Not everyone present had the courage and confidence required to defy the Minister of Magic. Cornelius Fudge, in his fury, had taken all the Ministry officials with him and left behind words that were almost threatening in nature.

This left Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey feeling uneasy, and even Harry and his two friends lying in their hospital beds felt somewhat at a loss.

"Empty threats and nothing more!" Sirius shouted angrily at the retreating figures of the Ministry group.

"I'd very much like to see exactly what that pompous, cowardly fool plans to do! Let him try to intimidate us—he'll discover that some of us have faced far worse than his pathetic political maneuvering!"

Harry didn't know whether he should continue speaking. His account had only mentioned Voldemort's resurrection so far, but there were even more important matters that followed.

important matters that followed.

"Albus,"

Madame Maxime stood up. She knew all too well the weight of the Minister's threats. With worry etched on her face, she said in a low voice, "That Dark Lord has truly returned to plague our world once again. If you need help, Beauxbatons will stand firmly by your side."

This promise carried great weight, and Dumbledore responded with solemn gratitude, "Thank you, Olympe. Thank you for standing on the side of justice."

"This is what Beauxbatons should do. Without you, I believe that Dark Lord would bring even greater harm to the European magical community—" Madame Maxime said in her deep, resonant voice, "Helping you is helping ourselves."

Previously, Harry had neither particularly liked nor disliked the Beauxbatons headmistress, but after these words, he felt nothing but deep respect for her.

"Given the current circumstances we find ourselves in, Albus, do you believe that the Triwizard Tournament should be... terminated? The safety of our students must be our utmost concern, and with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named having returned to power..."

After a moment's hesitation, Madame Maxime asked haltingly.

Dumbledore fell into thoughtful silence, his hands folded carefully in his lap as he considered this question.

The decision was far from simple—the tournament represented months of careful planning, international cooperation, and significant magical resources.

More importantly, it symbolized unity between the great magical schools at a time when such unity would be desperately needed. Yet the safety of the young champions under their care had to take precedence over any political or symbolic considerations. So, he found himself genuinely torn.

"Why should we consider such a course of action?" The unexpected voice belonged to Bryan, who had maintained an extremely low profile throughout the evening's revelations.

Now he stepped forward at this moment. His tone remained remarkably steady and relaxed as he continued. "Why terminate the Triwizard Tournament when its successful hosting represents the culmination of joint efforts from so many dedicated parties? The magical cooperation it represents is more valuable now than ever before."

"Bryan—" Remus couldn't contain his concern any longer. His tone carried deep worry as he voiced what many in the room were thinking. "But that man has returned to power after more than a decade of absence. One can easily imagine what the situation will be like as he rebuilds his strength and gathers his followers. The danger to everyone, especially the students, will be immense."

"Isn't this reaction of fear and panic exactly what Voldemort hopes to see and exploit? This is precisely the response he counts on to amplify his power without requiring any direct action on his part."

Bryan smiled, seeming to be the only person unaffected by these events. He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing.

"Voldemort's greatest weapon has always been fear. He wants people to fall into panic and terror at the mere mention of his name. He wants the entire magical society to be consumed and paralyzed by the horror caused by his return.

Normal life rhythms disrupted and abandoned, wizards hiding in their homes like frightened rabbits, businesses and schools closing their doors—without lifting a single finger in direct action, he makes everything chaotic and serves his purposes perfectly.

So, at this critical time when our response will set the tone for everything that follows, we must remain calm and resolute. We absolutely cannot fall into our enemy's preferred rhythm of fear and reactive panic."

This argument was indeed logically irrefutable and strategically sound. Even Madame Maxime, who had initially raised the matter of terminating the tournament out of concern for student safety, found herself nodding unconsciously in agreement with Watson's analysis.

The wisdom of his words was undeniable—to react with panic and cancellation would be to hand Voldemort a victory without him having to engage in any direct confrontation.

At this tense moment, Krum raised his hand hesitantly, drawing all eyes toward him. He looked extremely unsettled and small as he faced the stares of so many distinguished adults. "I must apologize for interrupting, but I…our headmaster... I mean, Professor Karkaroff..."

Krum's dark eyes sought out Harry's green ones across the hospital wing. If the Dark Lord was truly as ruthlessly brutal as all the rumors said, then the fate of Igor Karkaroff was already sealed.

Krum already knew the answer in his heart, but he needed to hear the confirmation spoken aloud.

"He's dead." Harry gave the answer coldly, but immediately realizing that Krum and Karkaroff were different matters, he forced himself to soften his tone and added,

"It wasn't Voldemort who killed him personally, though he certainly ordered the execution. It was those Death Eaters summoned by Voldemort who carried out the actual torture and murder. Each of them took turns casting the Cruciatus Curse upon him. He... he couldn't endure it."

Krum's already pale cheeks lost what little color had remained. The blood seemed to drain from his face, leaving him looking like a marble statue carved from white stone.

Dumbledore's eyes moved thoughtfully toward Bryan. If Durmstrang Institute no longer had a headmaster to represent their interests and oversee their champion's participation, the continuation of the Triwizard Tournament would become extraordinarily complicated from both legal and practical standpoints.

"I will personally handle this matter and ensure that all necessary arrangements are made," Bryan said with unruffled composure. He looked at Krum and thought for a moment.

"I would very much like to speak with you privately at some point later this evening, Viktor. There are matters we need to discuss regarding your situation."

Without bothering about Krum's surprised expression, Bryan looked toward Madame Maxime, deliberately showing a hint of hesitation.

"I believe that both Gabrielle and Fleur would benefit significantly from better rest in more private accommodations, away from the general hospital wing's constant activity and potential disturbances."

Madame Maxime immediately grasped the subtle implication behind Watson's suggestion. Her eyes moved toward Madam Pomfrey. "Could I trouble you to prepare a separate private ward for the Delacour sisters?"

"Oh, of course! Absolutely!" Madam Pomfrey responded with immediate understanding. She and Madame Maxime worked together to carefully wheel Gabrielle's hospital bed toward one of the private recovery rooms that adjoined the main hospital wing.

Fleur though clearly wanting to remain close to the center of discussions that concerned her sister's welfare and the circumstances of their rescue. She understood that her presence would hinder the frank discussion that needed to take place among the adults, and with visible reluctance, she prepared to follow her sister to the private ward.

"I believe I'll go downstairs to the kitchens to get something to eat," Viktor Krum also knew he should leave temporarily. Very perceptively, he found an excuse, and after receiving Bryan's subtle nod of permission, he left unsteadily.

Now, only their own people remained in the ward.

"Please continue with your account, Harry," Bryan requested. "Tell us everything you witnessed after Voldemort's resurrection."

Harry took a deep breath and recounted everything that had happened after Voldemort's resurrection.

He spoke of how Voldemort had summoned his Death Eaters, reporting all the names of those Death Eaters he had heard and seen.

He told of Karkaroff's ordeal before death. When he described how Karkaroff's remaining body had been swallowed by a large snake called Nagini, Hermione showed an expression of unbearable horror, clearly unable to accept such a tragic end, even though she too despised Karkaroff for trying to betray them.

Ron, however, showed a different reaction—his face showed an expression of grim satisfaction and vindicated justice. He couldn't and wouldn't forget the moment when Karkaroff had pointed his wand at his head, prepared to murder a teenage student to curry favor with a terrorist.

As far as Ron was concerned, the former Death Eater had received exactly what he deserved.

"He brought that fate entirely upon himself through his own choices and actions," Sirius muttered coldly. "Some debts can only be paid in blood."

Then Harry's narrative moved to the tragic matter of Barty Crouch, both father and son, and the horrific family drama that had played out in the graveyard.

When Harry said that Barty Crouch Sr., to prevent Voldemort from succeeding and to avoid fighting his own son, had used magic to tear open his own throat, the common ward fell into an oppressive silence.

Hermione's mouth fell open in shock. She had never expected this cold, ruthlessly ambitious Ministry official to set aside his pride in his final moments and accept that Winky the house-elf was truly part of his family.

Sirius's expression became extremely complex as he processed this revelation. He was undoubtedly the person in the hospital wing who had the deepest resentment toward Barty Crouch Senior—the man whose prosecution had sent Sirius to Azkaban without a proper trial, destroying twelve years of his life.

Yet even Sirius had to admit that Crouch's final actions had been genuinely commendable. The man had maintained his personal dignity and, more importantly, the dignity of wizardkind itself in the face of ultimate evil.

Dumbledore closed his eyes. Harry was certain he could see a trace of pain in Dumbledore's furrowed brow.

"Please continue with your account, Harry," But moments later, Dumbledore had calmed himself and spoke with a steady voice.

Then Harry spoke of his duel with Voldemort. Even now, thinking back, he could still feel the despair and surprise of that moment. He had prepared himself to die with dignity, but when the golden light appeared and the ghosts of the old man and Bertha Jorkins emerged from the wand, he had deduced that Hermione and Ron were still alive.

Then, his voice choking with emotion that he could no longer suppress, Harry described the moment he had seen his mother appear before him, and then his father, both appearing exactly as they had in the few photographs he possessed.

Snape's body began to sway. He was forced to lean heavily against the footboard railing of the nearest hospital bed to remain standing upright, though his pale face had gone completely ashen. His black eyes now reflected depths of pain and longing that he had spent years learning to conceal from the world.

Both Sirius and Remus also appeared utterly devastated by this revelation.

"Lily and James appeared to you..." Sirius's voice emerged as a terrible, hoarse whisper. His eyes moved desperately between Watson and Dumbledore, recognizing that they possessed the magical knowledge necessary to explain this seemingly impossible phenomenon. "How?"

Bryan looked toward Dumbledore, so Dumbledore explained, "Prior Incantato Effect."

"Prior Incantato can achieve the effect of a Reverse Spell?" Sirius pressed for further clarification.

"Quite correct in its basic function," Dumbledore confirmed with a solemn nod. "Harry's wand and Voldemort's wand share the same core materials from the same magical creature. The phoenix feather that gives each wand its power came from the same bird. In fact, both feathers were freely given by Fawkes."

"Fawkes provided the core for my wand?" Harry asked in complete bewilderment, staring at his wand as if seeing it for the first time.

He had known for years about sharing the same core source as Voldemort's wand—Mr. Ollivander had mentioned this when Harry had first purchased his wand at age eleven, but he had never imagined the connection to Dumbledore's phoenix.

"Yes, exactly," Dumbledore nodded. "Four years ago, immediately after you left from Mr. Ollivander's shop with your new wand, he wrote to inform me that the companion wand—the second wand containing Fawkes's feather had finally been sold.

Generally speaking, when two wands sharing such an intimate magical connection encounter each other in combat, they will refuse to attack each other under normal circumstances.

However, if their respective owners force them into a true duel through sheer determination and magical will, then one wand will compel its opponent to repeat and throw up the spells it has previously cast, manifesting them in reverse chronological order from the most recent magical act back to the most distant..."

"So that means—" Harry couldn't understand why Snape's voice had also become hoarse and strained, or why his pitch-black eyes seemed to be desperately hoping for some specific answer as he looked at Dumbledore. "So, she... they appeared again in some form. Are they ghosts?"

"No, Severus," Dumbledore replied with heavy sadness, understanding the desperate hope beneath the question.

"What Harry witnessed was merely a phenomenon similar to magical echoes being played in reverse chronological order—a kind of spiritual imprint or magical recording. Harry, what did these apparitions do when they appeared?"

Harry proceeded to tell Dumbledore how his parents had helped him confirm that Ron and Hermione were indeed still alive.

He described how they had provided information about Winky the house-elf's ability to transport him safely away from the graveyard, and how they had ultimately surrounded Voldemort, creating enough distraction and confusion to buy Harry the time he needed to escape with his friends' bodies.

Severus, Sirius, and Remus—three men who had spent years as bitter enemies, their mutual hatred rooted in decades-old schoolboy conflicts and ideological differences perhaps only in this single moment shared identical feelings of grief, and loss.

Sirius covered his face, and Harry couldn't see his expression, but he saw Remus's fists clenched so tightly that his nails had dug into his flesh, his body was trembling.

As for Snape, he avoided making eye contact with Harry and instead tilted his head back at an strange angle toward the hospital wing's white ceiling. This unusual behavior filled Harry's chest with a surge of irrational rage—he thought Snape might actually be secretly laughing.

What followed was the return. Winky had been knocked unconscious by Barty Jr., then... Harry looked toward Professor Watson, saw him wink, and Harry took a breath before saying, "—I thought I couldn't get back, but then the sports uniform began to glow, and we were brought back."

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