0781 Death

“You filthy, despicable wretch!” The words came from Ron’s throat like shards of broken glass.

The shock of Karkaroff’s betrayal hadn’t yet begun to fade from Ron’s wide, disbelieving eyes, and the pure fury that coursed through his veins made his voice tremble with rage. “Hermione was even planning to let you leave first, to give you a chance at survival, and you actually betrayed us!”

“Shut your mouth, you foolish boy who understands nothing!” Karkaroff’s voice cracked as he spat the words. He was using his most menacing expression to mask the heart that was filled with overwhelming terror.

His nose, which had been brutally broken by Ron’s kick, was bleeding soaking into his beard. The blood washed over his parched, cracked lips, leaving a metallic taste, and continued its journey down his jaw to drip steadily onto his collar.

Yet despite the pain and the humiliation, he didn’t wipe the blood away even once. His entire focus was consumed by survival, by the desperate need to prove his worth to the monster lurking in the shadows.

His wand remained pressed against Ron’s forehead, while his other hand reached under Harry supporting him beneath the armpit to prevent the Boy Who Lived from collapsing to the ground.

“Master!” Karkaroff’s voice rose to a desperate, pleading pitch as his gaze struggled frantically to penetrate the rolling smoke and the bright flashes of explosive magical flames that lit up the graveyard like a hellish fireworks display.

His hoarse, trembling voice failed completely to convey the humble reverence he so desperately wished to project, instead showed every ounce of his terror and desperation.

“My great and glorious master…” His words came out in rushed, breathless gasps, as if he were drowning and these words were his only hope for air. “I, Igor Karkaroff, your faithful servant, I have helped you capture Harry Potter who tried to escape from your presence, along with his foolish friend who dared to oppose your will!”

The silence that followed was more terrifying than any scream could have been.

No voice emerged from behind the thick, choking smoke—perhaps the Dark Lord was too lazy to acknowledge such pathetic groveling, too bored by this display of cowardice to respond.

But maybe, just maybe, it was also possible that even the Dark Lord himself was somewhat astonished by the sheer, breathtaking shamelessness that Karkaroff was displaying.

Karkaroff’s voice and his entire body shook with such intensity that he appeared to be in some terrible seizure.

Desperation appeared across his pale, haggard face, creating the very picture of what being at the absolute end of one’s rope should look like.

Ron knew that he had never hated anyone in his entire life as much as he hated Karkaroff at this very moment. If he could have managed it, if he had possessed the skill and the darkness of heart necessary, he would willingly have cast Cruciatus Curse, to make him suffer as he deserved to suffer!

But harsh reality interrupted his fantasies of revenge.

At this distance, pressed so close that he could smell Karkaroff’s fear-soaked sweat and feel the man’s breathing on his face, Ron had no confidence in his ability to dodge whatever spell Karkaroff might cast.

With his back turned to the ongoing magical battle, Ron couldn’t see Hermione’s current situation or judge how much longer she could possibly hold out against an experienced Death Eater. However, the clear, voice that occasionally pierced through the thunderous explosions and the crackling of magical energy told Ron that Hermione was still resisting.

At the same time, however, Barty Jr.’s increasingly shrill and hysterical roars made Ron’s anxiety reach levels that were almost unbearable. He was so filled with worry for Hermione’s safety that he failed completely to notice that Harry, clamped awkwardly under Karkaroff’s trembling arm, was clenching his fists tightly, and his eyes were blazing with a fierce fire!

“Great Dark Lord, my most respected master!”

Unable to receive even the slightest acknowledgment or response from the shadows, Karkaroff grew even more panicked.

“What else can I do to serve your magnificent will? What other services can I provide to prove my unwavering loyalty? Oh, do you… do you perhaps need me to eliminate that filthy Mudblood for you? I could make it quick, or slow, whatever would please you most!”

“Ron was right!”

Just as Karkaroff was desperately racking his brain, trying to figure out how to please the Dark Lord and somehow save himself from the doom that seemed inevitable, the supposedly half-dead Harry Potter suddenly spoke.

Before Karkaroff could even begin to process what was happening, before his sluggish, fear-filled mind could react to this unexpected development, a fist that belonged to the famous Boy Who Lived rapidly enlarged in front of his eyes and struck against his already brutally broken nose.

Amid the screams of Karkaroff falling to the ground, Harry roared. With a flick of his wand, Karkaroff’s wand silently fell into his palm.

“Harry!”

Ron cried out in delight. “You’re back to normal! Your scar—”

“Let’s go help Hermione, Ron!” Harry’s face was still pale, and his forehead was drenched in cold sweat. It was clear that he was still not fully recovered from whatever mysterious weakness had overtaken him. But in this desperate moment of life and death, when every second could mean the difference between survival and destruction, there was simply no time to think about his own condition.

He gripped his wand tightly, let out a roar that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, and charged forward like an unrestrained wild horse toward Barty Crouch Jr., who had already been led to a different section of the graveyard by Hermione’s tactical maneuvering!

Crack!

The sound of Harry’s spell cutting through the air was like red lightning suddenly flashing across the night sky. The fierce electrical light scattered the choking smoke that had been obscuring the battlefield and split apart the hastily erected magical barrier that Barty Jr. had barely managed to construct in time to protect himself.

Stone fragments whistling through the air like bullets directly shattered the magical barrier, grazing Barty Jr.’s cheek as they flew past and crashed into a dead tree as thick as a bowl, breaking it apart.

Barty Crouch Jr. instinctively staggered backward, his usual arrogant composure completely shattered by the unexpected ferocity and accuracy of the attack.

But his retreat triggered another surprise, a withered vine that had been crawling along the overgrown bushes suddenly came to life, raising its twisted head like a venomous cobra preparing to strike. It lunged toward Barty Jr. with surprising speed and intelligence, trying to bind his legs and render him helpless.

Unfortunately, just as the vine managed to climb onto Barty Jr.’s ankle and begin to wrap around his boot, the mad Death Eater fell backward but managed to wave his wand. A sickly green light erupted from the tip of his wand and severed the vine cleanly.

This series of coordinated attacks surprised even Barty Crouch Jr. and caused him some panic. He hurriedly scrambled up from the ground, almost rolling and crawling as he took cover behind a tombstone. Only when he realized no follow-up attacks were coming did he push away a strand of hair that had been soaked with sweat and stuck to his forehead, breathing heavily.

“What’s happening!” Barty Jr. muttered to himself, his confidence badly shaken.

Dueling with a true Death Eater was an unprecedented and terrifying experience for all three young wizards. The extreme pressure was like invisible hands named Death that were tightly gripping one’s heart. They all understood that one careless move, one moment of inattention, could mean instant death!

Hermione’s athletic clothes were soaked with sweat. She looked far more disheveled than Barty Crouch Jr., because her spells were less powerful than Barty Jr.’s, and her magical power was also somewhat weaker.

If it weren’t for what could only be described as a blessing in disguise during the previous period—some stroke of fortune that had allowed her to avoid several potentially lethal curses, she might already be a cold corpse like Gabrielle.

Moreover, Hermione was brutally honest with herself about their chances. She was quite certain that if this deadly duel continued much longer, if it became a simple matter of endurance and raw magical power, she would definitely be the one to fall.

The sudden intervention of Harry and Ron, charging into the battle like cavalry arriving at the last possible moment, instantly shifted the balance of this magical duel and gave it an overwhelming advantage in favor of the young ones.

Their arrival also allowed Hermione her first real chance to catch her breath since the fighting had begun, to take care of her condition and reassess their tactical situation.

However, instead of feeling joy or relief at this turn of events, she felt nothing but disappointment and frustrated anger. While leaning heavily against a broken stone wall to catch her breath, she glared at Harry and Ron, who had quickly rushed to her side and began to scold them:

“What’s going on? Why are you still here? I told you to leave, to get away from this place while you still could! Why didn’t you listen to me?”

“That bastard wanted to kidnap Harry and me,” Ron hurriedly explained. “He was planning to offer us to—to—”

But despite his anger and his need to explain, he found that he couldn’t bring himself to say that terrible name.

“I would never abandon you, Hermione. Never.” Harry also said resolutely.

The graveyard, which had been filled with the constant sounds of magical explosions and the crack of spells colliding, suddenly fell into a brief, eerie silence as both sides of this deadly conflict caught their breath and tried to recover their strength.

“There’s only one chance left for us… we can only try.” Hermione forced herself to stop thinking about the root causes of everything that was happening to them, to set aside her need to understand and analyze, and instead focused entirely on the immediate problem of finding a way to escape from this nightmare scenario.

She pulled Harry and Ron close to her, their heads nearly touching as they formed a tight huddle, and began to speak in an extremely low voice: “Apparition won’t work here. We can only rely on Winky… and on Crouch… I mean the real Barty Crouch, the one from the Ministry of Magic who’s lying over there unconscious. Just now, when I told you to leave and get to safety, Harry, I was thinking that Winky might be willing to help us…”

“That’s just a house-elf, Hermione.” Ron’s blue eyes widened with confusion and skepticism. “What could it possibly do against all this?”

“Think about the house-elves at Hogwarts, Ron! Remember how they appear and disappear at will? Wizards’ Anti-Apparition charms, even the most powerful ones, don’t work on house-elf magic.

Only very special, specifically designed magic can restrain them… We must try this. This is our only chance, our last hope!”

“If that’s the case!” Ron was stunned into silence for a moment, then his expression transformed to one of pure excitement and hope. “Freodom! you’re its master, if you have any authority over it, you can call it here. It could take us away from this horrible place!”

But from Hermione’s struggling expression, it was clear that she had already considered this exact point but hadn’t acted on it for reasons that tormented her.

“No… I can’t…” Hermione kept shaking her head back and forth. “I can’t let Freodom come here to die… I’m still not completely sure if house-elf teleportation magic will work in this place.”

The image of Gabrielle—Fleur’s beloved little sister who had been cherished by all her classmates, who had been full of life and laughter just hours before, lying cold and lifeless among the tombstones was a sight that would haunt them forever.

Just thinking about her tragic fate made Harry feel his heart contract with such pain that he could barely breathe. Harry knew very clearly that if there was any other choice, Hermione wouldn’t even consider dragging Freodom into the desperate, likely fatal situation they were in!

Looking around the chaotic battlefield, Hermione quickly located Winky’s position among the rubble and destruction. The house-elf was still crouched over her unconscious master’s body, her large eyes filled with tears and desperation.

They would have to approach her location carefully and inconspicuously to avoid revealing their true intention to their enemies.

“I thought you could take on more responsibility than this, Barty.”

The voice that suddenly came through the air was one that made every hair on their bodies stand on end with fear. It was cold with impatience and sharp with disappointment.

The speaker had obviously been watching everything that had just happened, never expecting that just a few underage wizards—children, really—could render his loyal and experienced follower completely helpless.

“I can accomplish everything for you, Master!” Barty Jr.’s response was desperate, as if he had received the greatest insult imaginable.

The words seemed to tear from his throat with the force of his humiliation and his desperate need to prove himself worthy. He howled like a wounded animal as he charged out from behind his stone shelter, his wand raised and his face twisted with murderous rage.

He was clearly prepared to fight with desperate fury against the three young wizards who had brought him such unbearable shame, to prove that he was still worthy of his master’s trust and favor.

But before he could take more than a few steps, the Dark Lord’s voice came again—

“Enough!”

The single word with unquestionable command immediately froze Barty Jr. in place. Only his eyes continued to move, glaring at the three young brats with hatred.

That ugly, dwarf-like creature… Until this very moment, all three of them had still harbored some desperate hope, some thread of denial, that he wasn’t actually the terrible Dark Lord. Although much evidence had already indicated his true identity beyond any reasonable doubt, they had still refused to believe it….. Because acknowledging the truth would almost certainly mean their death.

Hearing that single, commanding “Enough!”, all three young wizards immediately tensed their bodies ready to dodge at a moment’s notice. Whatever the dwarf-like figure planned to do to them, they would never give up their fight for survival just like that.

However, what happened next made Harry fully understand, just how vast and unbridgeable the gap was between them and a top-tier dark wizard.

A force like a gravitational flood descended from above. It suppressed all three of them simultaneously, pressing down on their bodies with such tremendous pressure that they had absolutely no chance to dodge, no opportunity to resist or escape.

Then, cutting through the smoke and debris like harbingers of death, two green lights pierced the battlefield. They moved passing on both side of the immobilized Harry Potter as he stood helpless and unable to move so much as a finger—

Bang, bang!

The sounds of the curses finding their targets were sharp, like the closing of coffin lids or the snapping of bones.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the crushing gravitational force disappeared completely, leaving the survivors free to move again. But Harry found that all of his joints felt rusted and stiff, as if he had been frozen in place for years rather than seconds.

Every movement required tremendous effort and all of his remaining strength just to shift slightly, just to turn his head and see what had happened to his dearest friends.

When his vision finally cleared, when he was able to focus through the tears that had begun to stream down his face, he saw them.

Two bodies lying crumpled in a pile of rubble. Hermione and Ron stared up at the star-filled sky with lifeless eyes, their faces showing no expression of pain or fear.

Hermione and Ron… were dead.

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