As the strongest wizard present, Dumbledore was the first to notice the clues left behind.
Partially melted iron chains, traces of strange lingering magic, and—most suspicious of all—the disappearance of two of the task items.
These clues were laid out before the professors, and before Draco and Fleur, who had been temporarily kept behind...
"This doesn't look like it was caused by magic."
"Mm… no. A simple spell wouldn't be enough to break this. Otherwise, it wouldn't have been used to restrain a Thunderbird in the first place."
"Then how did it happen?"
Before the discussion could continue, Ludo Bagman—responsible for organizing the event—stepped forward with an ashen face. From the moment the Thunderbird broke free, the Ministry had already been squarely at fault. And now, this…
He could already imagine the punishments coming for those involved, and the criticism aimed at the Ministry…
Sure enough, just as that thought crossed his mind, a voice heavy with restrained fury cut through the air.
"Well then, I suppose I can guess what's gone wrong in your Ministry of Magic."
"That is slander!"
"Calm yourself, Severus. Now is not the time to argue over blame."
"Then let these Ministry wizards explain why two of the magic boxes are missing. If I'm not mistaken, those were also under the Ministry's jurisdiction!"
The "magic boxes" Snape referred to were the clue items for the next task—tools meant to test the champions' wit and reasoning.
And now they were missing.
No one would believe their sudden disappearance had nothing at all to do with Harry Potter and Viktor Krum going missing...
"I didn't detect anything unusual, but we should still have someone examine the remaining boxes. We need to know if they were tampered with."
Dumbledore withdrew his wand from the unremarkable-looking box and shared his assessment. Though he found no obvious magical interference, this wasn't his area of expertise—he needed a specialist to confirm.
But just as he rose to summon that specialist, confusion flickered across his face.
Because—
"Alastor… hmm?"
"What is it, Dumbledore? Did you notice something?"
"Has anyone seen… Alastor?"
If there was any professor most experienced in spotting danger and dealing with dark magical artifacts, it was Alastor Moody, the retired Auror.
Especially with that magical eye of his—almost nothing could escape its detection.
And yet, to Dumbledore's surprise, this old friend he trusted deeply was nowhere to be seen.
How could that be…
...
The howling wind.
The world spinning around him.
The moment felt uncannily familiar, leaving Harry Potter momentarily dazed, unable to react to what was happening.
Only when he lost his balance and hit the ground did his scattered thoughts finally settle back into place.
"What… happened?"
He lifted his head and stared at the unfamiliar surroundings, confusion filling his eyes.
The sky was no longer bright—it had gone completely dark. The fiery red that had once swallowed the heavens was gone. The Thunderbird that should have been circling overhead had vanished as well.
In their place stood gravestones overgrown with weeds, and in the distance, barely visible in the dark, was a small chapel.
"Where… is this?" Harry murmured.
It didn't take much thinking to realize this wasn't Hogwarts, nor was it the site of the Triwizard Tournament. Even the sudden shift in the sky's color made it clear that he was no longer anywhere in Britain.
Somehow, in a matter of seconds, Harry Potter had been transported somewhere far, far away.
And that strange sense of familiarity—the sensation of traveling—told Harry exactly what had caused it…
"A Portkey…"
The moment the thought struck him, he spun toward the magical box lying on the ground.
It was the same method they'd used to travel to the Quidditch World Cup.
Could this be… the second task's location?
As Harry tried to make sense of it, footsteps echoed through the graveyard, followed by a voice as rough as grinding stone.
"Harry Potter… I've been waiting a long time."
"You're… Professor Moody?"
Seeing Alastor Moody step out from the darkness, Harry's tension eased, and he lowered his wand slightly.
As far as he knew, Alastor Moody was someone he could trust.
He didn't yet know that this very wizard would soon show him the cruelest face of the magical world…
...
"Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!"
"Professor!?"
Harry's wand flew from his hand, and magical chains snapped around him, binding him tight. His stunned expression—bewildered and almost absurd—drew a cold, rasping laugh from the man before him.
"Never trust what you see. Never let down your guard. Looks like you didn't take a single lesson to heart, Potter."
"...What is this? Why are you doing this?!"
"Still don't understand? Because—"
In that instant, something happened that made Harry's eyes go wide.
The body of "Alastor Moody" began twisting unnaturally. Where the wooden leg should have been, a normal human leg pushed outward, swelling into place.
And from the empty socket where the magical eye had been removed, a real eye grew—its iris a completely different color.
More importantly, the person standing before him was no longer the Moody Harry Potter knew…
"....."
"Ah… my original body feels much better. Though I must say, that magical eye was quite impressive."
"You… who are you…?"
The man ignored Harry entirely. Instead, he turned toward the darkness and bowed deeply, the madness in him evaporating in an instant.
The shift was startling—like a rabid dog suddenly transforming into a loyal hound wagging its tail for its master.
"Welcome, my great Lord."
Harry strained to look toward the shadows, and whether it was imagination or not, a wave of icy dread crawled up his spine.
And then the lightning scar on his forehead burst into searing, burning pain...