The once great, powerful, and fearsome Lord Voldemort – a title he had worn with pride in the past and would soon reclaim – sat in his homunculus form in an armchair within the guest room of Riddle Manor. Clutching the latest issue of the *Daily Prophet*, his grotesque temporary body furrowed its brow as it absorbed the news about Ronald Weasley, hailed as the "chosen one" of Great Britain, attending the Ministry's Summer Solstice ball.
"Wormtail!" Voldemort called, summoning his only remaining minion. "Explain to me why anyone believes that a blood traitor like Weasley could possess the power to thwart me." He should have been more careful with his choice of words, knowing that he regarded the Potters in the same light, but...
"I-I'm not sure, Master," stammered the pitiful Wormtail from across the room. "About a year ago, Dumbledore suddenly declared that it would be Weasley, not the Potters, who would be your vanquisher." This information piqued Voldemort's interest.
"Interesting. And what do you know about this Weasley brat?" Voldemort asked. Wormtail hesitated, the silence lingering on the edge of a potential curse, before he finally spoke.
"Although the headmaster tutors him privately at least once a week, the boy shows little promise of rivaling your strength, master. Having lived with him for years, I've seen no signs of either remarkable magical ability or a true understanding of what's taught at Hogwarts. He's quite lazy, with food and Quidditch occupying most of his thoughts." Peter Pettigrew continued, "Honestly, his best chance at defeating you would be in an eating contest, where the loser forfeits their magic." Voldemort dismissed this notion with a wave of his hand.
"Very well, Wormtail. What of Potter?" he inquired, recalling previous encounters with the insufferable boy who had thwarted his plans on more than one occasion.
"He's doing much better academically than Ronald Weasley and appears to exhibit greater magical prowess," Wormtail said cautiously. Fearing the wrath of a curse, he added, "But he remains nowhere near your level of power, master." Breathing a sigh of relief for dodging punishment, Wormtail continued, "He's also gathered a group of associates from all four Hogwarts houses." This revelation troubled Voldemort. How could students from Slytherin associate with the riffraff of Gryffindor? However, securing his new body took precedence over punishing the foolish youths for their transgressions, so he chose to overlook that for now.
"I see…" said Tom Riddle thoughtfully. "In that case, I will use Potter's essence as an ingredient for my rebirth, just as I originally planned. But this brings another dilemma: with only you to assist me, Wormtail, who will retrieve the brat?" He pondered aloud.
"May I be so bold, Master?" Peter spoke up. "You're aware that Barty Crouch Jr. is still alive, as gleaned from that unfortunate witch's memories. With his father's current standing at the Ministry, he will surely attend the Quidditch World Cup finals next month. This presents an opportunity to free Junior." Voldemort considered this for a moment.
"A surprisingly astute suggestion, Wormtail." Peter beamed with pride. "However, what if Junior is taken to the finals instead?" After several tense moments, Wormtail responded.
"In that case, we can have him concealed under an invisibility cloak, making his extraction easier. Given the size of the Quidditch stadium, I doubt they will enforce effective anti-Animagus wards. I can slip in, take Junior, and escape." Voldemort nodded in agreement.
"Very well, Wormtail. I entrust this mission to you. But remember, under no circumstances are you to be caught. If they spot you, escape without Junior." Peter nodded confidently.
"I will ensure that, Master."
~/ *** \~
It was the middle of August, and Harry Potter was back in England, strolling through Diagon Alley. He had changed significantly over the summer. Most noticeably, he no longer sported glasses or an eye patch; instead, he wore contact lenses – a standard one for his left eye and an enchanted one for his magically blocked right eye. The latter allowed him to activate his petrifying glare with a mere thought, all while making his basilisk eye appear normal. Both lenses were enchanted to be practically indestructible.
Moreover, Harry had developed a tan and his physique had become more defined due to various 'adventures' over the summer, leaving him with minor, fading scars across visible areas of his body. He wore a thin, long black rod on a silver chain, which held significant importance for his future, far beyond mere aesthetics.
More importantly, however, Harry wasn't there to flaunt himself – though he didn't mind the occasional admiring glance from girls his age. He had a meeting with his barrister in fifteen minutes. Naturally, Violet's latest client took longer than expected, but Harry was in no rush and didn't mind waiting.
"Uh… Lord Potter? Welcome back," said the blonde witch as she recognized him a couple of moments after he entered her office. Adjusting her glasses, she reached for Harry's substantial file among the meticulously organized stack on her desk.
"Thank you, and it's good to see you again, Miss Bridget," Harry replied, taking a seat across from her. "Shall we get down to business?" After she nodded, he continued, "Could you provide a brief summary of the key events that transpired while I was away? I'll check the rest in your reports later." She nodded again.
"Of course," she said, "If you received Herr Schmidt's missive, the Wizengamot has decided to delegate the organization of the Triwizard Tournament tasks to the Department of Magical Sports and Games, as well as to the involved schools' administrations." Harry mused that this might be an advantage, as he would avoid spoilers for the contests. "Aside from that, the political landscape has been rather quiet, allowing me to focus on other tasks you assigned to me. With Madam Longbottom's assistance, I discovered some compromising information on Albus Dumbledore. While nothing criminal, its public disclosure would seriously undermine his authority." Violet began to pull several pages from Harry's file. "Would you like a briefing on these findings?"
"No, I'd prefer to review them later. Please send them to me via owl." The blonde witch complied, returning the documents to the file. "Now, if there's nothing else, I'd like to proceed to the second reason for my visit today." Another nod. "As you probably know, this year Hogwarts will host the resurrected Triwizard Tournament." Harry chuckled lightly. "Given my notoriously poor luck, I fear something might occur that necessitates your legal assistance. I likely won't have the luxury of waiting for an owl or quick access to a Floo network. Is there a faster way to contact you if needed?"
Violet contemplated for a few seconds before responding, "Have you heard of the Protean charm, Lord Potter?" Harry nodded, aware that the infamous Dark Mark utilized elements of it, although he chose not to disclose this knowledge.
"I'm familiar with it; I've just never cast it myself," he replied smoothly.
"Very well," she said, scanning her office for a suitable item. Ultimately, she transfigured two sheets of paper into pins adorned with glass balls on one side. After a series of intricate wand movements, she linked the pins using the charm. After taking one for herself and adding additional charms, she attached it to her business attire. Harry held the other pin in his hand. "If you require immediate assistance from my firm, break the ball off the pin and I will be alerted. I trust that the triggering mechanism will be safeguard against accidental activation…" she trailed off, then added, "Just remember, we charge one hundred fifty percent during non-standard working hours." Harry nodded in response.
"Would you like me to provide a Portkey that will drop you at the front doors of Hogwarts?" he asked. Violet nodded.
"That would be most helpful."
~/ *** \~
Finally, the moment everyone anticipated that summer arrived: the Quidditch World Cup finals. Unfortunately, the English team hadn't made it, but that didn't dampen Harry's spirits. Being a lord in the Wizengamot came with perks. Unlike most who had to camp for weeks near the stadium, he could arrive at his leisure, provided he used the Ministry officials' apparition point.
Taking advantage of his privilege, Harry arrived about an hour before the match began. From there, he headed straight to the stadium, barely registering the numerous Quidditch merchandise for sale. He bypassed the impressive grandeur of the golden stadium, and, with the throngs of people milling about, it took a while to navigate to his seat. He arrived just minutes before the match was set to commence.
Shaking his head in dismay at the prospect of sitting next to an overly rotund wizard who likely hadn't heard of personal hygiene, Harry discreetly cast several charms to make the situation bearable. Satisfied, he took out a pair of Omniculars he had purchased and surveyed the stadium. He spotted the Minister's box directly across from him, occupied by noteworthy figures: Cornelius Fudge at the center, the Bulgarian Minister of Magic on his right, and the leader of the Irish Magical government on his left.
The left side of the box was crowded with Arthur Weasley and his seven children, while the Malfoy family occupied the front row on the opposite end, accompanied by various Ministry officials. Despite a few empty seats, Harry couldn't speculate who they belonged to.
However, he had little time to ponder over the Slytherin clan, as Ludo Bagman, the match commentator, swiftly took his place, and moments later, the Bulgarian mascots were introduced. A stunning legion of blonde, ethereal women took to the field.
'Veela,' Harry thought, momentarily captivated. Soon, the entire stadium was enveloped in their enchanting allure. As they danced seductively, Harry found solace in his solid mental defenses, which dulled the effects of their magic enough for him to avoid embarrassing himself. Fortunately, the elderly wizard beside him appeared too senile to register the allure, sparing Harry from potential awkwardness.
After the Veela finished their routine, it was the leprechauns' turn to shine. The sight of the tiny men filling the air with shimmering fake gold enchanted the crowd just as profoundly.
As the teams were introduced, Ludo Bagman called out the names of the Bulgarian players clad in red robes, followed swiftly by the Irish team in green, and finally the referee. With the release of the balls, the match commenced.
It quickly became apparent that if played fairly, Bulgarian chasers were sharply outmatched by their Irish counterparts. Consequently, the red team resorted to underhanded tactics, hoping to give their star seeker a chance to catch the Snitch before their green opponents built up a significant lead. Although the Bulgarians faced penalties for their actions, their keeper managed to mitigate the damage, preventing the score gap from widening excessively.
After an hour and a half, it became evident that Ireland held a commanding sixteen-goal lead, leaving Bulgaria with little hope of victory. They could salvage some pride only by seizing the Snitch immediately. Suddenly, both seekers dove toward a flash of gold darting towards the ground. Lynch, the Irish seeker, had a jump on Krum, but the Bulgarian seeker closed the gap with impressive speed. In a dramatic turn of events, Lynch crashed to the ground for the second time, while Krum rose triumphantly into the air, clasping the Snitch.
With the match concluded, Harry saw no reason to stick around. He began making his way out of the stadium before crowds grew overwhelming. Utilizing his privileges once more, he reached the officials' apparition point, and with a pop, he vanished to his summer home in Birling Gap.
~/ *** \~
The following morning, as Harry enjoyed breakfast, an owl arrived, delivering his copy of the *Daily Prophet*. Paying the bird with five knuts, he opened the newspaper and froze. The front page featured a large, chilling image of Voldemort's dark mark glowing ominously against the backdrop of the Quidditch stadium.
With a shake of his head, Harry flipped to the accompanying article detailing the chaos he had missed the day prior. According to the Ministry, a group of approximately twelve unidentified wizards had masqueraded as Death Eaters, attacking the campsite, igniting random tents while tossing Muggles around with their wands. Thankfully, no one except the Muggles sustained injuries, but the imposters managed to flee before Aurors arrived. Some speculated that the appearance of the dark mark was a botched attempt by the faux Death Eaters, hinting at the involvement of someone outside their group.
Harry set the paper down, realizing that the 'Death Eaters' had acted independently and that Voldemort himself likely lacked many followers, or perhaps even hadn't been resurrected yet. This revelation bought Harry some crucial time to prepare for the inevitable confrontation.
~/ *** \~
Meanwhile, in Little Hangleton, three figures – two wizards and one wraith inhabiting a homunculus body – were busily plotting the Dark Lord's revival. After much deliberation, the once fearsome Voldemort devised a plan.
"How would you like to spend a year at Hogwarts, Barty?" he inquired, implying that refusal was not an option.