The 1994 Quidditch World Cup final unfolded just as it had in Harry's previous life. Ireland emerged victorious, despite Viktor Krum—the star of the match—catching 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 him. Disorder and mayhem, after all, were synonyms for the Weasley family.
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Throughout the match, Harry kept a portion of his mind focused on the empty seat beside Winky, the house-elf.
Hidden beneath an invisibility cloak, Barty Crouch Jr. sat there, unnoticed by all.
Thanks to the changes Harry had already made, Voldemort had never accessed Bertha Jorkins' memories. As a result, the Dark Lord remained unaware that Barty Crouch Jr. was still 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.
Thise were two simple spells. One to break the effects of the Imperius Curse his father had placed on him. And a second spell, a tracking charm, anchored itself silently to his body.
One another 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 in. Harry shared a room with the Weasley boys, while Ginny and Hermione occupied another. Bunk beds were squeezed into the space, and Harry, just as the previous time, took the bed above Ron's.
It was nearly midnight. Harry lay awake and alert. His mind focused on 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 stood in a loose formation. It was the classic dress of the Death Eaters. They laughed 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 weapon using which these Death Eaters had terrorised the whole of the wizarding Britain.
He took a single step forward and almost vanished. The next instant, he stood directly before the Death Eaters.
His appearance had completely changed. A long black robe billowed around him, carried by the wind, giving him a shadowy, regal presence.
A deep hood masked his head down to his brows, while a thin black mist obscured the rest of his face. A pair of black gloves covered his hands.
Only his eyes, piercing emerald green, shone through the darkness, radiating power and unflinching authority.
The Death Eaters all turned toward him. His sudden appearance stunned them, and an oppressive weight settled on their shoulders. They could feel the oppressive presence and the power radiating from this newcomer.
Subconsciously, many of them flinched, resisting the 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, 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 sadistic who seeks 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 lace in his voice. "But you would not live to see it."
Before the words had even fully registered, his wand flicked and a spell lanced out. It struck the head of the Death Eater who had dared to speak and he 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 surrounding 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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