The 1994 Quidditch World Cup final unfolded just as it had in Harry's previous life. Ireland emerged victorious. And though his team ended on the losing side, Viktor Krum, the star of the match, caught the Snitch.
Ron cheered wildly for Krum, and true to his buffoonish nature, paid no heed to the decorum expected in the VIP box. His father, unsurprisingly, lacked the decency to correct his son. Disorder and mayhem, after all, were synonyms for the Weasley family.
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Throughout the match, Harry was keeping a portion of his mind focused on the supposedly empty seat beside Winky, the house elf. Hidden beneath an invisibility cloak, sitting there was Barty Crouch Jr., unnoticed by all.
Thanks to the changes Harry had already made, Voldemort had not accessed Bertha Jorkins' memories. As a result, the Dark Lord was unaware that Barty Crouch Jr. was alive, and had no reason to break into the Crouch estate to free him.
But if Harry's name was to come out of the Goblet, Barty had to find Voldemort eventually. Even with the changes in timeline, Harry would not trust someone like Wormtail to handle the delicate role Crouch Jr. had played before.
It was entirely possible Voldemort had approached someone else, but Harry did not want to make assumptions. He had to put Barty Crouch Jr. into play even if he had to tweak the things a bit.
As chaos erupted post match and people began to leave the VIP box, Harry seized the opportunity. He raised his hand subtly and two consecutive spells shot from his fingers and struck the invisible figure of Crouch Jr.
Those were two simple spells. One to break the effects of the Imperius Curse his father had placed on him. And the second spell was a tracking charm which anchored itself silently to Crouch Jr. body.
One other amusing thing Harry noted was the Weasley twins pestering Ludo Bagman for their winnings of the bet. Bagman being Bagman fumbled through some illogical excuses before making a hasty exit. Typical of him. Bagman was not going to pay a dime to them.
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Back at the tent, the large group settled back in the tent. Harry was sharing a room with the Weasley boys, while Ginny and Hermione were occupying another. Bunk beds had been squeezed into the space, and Harry, just as the previous time, had taken the bed above Ron's.
It was nearly midnight and Harry was lying awake and alert. His mind was focused and searching for any disturbance. He knew what was coming and he was waiting for it.
The signal came. A high pitched, blood curdling scream tore through the stillness of the night. Panic followed. More screams. Shouts. Chaos had erupted in the campsite.
A smirk tugged at Harry's lips as he vanished from his bed in a blink, using his self invented short range teleportation.
He reappeared in the heart of the campsite. Just ahead, at some distance from him, thirteen masked and robed figures were standing in a loose formation. It was the classic dress of the Death Eaters. They were laughing as they hurled spells at tents and fleeing civilians, their joy sickeningly evident.
Hundreds of witches and wizards were running in all directions, trying to escape. Harry shook his head at the cowardice. If even half of them had the courage to cast a simple Disarming Charm… these thugs would be flattened. Fear. This had been the weapon using which these Death Eaters had terrorised the whole of wizarding Britain.
He took a single step forward and vanished from his spot. The next instant, he was standing directly before the Death Eaters.
His appearance had completely changed. A long black robe was billowing around him, carried by the wind, giving him a shadowy, regal presence. A deep hood was masking his head down to his brows, while a thin black mist was obscuring the rest of his face. A pair of black gloves were covering his palms. Only his eyes, piercing emerald green, were shining through the darkness, radiating power and unflinching authority.
The Death Eaters all turned toward him. His sudden appearance had stunned them, and an oppressive weight had settled on their shoulders. They could feel the oppressive presence and the power radiating from this newcomer.
Subconsciously, many of them flinched, as they resisted their inner urge to step back.
"Who are you?" one of them barked, gathering some courage, his voice gruff but unsure.
Harry did not answer. He took another step forward, and instinctively, they all stepped back.
"Could not help yourselves, could you?" Harry said, his voice low and cold. "Even with your master, Voldemort gone, you want to act wild?"
The very name sent a tremor of fear down their spines.
"You came for the chaos, the helplessness, their screams and suffering. A bunch of sadists who seek pleasure in the sufferings of others," Harry continued, gesturing to the destruction around him.
"What do you know?" one of them snapped, desperate to sound brave. "Our Lord will return!"
Harry smirked behind the mist.
"Perhaps," he said with a tint of amusement laced in his voice. "But you would not live to see it."
Before the words had even fully registered, he flicked his wand and a spell lanced out. It struck the head of the Death Eater who had dared to speak. The Death Eater did not even have time to react.
With a sharp crack, his head exploded. Blood. Bone. Bits of muscle and brain matter splattered across the robes and the mask of the other Death Eaters.
Their black robes now were splattered with the blood and gore of one of their own. The sheer brutality stunned everyone into silence.
Even the spectators who had paused to watch recoiled, horrified. Some stumbled back several steps, their eyes wide with terror.
Harry's action had plunged the entire campsite into silence but Harry had just begun.
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