We Two Who Flee Blood.
I’m dead.
He drew. The damn boy drew with Diggory.
“He’s dead! My God! Cedric Diggory, dead!”
Doesn’t concern me, doesn’t concern me, doesn’t--
I’ve got to run. Stripe me but I wish I had a broomstick. I’ve got to run.
Lots of people are running now, all crowding around what I don’t want to see.
Let them let them let them.
Refuge. Give it here! That or gold. Refuge and gold.
Running is easier.
He drew and he’s dead. I’m dead, I mean.
galleons galleons galleons...

I don’t know where my feet have taken me.
But somebody’s close behind.
Huff. Wheeze. Pant. Pant.
Dodge that tree root, jump over the ditch, duck that branch.
There’s an angry noise of a crowd that I never heard before.
Well when did I lose on the field?
Betting on the field you did. Damn you. Damn me.

Dunno where I am. I’m wherever I’ve stopped.
I’m wheezing but there’s somebody around that tree moaning.
Dunno who it is.
Think I’d rob the bugger if I thought he had a bit on him. But who brings 138 Galleons out here?

“Hullo?”
Silence. Gasping.
“H’lo?”
“Leave me.”
“Karkaroff? You lost a bet too? Bit of a chump about Viktor and all--”
“Shut up!”
walk around the tree look into a clearing Karkaroff is huddled at the base of an oak
“What’s up with you?”
angry eyes. he’s clutching his arm.
Karkaroff writhes.
Then he looks at me. I’ve never seen a face that scared.
“Vat are you running from?”
“Me, mate? Ha. Goblins.”
He looks away. He stares at the ground in front of him. His hand keeps twisting around his forearm.
“Why? What about you?”
His eyes get big in the dark. His chest rattles.
He shudders.
“Demons.”