Chapter 250
Because of this grand event in the wizarding world, the Daily Prophet's coverage of the Triwizard Tournament gradually became dull. The reports that followed felt repetitive, lacking the kind of content people actually wanted to read.
Ordinary wizards always had a soft spot for gossip. They were especially interested in Rita Skeeter's dramatic reports about the emotional entanglements between the champions.
But now, the Daily Prophet could no longer satisfy that curiosity.
Or rather—there was no one left to do it.
Because their special correspondent, Rita Skeeter, had gone mad.
She had lost all her manuscripts. Her enchanted Quick-Quotes Quill had been snapped in half, lying silently inside her handbag.
That was all she had left.
It was as if everything had been taken from her—along with her sanity.
Moody had used a weakened version of the Cruciatus Curse on her, tormenting her thoroughly. His mastery of dark magic was so precise that he could control the intensity perfectly. He knew that pain alone could kill if pushed too far—so he held back just enough.
Even so, Rita had nearly lost her mind under the torture. Her memories were fractured, her consciousness unstable. To be safe, Moody had even cast a Memory Charm on her afterward.
When she used to twist the truth and ruthlessly write about people who couldn't fight back, she had probably never imagined she would one day suffer something just as cruel.
After that incident, the wizarding media world became noticeably quieter.
To fill the empty pages, the Daily Prophet even dug up records from centuries ago, retelling old stories about the Triwizard Tournament just to make up for the lack of content.
After all, not everyone had Rita's talent—or her quill—for crafting lies that felt painfully real.
March arrived, and the weather gradually improved.
But whenever the students stepped outside, the biting wind still stung their hands and faces. Even the owls struggled to deliver letters—the strong gusts often blew them off course.
In the Potions classroom, students from Gryffindor and Slytherin were silently working on the assignment Snape had given them.
Severus Snape moved among the Gryffindors like a shadow, his hooked nose and cold gaze focused on their every action.
Not out of dedication—
But because he was looking for reasons to deduct points.
"Potter," Snape said suddenly, his dark eyes gleaming with malice, "I believe I've mentioned more than once that the wormwood extract must be combined with powdered asphodel root before adding it to the cauldron…"
"Sorry, Professor—I forgot," Harry replied, standing up quickly as his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"Of course you did," Snape said coldly. "Our champion may know nothing taught in class, yet somehow excels at… obscure knowledge."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only Harry could hear.
"Don't think I don't know who broke into my office. If it wasn't you, then it was certainly one of your little friends."
Before Harry could respond, Snape continued, his tone sharper.
"Don't bother denying it. I will find a way to prove the truth."
His eyes flashed.
For a moment, Harry thought Snape was reaching for his wand.
Instead, Snape pulled out a small crystal vial filled with a clear liquid.
Harry stared at it.
"Do you know what this is, Potter?" Snape asked softly.
"No," Harry said.
"This," Snape said, his voice dripping with menace, "is Veritaserum—a truth potion. Three drops, and you will reveal your deepest secrets. Every student here will hear them."
He gave the vial a slight shake.
"Of course, the Ministry strictly controls its use… but accidents happen. I might—"
He tilted the bottle slightly.
"—accidentally add it to your pumpkin juice at dinner."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"And then, Potter… we'll see whether you've been in my office."
"Harry, don't worry—he wouldn't dare," Hermione whispered quickly once Snape moved away.
Snape had already turned toward the Slytherins, instructing them on their brewing.
"He'd end up in Azkaban!" Hermione added, exaggerating slightly to reassure him.
That wasn't entirely true—but it was close enough for comfort.
Harry said nothing.
He lowered his head and resumed chopping his ginger roots, gripping the knife a little too tightly.
He hated the idea of Veritaserum.
And knowing Snape… he couldn't shake the feeling that the man might actually do it.
With the way Snape despised him, Harry could almost believe he'd risk punishment just to expose him.
And if that happened…
Harry's stomach tightened.
What would he say under its influence?
He might reveal everything—
About Moody helping him…
About his own feelings…
About his jealousy—
Thoughts he had never dared to say out loud.
Just imagining it made him shiver.
At that moment, a knock came from the classroom door, cutting through his thoughts.
"Enter," Snape said curtly.
The door opened.
The entire class turned to look as Igor Karkaroff stepped inside.
He walked straight to Snape's desk, twisting his goatee nervously.
"We need to talk," Karkaroff said in a low voice. His lips barely moved, as though he were trying not to be overheard.
"I'll speak with you after class," Snape replied calmly.
"No," Karkaroff said sharply. "Now. You've been avoiding me ever since the second task."
His voice dropped even further.
"It's because of you that I didn't give that student a zero."
"After class," Snape repeated firmly.
"This can't wait," Karkaroff insisted, his cold eyes locking onto Snape. "If something happens, I won't be the only one in trouble."
Snape fell silent.
Then his dark gaze swept across the classroom.
"The headmaster of Durmstrang has urgent business with me," he announced stiffly. "Continue your work. I will inspect your potions when I return."
It was a weak excuse—but no one dared question it.
Snape and Karkaroff quickly left the room together.
Their voices dropped to whispers in the corridor.
Even with everyone straining to listen, not a single word could be clearly heard.