul was being torn apart still makes him shudder and break out in a cold sweat every time he recalls it, even after so many years.

A chilling thought began to fester in his mind: could the excruciating pain in his left arm mean that the villain—Voldemort—had truly returned?

The thought sent a chill down Karkarov's spine, a coldness shooting from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.

He dared not verify this conjecture, nor did he have the courage to face the person who had terrified him his entire life.

He could only grip his left arm tightly, even more forcefully, as if that would suppress the burning pain and shield him from the terrible truth.

"Mr. Karkarov, it's settled then. We will send you the follow-up event summary report as soon as possible."

Connelly Fudge, who had been chatting happily with Karkaroff, noticed his unusual behavior, stopped and turned to look at him, his tone tinged with doubt, "Mr. Karkaroff, what's wrong with you?"

Fudge took a few steps closer and finally saw Karkaroff's deathly pale face and the cold sweat beading on his forehead. He quickly said with concern, "You look terrible! You look so pale, are you feeling unwell?"

He turned and beckoned to a Ministry of Magic employee not far away, "Come here for a second! Quickly take Mr. Karkaroff to the school hospital for a check-up, see if he's overworked!"

"No need! No need!" Karkaroff hurriedly waved his hands in refusal, backing away in a flustered manner, almost bumping into a Ministry of Magic employee who was rushing over. His tone was clearly panicked, "I... I can handle it myself! No need to trouble you!"

His eyes were filled with barely concealed panic, his right hand clutching his left arm tightly, as if a fatal secret was hidden there, his voice trembling slightly from pain and fear: "I'm going back to the ship... I'll go back to the ship to rest now, I'll be fine after a rest!"

Rita Skeeter, who was accompanying them, keenly noticed Karkaroff's unusual behavior—his pale face, panicked expression, and the way he clutched his arm tightly. She instantly sensed that "big news" was brewing. Without making a sound, she adjusted her jeweled glasses, turned her head, and whispered to the photographer beside her, "Get the cameras ready! Keep a close eye on him; something interesting might happen next!"

“Yes, Ms. Skeeter!” The photographer nodded without the slightest suspicion, quickly took out her camera from her backpack, and discreetly aimed it in Karkaroff's direction, ready to shoot at any moment. (End of Chapter)