From the tip of Karkaroff's wand, thick green smoke hissed and curled upward. In front of him lay seven or eight lifeless bodies sprawled across the ground, limbs twisted at unnatural angles.
"Filthy trash…" he muttered under his breath.And he wasn't referring to their skills—he meant their blood.
Any Dark wizard reduced to haunting Knockturn Alley like a vagrant could only be a Mudblood or a half-blood. Such people held no power, no influence, and little talent. They were destined to live and die as the wretched refuse of the wizarding world.
Karkaroff, however, was a pure-blood supremacist through and through.
'Dispose of the corpses.'
No one would care about the deaths of these vermin, but Voldemort wanted no loose ends.
"Yes, my Lord."
Karkaroff unleashed Fiendfyre, reducing the corpses to smoldering ash before Apparating away with a sharp crack.
Just then, a round purple head slowly emerged from the shadows. Crimson, Semi-circular eyes watched the spot where Karkaroff had vanished, glinting with thought.
"Polyjuice Potion, huh?"
Charles listened to Gengar's report, deep in thought. By now, he had more or less pieced together Voldemort's plan.
Use the potion to transform into the wizard scheduled to duel Harry the next day, then seize the chance during battle to collect Harry's blood. It was almost identical to the plan in the original timeline.
If that was all there was to it, Charles wouldn't have been overly concerned.But there was one issue: the real wizard being impersonated.
Who could say whether Karkaroff would silence his victim afterward?
As a Hogwarts professor, Charles's first responsibility—whatever Voldemort's scheme—was the safety of his students.In that respect, he often did a better job than Dumbledore himself.
After all, in the original history, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened and several students were attacked, Dumbledore had done almost nothing. Perhaps those students' miraculous survival had been the Headmaster's hidden work—but who could know for sure?
"Tomorrow's opponent for Harry should be… Wood," Charles mused aloud.
Indeed, in today's matches, the second-round victor had been Oliver Wood.His victory hadn't come from powerful Pokémon, but rather from his own fiery temperament—he'd used offensive spells so ruthlessly that his opponent's Pokémon had been blasted into confusion.
Under his Quidditch-honed reflexes, his Pidgeotto's flying skills were extraordinary. Wood trained it to dodge Bludgers, after all—and those things could kill a man.
"Gengar, I need you to protect Wood. Don't let anything happen to him," Charles instructed.
"Gen-gar…" The ghost-type sighed helplessly, throwing up its stubby hands. It really was overworked—spying on Voldemort one day, babysitting students the next!
Without it, would this entire magical world even keep spinning?No, Gengar decided—it deserved compensation!
"Gen-gar-gar? (Can I absorb a little life energy from those two guys?)" it asked slyly, meaning Karkaroff and the serpent that housed Voldemort's soul.
"Don't get caught," Charles warned with a sigh. Ghost-types loved feeding on life force, though it rarely harmed a healthy person. At worst, the victim might feel a little tired afterward.
So if you've been feeling strangely exhausted lately, maybe it's not your health—it's your ghost-type girlfriend draining your vitality.
Gengar thumped its round chest, a confident leave it to me expression on its face.
Yet the next day, something completely unexpected happened.
The man who should have disguised himself as Oliver Wood—Karkaroff—was now sitting beside Dumbledore, looking utterly exhausted. Deep shadows framed his eyes, and he seemed drained of all energy.
"Huh? If he's here… then who's out there pretending to be Wood?" Charles frowned, glancing toward the stands.
Dumbledore, too, noticed Karkaroff's fatigue."Are you all right, Igor? You seem… unwell," he asked kindly. Even the other headmasters exchanged worried looks.
Karkaroff, burdened by guilt, couldn't stand their scrutiny. To him, every gaze felt like an X-ray peering straight through his lies."A-ah, it's nothing. Just didn't sleep well, that's all. Been too long since I was last here—still getting used to it," he stammered. "Anyway, let's just… watch the match. Who's playing today again?"
"The first match is between Harry Potter and Oliver Wood," Dumbledore said proudly. "Both from Gryffindor. But if you're really feeling unwell, I suggest you rest."
"No, I'll manage," Karkaroff muttered.He truly hadn't slept at all, but what exhausted him most wasn't sleeplessness—it was those blasted Pokémon.
By now, Lee Jordan had taken the stage."Ladies and gentlemen!"
"After a full day of matches, we've narrowed the field to sixteen trainers! Today, we'll find out who makes it to the quarterfinals!"
"For our first match—both contestants hail from Gryffindor! What a house of champions! Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised whichever one wins! Oh, and by the way—they're both Quidditch stars of the Gryffindor team!"
"Please welcome—Harry Potter and Oliver Wood!"
"Today's battlefield will be…"
"The Grass Field!"
The crowd settled, eager for another dazzling spectacle from the day's matches.
But backstage, chaos had broken out.
"What's going on? Where's Wood?" Harry shouted, glancing around frantically. The waiting room was filled with the other fifteen competitors—but no sign of Oliver Wood.
Everyone looked at one another in confusion. No one had seen him all morning.
"He didn't oversleep, did he?" Ron asked dumbly.
"Impossible!" Fred barked.
"Yeah," George added. "When he makes us wake up at five in the morning for Quidditch drills, he's never late!"
Harry hesitated, torn. "What do we do? Lee's already calling us! Where could he have gone?"
"I say go on without him," Ron offered with a grin. "If Wood doesn't show, you'll win by default."His tone made it clear—jealousy came as naturally to him as breathing.
"But that wouldn't be fair to Wood," Harry said, frowning. He didn't want to win without a fight.
Through the screen, he could already see Lee urging the crowd, and the spectators' confused murmurs were growing louder.
Hermione rushed in, clutching her Pichu."What's happening? Where are Harry and Wood?"
"Harry's here, but Wood's gone missing!" Ron exclaimed. "Maybe we should check his dorm!"
"No time," Hermione said sharply. "If you don't show soon, you'll be disqualified!"
"She's right," Percy agreed, straightening his prefect badge. "Whatever his reason, Wood's absence only hurts his standing. Harry, you should go."
"Alright…" Harry said reluctantly, heading alone toward the arena.
But even as he stepped into the sunlight, one question burned in everyone's mind—
Where on earth had Oliver Wood gone?
(End of Chapter)