After spending some time in the Changing Rooms, Kyle and the others returned to the stands. Professor McGonagall had arranged for them to sit in a section adjacent to the judges' table.
"You'll need to wait a little longer," she informed them. "The scores will be tallied once all the Champions have completed the task."
Kyle nodded in acknowledgment. Once Professor McGonagall left, he settled into his seat, now just another spectator enjoying the match. It felt oddly relaxing.
Out in the arena, Krum and Fleur had both reached the third level. But as Kyle watched, a realization struck him—his early completion had inadvertently made the competition far more difficult for them.
With the third level already cleared, the two dragons had no one left to distract them. Instead of one person creating an opening while the other retrieved the stones, Krum and Fleur were now forced to confront the dragons head-on.
The challenge was compounded by their exhaustion. After the first two grueling levels, both Champions were visibly worn down. Fleur was pale and panting heavily, while Krum clutched a Firebolt in one hand, blood dripping steadily from a gash on his arm.
Kyle couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. He'd assumed their earlier levels would be less taxing—after all, each Champion only faced one segment of the trial. But clearly, the task had taken a harsher toll than he'd anticipated.
"You're amazing," came a hoarse voice from behind him.
Kyle turned to see Professor Moody, his magical eye swiveling animatedly as he approached. The scarred professor looked pleased, his expression bordering on proud.
"Your Summoning Charm," Moody began, "that was clever—simple, efficient. Could've been even better if you'd used it during the first level. Matagots can't keep up with the speed of a Firebolt, you know."
He sounded as though he were evaluating Kyle's performance in a field exercise. "But the third level, now that was something. Bold, decisive, confident... If you're interested in joining the Aurors, I could recommend you straight into the Auror Office based on this competition alone."
Kyle was momentarily taken aback but quickly composed himself. "Thank you, Professor," he replied. "But I'm still a student. Let's talk about that after I graduate."
The truth was, the bold, decisive attitude Moody praised had been carefully staged—a planned strategy. Still, it was gratifying that even Moody's magical eye hadn't seen through it. That meant no one else would either. Except, perhaps, Dumbledore. But Kyle was certain that wouldn't matter.
Moody seemed to take the refusal in stride. He nodded once, offering no further comment, before leaning back in his seat.
Kyle returned his attention to the arena.
"Oh, that was close," someone muttered nearby. "Watch out—my goodness, I thought she'd had it!"
"That looked bad... ouch." Another voice added, "But Krum's maneuver there was incredible."
After about ten minutes, the stadium erupted into cheers and applause once more. Both Fleur and Krum, the most outstanding students from their respective schools, had overcome the challenges and made it through to the end. With their advance knowledge of the dragons, it was no surprise they managed to prevail.
Fleur had used a clever Bewitched Sleep Charm to lull her dragon into a drowsy stupor. Kyle noted that this technique would probably interest dragon keepers, who typically needed five or six people casting Stunning Spells simultaneously to subdue a dragon.
Krum employed a strategy similar to Kyle's, using distractions to get close to the stone. However, he made the critical error of misjudging the Hungarian Horntail. Just as he grabbed the stone, the dragon's tail lashed out, sending him flying. By the time Krum emerged from the arena, he was so battered that others had to carry him to Madam Pomfrey.
About ten minutes later, Krum returned, looking considerably less energetic but at least able to walk.
"Now, do you believe me, Karkaroff?" Dumbledore said with a faint smile. "Madam Pomfrey will surely return your Champion to good health."
Karkaroff's tense expression softened slightly. While Krum still looked far from lively, his condition was much improved.
"Hogwarts has an outstanding Healer," Karkaroff muttered, grudgingly conceding.
With all the Champions present, Bagman rose and announced enthusiastically, "And now, for the most exciting part—the scoring of the Champions' performances! I'm sure you're all eager to see how they fared."
The crowd leaned forward eagerly.
"Each Champion can earn a maximum of ten points from each judge," Bagman explained. "First up, Fleur Delacour!"
Raising his wand, Bagman sent a long, silver ribbon shooting into the air. "Seven points!"
Next came Chris, who also awarded Fleur seven points.
"Probably because she struggled on the second level," Cedric whispered to Kyle. "She didn't do too well there."
Dumbledore followed with an eight, and Madam Maxime, favoring her school's Champion, gave Fleur a nine.
When it was Karkaroff's turn, he deliberated briefly before raising his wand.
"What?" George exclaimed incredulously. "Two points? That's way too low! She passed all the levels!"
Bagman, either ignoring or failing to hear George, moved on.
Next was Viktor Krum. Bagman and Karkaroff each gave him a ten, boosting his score significantly. Madam Maxime, less inclined to favor the Durmstrang Champion, awarded a five.
Finally, it was Kyle's turn.
"There's not much to say about this one," Bagman said with a wide smile, waving his wand. "Ten points, no question!"
Chris followed suit with another ten, grinning. The pattern continued with Dumbledore and Madam Maxime, both giving perfect scores.
When it came to Karkaroff, however, he hesitated for a conspicuously long time, as though straining to find a flaw in Kyle's performance. At last, he raised his wand.
"Nine," he announced flatly.
"What?" Fred shouted in outrage before Kyle could react. "A nine? You're a lousy, biased judge—you don't deserve to be here!"
"You gave Krum a ten," George added furiously. "How was he better than Kyle?"
The audience quickly echoed their sentiments, their frustration building. While a nine was objectively a high score, Krum's ten seemed unjustifiable in comparison. Kyle had clearly outperformed Krum across all three stages. The favoritism was glaringly obvious, and the crowd wasn't having it.
Yet Karkaroff didn't react, refusing to acknowledge the rising indignation around him. He remained stoic, his eyes fixed ahead.
"Hey, catch!" a voice suddenly called from the crowd.
A crumpled ball of parchment flew through the air, aimed directly at Karkaroff's head.
"Throwing a paper ball—such a childish trick," Karkaroff muttered disdainfully, raising his hand to flick it aside.
But the moment his hand made contact, the ball burst open with a loud pop, releasing a jet of grey-black liquid. The foul-smelling substance splattered across Karkaroff's face.
For a moment, he froze, stunned. Then his face began to shift colors—green, purple, and finally an alarming pale shade.
Everyone around him, including Dumbledore and Maxime, instinctively backed away, using Bubble-Head Charms, Windy Spells, or covering their noses to block the smell.
Karkaroff's expression darkened further as he realized some of the liquid had gotten into his mouth.