Karkaroff had few moments of undiluted joy in his life, but Viktor striding out of the maze with the Triwizard Cup aloft was one of them. The other Durmstrang students veritably exploded; Karkaroff knew he was clapping and cheering, but somehow couldn't hear it above the rush of his own euphoria. He wanted to freeze everything, to savor it: the students lifting a disgruntled but happy Viktor onto their shoulders, the shimmering glow of the Cup that was forever Durmstrang's, Dumbledore and Madame Maxime's expressions.
It was a wonderful fantasy. But that wasn't how that night had gone at all.