As Voldemort's voice continued to tell his tale of resurrection and revenge, the fear that had taken root in Lucius's heart began to spread like a tumor, growing deeper with each passing moment.

The Dark Lord's path to return had been tortuous, but the Dark Lord truly seemed truly blessed by fate itself. Cliodna, a powerful dark witch who could match Watson in strength, had come to his side due to some mysterious ancestral guidance, pulling him from the depths of despair.

The case of Bertha Jorkins was another example of being extremely lucky. While her knowledge about the core details of the Triwizard Tournament might not have been particularly surprising given her position within the Ministry of Magic, the fact that she also had the shocking intelligence that Barty Crouch Jr. was still living was extremely incredible.

And by some twist of fate, she appeared in front of Voldemort at precisely the moment when such information would prove most valuable seemed to defy all reasonable probability.

Even the events at the Quidditch World Cup final, where Cliodna's reckless and violent actions should have destroyed their plans and exposed their alliance to the world, had somehow worked in their favor. Despite Watson's powerful abilities, they had managed to escape his grasp by the narrowest of margins.

What disturbed Malfoy most intensely, however, was the revelation that Cliodna had somehow managed to infiltrate Hogwarts. Neither Albus Dumbledore nor Watson, who had personally fought against that woman and should have recognized her magical signature, had detected her presence within the castle.

This failure of detection was particularly annoying because it effectively negated much of the assistance that Bryan Watson had been providing to Dumbledore.

When Voldemort finally concluded his lengthy explanation, the gathered Death Eaters responded with even deeper bows than before, their bodies nearly flat upon the earth of the graveyard.

The Dark Lord surveyed this display of submission with obvious satisfaction, his crimson eyes gleaming with cruel pleasure as they swept across the circle of his devoted followers before finally settling upon the bound Harry Potter.

Harry steeled himself for the inevitable torture that would follow, his muscles tensing in anticipation of unimaginable pain. But then, Voldemort suddenly changed his mind. He wanted to let Harry stew in his own fear and dread a bit longer, allowing the anticipation of suffering to become a form of torture in itself.

"Well then... what a deliciously difficult choice presents itself to me—" Voldemort pondered aloud, his voice having the casual tone of someone pondering which wine to select for dinner.

Voldemort lowered his head, examining Barty Crouch Sr. and Winky, as well as the ashen-faced Karkaroff.

"Miss Cliodna must surely understand that Lord Voldemort desires his first family gathering after his glorious return to be a truly memorable and lively affair, such a remarkably considerate woman, is she not? I really shouldn't be too harsh in my judgment of her methods, should I?

I indeed... don't appreciate her temperament, but this presents me with quite the delightful dilemma. I had already organized my own program of entertainment for this evening, but it would be terribly ungracious of me to ignore her generous contribution to our festivities, would it not? So then—"

Voldemort twirled his wand in an elegant arc. The spell that had held Igor Karkaroff frozen in place, Harry's hastily cast Petrification Spell suddenly dissolved.

The instant Karkaroff realized that he could move once again, that feeling had returned to his numbed limbs, he sprang to his feet with the desperate energy of a drowning man breaching the surface of dark waters.

His movements were exaggerated, almost dramatic in their desperation as he lunged forward and threw himself at Voldemort's feet. His face, already pale with terror, became filled with raw emotion as streams of tears and snot flowed down his cheeks.

"Master!" Karkaroff wailed, his voice cracking with desperation. "My master! My lord and master!"

The Death Eaters stirred up in an uproar. Every one of them recognized the groveling figure in front of them, and they all knew precisely what he had done.

Some among them laughed with dark satisfaction. Others muttered curses under their breath, their words too low to be clearly heard but dripping with venom and hatred. Still others simply sneered with open contempt, their masked faces unable to fully conceal their disgust for the traitor who dared to plead for mercy after his betrayal.

The most visibly agitated member of their circle was Barty Crouch Jr., whose entire body practically vibrated with rage. He even took several steps forward as if he intended to rush across the circle and end Karkaroff's miserable existence with his bare hands.

Only Voldemort's raised hand prevented him from carrying out this violent impulse.

The commotion gradually died down, leaving only the pathetic sound of Karkaroff's sobbing to break the silence that had settled over the graveyard.

"Oh, Karkaroff, my dear old friend..." Voldemort said, his voice carrying a tone of mock sympathy that was perhaps more terrifying than outright anger would have been.

He bent slightly at the waist, bringing his hideous face closer to the cowardly traitor at his feet. His nostril slits dilated and contracted several times as he inhaled deeply, as if he were savoring the scent of Karkaroff's fear like a fine perfume.

"What is this distressing sight that greets my eyes?" He asked with apparent surprise, though his red eyes gleamed with malicious amusement. "Whatever could be wrong with you, my old servant?"

"Forgive me, Master!" Karkaroff sobbed, his words barely clear through his gasping, ragged breathing. "For the sake of... for the sake of my services to you—"

"Ah, your services?" Voldemort interrupted, his lipless mouth twisting into what might generously be called a smile. "How very interesting. Please, do elaborate on these services you mention."

Karkaroff recognized this as his one and only chance at survival, his final opportunity to present some argument that might stay the Dark Lord's hand.

Drawing upon every ounce of desperation and cunning that remained within his terror-stricken mind, he howled his response.

"It was I who brought Harry Potter here to you, Master! It was me! I was the one! They had originally planned to allow only Ron Weasley to enter the competition. It was I, I alone, who suggested that they should let Harry Potter participate in the tournament... let them all participate together!"

"Sob-sob" His voice cracked and broke as he continued. "For this sake alone, my master, I beg you to let me serve you once again. Master, please—"

"You mean to tell me—" Voldemort's voice suddenly turned cold. His gaze became completely empty and chilly, without any trace of the amusement that had been in his previous statements.

"—that Lord Voldemort's plan contained flaws, and that you salvaged my mistakes? Is that what you're saying, huh, Karkaroff?"

A ripple of nervous snickering arose from the circle of Death Eaters, and Karkaroff's pleading was suddenly cut short as if someone had severed his vocal cords with a blade.

In that moment, hatred surged through Karkaroff's heart like a raging ocean during a storm. But this hatred was not directed at the Dark Lord, despite the fact that he was about to become the instrument of Karkaroff's destruction. Instead, his fury was focused completely upon Bryan Watson, the man whose subtle manipulation and psychological games had led him down this path of doom.

He had been deceived, played like a puppet dancing on strings he couldn't even see. Watson's clever maneuvering had caused him to stumble directly into the Dark Lord's trap.

Originally, even after the Dark Lord's resurrection, Karkaroff believed he could buy himself precious time to escape, even if the Death Eaters wouldn't grant him forgiveness. He had always been vigilant about maintaining escape routes and backup plans; he even had a secure hiding place prepared in a remote location where he could disappear.

But then a new and even more terrifying thought struck him like a lightning bolt.

'No, wait!' his mind screamed in sudden realization. 'Was this really just an incredible coincidence?'

The more he considered the sequence of events, the more suspicious they became.

Originally, having Viktor's most important person enter the waters of the Black Lake had been something with almost no risk attached to it. There was no logical way that Watson could have used this situation to retaliate against him for the difficulties he had created for Hogwarts' champion.

Unless... unless Watson had known Voldemort's plan all along!

But even this explanation left holes in his understanding of the situation.

If Watson had truly known about the plot, how could he possibly have agreed to allow these young wizards to come to this cursed place to meet their deaths?

Karkaroff's mind raced as he vaguely sensed the presence of a much deeper and more complex conspiracy lurking beneath the surface of events. But he dared not voice these suspicions aloud, not here, not now.

Simply mentioning that he had presumed to supplement the Dark Lord's plan had already provoked the Dark Lord's fury. If he were to say that the Dark Lord's entire scheme might be riddled with holes, that his plans had been under someone else's observation and control from the very beginning, how would the enraged Dark Lord choose to express his displeasure?

The very thought sent fresh waves of terror coursing through Karkaroff's already overwhelmed nervous system.

"I only... played a tiny, utterly insignificant role in your triumph, Master..." Karkaroff pleaded desperately. "For this small sake alone, I beg you to consider..."

"The Dark Lord is magnanimous, Karkaroff. He can forgive your cowardice—"

Voldemort smiled coldly, and his words not only filled Karkaroff with wild joy but also surprised the surrounding Death Eaters considerably.

"But you see," Voldemort continued, and the temperature of his voice dropped several degrees, "you didn't just betray me in your moment of weakness. You betrayed every single one of these loyal Death Eaters who stand in front of you now. Therefore, you need to provide them with a suitable explanation for your treacherous actions."

Karkaroff's face immediately showed absolute despair, as if he had just received news that his entire family had perished in some terrible accident.

"Come then, my faithful Death Eaters!" Voldemort's voice suddenly became high-pitched as he spread his arms wide toward his followers. "You shall be the ones to decide his ultimate fate!"

Not a single person present, not even the dull-witted Crabbe and Goyle had any illusion that Voldemort actually intended to spare Karkaroff's life.

"Let me have the honor, Master!" Barty Crouch Jr. called out with excitement, his voice cracking with anticipation like that of a child about to receive a long-awaited present. "Please, let me go first!"

Voldemort elegantly stepped aside, and Nagini, who had been prowling the perimeter, immediately slithered over, hissing.

Harry could understand the sound too, and Voldemort gently stroked her.

"No problem at all, my dear Nagini," He murmured. "You shall certainly have your chance to feast upon him when we are finished. Though I must warn you, he might not taste particularly good after we've finished our work."

"Despicable, vile traitor!" Barty Crouch Jr. roared with ferocity. "You dare show your face here after betraying our Master—behold, your richly deserved retribution has finally come!"

Karkaroff fell backward in absolute terror, his legs no longer capable of supporting his weight. He began muttering desperate pleas for mercy, his words tumbling over each other in rambling stream of desperation, but where could he possibly run?

How could he ever hope to receive forgiveness for his betrayal? The boundless fear that consumed him clouded his reason and judgment, making him forget even his desperate plan to voice his suspicions about potential flaws in the Dark Lord's plans.

"Watch this!" Barty Jr. shrieked with the voice of a vengeful banshee, his appearance transformed into that of a complete madman. "Crucio!"

The graveyard covered by the dark canopy echoed with the agonized howls of a tormented spirit. Harry stared at Karkaroff, whose face had become as terrifying as a ghost's, and was reminded hazily of the spider writhing under the Cruciatus Curse in class!

Harry couldn't bear to watch anymore. Even though he agreed with Barty Crouch Jr's assessment of Karkaroff, he still couldn't bear to watch.

As if seeing something amusing, Voldemort laughed cruelly. He looked toward his Death Eaters, first at the shrewd Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius immediately understood the Dark Lord's meaning. His face under the hood was equally pale, but—

"Repent for your treachery, you traitor!" Lucius roared. "Crucio!"

One Death Eater after another stood up, their judgments echoing endlessly across the wilderness!

"Crucio!" "Crucio!" "Crucio!"

As Nott joined this grim tribunal pointing his wand at Karkaroff—

BANG!

An unexpected explosion thundered through the graveyard, followed by startled cries from some Death Eaters. Harry suddenly felt something wet and sticky splatter against his cheek, reeking of blood so thick it was nauseating.

He turned his face toward where the Death Eaters had been torturing Karkaroff, but... Karkaroff was gone.

Reduced to smithereens...

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