Chapter 253
"There'll be plenty of obstacles inside," Ludo Bagman said cheerfully, bouncing slightly on his toes. "Hagrid's provided a number of creatures—hmm… the ones he raises are rather… intimidating. They should make things interesting. There'll also be various spells and traps you'll need to deal with. You know how it is—this is the final task, so it won't be easy."
He smiled at the four champions.
"The order of entry will be based on your current standings. First, Mr. Malfoy, then Miss Fleur Delacour… and finally Harry and Krum. You'll all need to rely on your own abilities to overcome the obstacles. Should be exciting, shouldn't it?"
"Right then… if there are no questions, let's head back to the castle. It's getting a bit cold out here…"
He shivered as a gust of wind slipped into his sleeves. The brief warmth from the past few days had already faded, replaced again by a biting chill.
After finishing his explanation, Bagman gave the boys a few friendly pats on the shoulder and started back.
As they climbed over the low, growing hedges, Viktor Krum reached out and tapped Harry Potter on the shoulder.
"Can I speak with you?"
"Sure… yeah," Harry replied, slightly surprised.
"Come with me."
"Alright."
Meanwhile, Draco moved off ahead, walking straight toward the stands. He pulled a piece of parchment from his sleeve and stared at it.
On its surface, several black dots—each labeled with a name—were slowly drawing closer together.
His expression gave nothing away.
Harry followed Krum to a quiet patch of open ground near the Beauxbatons carriage. Krum stopped beneath a tree and turned to face him.
"I want to know," he said, his voice low and serious, "what's going on between you and Hermione."
Harry blinked, caught off guard. He'd expected something far more serious.
"Nothing," he said quickly.
But Krum continued staring at him like a hawk.
Harry suddenly became very aware of how tall Krum was.
"We're just friends," he added hastily. "She's not my girlfriend. Never has been."
"Krum talks about you a lot," Krum said, still watching him carefully.
Harry let out a short breath. "Yeah… we're friends."
He still couldn't quite believe he was having this conversation—with Viktor Krum, of all people. An international Quidditch star treating him like an equal… even a rival.
"You never… you never—"
"No," Harry said firmly.
Krum studied him for a moment longer—then seemed to relax.
"You fly well," he said at last. "I saw the first task."
"Thanks," Harry replied, grinning, feeling a bit more at ease. "I saw you at the World Cup—your Wronski Feint was incredible—"
Just as the tension between them began to ease, a sudden rustling came from the woods behind Krum.
Harry reacted instantly.
He grabbed Krum's arm and pulled him closer.
"What is it?"
Harry shook his head, eyes fixed on the trees. His hand slipped inside his robes, gripping his wand.
Then—
A man staggered out from behind a tall oak.
At first, Harry didn't recognize him.
Then his stomach dropped.
It was Barty Crouch Sr..
He looked terrible.
His robes were torn and smeared with dirt and blood. His face was gaunt and unshaven, his skin pale and drawn tight. His hair and beard were unkempt.
But it wasn't just his appearance—
It was the way he was acting.
Crouch was talking… to no one.
Muttering, gesturing wildly, as if someone invisible stood before him.
"Isn't he a judge?" Krum whispered, staring. "From the Ministry?"
Harry nodded slowly, then took a cautious step forward.
"Mr. Crouch?"
No response.
Crouch kept rambling, completely detached from reality.
"…and then send an owl to Madam Maxime. She may wish to increase her delegation… since Karkaroff has increased his to twelve… yes, Weatherby, very good… very good…"
His eyes bulged.
He stared at the tree as if it were a person, lips moving silently—then suddenly staggered and collapsed to his knees.
"Mr. Crouch!" Harry rushed forward. "Are you alright?"
Crouch's eyes rolled upward.
Harry glanced back at Krum, who had followed him but now looked deeply unsettled.
"What's wrong with him?" Krum whispered.
"I don't know," Harry said quietly. "Listen—you should go get someone—"
"Dumbledore…"
Crouch's voice came out as a hoarse gasp.
He lurched forward and seized Harry's robes, dragging him closer—
But his eyes weren't focused on Harry.
They stared somewhere just above his head.
"I… must… see… Dumbledore…"
"Alright," Harry said quickly. "Just get up—we'll go find—"
"I've done… something… foolish…"
Crouch's voice broke.
His face twisted unnaturally. Drool ran down his chin.
"You must… tell… Dumbledore…"
His eyes suddenly snapped down—locking onto Harry.
"Who… are you?"
"I'm a student," Harry said, glancing toward Krum for help—but Krum had taken a step back, clearly uneasy.
"You're not… one of his?" Crouch whispered.
"No," Harry said. He had no idea what he meant.
"One of Dumbledore's?"
"Yes."
Crouch dragged him even closer, his grip painfully tight.
"Warn… Dumbledore…"
"If you let me go, I'll get him," Harry said urgently. "Let me go, Mr. Crouch—I'll go right now—"
"Thank you… Weatherby…"
Crouch's voice softened strangely.
"I should like a cup of tea… when you're done. My wife and son will be here soon… we're going to a concert tonight…"