High upon the wooden platform, beneath a crimson evening sky that seemed to bleed across the horizon, four young wizards raised the Triwizard Cup together in a unified gesture of triumph. And that moment became eternal, frozen in time.
In the years that followed, whenever the Triwizard Tournament was held again in future generations, that image was brought out and discussed with warmth again and again.
At the spectators' grounds beside the Forbidden Forest, the crowd stood in respectful silence at first, watching the scene play out on the great magical screen.
Then, all at once, applause erupted like thunder, thunderous as a breaking storm. People gave voice to their joy without restraint or reservation, and the swelling roar of celebration swept the clouds aside, louder than any crashing wave, louder than anything any of them had heard in years.
The festivities began in earnest once the champions were transported back.
Hogwarts' Great Hall became an ocean of happiness that night.
All those who had been injured during the competition joined the celebrations after receiving prompt medical treatment from Madam Pomfrey. Hermione, Viktor, Fleur, and Cedric, who had been eliminated just before the final moment and whose absence had been the one note of regret in the victory, were called forward once more before the crowd.
Together, the four of them lifted the Triwizard Cup high above their heads. The ancient trophy caught the candlelight and seemed to glow as though acknowledging their choice.
The physical education students who had joined the trials as a friendly addition, along with nearly everyone who had taken part in the grand spectacle came forward for a massive group photograph with the trophy.
Every face shone with blazing joy.
The faculty table had been cleared away to make room for dancing and mingling, and Dumbledore and Bryan stood together in the midst of the crowd rather than above it. Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles and dabbed at his moist eyes with a handkerchief.
"There is nothing more beautiful than this, Bryan," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Bryan smiled faintly, watching the scene with the same contented warmth reflected in his eyes. But beneath it, hidden from everyone else, a quiet and private thought surfaced in his mind:
'Let this be a gift—a recompense, perhaps, for everything that is about to come. Let them have this night, at least.'
His gaze drifted over Draco and his companions, who were likewise swept up in the merriment, laughing with students from other houses. He moved from face to face, taking in each one blazing with happiness—students who didn't know what tomorrow would bring, who didn't understand that childhood was ending tonight.
A gentle melancholy settled quietly in his chest like a weight.
Madam Bones, after delivering a brief but heartfelt congratulatory address to the champions had already slipped away into the night.
Though Bryan had advised her not to press too urgently on the prison break—to let people have one night of peace, her upright, principled nature would not allow her to stand by and do nothing while Death Eaters roamed free.
"One—one thousand Galleons!" Ron's hands shook violently as he held the heavy leather purse he had earned for his role as a champion's companion.
His eyes were red with emotion, shining with tears of joy. "This is like something out of a dream! A fantasy! I never thought—"
He had practically shouted the words, his voice was cracking.
"How much did you get, Hermione?" Harry asked with a broad grin, tucking his own coin-purse into his pocket with satisfaction. "As the actual champion, I imagine yours is rather more than ours?"
"Five thousand Galleons in total, Harry," Hermione said, her cheeks were rosy with delight and a touch of embarrassment at discussing such sums.
"It ought to have been more for the champion traditionally, but since everyone lifted the Cup together, the prize money was divided evenly among all of us."
"Lord—I daren't imagine how much the goblins made off this tournament!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed.
She was smiling warmly as she stood with Sirius and the other adults behind the three young people who were eagerly tallying their winnings. "They gave out nearly fifty thousand Galleons to reward every witch and wizard who took part! That's an enormous sum!"
"You may call the goblins cunning, Molly—call them shrewd, call them calculating," Remus said with a knowing smile, "but never doubt their talent for making money. They always profit."
Mrs. Weasley nodded firmly in agreement, then turned to her youngest son and held out her hand with unmistakable maternal authority.
"Give me the purse, Ron. I'll keep it safe for you."
"But Mum—it's my money!" Ron's smile froze on his face, and he let out a wail of genuine despair. "I earned it! I nearly died on that glass bridge!"
"Ron is quite right, Molly," Arthur Weasley said gently, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder. "It is a reward for his courage in standing on that arena floor, for his sacrifice. You oughtn't to take it from him."
"I have no intention of keeping it for myself, Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley gave Ron a firm look that allowed no argument.
"When you come of age at seventeen, I shall return every single Knut of it. But for now, letting an underage wizard walk about with this much galleons is simply too dangerous! You'll be robbed, or you'll spend it all on nonsense!"
"Mum!" Ron's voice was anguished.
Though Ron felt considerably better knowing he would eventually get it back—he still desperately wanted to manage his own fortune, to feel wealthy for once in his life. After all—it was a thousand Galleons, more money than he'd ever seen.
"You may keep ten Galleons for pocket money to spend as you like. The rest comes to me for safekeeping, Ron—that is final and non-negotiable."
"Am I really doomed to never be a rich man?" Ron said mournfully, staring at the purse like a dying man watching water being poured out.
The whole group burst into laughter at his dramatic despair.
The laughter faded gradually. Sirius glanced sidelong at Bryan, who was still speaking with several students a short distance away, then turned back to Harry with an expression that had grown suddenly grave and troubled.
"There's something I need to tell you," he said.
"Oh—are you going to hold my Galleons for safekeeping too, Sirius?" Harry asked, still grinning, not yet reading the weight behind his godfather's face.
But Remus and Arthur understood at once what was coming. They exchanged a silent glance filled with meaning and neither moved to stop what was about to happen. There was no way to keep it from Harry now. Not with tomorrow's morning papers already being printed, not with the news spreading like wildfire.
"This is a good deal more serious than gold Galleons, Harry," Sirius said heavily.
He looked carefully left and right, checking for eavesdroppers. "Let's step outside away from the crowd. Hermione, Ron—you're welcome to come along, if you want to hear it. You should hear it."
The group pressed past a bunch of older Gryffindor students who were cheerfully spiking their pumpkin juice with Butterbeer and Firewhisky and made their way toward the entrance hall.
The joy flooding out of Hogwarts seemed to dim the very darkness of the surrounding night, spilling golden light across the grounds. They walked far enough from the castle that the noise of celebration could no longer reach their conversation, until the music and laughter faded to a distant murmur.
All along the way, the somber, grim looks on Sirius's, Remus's, and Arthur's faces told Harry, Hermione, and Ron and a still-unsuspecting Mrs. Weasley—that something was badly, terribly wrong.
"What's happened, Sirius?" Harry asked the moment Sirius stopped walking near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
The lightness had left Harry's face, replaced by tension. He stared, searching his godfather's face for answers.
"There is something—" Sirius began, then paused.
He met Remus's and Arthur's eyes briefly, drawing strength from their presence, then settled his gaze on Harry's green ones. His voice was heavy. "It happened this morning while you were competing. It's now confirmed by multiple sources—Azkaban has suffered a catastrophic breakout. The worst in history."
Harry blinked, his expression clouding with confusion and disbelief.
"A breakout—from Azkaban?!" The words didn't make sense together. "But that's impossible! You're the only one who ever—"
Mrs. Weasley inhaled sharply, one hand flying to her mouth as she stared at Sirius in horror.
"Yes, Molly," Arthur said gravely, his voice was somber. "Scrimgeour brought the news to Madam Bones and the Headmasters this morning before the final task began. By now, the outside world must already be in complete chaos."
"Do you mean—" Hermione pressed both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.
"Someone escaped the way you once did, Sirius? Is it Cliodna who fought with Professor Watson?"
"She is among the escapees, certainly," Sirius said, giving a heavy nod.
His gaze was darkening. "But it wasn't just her. It wasn't one or two prisoners. Every Death Eater imprisoned for serving You-Know-Who—everyone the Ministry arrested after the first war—they have all escaped from Azkaban. Every single one."
A suffocating silence fell over the group. Harry, Hermione, and Ron stared at Sirius in shock, while Mrs. Weasley went ash-white, swaying on her feet and looking as though she might faint at any moment.
"But how is that even possible—" Ron murmured, having forgotten completely about his coin-purse and the fortune he'd just earned.
"The Dementors are there guarding the prison. And they couldn't all be Animagi like you, Sirius. That's—that's impossible."
"They didn't escape on their own," Sirius said, his voice was cold and hard. "Another force attacked Azkaban and broke them out by force."
"Voldemort—" The realization broke over Harry slowly like ice water.
Harry's lips barely moved as he whispered the name everyone else feared to speak. "Voldemort planned this. He orchestrated the whole thing."
"Who else?" Remus said, his normally gentle tone was cold, edged with hatred for the Dark Lord who'd destroyed so many lives.
"He chose his moment carefully and precisely. The Triwizard Tournament kept Dumbledore and Bryan occupied here at Hogwarts."
"Surely the Ministry must have detected something!" Hermione's voice grew sharp with anger and disbelief.
"This couldn't have been improvised or done overnight. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named must have been planning it for months. What about Ministry security? The Aurors?"
"If you knew Voldemort, Hermione—" Sirius said coldly, "you would know he has always excelled at plotting and terror. And Fudge is not the man to match him. Not even close."
Azkaban broken open like an egg. Voldemort reclaiming his old guard, his most loyal servants. His power surging once more like a rising tide.
Harry's heart hammered against his ribs. His mind felt thick with disbelief, unable to process the scale of it.
He could not forget that when Sirius had escaped Azkaban alone—just one man—the entire wizarding world had been thrown into a panic that lasted months. And now—all of the imprisoned Death Eaters, dozens of the most dangerous dark wizards alive were rescued in a single strike.
"What does this mean?" Harry asked slowly.
He could not begin to imagine what the wizarding world beyond Hogwarts looked like at this moment.
"It means the war has already begun, Harry," a new voice said.
The voice was calm and slow and inevitable, drifting out from the darkness behind them like a pronouncement of fate.
Everyone turned at once.
"Bryan!" Sirius and the others moved toward him immediately. "Have you and Dumbledore formed any plan yet? What do we do next—we can't depend on Fudge to organize any kind of effective response. He's—"
Bryan raised one hand in a silencing gesture, and the rush of questions died in their throats.
His imposing gaze swept over Harry, Hermione, and Ron—three young faces caught between bewilderment and dread and then settled with gravity and something like regret on Harry alone.
"I am sorry that there is no way to let you and your friends enjoy this night a little longer, Harry," Bryan said.
His voice was slow, leisurely, and absolute. "But I need you to return to your dormitory immediately, pack your belongings and anything you value, and come with me."
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