https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-511-Operation-1-with-Sirius-Black/13685622/
Chapter 510: Prophecy and the Wild Man
“Bulgaria wins!” Ludo Bagman announced with a stony face, his voice solemn. “Krum caught the Golden Snitch… his final flying maneuver was nothing short of breathtaking. This young Seeker, making his first appearance at the World Cup, has displayed astonishing talent…”
His tone clashed sharply with the thunderous cheers echoing through the stadium, but no one paid attention. Only Bagman himself felt the sting of every word—he was bleeding inwardly as he used his enchanted megaphone to declare the Semi-Final over.
In the betting before the match, he had loudly championed Bulgaria’s victory, yet deep down, he had believed otherwise. Once a professional Quidditch player himself, having played for the Wimbourne Wasps, Bagman still wore the Wasps’ uniform with pride. His greatest identity was not that of the Head of the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Magical Games and Sports, but that of a former Quidditch star.
He had complete confidence in his own judgment. He’d been certain that someone like Krum—only eighteen, making his debut on such a grand stage—would lack the mental resilience for such a high-stakes match. The odds were against him. And yet, the outcome had defied expectation.
Bagman mentally tallied the amount he’d lost. His head buzzed as he descended the stairs, nearly stumbling from the shock.
Joy for some, sorrow for others. In a compartment several levels above, Sybill Trelawney sat wrapped in her wide, colorful scarf, her mouth nearly splitting with silent laughter as she calculated her winnings.
After pulling the scarf over her lips and stifling her mirth, she finally composed herself, her eyes glazed, her voice drifting like smoke:
“Fate has spoken. My inner sight has foreseen this moment… Ah, let me see… let me see the shadow beneath the moon…”
The others in the compartment gazed at her with reverence—she was, after all, the great Prophetess. Only a few dared lift their eyes toward the sun, now soaring above the cloud layer, their faces clouded with quiet doubt.
Sybill Trelawney spoke whatever came to mind, utterly indifferent to whether it fit the moment. She had already decided the outcome. The rest was just embellishment.
“I see… a broken tower. The turmoil of the Giants draws near… I hear the cawing of ravens, the roar of a black dog…”
Her body trembled as she raised her thin arm, as if reaching toward some invisible presence in the air. The women beside her held their breath, too awed to interrupt her Divination.
Suddenly, she convulsed violently, collapsing into her armchair, hands pressed tightly over her eyes—as if she had witnessed something too terrible to bear.
After a long silence, a round-faced witch whispered, “Professor Trelawney… what happened? Is it…?”
She nearly asked: Is Gellert Grindelwald about to attack Britain?
But before she could finish, Sybill lowered her hands. Her gaze swept slowly across the room, filled with sorrowful pity.
“Poor souls… you will one day understand… fate never lies…”
Another older witch trembled, “What did you see, Professor?”
Sybill offered a mysterious smile. “I have seen the end. I have seen the final outcome…”
A hush fell over the compartment.
So serious. So apocalyptic. Was this truly just about the match’s result?
They all felt a little foolish. Yet, remembering how others had dismissed Sybill’s predictions before—only to miss out on fortune—they couldn’t help but concede: perhaps her strange way of seeing the world had its own wisdom.
“Still want to bet?” Sybill asked, her eyes distant, her voice ethereal. “You may doubt all you wish. But fate only favors those who truly believe.”
No one hesitated. They reached into their pouches. Coins—Galleons—soon piled high on the table.
…
The crowd surged out like a flood, the match lasting nearly fifteen hours. Most spectators were utterly drained. So many vanished mid-stairs via Apparition.
Wade and the others, having enjoyed a warm breakfast, were still in good spirits. They lingered in their compartment, waiting for the worst of the crush to pass before returning to camp.
As they descended the stairs, they caught sight of Bulgaria’s team ahead—Krum, once so fierce and commanding, now walking with a noticeable waddle, shoulders slumped, face grim. His posture was far from intimidating. He looked exhausted, listless.
But Harry, seeing his idol, was blinded by admiration. He waved wildly, shouting, “Wade… look! It’s Krum!”
“Krum… Krum… Krum…”
The boy’s voice echoed through the tunnel, and the players instinctively stopped, turning to look back.
The men were clearly still under the effects of a healing potion—frostbitten faces now flushed red, ears steaming with wisps of smoke. Their expressions were dazed, their eyes vacant.
Harry stared.
Krum gave a quiet nod in response. No words. Another player chuckled and waved, and the group continued on their way.
“Come on,” Sirius Black said, clapping Harry on the shoulder.
Harry walked in silence for a while. Once outside, he seemed to recover from the momentary daze. He leaned toward Wade, his voice tinged with regret:
“I… I forgot to bring a feather quill. Do you think… if we meet again, he’d sign something for me?”
“Who?” Wade asked, distracted.
“Who else? Viktor Krum!” Harry insisted. “One of the best Seekers in the world!”
“You could exchange signatures,” Wade replied half-heartedly. “You’re Harry Potter, after all. Maybe he wants your autograph.”
“Really?” Harry hesitated. “But he’s got real talent… and he didn’t even say a word to me back there…”
“Maybe he was just rushing to rest,” Wade said. “Didn’t recognize your face. Be confident. When you’re his age, you might even join the National Team.”
Harry fell into another silent reverie, muttering words like Seeker, Auror, World Cup—clearly wrestling with his future career.
Wade, meanwhile, glanced toward the fur tent.
A towering man—wild in appearance—emerged from inside, holding a small tin can. The fire pit before the tent blazed, a large cauldron bubbling with boiling water. The man scooped some dark, mysterious substance from the can and tossed it into the pot, stirring it with care, as if preparing a sacred meal.
Wade smiled faintly and passed by.
Far in the distance, the forest stirred. Giant trees swayed, leaves whispering softly—rustling like hushed secrets carried on the wind.
(End of Chapter)
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