Karkaroff kicked the cabin door closed, collapsing into a chair. He felt slightly dazed, and more than slightly incensed.
Viktor had been attacked by a judge. Damn Dumbledore's pacifistic prattling – his student had been attacked. First Potter and now this. It was unbearable. Vaguely he remembered telling Dumbledore so, just now, at the forest...but the memory was strangely muddled. His head was throbbing; perhaps he'd finally burst a blood vessel at the sheer injustice of it all.
The pain didn't abate. Muttering darkly, Karkaroff held his head in his hands, then paused.
Why was there...foliage...in his hair?