Chương 86: CH86 - Morsmorde
"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!" Ludo Bagman's boisterous voice boomed throughout the entire stadium.
The answering roar from the spectators was deafening, nearly louder than a thunderclap. On cue, the scorecard materialized on a massive blackboard taking up an eighth of the massive arena's walls, directly opposite the Top Box and all the other prime viewing locations.
BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.
The sea of red representing Bulgaria's supporters screamed in approval as a hundred veela glided onto the pristine, velvet-smooth field. Their silvery hair caught the light like a net, fluttering in the wind majestically. Pale, snow-white skin peered out from beneath their tresses, sparkling and glowing.
Their appearances were meant to disarm, to get lost in. And it was working.
Jeremy sighed dreamily, getting up from his chair to look at the beautiful enchantresses more closely. Cynthia and Albert jumped up beside him immediately, tugging on his arms to prevent a debacle like the one that was transpiring throughout the stands as men and women alike tumbled over the ledges, trying to get closer to the seductive witches dancing on the grounds.
"Nose-diving into the pitch is a surefire way to end up at St. Mungo's lad," Albert laughed, wrestling his son back into his seat. Cynthia chuckled in agreement, her face lighting up in recognition of the blackmail material she had just gained.
Thankfully, throughout the chaos, Edmund's mind had not wavered in the slightest. By now, his occlumency shields could swat aside the allure instantly, especially as faint and generalized as it was. The veelas were of no interest to him. Instead, his gaze was on a tiny owl that had popped out of his sweater, covertly flapping its wings to hide behind his body.
"You know what to do," Edmund whispered, receiving a peck on the back of his neck in response. He glimpsed a speck of yellow flying upwards, but it soon became lost in a shower of gold raining down on the crowd as the leprechauns made their bold entrance.
The match was fast, high-paced and exhilarating in a manner that the Hogwarts inter-house tournament could never hope to replicate. Chasers flew by in a blur, maintaining perfect formation and synergy regardless of the play. Beaters hit their target without fail, causing sprays of blood to erupt from their unlucky targets. Keepers spun and darted with inhuman reflexes, guarding their posts zealously. And the two seekers—each kitted with a Firebolt that could accelerate more rapidly than any muggle automobile on the planet—zoomed around the pitch at inhuman speeds.
However, as much as Edmund tried to pay attention to the experience, he found that he could not fully do so. Inevitably, his attention always returned to the Top Box and the deadly man that he knew was occupying it.
As Krum appeared in the center, he could hear Ron Weasley cheering himself hoarse.
After the quaffle was released, his ears pricked up at Harry Potter's omnioculars buzzing into action.
When the first goal was scored by the Irish chaser 'Troy,' he was inundated by the Weasley twins' shouts of glee.
As Ireland's seeker, Lynch was fooled by Krum's Wronski Feint, Hermione Granger's groans of sympathy floated down to him.
The game finally ended with whoops and hurrahs as Krum's hand wrapped around the snitch, putting Bulgaria out of its misery.
BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170.
'Well... The fun's out of the way,' Edmund thought to himself as the Irish national anthem began to play. 'Now to see what happens next.'
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- (Scene Break) -
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Edmund was already awake when the screams began. Perhaps it was more accurate to say he had not slept at all.
He and Jeremy stumbled into the tent's living area, seeing Albert and Cynthia emerging from their own bedroom in a similar state. Jeremy seemed confused about what was happening, but the other two were frowning knowingly.
"We've got to go! Now, now, now!" Cynthia hissed, grabbing Jeremy's arm.
"Right now?" Jeremy asked, baffled. "Mum, what's going—"
"Silence!" Albert commanded. "Listen to your mother, Jeremy! We move!"
The four latched onto each other firmly, lifting the flap of the tent as one. Their efforts were for naught, for as soon as they stepped into the open air, they were separated almost immediately by the rampaging crowd.
"No!" Cynthia shouted, distraught, trying in vain to reconnect with her family.
"We meet in the woods by the stadium!" Albert bellowed as his body was swept up into the panicking crowd. "If you kids don't see us, get to the main road! Call the Knight Bus, do you hear me?"
Edmund and Jeremy yelled their assent, even as Cynthia growled in frustration and fear from somewhere ahead of them.
"C'mon mate," Edmund directed, pushing his friend along. "We've got to keep moving!"
Jeremy, however, remained stuck, seemingly rooted in place.
"Jeremy!" Edmund pleaded.
Still no response. Following his gaze, Edmund looked back.
There, in the air, twisting and turning like a top was Mr. Roberts, shrieking at the top of his lungs. Another woman and a young girl dressed in similar muggle garb—the man's wife and daughter, no doubt—were levitating alongside him as figures in black masks laughed and jeered at the sight.
Fire escaped from their wands aimlessly, licking along the cloth tents, adding even more destruction to the scene. Simultaneously, angry red, yellow, and pink spells were shot indiscriminately at the masses. The overwhelming colour, however, was green. Killing curse green.
Chancing a look at their obscured figures, Edmund tried to get an estimate of their numbers.
'Low,' he realized. 'Far lower than they should have been.'
Though that made sense in a way. Although Marvolo had not revealed his identity as Voldemort, most still believed that the new Lord Slytherin was the dark lord risen from the dead. There were far too many signs that pointed to that being the case. Most importantly, the returned strength of the dark mark seared onto their forearms.
The smarter Death Eaters had likely realized that it was not wise to carry out acts of terrorism in their lord's name without his permission. However, most did not mean all. For some, muggle baiting was a sick addiction they could not go without, and there would be no better opportunity for them to strike than the world cup.
"Don't look! You can't look!" Edmund smacked Jeremy in the face, even as the two were pulled apart. "Keep going! Don't you dare stop!"
Scanning the area around him, Edmund ducked into an empty tent. With a few waves of his wand, he silenced himself and removed any traces of his scent. Reaching into his satchel, which he had hidden under his shirt, he retrieved his demiguise cloak before draping it over himself.
Breathing slowly to calm his hammering heartbeat, he stepped back out into the pandemonium. Yet now, his eyes were skyward.
'Where are you, where are you, where are you?' he chanted internally. 'There!'
A small blob in the sky glimmered in the light as Edmund rushed over to it hastily.
Past the tents, through the carnage, over the fallen trees. Eventually, he slowed down to a crawl, arriving near a dense thicket of shrubbery. In it, he could see the still body of a tiny being. Nearby, a lean man was hiding behind a tree. Winky and Barty.
In Crouch's hand, he could see a thin piece of wood.
'Holly,' he noted. 'Harry Potter's wand.'
Illuminated under the dim light of the moon, Edmund gazed at the man curiously.
In the duration that Edmund had spent at Slytherin Island, he had gotten to know a lot about Marvolo's followers, both dead and alive. The likes of Bellatrix, the Lestrange brothers, Dolohov, and Rookwood were well known for their cunning and cruelty. However, just as highly regarded, in the eyes of the dark lord, was Barty Crouch Jr.
It took only one glance at the Ministry of Education's records to understand why. Other than Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore, Crouch held the records for some of the greatest academic achievements ever accomplished. A mere seventeen students had ever gotten twelve O.W.L.s at Hogwarts, and only five of them had received a score of Outstanding in every single one.
...Barty Crouch Jr. was one of those elusive few.
His borderline genius status, paired with his prodigious legilimency and occlumency talents—enough to fool Albus Dumbledore when impersonating one of his best friends for an entire year—made him one of the most valuable Death Eaters in Voldemort's army. His only shortcoming was his age and lack of experience, a flaw which would have been remedied with time... Time that he did not receive after the dark lord's fall in 1981.
In short, Barty was dangerous. Far too dangerous for Edmund to safely deal with.
...Or he would have been if he were in his prime.
After a short stint in Azkaban and almost a decade of captivity under the Imperius, the man was just a shell of his former self. A pale imitation of who he used to be.
As the fires and the shouting died down, Barty's eyes flickered to the left and the right before he rushed out the edge of the woods.
Pointing the wand in his hand into the sky, his grin turned malevolent. "Morsm—"
A red light flashed from behind him, hitting his unguarded back less than half a second later.
"Sorry, buddy," Edmund winced.
Crouch slumped over, unceremoniously collapsing to the ground, wand still tightly clutched in his fingers. A swish and a flick later, he was being levitated back to the bushes where Winky was also lying unconscious.
Opening a part of his mind he had not accessed in a while, Edmund cleared his throat. 'I have something... someone... you're going to want to see.'
Taking Harry Potter's wand, Edmund banished it to Winky's body, hoping the house elf would return it upon waking, regardless of the circumstances of that happening. He had nothing against her, but there was little he could do about the suffering he knew she was about to face.
Checking his surroundings for any signs of Auror presence, Edmund sighed with satisfaction. The Death Eaters were on the other side of the campsite, and without the dark mark in the air, there was no reason for the ministry to investigate this section of the woods.
A whoosh of air came from behind him, and Edmund stepped to the side dutifully, recognizing the sound for what it was.
Marvolo squatted down, casting a series of spells on Barty's prone form. Slowly, a smile crept onto his face. The dark lord chuckled, low and quiet at first but steadily gaining in volume.
"Hello, Barty."
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