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Chapter 572: Firestorm Charm
🕑 Added 2025-03-03 11:25:12 +0000 UTCBy the time Kyle rejoined the other Champions, the four professors tasked with patrolling the maze to ensure their safety had already gathered.
“We will be patrolling the maze,” Professor McGonagall informed them, her tone stern. “If you encounter any difficulties and require assistance, send Red Sparks into the sky, and we will come to your aid. Is that understood?”
The Champions nodded in unison.
With that, McGonagall, Hagrid, Professor Moody, and Flitwick dispersed, each heading to a different part of the maze to take their positions.
No one noticed the tiny Billywig that had wriggled its way down Hagrid’s robes and into the maze. Or perhaps someone did notice but dismissed it—after all, a transformed Quidditch Pitch teeming with magical creatures hardly seemed out of the ordinary. A Billywig or a few Bowtruckles wouldn’t draw much attention.
At that moment, Bagman raised his wand to his throat and cast an Amplifying Charm.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the final event of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin!” his voice boomed, reverberating through the stands.
The crowd erupted in applause and cheers.
Bagman went on to announce the current scores. Kyle, leading with 98 points, was the clear frontrunner, followed by Krum in second place. Fleur, having lost too many points in the Second Task, was in last place.
Kyle barely registered the announcement. His focus wasn’t on the scores but on the judges’ section.
Dumbledore was gone. In his place sat Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, who had come to witness the final event. Fudge looked delighted, clapping with the same enthusiasm as the rest of the crowd.
A sharp whistle snapped Kyle out of his thoughts—it was the signal to start.
Without hesitation, he darted into the maze.
The towering hedges loomed on either side, casting deep shadows that seemed almost alive. A spell of silence enveloped the maze, cutting off the roar of the spectators as soon as he crossed the threshold.
Reaching the first fork, Kyle stopped and laid his wand flat on his palm.
“Point Me!”
The wand spun once before settling, pointing to the hedge on his right. But Kyle knew that wasn’t the correct path.
“Confringo!”
With a flick of his wand, the dense hedge burst apart, leaving a gaping hole. Kyle didn’t pause to inspect his handiwork—he ran straight through and kept moving.
A golden mist shimmered ahead, spreading across the path.
“Ventus!”
A fierce gust of wind tore through the mist, scattering it instantly. As the path cleared, several Red Caps leaped from the hedges, their wooden clubs raised.
Before they could strike, Kyle’s reflexes kicked in. With a swift motion, he sent them hurtling backward, their assault neutralized before it even began.
He continued running, his mind racing as fast as his feet.
There’s no doubt—Harry has been taken by a Death Eater.
If Harry was still within the castle grounds, Dumbledore would surely locate him. But if the captors had already fled, Apparition would make it nearly impossible for Dumbledore to track them down.
Kyle had thought preventing Harry’s name from entering the Goblet of Fire and ensuring Moody wasn’t replaced would avert the worst. Yet here they were—things had gone disastrously wrong.
The Death Eaters must have taken Harry to resurrect Voldemort.
But where?
Kyle’s only lead was the Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton, the ancestral home of Voldemort’s family. He’d tried to uncover more about the location over time, but Tom Riddle Sr. was an unremarkable figure whose history had left almost no trace.
Could it really be Little Hangleton?
Kyle didn’t know for certain. But he couldn’t waste time speculating. His priority now was to get out of the maze as quickly as possible and inform Dumbledore. If Little Hangleton was the key, Dumbledore needed to know immediately.
And there was another critical point weighing on Kyle’s mind.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that someone had maneuvered Harry into the Triwizard Tournament as a "hostage." This wasn’t just about spicing up the competition, as Ludo Bagman had claimed. There had to be a deeper motive.
Perhaps something here could facilitate Harry’s removal from Hogwarts... something like using the Goblet of Fire as a Portkey.
If Kyle’s suspicions were correct, whoever orchestrated this had likely tampered with the Goblet of Fire beforehand. The plan to add hostages must have been part of the deception—an excuse to position Harry near the Goblet. But when the judges rejected the proposal just before the competition, the culprits had been forced to adapt and take Harry directly.
That meant the Portkey enchantment on the Goblet of Fire might still be active.
Although it was just a theory, it was worth investigating. Activating the Portkey could be the fastest and most reliable way to locate Harry. Little Hangleton was only a guess, and there was no guarantee Voldemort was even there. If Kyle went searching blindly and found nothing, it would waste valuable time.
But first, Kyle needed to find the Goblet within the maze. If his hunch was wrong, he would need another plan, and quickly.
Just then, a faint buzzing caught his attention. He looked up to see a Billywig lazily hovering to his left, bobbing up and down.
Magical Creatures like Billywigs can navigate the air above the maze freely, unlike wizards.
Its movements seemed deliberate, almost as if it were tracing a path. Kyle watched it carefully, realizing it wasn’t heading due north as Cho had once thought.
With renewed focus, Kyle turned and raised his wand, pointing it in the Billywig’s direction.
This should be about the right distance. Let’s test it.
He shook his wrist gently, and from the tip of his wand, a strange, glowing symbol emerged, shimmering in the dim light. The air around him began to warm, the temperature rising rapidly.
Sparks flickered and danced on the hedges, forming a swarm of golden-red flames. The fiery embers flared to life, gathering momentum, and in mere moments, they coalesced into a massive, surging wave of fire.
The flames crackled and roared, their energy radiating like a living entity.
As if sensing the imminent danger, the creatures hidden within the maze erupted into chaos. Shrill cries and panicked screeches filled the air from every direction, particularly from the area where Kyle’s wand was aimed. The hedges themselves seemed to shudder and convulse violently.
“Incendio Totalum!”
The spell detonated with explosive force, tearing through the maze. The golden-red inferno surged forward, consuming everything in its path. Hedges, traps, and magical barriers were obliterated in an instant, reduced to smoldering ash.
It was as if a giant had ripped an entire section of the maze away, leaving behind a blackened expanse devoid of obstacles.
...
Under the dark night sky, the sudden burst of flames in the maze was impossible to miss. All eyes in the stands turned toward it simultaneously.
Even Bagman, who was poised to blow his second whistle, froze, his attention captured. His face was pale, beads of cold sweat trailing down his forehead.
“No way... He just went in a minute ago! How could he have gotten that far?” he muttered, visibly shaken.
In his panic, Bagman blew the whistle prematurely, signaling Krum to enter. But the sound was lost amid the rising commotion from the spectators.
Before their astonished eyes, the flames, which had been coiling together moments earlier, suddenly transformed. Like a Giant hurling a spear with all their might, the flames pierced through half the maze in an instant. What remained was a broad, golden-red pathway, blazing brightly on the ground.
At the end of the pathway stood the Goblet of Fire, a shining symbol of triumph.
For a moment, the stands were deathly silent. Then, an eruption of cheers shattered the quiet, their fervor so intense it seemed capable of dispersing the heavy clouds above.
From the judges' stand, Madame Maxime rose abruptly. Her voice rang out, indignant and accusatory.
“This is impossible! You cheated! Someone must have helped him!”
Her accusation carried weight. The hedges of the maze had been enchanted to resist fire and cutting spells. Even an ordinary Blasting Curse would only leave a small dent. Yet now, they had been sliced through effortlessly, as if they were nothing more than butter under a hot knife.
Maxime's disbelief was palpable. This level of magic—terrifying in its precision and power—was beyond what she could imagine a mere fifteen-year-old achieving.
“I don’t think so, Madame Maxime,” Fudge interjected from nearby. His shock from earlier had given way to his usual composed, aloof demeanor.
“Both Dumbledore and I have high regard for this young man’s abilities,” he said with a faint smile. “He’s exceptionally gifted. In a few decades, he might even succeed Dumbledore as headmaster of Hogwarts.”
His tone shifted, laden with self-satisfaction. “But I think he’s more suited to a role in the Ministry. I’m confident I can groom him to be the youngest Minister of Magic in history.”
Maxime didn’t so much as glance at him, her focus entirely on the impossibility she had just witnessed.
If this is talent, then what is Fleur—a Champion reduced to nothing more than a Flobberworm with a wand? Fudge, irked by Maxime’s lack of response, consoled himself with the thought of Kyle’s apparent victory.
His long-standing frustration over Britain’s lackluster Quidditch performances was momentarily eased by this unexpected success in another prestigious event.
He felt an urge to assert his connection to Kyle, to bask in the reflected glory. But as he turned to seek support from another judge, he noticed the seat beside him was empty.
“Igor?” he asked, addressing a nearby Durmstrang student. “Where did he go?”
The student responded calmly, “The headmaster just left. He said he might have forgotten something on the ship.”
“Is that so?” Fudge murmured, his brow furrowing slightly. The timing seemed odd, but he brushed it off. Surely Karkaroff had simply chosen to avoid witnessing his school’s loss firsthand.
