Madam Pomfrey had been waiting near the Quidditch Pitch when the news of Harry and Kyle's return reached her. She rushed back to the castle immediately, heading straight for the Hospital Wing.
The moment she entered, her attention was drawn to Harry.
His appearance was dreadful—his entire body covered in dust, his once fine robes reduced to ragged tatters, and blood seeping steadily from his injured leg. In contrast, Kyle looked remarkably unscathed. His clothes were cleaner than those of many professors, such as Sirius or Moody, who both bore signs of the day's chaos.
For a fleeting moment, Madam Pomfrey thought Harry must have been the Champion battling his way through the maze while Kyle had merely been a spectator.
Still, in her meticulous manner, she insisted on examining Kyle after tending to Harry, just to be certain. Finding nothing wrong with him, she handed him a potion to restore his energy.
As Kyle sipped it, his grimace confirmed that the potion's flavor hadn't improved over the years.
Ten minutes later, the Hospital Wing.
Harry lay in the bed, his leg healed and freshly bandaged. A new pair of glasses, provided by Professor McGonagall, now rested on his face.
Madam Pomfrey had just stepped out when Sirius, too impatient to wait, leaned forward.
"What really happened?" he asked urgently.
Harry set his cup of hot cocoa on the bedside table and recounted everything that had transpired after he was taken away.
Gasps echoed around the room as he described Voldemort's resurrection ritual. The grotesque details—the hand, the bone, and his own blood—were met with shock and disbelief.
"Incredible," Moody muttered, his magical eye darting restlessly. "I think I've heard of something like it before."
"Back in the Middle Ages, there was a dark ritual devised to resurrect Herpo the Foul. It was described as grotesquely evil. I wouldn't be surprised if this is derived from that."
"So, Voldemort is really back?" Sirius asked, his voice tight with dread.
"I don't know," Moody replied. He frowned, the expression deepening the scars on his face. "Dumbledore returned shortly after Kyle and Harry did, but... Oh, here he comes now."
The door to the Hospital Wing opened.
All heads turned, and the sight of Dumbledore made their hearts sink.
The Headmaster looked worn and battered. His face was pale, his robes torn and absent, and his left hand was blackened as though scorched.
Few in the wizarding world could have inflicted such visible damage on Albus Dumbledore.
"Fiendfyre?" Moody asked, his magical eye twitching toward Dumbledore's injured hand.
"Yes," Dumbledore replied, his voice calm but weary. "A momentary lapse of concentration." He raised his blackened hand and tapped it with his wand. The darkened flesh gradually faded, restoring itself to its original state.
But no one in the room seemed relieved.
"So it's true, then... You-Know-Who?" Sirius's voice was dry, strained.
Dumbledore looked at the group, his gaze solemn. "It may be difficult to accept," he said slowly, "but yes. He is back."
A heavy silence settled over the room.
The weight of Dumbledore's confirmation was suffocating.
"Professor, you didn't... you didn't kill him?" Harry asked anxiously, breaking the quiet.
"I'm sorry," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "Tom did not intend to fight me to the death. He fled, much as he did years ago."
"And I must admit," Dumbledore added wryly, "he has grown even more skilled at running away."
The attempt at lightening the mood fell flat. The tense silence returned, the gravity of the situation too overwhelming for humor.
Everyone in the room looked troubled, their thoughts dark and heavy.
"Professor," said Kyle, "am I going to the Quidditch Pitch? The Triwizard Tournament shouldn't be over yet."
"Yes, that's what I was going to say," replied Dumbledore. "Minerva, Alastor, you'd better hurry back too. No matter what happens afterward, the tournament will continue."
Professors McGonagall and Moody nodded and left the Hospital Wing one after the other.
Sirius and Snape remained indifferent, though they were nominally safety officers for the third task. If not for Dumbledore's Patronus alerting them that something was amiss, they never would have left the maze. Now that Kyle and Harry had returned, it was time for them to go back.
As soon as they exited the Hospital Wing, Professor McGonagall transformed into a tabby cat and darted toward the Quidditch Pitch, while Professor Moody's form gradually faded into invisibility.
"Oh, and this."
After the two had gone, Dumbledore produced a trophy.
"You left it at the top of the hill, and without the trophy, your championship doesn't count."
"Do I have to carry it over there?" Kyle asked.
"Although that would work, I have a better way to make the competition seem more reasonable."
Dumbledore tapped the trophy with his wand. "Portus!"
He then continued, "I'm going back now too. The timing is five minutes. After that, just place your hand on it... Then I'll see you later."
With that, Dumbledore also departed.
Kyle, Harry, and their reluctant companions, Sirius and Snape, were left alone in the Hospital Wing. The animosity between Sirius and Snape was undiminished, even in light of Voldemort's return.
"Snivellus, aren't you going to go and tell your master?" Sirius taunted. "Tell him Harry's here, at Hogwarts!"
Snape, uncharacteristically silent, glared at Sirius coldly. His gaze lingered briefly on Kyle before he stood and followed Dumbledore out.
"I really don't understand why Headmaster Dumbledore would let you stay here at a time like this!" Sirius said loudly, ensuring Snape heard him.
Snape didn't stop or respond, disappearing down the corridor.
Harry turned to Sirius only after Snape was out of sight.
"Remember, stay away from Snape in the future, and never be alone with him," Sirius advised.
Harry nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure why. It was something he had already done instinctively.
He turned to Kyle and the Triwizard Cup sitting on the ground.
"Congratulations on winning the Triwizard Tournament," Harry said. "I knew it had to be you."
Harry had witnessed Kyle's strength multiple times, particularly ten minutes ago, when he saw the fiery dragon Kyle conjured. He didn't know the spell, but the overwhelming power still sent chills down his spine.
"Thanks. I'll see you later," Kyle said. "I think Professor Dumbledore still has some questions for us."
"I know," Harry replied. If he guessed correctly, he'd be repeating everything he had just explained to Professor McGonagall.
When the time was almost up, Kyle approached the Triwizard Cup and gripped its handle.
The scene before him instantly shifted.
Kyle was overwhelmed by a wave of noise—cheering, shouting, and the crackling of fireworks all around him. He had returned to the edge of the maze, surrounded by a jubilant crowd chanting his name.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the Triwizard Tournament has been decided!" Ludo Bagman's voice rang out from the commentary booth.
He spoke softly and distractedly, but no one noticed or cared. The crowd's cheers were deafening.
Kyle lifted the Triwizard Cup high, and the applause and shouting grew even louder.
He scanned the stands and saw Dumbledore, clad in fresh robes, smiling and clapping. The Headmaster stood where Karkaroff would normally have been, while Cornelius Fudge occupied his usual seat.
The Minister for Magic? He really does love to make an appearance.
Kyle's eyes moved on and quickly found Kanna in the stands. She was cheering, waving her arms, and jumping with excitement. Fred and George were busy launching fireworks, while Cedric, standing beside them, waved a flag emblazoned with the Hufflepuff badger, grinning from ear to ear.