Chapter 297. Karkaroff and Moody
Today might be the busiest day the Hogwarts Entrance Hall has ever seen.
Of course, it might also be the busiest day for the Hospital Wing.
Even with the Weasley twins' fiasco as a warning, students kept trying to cross the Age Line, and the Hospital Wing saw an unprecedented surge of visitors.
Harry tried several times as well.
He used Finite and a few other counter-curses, but unsurprisingly none of them had any effect on the magical barrier.
In the end, he even waited until no one was around at noon and tried again by transforming into an Animagus.
Unfortunately, the instant he touched the Age Line he was repelled by an invisible force.
Clearly, not even an Animagus could fool Dumbledore's magic.
At about three or four in the afternoon, a fine drizzle began to fall.
Adrian Wesson strolled along the cloister by the courtyard. Just a moment ago, he had carried out a very interesting little experiment.
He'd tried tossing a slip of parchment with his own name into the Goblet of Fire.
As expected, the Goblet spat the slip right back out without hesitation—no way would it recognise a student who was nearly thirty.
Even so, it gave him a bit more understanding of the Goblet.
When he threw the slip into the Goblet, he noticed a new status appear on himself.
[Contract: Goblet of Fire]
And when the slip was ejected, that status vanished again.
That was clearly a property of the Goblet's magic.
Even so, Wesson was still puzzled by the Goblet's criteria for choosing champions.
Magical power? Reputation?
Or something else entirely?
While Wesson was turning this over in his mind, a noisy commotion drifted from a corridor not far away.
He looked over and saw a small cluster of students gathered there, huddled together over who-knew-what.
"What's happened?"
When Wesson drew near, he casually asked the student closest to him.
By coincidence, that student was Cedric.
"I've just come from the Entrance Hall," Cedric said, a hint of worry in his eyes. "Headmaster Karkaroff and Professor Moody seem to have… had a bit of a clash."
"Over what?" Wesson asked at once.
Cedric shook his head; he wasn't quite sure either.
A clash, was it.
Wesson, somewhat puzzled, squeezed his way to the front of the crowd.
Sure enough, just as Cedric had said, Karkaroff and Moody were squaring off, tension cranked to the limit even though neither had drawn a wand.
Karkaroff looked a little pale; Moody wore a cold sneer, his magical eye whirring madly as he pinned the other man in his gaze.
Wesson didn't know what had happened, but clearly someone needed to break the stalemate.
He clapped his hands and turned to the onlooking students with a stern expression. "All right, everyone, back to your common rooms. The Hallowe'en feast is about to start—I imagine you've all got preparations to make."
Wesson's dispersal worked to some extent; the crowd of onlookers began to drift away, reluctant though they were. A few upper-years rose on tiptoe to sneak a few more glances, but when Wesson shot them a glare, they too withdrew with the rest.
For a moment, Wesson felt as if he had turned into Professor McGonagall.
When the crowd had gone, Wesson stood to one side, quietly sizing up Karkaroff and Moody. He had no idea why the two of them looked as if they were about to start a fight.
So he sensibly chose to watch and wait.
Noticing the change in the surroundings, Karkaroff straightened his collar and forced himself to sound calm. "I'm leaving, Moody. Now isn't the time to reminisce. I have important business to attend to."
Moody's magical eye kept whirring, enough to make one uncomfortable.
"Oh, certainly," he rasped, a chill in his voice. "If I find the time, I'll come looking for you again, old friend. I do hope we can have a proper chat then—over a nice cup of tea."
Karkaroff did not reply; he left at once in a near-panic, even breaking into a run and almost falling.
Luckily, no students saw him in that sorry state.
Durmstrang's face was saved—somewhat.
Moody stood where he was, his gaze following the figure of Karkaroff as he fled. He let out a contemptuous snort, undisguised scorn crossing his face.
Only when Karkaroff had completely disappeared did Wesson speak in a low voice to Moody. "What happened, Professor Moody?"
"Didn't you see?" Moody growled. "The coward nearly died of fright the moment he saw me."
He spat. "A craven who can't even stand steady."
"Are you talking about Karkaroff?" Wesson asked curiously. "Isn't he the Headmaster of Durmstrang? You two know each other?"
"Oh, we're more than acquainted," Moody said with a cold laugh. "I don't know what's been going on lately, but Death Eaters have been crawling out one after another. Make no mistake—Karkaroff used to be a Death Eater. I'm the one who personally hauled him off to Azkaban."
Wesson was taken aback; he truly hadn't known that.
A former Azkaban inmate had managed to become Durmstrang's Headmaster—quite the character.
What he didn't understand was, if Karkaroff had been sent to Azkaban, how had he got out?
Most criminals who went to Azkaban had no hope of ever leaving.
When Wesson put this question to him, Moody looked surprised.
"You don't know?" He frowned. "How bothersome—I thought it hadn't been that long. Karkaroff testified in court, giving up the names and information of other Death Eaters. He got a reduced sentence and was released."
Wesson nodded thoughtfully.
He had been travelling the world at the time, so it was only natural he didn't know these things.
Looked at this way, Karkaroff was a traitor—and traitors, wherever they appear, are despised.
"Durmstrang teaches the Dark Arts openly," Wesson remarked. "If the Headmaster is a Death Eater, that would be the most normal thing in the world. But I don't think letting children come into contact with the Dark Arts too early is a good idea; it will affect their minds."
"Ha! That's the Death Eater way," Moody said with disdain. "Teach students the Dark Arts so they'll become just like their master—a pack of lunatics. The reek of Dark magic is spilling off Karkaroff. I don't see him producing any excellent students."
Wesson shrugged and didn't pursue the topic.
But one thing Moody had said had piqued his interest.
"You can sense the Dark magic on Karkaroff?" Wesson asked, curious.
"Of course," Moody said, looking rather animated. "Don't underestimate an old codger who's been catching Dark wizards for decades. I may have lost an eye, but believe me—there's nothing wrong with my nose."
"That is impressive indeed."
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