The award ceremony for the winner of the Triwizard Tournament was an extravagant affair.
Cornelius Fudge, representing the Ministry of Magic, presented Kyle with the Triwizard Cup, accompanied by a prize of 1,000 Galleons.
Madam Maxime and Fleur stood nearby, applauding. Fleur's expression, however, betrayed a hint of regret. The competition had concluded before she'd even had a chance to begin, leaving her without any real experience of the final task.
Still, such were the rules of competitions. Her score had been low, and, as Madam Maxime had pointed out, Kyle's extraordinary feat of destroying half the maze with a single Charm left little room for debate.
The fiery path Kyle had carved was still smoldering, visible to all in the stands. It was an undeniable testament to his overwhelming strength—a feat Fleur knew she could not have replicated.
As the evening deepened, the ceremony concluded in a spirited and celebratory atmosphere.
The only subdued faces belonged to the students of Durmstrang. Their Champion, Viktor Krum, had been found unconscious shortly after entering the maze and had to be carried out. Adding to their dismay was the absence of their headmaster, Karkaroff, who had vanished without a word. Without these two pivotal figures, the Durmstrang students felt adrift, unsure whether to join the celebrations or quietly retreat to their ship.
Once the awards were given, Dumbledore approached Kyle and quietly said, "Come with me. I may have something to ask you."
"Okay," Kyle replied, his eyes flicking toward Dumbledore's left hand.
"Ah, don't worry about it," Dumbledore said, as if reading his thoughts. He raised his left hand, showing that the blackened scorch marks from earlier had faded, leaving only a faint scar.
"It was just a burn from Fiendfyre," he explained. "It will heal quickly."
Dumbledore gave a small, reassuring smile. "Of course, nothing comes without a price. But rest assured, Tom isn't in the best shape either—I came out of it rather well."
He winked, exchanged a few final words with the surrounding crowd, and began heading back to the castle. Kyle followed.
By this time, the other students had yet to return from the Quidditch Pitch, leaving the castle eerily quiet. Dumbledore and Kyle ascended the stairs to the eighth floor, where the headmaster's office awaited.
Inside, Harry was already waiting, along with Professor McGonagall, Professor Moody, Snape, and Sirius.
For the next while, Harry recounted the entire sequence of events: his abduction, what transpired on the hilltop, and every detail he could remember.
"That Barty Crouch Jr. was clever," said Professor Moody thoughtfully. "I reckon he waited until we all left the castle before drinking the Polyjuice Potion."
"And Filch…" Moody paused, his magical eye swiveling. "I saw the Squib before dinner—he hadn't yet taken any Polyjuice Potion then."
"Can you see through the Polyjuice Potion, Professor?" Harry asked curiously.
"No," Moody admitted, "but it's not hard to tell the difference between a Squib and a proper wizard."
Harry thought back and realized there had been something odd about Filch when he came to fetch him. He recalled noticing the outline of a wand in the man's pocket—a bizarre detail, given that Squibs couldn't use magic.
At the time, though, Harry had been too focused on the upcoming third task to give it much thought. The next thing he knew, he had been ambushed and knocked unconscious.
"Wait!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, his eyes widening. "If the person who took me was Barty Crouch Jr., then where is the real Filch?"
Silence fell over the Headmaster's Office.
Neither Dumbledore nor the other professors appeared to have considered the castle caretaker's whereabouts.
"Minerva..." Dumbledore said at last, his voice calm but tinged with urgency. "Would you kindly check Filch's office and fetch Madam Pomfrey? I believe Mr. Filch may require some medical attention."
"Understood," Professor McGonagall replied briskly, nodding before leaving the room with swift purpose.
"Let us continue," Dumbledore said, turning back to Harry. "You mentioned Kyle fought off the Death Eaters?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry confirmed, his voice tinged with both awe and agitation. "It was a dragon made of flames. It appeared out of nowhere and scared all the Death Eaters away."
All eyes instinctively turned to Kyle. Many assumed it was the same Charm he had used in the maze, though Professor Moody's expression suggested a deeper suspicion.
Unlike standard Fire-Making Charms, which lacked such complex form and intensity, only Fiendfyre—the dangerous, sentient fire of dark magic—could so easily take the shape of magical creatures.
Moody said nothing, opting to keep his thoughts private. As a retired Auror and now merely a professor, he saw no benefit in commenting if even Dumbledore remained silent. Better to act as though I know nothing, he thought.
"Was that when Dumbledore arrived?" Moody asked, steering the conversation forward.
Harry hesitated before answering. "Sort of. Suddenly, this thick fog rolled in—it was so dense I couldn't see anything. Then I heard the Headmaster's voice."
"Thick fog?" Moody repeated, frowning. "Was it there before?"
"No," Harry replied.
"This," Kyle interjected suddenly, pulling a small object from his pocket and placing it on the desk.
The item was a crystal blue bead, slightly smaller than a Golden Snitch. Inside, a swirling white mist was visible, drifting like a tiny storm trapped within a miniature crystal ball.
"What's that?" Sirius asked curiously, leaning closer to inspect it.
"A Mist Gem," Kyle explained. "When you crush the bead, the white mist inside pours out endlessly, just like what Harry described."
"A remarkable device," Moody remarked, his magical eye fixed intently on the Mist Gem. "If I'm not mistaken, this originates from Uagadou, the African wizarding school."
He paused, his voice taking on a reminiscent tone. "I once pursued a foreign dark wizard who used something similar. He threw a stone, and hundreds of stinging caterpillars flew out of it."
"More or less," Kyle said with a small shrug. "I bought it in Hogsmeade. The shopkeeper told me it came from an ancient tribe in the Mountains of the Moon. It's effective, so I carry it with me all the time."
"You made the right choice," Moody said sincerely. "In situations where you're at a disadvantage, using something like this to restrict your opponent's movements and buy time for rescue is the smartest approach. I imagine that's why you purchased it in the first place."
Kyle remained silent, his tacit agreement clear enough.
Moody hesitated for a moment before adding, "Have you ever considered becoming an Auror after graduation?"
The retired Auror rarely placed faith in the Ministry of Magic, but when he encountered exceptional talent, his thoughts immediately turned to the Auror's Office.
"If you're interested, I could arrange to exempt you from all assessments. You could even register as an official Auror during your sixth year. You wouldn't need to go on missions and would still receive a generous monthly salary."
"How much?" Kyle asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Fifty Galleons," Moody replied.
Kyle frowned slightly. "That's a bit low."
"That's quite good," Moody countered. "Don't forget—you wouldn't be required to do anything until graduation. It's free money."
Kyle looked tempted, mulling it over. "So, if I wanted to do something else after I graduate, could I just quit?"
Moody froze for a moment, caught off guard by the question, before shaking his head emphatically. "Of course not."
Good grief, Moody thought, baffled. Quitting after taking two years' salary for free? Can such words really come from a Hufflepuff?