The evening sun turned the edge of the Forbidden Forest in deep orange and red. Harry and his two friends dragged their thoroughly exhausted bodies back toward the castle, their robes was stained with dirt and spider pulp.
Extracting Acromantula venom was undoubtedly an extremely physically demanding and delicate task that required steady hands and unwavering concentration.
The work had been meticulous: carefully severing the venom sacs from each massive spider corpse without rupturing them, then using special silver needles to drain the precious liquid into enchanted collection vials. Once the venom was exposed to air for too long, it would slowly lose its magical potency and its quality would deteriorate significantly, becoming worthless for potion-making.
Despite giving it their absolute all and working without breaks until their backs screamed in protest, a large portion of the venom had been completely ruined due to their inexperience and the sheer volume of corpses that needed processing.
The treants had been efficient hunters, perhaps too efficient.
A full day of this grueling ordeal had left them aching all over, their backs were sore and stiff from hunching over spider carcasses, their waists protested in every movement, their fingers were so severely cramped from the repetitive motions that they could barely flex them properly anymore.
Harry's hands trembled slightly as he walked, and he could see Hermione massaging her wrists occasionally.
Of course, Adrian hadn't made them work for nothing like some unpaid house-elves. The large glass jar of pure, high-grade venom that Ron clutched caringly in his arms was their hard-earned compensation, gleaming with an oily, yellowish luster in the fading light.
"We really shouldn't have come to the Forbidden Forest today," Ron complained bitterly, his voice heavy with regret as he shifted the jar's weight carefully. "I can barely feel my hands right now. They're completely numb."
Hermione rolled her eyes at his predictable complaining, though she couldn't entirely suppress a wince as her own sore muscles ached.
"You should be happy, Ron," She couldn't help saying as she glanced back toward the darkening forest behind them, where the treant settlement was now invisible among the trees.
"Think about it seriously—such a large bottle of high-quality Acromantula venom, how precious and rare that is! Professor Westeros was very generous with our 'payment'. This could even count as a rare practical opportunity that most students would never receive. How many students get a chance like this to work with XXXXX-classified creature materials?"
"I was just saying," Ron muttered defensively, though his grip on the jar tightened slightly. "But what use do we even have for this venom anyway? I mean, it's not like we can brew some rare potion with it.
Oh, perhaps poison Malfoy with it?"
Harry wanted to say that was actually a rather good idea and felt a brief, satisfying mental image of Malfoy's horrified face, but now obviously wasn't the suitable time for such dark humor.
"You could exchange your share for Galleons at a apothecary," Hermione suggested practically, her tone taking on that lecturing tone. "It's not a small amount of money we're talking about here."
"How much could it possibly be worth?" Ron asked skeptically, squinting down at the liquid sloshing gently in the jar. "A few Galleons maybe?"
"At least a hundred Galleons for a jar that size," Harry said straightforwardly interjecting.
"How... how... how much!?"
Ron's voice shot up eight octaves in shock, like an owl having its neck suddenly wrung. He nearly dropped the jar in his hands from pure surprise, catching it at the last second and hugging it to his chest.
In that single instant, he felt the persistent ache in his arms and the deep exhaustion in his body vanish without a trace—Galleons had that kind of miraculous, restorative power over him.
His eyes were suddenly wide and bright, all thoughts of discomfort were completely forgotten.
A hundred Galleons! That was more money than he'd ever held in his entire life!
Harry felt somewhat helpless watching his friend's dramatic reaction. After all that hard work, Ron had apparently had no idea at all how expensive and valuable the venom he was holding actually was.
Hermione looked at the wildly excited Ron bouncing on his toes and sighed helplessly, shaking her head. "Stop teasing Ron, Harry,"
"Wait—what?"
The wild, euphoric joy on Ron's face froze instantly like a Stunning Spell had hit him. He turned to look at Hermione with suspicion, then at Harry with growing anxiety. "You're lying to me? Tell me you're lying!"
Harry suppressed his amusement with difficulty and hastily explained, holding up his hands innocently. "No, Ron, I'm absolutely not lying to you about the value. This large bottle of pure Acromantula venom really could be worth a hundred Galleons on the black market, maybe even significantly more depending on the buyer. It's genuinely that valuable."
Ron's face began to brighten again with hope.
"But," Harry continued, his expression turning genuinely regretful as he delivered the crushing blow, "I'm afraid we won't be able to exchange it legally for even a single Knut. Acromantulas are classified as XXXXX-level dangerous creatures by the Ministry, and their venom is a strictly controlled substance with severe restrictions. Private sale is strictly prohibited under penalty of hefty fines or even Azkaban for large quantities."
Ron's mouth fell open in shock. He looked down at the liquid in his arms, gleaming with its beautiful, tempting luster that suddenly seemed to mock him, his expression turned utterly complex in a mixture of longing, frustration, and bitter disappointment.
"Or you could ask your twin brothers to think of something," Hermione suggested cautiously after a moment, her tone careful. "They might have... connections in less reputable markets. You know how they are."
'George and Fred?'
Ron paused mid-stride, his expression thoughtful as he considered this possibility seriously.
Wait—maybe his two troublemaking brothers really did have a way to move such restricted goods. Those two had been to Knockturn Alley at least a dozen times that he knew of, probably more.
They knew people. Shady people.
While Ron was carefully calculating in his head how to approach this negotiation so that his cunning twin brothers would actually help him without completely ripping him off or taking an outrageous commission, the three friends had already climbed the steps at the castle's main entrance.
By now the sky had completely darkened to deep purple, and scattered groups of students were gradually returning to the castle from various evening activities, their voices were echoing across the grounds behind them.
A tall, sturdy figure was just emerging from the castle's doors whose silhouette was immediately recognizable.
It was Viktor Krum, looking usually somber.
"Viktor?" Harry called out in friendly greeting as they approached. "Good evening. What brings you to the castle at this hour?"
Usually, the Durmstrang students stayed exclusively on the ship that had brought them across the sea to Hogwarts, that's where they attended their classes and lived in their cramped quarters. It was rare to see them wandering the castle grounds.
When Krum's eyes spotted Harry and Hermione, his somewhat gloomy and troubled expression brightened with warmth. "Harry, Herm-own-ninny, and..."
He paused, clearly searching for the name.
"Ron Weasley," Ron supplied curtly, with an unmistakable trace of lingering disgust his tone.
Although he and Hermione had made up after their argument (probably, mostly), he really had absolutely no fondness for Krum—even though Krum was the Quidditch player he'd once idolized so ardently during the exciting World Cup matches.
"Hello, Ron," Krum said, completely unbothered by Ron's cold attitude and stiff posture.
Hermione felt somewhat helpless. Despite her patient corrections, Krum only seemed capable of thoroughly mispronouncing her name in that thick accent, no matter how many times she gently corrected him.
"So, what happened?" Harry asked with concern as he and the others moved politely to the side of the stone steps to let other students pass by. "Is there news about the Triwizard Tournament? Has there been an announcement?"
Krum shook his head slowly, hesitating slightly before speaking. "It's about Headmaster Karkaroff. They said I need to go to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Tonight."
"Karkaroff?" Harry was startled, his eyes widened in surprise. "Has he actually woken up from the coma? I thought the Healers said it might be permanent!"
"That's what Dumbledore told me an hour ago," Krum replied softly, his voice was heavy. "He said Headmaster Karkaroff regained consciousness this afternoon."
"Bad news for everyone," Ron muttered under his breath.
Hermione inconspicuously kicked his shin in warning.
Ron grimaced in pain, shooting her an upset look.
Harry didn't know what to say for a awkward moment—Karkaroff's terrible fate was entirely of his own making, the consequences of his own choices and past crimes, but for Krum who was a student of him, this really wasn't particularly good news at all.
Krum obviously sensed the brief, uncomfortable atmosphere that had fallen over the group. He glanced over the three of them assessingly, his gaze finally landing with curiosity on the large glass jar filled with strange yellowish liquid that Ron was clutching, and tried to changed the awkward subject.
"What is that you're holding?" He asked with pure curiosity, his head tilting slightly.
Ron instinctively pulled the valuable jar even closer to his chest oversensitively, his arms wrapping around it, as his mind raced for a plausible explanation.
"Uh..." He said uncertainly. "Butterbeer. Concentrated Butterbeer. Want some?"
"?"
Krum's skeptical expression clearly said: I may not be the most academically accomplished student, but don't try to fool me so obviously.
Harry, seeing Krum's dubious expression and raised eyebrow, quickly corrected his friend before this got more embarrassing:
"It's a type of venom, very precious and very dangerous to handle. We just completed an... extracurricular practical assignment that Professor Westeros gave us. This jar is part of the reward for our hard work."
He cleverly avoided using the sensitive terms "Forbidden Forest" and "Acromantula" that might raise uncomfortable questions.
After all, this wasn't something appropriate to discuss openly with students from other schools, even their school.
"Cool," Krum said, raising his eyebrows in genuine impressed surprise, his expression showing brand-new respect. "Hogwarts actually uses such dangerous venom as a reward for extracurricular practicals?
That's very... bold. I admit I underestimated your school's teaching methods before. Durmstrang would never allow such things."
Harry felt that Krum might have misunderstood something about their situation.
Though come to think of it more carefully, using such genuinely dangerous and valuable venom as a casual reward was rather strange and unconventional.
Only Professor Westeros and probably Hagrid would do something so recklessly generous like this without considering the proper regulations.
The next morning, shortly after breakfast in the Great Hall, Adrian learned directly from Dumbledore in corridor that Karkaroff had regained consciousness sometime during the previous evening.
The news was unexpected but not particularly surprising.
However, just two hours later, just as Adrian was preparing for his first class of the day, he received different and shocking new information—Karkaroff had suddenly died in the hospital.
Adrian wasn't particularly surprised by this convenient development.
It seemed Durmstrang was now due to select a new headmaster to replace the disgraced Karkaroff, and soon.
Speaking of which, since Karkaroff's initial incident that had left him comatose for weeks, Durmstrang's administration had been eerily, unnaturally quiet, and the stranded students had been unusually calm and well-behaved as well, showing no signs of distress or concern.
These students seemed forgotten by their own school, stranded indefinitely at Hogwarts without proper supervision or guidance. Even Krum, such a prominent international star player with fame across Europe, seemed to have been completely overlooked and abandoned by his own School. It was all rather abnormal.
However, that was ultimately another school's internal affair and political situation, and Adrian had no business or authority interfering in their troubled governance.
All Hogwarts needed to do, all that was required of them, was ensure these displaced students stayed here safe and sound until arrangements could be made.
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