When William, carrying Harry, discovered where Cedric and Fleur were—
The two were wrapped in sandy blankets, huddled beneath a towering sand dune to shield from the wind.
They held warm tea in their hands, sipping occasionally—while Bill Weasley stood a few meters away vigilantly on watch, the tip of his wand flickering in the dusky sand mist, his gaze wandering around the dunes. Having listened to Cedric and Fleur's experiences, he felt danger could spring from anywhere.
Suddenly, not far away, a dune shaped like a camel hump burst open, revealing the unconscious boy within. Daniel lay face down, buried in the sand pile; when William pulled him out with a casual Levitating Spell, the skin at his lip area was still smooth.
Thanks to this, sand couldn't flood into his mouth at all.
...
Inside the Hogwarts Great Hall, the last time the atmosphere was this silent was indeed the last time; nearly a thousand students held their breath, their eyes fixed on the giant Two-Sided Mirror emergency-set up by the Ministry of Magic.
One side of the mirror showed a hotel with a dusky background—
William sat by the fireplace, holding a cup of hot water in hand, while behind him sat or lay four despondent champions. The other side of the mirror revealed a hall with a pitch-black background, where Cornelius Fudge sat in his high-backed chair, his plump face flushed red, his usually pristine purple hat askew, a few strands of sparse hair glued by sweat to his forehead.
Behind him were rows of red-robed wizards, and several reporters from daily newspapers sat lower down, ready to record the upcoming speeches.
Watching the scenery of the Hogwarts Great Hall and the Ministry of Magic in the mirror, William blew the hot water in his cup; having finished his "story," he awaited the reaction from the other side.
"Clearly! This is entirely the fault of Mr. Richard—"
Indeed, amidst the silence, Fudge couldn't hold back first. His voice, amplified by a charm, echoed in the hall, "Those terrifying, dangerous caves, the dreadful stone statue guards that almost cost the champions their lives, extreme dark magical creatures… Clearly, these dangerous elements have exceeded the authority granted to him by the Ministry of Magic—"
Saying this, he slammed his hand on the table, his pudgy finger pointing to the edge of the mirror, as if through space it could poke the absent "culprit"—
"Undoubtedly! All this is the sole doing of William Richard—the young, impetuous chief referee—arbitrarily adding these elements! The Ministry of Magic was completely unaware, and if it were aware, it would certainly never have permitted it! We absolutely, absolutely place the safety of the champions and students first!"
The hall erupted—first was the angry shouts from the Gryffindor Long Table. George Weasley's face looked redder than his hair, "Bullshit! That fatso is purely spouting nonsense!" Hermione trembled, too, "Shifting blame! Shameless, I clearly included all of that in the project proposal…"
"Hey, Mr. Bagman—"
By the Slytherin Long Table, Malfoy stood up. His gaze seemed to meet briefly with the eyes of a red-robed sorcerer standing behind Fudge; then he turned to look at Ludo Bagman, sitting at the corner of the main guest seat, trying to minimize his presence, "You know about this, don't you?"
Bagman's face turned red, his purple-yellow long robes soaked with sweat. He opened his mouth, unsure how to speak to calm this indignant, fiery group of little wizards. He felt if he misspoke even a single letter, these guys would mince him into bits.
"Relax, this has nothing to do with Mr. Bagman—"
The one who broke the tension for him was unexpectedly William. His words made Bagman involuntarily breathe a sigh of relief and made the crowd buzz—meaning he admitted these events were truly unrelated to the Ministry of Magic? Which thereby meant—
"So, you admit all this is your doing?!"
Finally, someone voiced the public doubt. Igor Karkaroff stood up, his face livid.
The reason was simple, among the champions behind William, Viktor Krum was still missing.
"The real culprit, I think I made very clear earlier—"
"Ha, right, 'Despicable Helbo,' a black wizard living two thousand years ago; not only does he live to this day, but has allegedly planted a mole in Hogwarts?"
Karkaroff's voice trembled some, but he quickly steadied, turning sarcastic, "Mr. Richard, you perhaps should become a writer, much like Gilderoy Lockhart. Your best-sellers would surely be popular—"
"I've already asked Gringotts to search for Krum's whereabouts—"
William shook his head, ignoring the sarcasm, but his silenced avoidance automatically turned into acquiescence to certain people—
Within the venue prepared by the Ministry of Magic, those editors from the Prophet Daily and other magazines, their eyes sparkled, their quill pens flew up and down. They evidently hadn't noticed how, among their colleagues who usually wrote with utmost sarcasm, Ms. Rita Skeeter, was currently biting her lip, carefully weighing her words.
"Treacher… No, not responsible… Not right, the accusations are too serious…"
Rita scratched her head, although no one required her to write euphemistically, but… her instinct was signaling, if she didn't want to die in an awful way, she'd better write it a bit nicely.
"Gringotts? Are we to believe a bunch of goblins—" was the continued questioning from Karkaroff, face red.
"You could also look it up yourself."
"…You! This is clearly your fault!"
"I'll say it again, Despicable Helbo…"
"Stop talking about this for now."
Dumbledore firmly interrupted their quarrel, slightly surprised, gazing at William whose demeanor was "gentler" than usual. After a long silence, the old man couldn't help but sigh, "The Egyptian Ministry of Magic's Portkey should arrive soon; you should accompany the champions back, Poppy likely has a busy night ahead…"
...
"…Lay them all down! Good heavens, Merlin above… Quick! Go fetch Madam Sprout and Professor Snape, I need a Strong Blood Replenishing Potion and all Dittany reserves… And you, Harry Potter, don't move around, you rest, too!"
The doors of the Hogwarts School Hospital were pushed open from the outside; Mrs. Pomfrey began screaming as she tended to the champions, muttering constantly about the damned tournament, the damned Forbidden Forest, the damned competition events, and the damned planner—
One of the "damned" individuals, William stood at the door without entering, winking at the worried Harry; William turned and left the corridor.
In the bustling corridor, the students instinctively moved aside, and then countless needle-like gazes shot towards William—anger, curiosity, concern, fear, apprehension—but William seemed oblivious, his light grey cloak flaring slightly at its hem, he purposefully ascended the spiral staircase, the Gargoyle silently leaped aside.
The Headmaster's Office door silently closed behind William, shutting off all external chaos.
The room remained warm and bright; Dumbledore stood behind the semi-circular desk, his blue eyes almost piercing one's soul. Fawkes perched on a golden-red wooden stand, issuing a long, worried low sound to greet William.
The silver instruments on the bookshelves still turned autonomously, the scaled-down planet models quietly ran along their track within the misty steam, casting enchanting lights and shadows.
"William."
Dumbledore's voice was very calm, calm as if asking what William ate tonight, "Only one missing, that's the only good news today. Severus is assisting Poppy to handle curse remnants; hopefully, Mr. Stephens can regain his mouth."
The elder paused, his gaze tightly locked on William's face, "But outside, you must have seen it, Cornelius clearly plans to pin everything on you. He accuses you of being the sole designer of this disaster, using the tournament planning to satisfy ambitions for dangerous experiments. No surprises, tomorrow in the Prophet Daily we shall see—"
Dumbledore hesitated, as if pondering for a moment, "'William Richard: Evil Black Wizard Hidden in Hogwarts for Years?'"
"That doesn't sound like a captivating title, Dumbledore." William sighed, his tone sorrowful, "If you switch careers to become a journalist, you probably wouldn't have enough to eat."