Hermione suddenly felt the air around her become incredibly thick and oppressive, as if in the span of a single heartbeat, she had been transported back to the suffocating depths of the Black Lake.

The atmosphere pressed against her body crushing down on her chest and shoulders like an invisible boulder. The pressure was so intense that her ears began ringing with a persistent buzzing sound.

Ron stopped pulling Harry with such abruptness that his muscles cramped from the sudden stop of movement. His face had gone pale and sickly, taking on the paleness of someone suffering from a massive heart attack. Each breath he took required every ounce of his strength.

In that endless second, Hermione and Ron stared blankly at Gabrielle’s face, their eyes unable to look away from her emotionless blue eyes. Those eyes, which had once sparkled with the innocent joy of a young girl, now resembled the dark, empty windows of an abandoned house—cold, lifeless, reflecting nothing but the gray sky above.

The pupils were fixed and dilated, staring sightlessly at something only the dead could see.

Death—calm and brutally real, more final than anything they had ever encountered in their young lives.

The pain and terror that coursed through their bodies was something that could not be replicated even by being pierced countless times by Professor Watson’s conjured stone spears during their most intensive training sessions.

This was not the controlled danger of the classroom, where they knew help was always nearby. This was raw, unfiltered mortality staring them in the face, and it left them feeling utterly helpless and small.

What had happened? What was going on? The questions swirled through their minds.

Winky and the dying Barty Crouch, the ugly house-elf and Crouch Jr., the mysterious Cliodna, the cursed graveyard and the reality of death—all these elements swirled together.

Hermione felt that her cherished intelligence that had never failed her before, seemed utterly useless now. Her thoughts felt sluggish and disjointed, as if her brain had been wrapped in cotton wool. She couldn’t connect all these factors to form any kind of reasonable explanation that would make sense of the nightmare unfolding around them.

She saw that Barty Crouch Jr. lifted the dwarf-like creature with extreme reverence, handling it as if it were the most precious and fragile thing in existence. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a sofa for it.

Then Crouch Jr. turned his attention to them three, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow with an expression of extreme excitement as if he wanted nothing more than to tear them apart with his bare hands and savor every moment of their suffering.

The killing would continue, that much was certain.

Barty Crouch Jr. understood his master’s desires. The mudblood girl who dared to excel in magic despite her inferior blood had no right to witness the great scene about to unfold. But the red-haired boy, the Weasley spawn, might possibly be spared due to his ancestral bloodline, if he was wise enough to crawl at his master’s feet and serve him with the proper humility and devotion.

“You’re making a grave mistake, Young Master,” Winky’s voice cracked with emotion as she collapsed over the body of Barty Crouch Sr., and her body was shaking with uncontrollable sobs.

When Crouch Jr. passed by her, her large eyes, swollen and red from crying, were filled with desperate pleading.

“Just wait and see, Winky!” Barty’s response was accompanied by a sickly grin that split his face from ear to ear, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp and too white in the dim light.

“I will assist the reborn Dark Lord in his glorious return to power, I will receive the rewards and recognition that others can only dream of in their most ambitious fantasies, and you, dear Winky—you’ve also received a special recognition, haven’t you? As a mere house-elf, you’ll have the unprecedented honor of witnessing the Dark Lord’s magnificent rebirth!”

‘The Dark Lord.

Rebirth.’

‘This was crucial information,’

Hermione realized with a wooden expression that concealed the frantic calculations racing through her mind. She had no time to observe Harry’s current condition or to gauge Ron’s emotional state.

She could see that this Crouch Jr. was undoubtedly the same person Sirius had told them about—Barty Crouch Senior’s Death Eater son who had supposedly died in Azkaban years ago. Now he was approaching them with predatory intent, raising his wand. His malicious gaze was fixed on her and she could see the anticipation of violence dancing in his eyes.

Some things were becoming clear now.

Professor Dumbledore and Professor Watson had suspected that last year, on the night of the Quidditch World Cup final, a Death Eater had been hiding in their box, the same person who had conjured the Dark Mark that had appeared later in the sky. This Death Eater was connected to Barty Crouch Sr. and Winky—he was Barty Crouch Jr.

There were undoubtedly more things to understand, but Hermione had no time to think. She saw Barty Crouch Jr. raise his wand and she understood that after Gabrielle, he would kill her first—and she knew exactly why it would be her.

Anticipate your opponent’s attack intentions!

A glimmer of light flashed through her dazed brown eyes as her mind conjured Professor Watson’s solemn face when he had spoken those words during their training sessions.

It wouldn’t be the Killing Curse—she was too close to Harry, and using that particular curse might accidentally kill Harry as well. Voldemort would certainly kill everyone present eventually, but he clearly wanted to use Harry for something specific first; he wouldn’t kill Harry immediately.

So, Barty Crouch Jr.’s main objective would be to separate her and Ron from Harry, to isolate them and eliminate them one by one.

When the evil wind of approaching death broke through the smoke and mist, Hermione, who had been crouching on the ground in stunned paralysis, suddenly exploded into action. She jumped up, waving her wand with fierce determination, her voice ringing out clear and strong despite the chaos around her:

“Protego!”

The spell collision burst with dazzling light, and the resulting gust of wind whipped up Hermione’s wet hair. She didn’t choose to stay by Harry’s side where she might have been safer, but instead rushed out to stand protectively in front of both Harry and Ron.

“Take Harry and leave, quickly! Get Karkaroff to help, if he wants to live!” Hermione’s sharp shout carried across the graveyard, but her words were interrupted by a vicious curse light that streaked through the air like a comet of destruction.

She summoned another magical barrier with desperate speed, her wand movements precise despite the adrenaline flooding her system.

But Barty’s evil magic, corrupted by years of devotion to the Dark Arts, gave his spells more formidable power than anything she had faced before. The Iron Armor Charm, which had never been broken by young wizards during their physical education training sessions, shattered like glass under the impact of his curse!

Was this a duel for victory?

No, the purpose was not to win, but to buy time.

Facing that sneering face that seemed to mock her overconfidence, that twisted expression of sadistic pleasure, flames of pure determination ignited in Hermione’s brown eyes.

Under the gloomy sky, the fierce battle began.

Green lights streaked through the air, striking complete or broken tombstones with violent roars. Meanwhile, Hermione suddenly became like an agile cat, her movements were fluid and unpredictable. She moved nimbly through the graveyard’s terrain, darting between withered vines, narrowly dodging a death curse amid the explosions and the relentless pursuit of death itself.

Use the environment!

The rising smoke from destroyed tombstones, withered old wood from ancient trees, standing mounds of earth with forgotten graves—all became Hermione’s allies in her desperate fight for survival. She used every opportunity, every momentary advantage, to counterattack the Death Eater with everything she had learned.

Stunning Spells crackled through the air with electric blue light, Petrification Charms sought to lock her opponent in place, Blasting Curses exploded against his defenses, Disarming Charms attempted to strip him of his weapon, and Impediment Jinxes tried to slow his movements.

Colorful curse lights shot at Barty Crouch Jr. from various tricky angles, each one calculated to exploit a potential weakness in his defenses. The magical show stirred up rolling clouds of dust that obscured the battlefield and made it difficult for any of the combatant to maintain clear sight of their opponent.

None of Hermione’s attacks could break through Barty’s defenses—he was, after all, a trained Death Eater with years of combat experience but her fluid attack rhythm and unpredictable movements left Barty Crouch Jr. almost unable to find a proper moment to launch his own offensive.

Moreover, he didn’t notice that Hermione was gradually diverting his attention away from Harry and Ron, drawing him deeper into the maze of tombstones and monuments.

Hermione was preparing to cover the retreat; she had made the decision to sacrifice herself to save Harry and Ron.

Ron immediately realized her intention. His eyes became bloodshot with rage and desperation, his breathing becoming like that of an enraged bull. The moment Hermione rushed out to face the Death Eater alone, Ron stood up too. He wanted to charge over and help her, but Harry, who had fallen to the ground with a thud after losing Ron’s support, made his steps falter.

This was undoubtedly the most difficult choice of his entire life: go help Hermione fight that maniacal Barty Crouch Jr., or take Harry and flee from this place of death and horror. Whichever path he chose, he knew that he would regret it for the rest of his life, however long that might be.

But the Dark Lord was here—it had to be that terrible dwarf-like figure resting on the conjured sofa. If that monster was truly resurrected, if he regained his full power, then death would not be limited to today alone.

Ron’s eyes turned red with fury and desperation, and he let out a low roar. With one trembling hand he grabbed Harry, with the other he seized the lifeless body of Gabrielle. Struggling and stumbling under the weight of both bodies, he made his way toward the collapsed Karkaroff, who lay crumpled on the ground like a broken doll.

Reaching him, Ron delivered a vicious kick to his shoulder, putting all his frustration and fear behind the blow.

“Get up, you useless piece of trash!” Ron howled, his voice cracking with emotion as he glared down at Karkaroff’s eyes, which were soaked with despair and terror.

“Find a way to get them out of here, or we’ll all die together in this cursed place!”

Karkaroff’s trembling gradually subsided as Ron’s words pierced the fog of terror that had consumed his mind. He stared wide-eyed at Ron, his pupils dilated with shock and disbelief. He couldn’t believe that this little boy, actually intended to stay here and fight. Didn’t he understand who he was facing?

Where did his courage come from?

Watching Hermione’s figure constantly flickering among the ruins and dazzling lights of the ongoing battle, Ron was frantic with anxiety. He gave Karkaroff another heavy kick, and this one landed on the man’s nose with a sickening crunch, instantly reshaping it to bear a resemblance to Dumbledore’s distinctive shape.

Perhaps the sharp pain cleared Karkaroff’s head somewhat. His yellowed fingernails, dug into the soil as he struggled to regain some semblance of composure. His thick knuckles strained with the effort as he slowly supported his trembling body to stand upright.

He glanced down at Harry Potter, who for some reason had fallen into some kind of weakness but was gradually catching his breath. Then Karkaroff’s dangerous fell upon Ron with an expression that was difficult to read.

“Take Harry away!” Ron said through clenched teeth. He knew what this decision might lead to, but he dared not hesitate for even a moment.

If he allowed doubt to creep in, if he gave himself time to think about the consequences, he wasn’t sure he would still have the resolve to do what needed to be done.

He forcibly pushed Harry’s body into Karkaroff’s arms. Then he turned around and was about to rush toward the battlefield to help Hermione in her fight against Crouch Jr.

However, before Ron could take more than two steps toward the ongoing battle, a large hand grabbed his collar with surprising strength, and tremendous force dragged him back!

“You fool!” Ron cursed furiously, his voice breaking with rage and desperation as he spun around to confront Karkaroff. “I have to help her—you—”

A wand pressed against his forehead, and Ron’s furious rebuke was immediately cut off. He stared at Karkaroff in complete disbelief, not understanding why Karkaroff was doing this. But the moment his gaze met Karkaroff’s malicious eyes, a sudden and terrible realization arose from the depths of Ron’s heart:

Igor Karkaroff… had once been a Death Eater!

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep