Chapter 238

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked instinctively.

"He's sick," Krum said. "He told us it was from overwork, but that can't be true—he never gets sick. Some students say they heard the headmaster muttering to himself, terrified of something…"

"That's easy to understand," Harry said, stroking his chin. "He's afraid of the Dark Lord. Just hearing a whisper about him sends him spiraling into panic."

"But he should—" Krum paused, "then again, no one isn't afraid of the Dark Lord."

"You don't need to worry too much about him, or fear the Dark Lord too much," Harry said. "We have Dumbledore."

"But can Dumbledore… well, I suppose we can trust him once more," Krum scratched his head. "But if the Dark Lord has returned, he must be stronger than ever. Can Dumbledore still match that strength?"

"Your English is pretty strong too," Harry remarked. "But I think I get your point—it doesn't matter. Two years ago, without you knowing, the Dark Lord secretly returned. But he feared Dumbledore, so he lay low. Recently, we've been setting a trap to lure him out."

"Huh? Ah!" Krum looked half-confused. "So all those strange disturbances were part of Dumbledore's plan? Is he preparing to destroy the Dark Lord once and for all?"

"You can think of it that way—but don't tell anyone else," Harry shrugged. "I'm sure your headmaster will just panic for a while. Once this is over, he'll be fine."

"I wanted to talk to you about—" Harry hadn't finished when Krum suddenly pulled him aside, making a hushing gesture. "Invisibility."

Krum didn't know Harry had an Invisibility Cloak, but he'd seen Harry vanish to dodge Rita's spell during the second task, so as he spoke, he cast a crude Disillusionment Charm on himself.

To Harry's eyes, Krum's charm still left a faint, blurry outline—almost as if he weren't hidden at all. So Harry didn't hesitate—he spread his Invisibility Cloak over Krum's lower half and said, "Crouch down!"

They hid behind a tree. Harry still didn't know why Krum had suddenly demanded concealment, but soon he noticed: they weren't the only ones using this spot for secret meetings.

Karkaroff emerged, wrapped in his fur-lined cloak. He reached out and caught a snowy owl flying from the horizon, then eagerly tore open the letter.

"Ah, a reply," he murmured. Then, furious, he hurled the parchment to the ground. "It can't be done!"

"He makes it sound so easy, that bastard," Karkaroff cursed. "Snape must be working for Dumbledore—absolutely. He's made a fortune selling potions, yet he can't even find an empty house? Impossible!"

Another figure stepped forward—it was Vaskov, headmaster of Koldovstoretz. "Perhaps he simply doesn't want to help you."

"Fedot, you have to help me," Karkaroff paced anxiously. "Nowhere is safe. I don't want the Dark Lord to catch me."

"Frankly, Mr. Karkaroff," Vaskov's expression was unreadable, "we could offer you assistance—but what can you give us in return?"

"I…" Karkaroff hesitated, then remembered something. "Do you lack experts in Dark Arts? I'm one."

Vaskov said nothing. Karkaroff continued: "I know potions well, and education too. Or simpler—just let me teach German or English somewhere."

"You should know, Mr. Karkaroff," Vaskov said coldly, "your most important identity is headmaster of Durmstrang. Without that status, we won't risk angering the Dark Lord by taking you in."

"So this is your true face?" Karkaroff spat. "No different from the Dark Lord—useful when needed, discarded when useless."

"I must correct you," Vaskov said. "We didn't use you, nor did we plan to discard you. Our cooperation during the Tournament was mutual—no one exploited the other."

"But now I'm in danger, and you won't help me," Karkaroff's face darkened. "Isn't that exactly discarding me?"

"Can't you think a little more flexibly?" Vaskov sighed. "We can't offer official protection. But if you disappear, change your name, and live elsewhere—I'm willing to help you personally."

"No, nowhere is safe now. Britain is out of the question, but the Continent is stirring too," Karkaroff kicked fallen leaves irritably with his shoe. "Is your place safe? Still doing the Great Purge?"

"If you're worried about that, I can help you live in the Muggle world," Vaskov sighed. "But if you refuse to learn Russian, you might as well go straight to America."

"Yes, you've given me a good idea," Karkaroff hesitated. "But all my roots are here. Russian is a big problem…"

"I only offered an idea," Vaskov said coldly. "You're free to choose your own fate. I won't interfere."

He stressed the word "free," then walked away without looking back.

"I need to think more," he muttered softly. Harry had to cast a spell on his ears—this was a charm Rita mentioned in her autobiography, designed for eavesdropping from afar.

"The Dark Lord… no grudge… but Rabastan's words are tempting. If… Dumbledore, or even just… The only problem is the Dark Lord himself… Who knows what Dumbledore will think?"

Harry felt the charm wasn't working well—he heard only fragments, impossible to reconstruct into coherent sentences. Perhaps it was precisely this unreliable charm that had trained Rita Skeeter's talent for wild fabrication.

Karkaroff shook his head, glanced warily around, then used his wand to burn the letter at his feet. He turned and walked back toward the great ship.

"Did you hear that?" Krum said, astonished. "He's planning to run away—he's terrified of the Dark Lord."

"Understandable. But it's bad news for us. Or… not entirely bad," Harry said. "I was going to tell you—I want you to form a student guard group at Durmstrang. Now it's perfect: in turbulent times, heroes emerge more easily."

"Me? A hero?" Krum shook his head. "No way. I'm just a stupid Bulgarian kid who rides a broom."

"Don't say that, Krum," Harry encouraged him. "You have a noble heart—that's rare. If Dumbledore fails and the Dark Lord runs rampant, we'll need to unite and resist, won't we?"

"So that's what you're doing," Krum's eyes widened. "You're worried Dumbledore will fail, so you're already reaching out to anyone willing to oppose the Dark Lord?"

"Pretty much, yes," Harry said. "By excelling in the Triwizard Tournament, I can inspire confidence, earn people's trust."

"But what does the Dark Lord have to do with you?" Krum asked, confused. "Have you written to Mr. Scamander?"

"Who's that?" Harry was surprised. Krum was the only person in the magical world he'd met who didn't know he'd defeated Voldemort.

"Newt Scamander," Krum said seriously. "He made great contributions during the last war against the Dark Lord. Dumbledore should contact him. If Dumbledore forgot, you should remind him."

Harry nodded. The name rang a faint bell—perhaps a member of the Order. But he had no time to dwell on it now. He continued: "You're right. I should tell Dumbledore, especially about Karkaroff's movements."

"Go ahead," Krum smiled. "I'll form the group at Durmstrang as you suggested. Justice must unite. And even if the Dark Lord is defeated, I'll still write to you."

As Harry packed away his Invisibility Cloak, Krum added, "Harry, you're a clever and brave man. You face conspiracies head-on—I admire you. I'll give my best in the third task. Believe me."

Harry said nothing. He couldn't tell if Krum meant, "I'll give my full strength in the task," or "I'll give my full acting performance in the fixed match."

"I think the best thing about this Triwizard Tournament is meeting you, Harry. I hope we stay in touch," Krum said, then firmly placed both hands on Harry's shoulders and waved goodbye.

Harry exhaled slowly. He knew two months remained until the third task, but he decided to go find Dumbledore now. If Newt Scamander—now he remembered, a magizoologist—could help the plan, he wanted Dumbledore to contact him as soon as possible.

And Krum had mentioned that Voldemort might have plotted something around the Deathly Hallows. Now Dumbledore possessed the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone. Harry believed this too demanded vigilance.