Chapter 223: Chapter 223: "The Dark Lord's Gambit"
The night air hung heavy with an eerie stillness as two figures stood before the imposing facade of Crouch Manor. One, a small, misshapen creature cradled in the arms of a nervous, rat-faced man. Wormtail, carefully holding his Lord, shifted uneasily from foot to foot, his eyes darting around as if expecting an attack at any moment.
"We are fortunate, Wormtail," the creature spoke, its voice a chilling whisper that seemed to freeze the very air around them. "Your capture of Bertha Jorkins has proven most... fortuitous. Through her, we have learned of a faithful servant, one who still lives."
Pettigrew nodded, his voice quavering. "Yes, my Lord. But... are you certain he will still be loyal after all this time?"
The creature's red eyes gleamed with malevolent amusement. "We shall see. But first, tell me of the events at the Quidditch World Cup. You said something happened at the venue."
Pettigrew swallowed hard. "My Lord, it... it was a disaster. Some of your former followers attempted to show their loyalty by attacking the wizards at the final to cause fear in the wizarding world again, but they were thwarted. Many were killed by an unknown assailant."
The creature that was Voldemort let out a high, cold laugh that sent shivers down Pettigrew's spine. "Killed? How delightfully unexpected. It seems the wizarding world has developed some teeth in my absence. No matter. My unfaithful followers' pathetic display only proves how desperately they need my return. Now, let's free my faithful servant from his prison."
They entered the manor, finding it empty and devoid of life. Voldemort muttered an incantation, his magic pulsing through the air. "Follow my directions precisely, Wormtail. Fail me, and you will beg for the mercy of death."
Their search led them to a hidden room, easily breached by Voldemort's power. Inside, they found a small chamber with a seemingly empty bed.
"Remove the invisibility cloak, Wormtail," Voldemort commanded, his voice filled with anticipation.
As Pettigrew obeyed, the unconscious form of Barty Crouch Junior was revealed. With another spell from Voldemort, Junior's eyes fluttered open, the Imperius Curse lifted from his mind.
"My Lord?" Junior gasped, his eyes wide with reverence and awe. "Is it truly you? After all this time?"
Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into a semblance of a smile, an expression that was more terrifying than comforting. He saw no disgust in Junior's expression at seeing his current state. The boy was faithful. "Indeed, my faithful servant. You have not forgotten me, even after years of imprisonment in your own mind."
"Never, my Lord," Junior breathed, struggling to sit up. "I would never forsake you. I was always trying to gain freedom and go on a search for you."
Voldemort turned to Pettigrew, his red eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. "You see, Wormtail? This is true loyalty. Barty is one of the very few faithful followers I have left."
Pettigrew's face fell. "But my Lord, I came to you. I've been faithful-"
"You came to me out of fear and a lack of options," Voldemort cut him off, his voice dripping with disdain. "You are useful, Wormtail, but do not presume to compare yourself to true devotion."
He turned back to Junior. "Even my other Death Eaters have proven themselves cowards. They were quick to plead their innocence with the Imperius excuse almost instantly after that night. Now they sense my growing strength through the Dark Mark, and their pitiful attack at the World Cup was a feeble attempt to prove their worth."
Junior nodded vigorously. "They are weak, my Lord. Unworthy of your greatness. When I sent up the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup final, they fled like the cowards they are."
"So that was you. I loved seeing the mark in the Prophet. You did well, Barty," Voldemort praised. "Your loyalty will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams."
As they made their way to the living room, the front door opened. Barty Crouch Senior was back home after a busy day at the ministry. He froze at the sight before him: his son was free, and Pettigrew and some weird creature were present. His hand reached for his wand. Before he could act, however, a red jet of light from Pettigrew's wand struck him, and he crumpled to the floor.
"Well done, Wormtail," Voldemort said, a hint of surprise in his voice. "It seems you are not entirely useless. It is good you did not kill him. He may yet prove useful in our plans."
Junior turned to his master eagerly, his eyes shining with fanatical devotion. "My Lord, what grand design have you conceived for your glorious return? How may I serve you?"
Voldemort's eyes gleamed with malevolent purpose, his voice taking on a fevered pitch. "For my resurrection, I require the blood of an enemy. But not just any enemy. For reasons beyond your understanding, I need the blood of Charles Potter. His blood will remove a weakness and make me stronger than I ever was before!"
"It shall be done, my Lord," Junior declared fervently. "I will deliver the boy to you, whatever the cost."
"I have already devised a plan," Voldemort continued, his excitement growing with each word. "Hogwarts will host the Triwizard Tournament this year. We shall use this to our advantage, to lure young Potter away from Dumbledore's protection. The old fool will never see it coming until it's too late!"
Pettigrew, still nursing his wounds from earlier, spoke up hesitantly. "My Lord, is all this necessary? Surely we could obtain the boy's blood more easily. I could sneak into the hospital wing at Hogwarts and get his blood..."
Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously. "You dare question me, Wormtail? I want my resurrection to be a spectacle, a moment that will crush all hope from our enemies! Charles Potter is very important for that spectacle."
Junior nodded vigorously. "Of course, my Lord. Wormtail is as cowardly as ever. It will be child's play to snatch the boy from under that old fool's nose."
Pettigrew flinched. "It's not Dumbledore I worry about. It's the elder Potter boy, Hadrian."
"Hadrian Potter?" Junior asked, confused.
Voldemort turned his piercing gaze on Pettigrew. "Explain yourself, Wormtail."
Trembling, Pettigrew recounted the tale of his escape from Azkaban with the Lestranges, their failed attempts to capture Charles, and their defeat at the hands of Harry Potter. Each revelation was met with a Cruciatus Curse from Voldemort, leaving Pettigrew twitching on the floor. He also mentioned the death of the Lestrange brothers from the Dementor's Kiss and the missing Bellatrix.
Voldemort aimed his wand at Wormtail. "Crucio!"
Voldemort was furious. The death of the Lestrange brothers was a significant blow to his forces. The missing Bellatrix was also a cause of great concern. Not only was she his best lieutenant, but she also held something important in her custody. He needed to search for her once he had a proper body again. She safeguarded one of his most precious things, and he needed to ensure it was secure.
"The Potter boy defeated you four, including Bellatrix?" Junior asked, incredulous.
"He's not ordinary," Pettigrew gasped. "He's this year's European Dueling Champion. He defeated many people more than twice his age in the dueling arena. We were outmatched going against him. Only Bella gave him a good fight."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Interesting. The Potter family has produced a new dueling prodigy. But it matters not. The elder Potter is not crucial to our plans."
He then outlined his scheme to Junior - how he would infiltrate Hogwarts in disguise, ensure Charles Potter's entry and victory in the tournament, and use the trophy as a Portkey to deliver the boy for the resurrection ritual.
Pettigrew, still trembling, raised another objection. "My Lord, there's a map... it shows the true identities of everyone in the castle. Harry Potter possesses it."
Voldemort's anger flared again, but he contained it, forcing Pettigrew to explain the map's creation and capabilities in detail.
"A complication, but not insurmountable," Voldemort mused. "I can create a means to fool the map, though it will take time. Our plan may need... adjustments. Your father will prove very useful and will get to live the way you have this past decade. It will be a good revenge."
As the night wore on, they refined their strategy, with Voldemort dismissing any suggestions to target a different victim for the ritual. Finally, exhausted, he demanded his "nourishment" from Wormtail.
As Voldemort drank the potion laced with Nagini's venom from a feeding bottle, his mind whirred with possibilities. The game had changed, but the Dark Lord was nothing if not adaptable. Charles Potter would be his, and with him, the key to his triumphant return.
Wormtail did his best to hide his amusement at seeing the misshapen baby Voldemort, or "Babymort," drinking from a feeding bottle and thinking seriously. It was a sight that his old friends would have found hilarious.
"Soon," Babymort hissed after finishing his drink with a loud, satisfied burp, "the wizarding world will tremble at my return. They will learn the price of defying Lord Voldemort. And you, my faithful Barty, will be at my right hand when I ascend once more to power! Now, Wormtail, I require a diaper change."
As Pettigrew reluctantly set about this new, horrifying task, he couldn't help but wonder if it was too late to switch sides again. Surely Azkaban couldn't be worse than this?
Chapter 224: Chapter 224: "The Triwizard Tournament"
The Great Hall buzzed with excitement as students filed in for the opening feast of the new term. Harry Potter, already seated at the Ravenclaw table with his friends, couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. The journey to the castle had been marked by a torrential downpour, but thanks to magic, they had all arrived dry and comfortable.
Roger Davies, one of Harry's closest friends, leaned in with an eager grin. "So, Harry, are you ready for this year's Quidditch Cup? You promised you'd join the team, and with you on board, we're practically guaranteed the win!"
Harry's lips quirked into a small smile. "Actually, Roger, I hate to break it to you, but there won't be a Quidditch Cup this year."
Roger's face fell. "What? Are you serious?"
"No! That is my godfather." This got a glare from Roger and the nearby Reggy. Harry laughed at successfully using the overused joke.
"Well, I am telling the truth. We're hosting a special tournament," Harry explained, his voice low. "I'm sure Dumbledore will announce it soon. Those dress robes on our school list? They're for this event."
As if on cue, the Sorting Hat burst into its annual song, followed by the sorting of the new first-years. Throughout the sorting, Harry's attention kept drifting to the staff table, particularly to the grizzled figure of Mad-Eye Moody.
Something was off. In the timeline Harry remembered from the canon plot, Moody had made a dramatic entrance, interrupting the feast. But here he sat, already at the table, not dramatically swigging from a hip flask every few minutes. Harry's suspicions grew. Was this even Barty Crouch Jr. in disguise? The lack of constant drinking suggested this wasn't someone using Polyjuice Potion.
Harry's mind raced. If this wasn't Crouch Jr., where was he? Was he not rescued by Voldemort? How would the events he remembered unfold? How would Charles's name end up in the Goblet of Fire? How would Voldemort manage to spirit Charles away for the resurrection ritual?
As Harry pondered these questions, Moody's magical eye swiveled in his direction. Quickly, Harry averted his gaze, turning his attention back to his friends and the feast before him. Things were not looking good as Harry was going in blind this year. He would have to be on his toes to make and change plans according to the situation.
Once the plates had been cleared and the last echoes of conversation died down, Dumbledore rose to his feet. The hall fell silent.
"So!" Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling as he smiled at the sea of students before him. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention while I give out a few notices."
He proceeded with the usual start-of-term announcements, introducing Professor Moody as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Then, with a slight pause for effect, he continued, "It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
A chorus of protests erupted from around the hall. Harry caught Roger's eye and mouthed, "Told you so," as his friend's face fell in disappointment.
Dumbledore raised his hands for silence. "This is due to an event that will be starting in October and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy — but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts, we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."
"You're JOKING!" came a loud voice from the Gryffindor table. Harry recognized it as belonging to Fred Weasley.
Dumbledore chuckled. "I am not joking, Mr. Weasley, though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar..."
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly, shooting Dumbledore a stern look.
"Er — but maybe this is not the time... no..." Dumbledore quickly sobered. "Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament..."
For the next several minutes, Dumbledore explained the history and nature of the Triwizard Tournament. He spoke of the three participating schools — Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang — and how they would be arriving in October for the selection of champions.
"The champion for each school," Dumbledore explained, his voice carrying across the silent hall, "will be chosen by an impartial judge which will be announced later. The judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."
A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd at the mention of the thousand-Galleon prize money. Even Roger was excited, and as Harry turned towards Cedric in the distance, he could see he was excited as well. Harry, however, remained silent, his mind already planning his move forward. Harry was not worried about his other friends since there was less chance of them being selected. Cedric and Roger had changed a lot from the canon due to his influence and there was a high chance one of them would get selected. It looked like Harry had to intervene in this tournament to ensure his friends would not be in danger and Cedric would not die like in the canon.
Dumbledore then spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.
"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This" — Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious — "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen."
As Dumbledore concluded his announcement, wishing them all a good night's rest before classes began the next day, the hall erupted into a cacophony of scraping benches and excited chatter. Students began filing out, their heads filled with dreams of glory and gold.
Harry caught Cedric's eye across the hall. The Hufflepuff prefect gave him a subtle nod, a signal Harry recognized immediately. Gathering Roger and Reggy, he made his way towards Cedric. They were soon joined by the rest of their group — Elvinia, Arabella, Angelina, and Alicia.
"Empty classroom?" Cedric suggested, and the group nodded in agreement.
As they filed into an unused classroom near the Great Hall, Harry's mind was already racing with plans to deal with the new unexpected developments with the missing Barty Crouch Junior. It looked like he had to change his plans regarding the Triwizard tournament.
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