Amid the lively crowd in the Quidditch stadium stands, Hoffa and Nicolas Flamel were seated in the second row. Surrounding them were fans clad in traditional attire representing various nations, their faces alive with excitement.
Waving their arms and shouting themselves hoarse, they cheered passionately for their national teams. Even the elderly Nicolas Flamel leaned forward eagerly, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the center of the field.
The match had reached a fever pitch, more intense and brutal than any Hoffa had witnessed before.
Bludgers streaked across the field like lightning bolts. The Beaters from both teams swung their bats without hesitation or mercy, indifferent to whether they struck the ball or an opponent.
A player took a vicious hit to the waist and nearly toppled off their broomstick.
"Mustafa reprimands the Bulgarian Keeper—excessive elbowing!" Ludo Bagman shouted over the roar of the crowd. "Yes, it's a penalty for Ireland!"
At the center of the field, a group of leprechauns, shimmering like golden hornets, soared into the air, their formation spelling out a gleaming "HA! HA! HA!" in protest. Across the pitch, the Veela sprang up, furiously whipping their hair in rage.
"Foul!"
The Irish supporters surrounding Hoffa roared in unison, rising in a massive wave of green.
"Foul!" Ludo Bagman's magically amplified voice echoed. "Dimitrov clashed with Moran—a deliberate collision! The referee has called it—penalty awarded!"
Nicolas Flamel nudged Hoffa excitedly. "Look! A foul! There's bound to be a fight!"
But Hoffa, unlike the others, seemed distracted. Ever since entering the stadium, a lingering sense of unease and pressure had gripped him, making it difficult to focus on the match.
Finally, as Ireland's penalty taker positioned themselves before the goal hoop, Hoffa leaned over to Nicolas and whispered, "I'm stepping out to find young Barty."
"Now?" Nicolas was taken aback. "It's such a thrilling game! Wait until it's over; it won't take long."
"No, I won't take too long. If I wait until the game ends, it'll be harder to find him in the crowd."
Though Nicolas frowned like a friend disappointed by a spoiled movie recommendation, he relented. "Fine. But be quick, and don't let the Ministry folks catch you."
"Got it," Hoffa replied. Pulling his cloak tighter, he slipped away from the stands and headed for the top-tier box of the stadium.
Nicolas Flamel, disguised as Ali Bashir—a merchant—naturally couldn't access the highest-ranking Ministry officials' box. But it wasn't far, only a few staircases away.
Hoffa quickened his pace, knowing Harry Potter and his companions were just overhead. If his memory served, young Barty Crouch should also be in that same box with the Minister and Harry.
When he reached the box entrance, two black-robed Aurors stood guard, motionless.
Cautious, Hoffa ghost-walked, disappearing from sight.
As he approached, he realized something peculiar: both Aurors were leaning against the wall, heads nodding slightly, eyes closed.
Laziness? Hoffa thought, amused. Even in such a raucous place, they managed to nap.
Not bothering to wake them, he slipped into the box unnoticed. Inside, the spectators' gazes were riveted to the field. Hoffa spotted a row of red-haired youths—likely the Weasley children. Beside them were a few fair-haired individuals, undoubtedly the Malfoys.
Then there was the black-haired boy, unmistakably Harry Potter, and a girl with bushy brown curls holding a brass telescope—Hermione Granger. Seeing her reminded Hoffa of his past ambitions, and he chuckled at his own youthful naïveté.
Scanning the crowd, Hoffa noted an alarming omission: everyone from the original events was present except young Barty Crouch and the house-elf Winky.
His brow furrowed. Could this be the infamous butterfly effect? Had his earlier encounter with Barty Sr. made the elder Crouch wary, causing him to change his plans and keep his son locked up tonight?
Without hesitation, Hoffa left the box and headed out of the stadium. He needed to visit Barty Sr.'s tent to confirm his suspicions.
The stadium's deafening noise faded behind him as he entered the eerily empty tent area. The familiar mist of the South Wales marshes had settled in, accompanied by an unusual chill.
Shivering, Hoffa paused. Why was it so cold?
Snap.
A twig broke faintly in the distance.
Alert, Hoffa turned, straining to hear. From the forest beyond the tents came indistinct voices:
"Filthy creature! Beg me! Beg me, hah!"
"Master, you mustn't leave! Master said he'll kill you if you do!"
"Do you think I fear death, you scum? Do you?"
"No, Master, no! Winky begs you!"
Under the pale moonlight, Hoffa's golden eyes widened briefly. The fragmented conversation confirmed his suspicions. Moving like a ghost, he drifted toward the source of the voices.
Within the forest, Hoffa stumbled upon a bizarre and disturbing scene. For a moment, it shocked him, but he quickly composed himself. After all, he'd once experienced the trauma of ending his own life—this was nothing in comparison.
Young Barty Crouch, evidently unhinged from his Azkaban torment, was in the middle of violently berating the elf, Winky. Disgusted, Hoffa watched as Barty kicked the poor creature away. Though hidden beneath an Invisibility Cloak, Hoffa could see a peculiar shimmer as the cloak shifted.
Turning his gaze, Hoffa stepped out of the shadows, his voice calm but firm. "Having fun, Barty?"
A cacophony of snapping branches followed Hoffa's sudden appearance. The cloaked figure froze, startled, and Winky let out a piercing scream.
Raising a finger, Hoffa silenced the elf instantly. A nearby tree animated, its branches twisting to cover Winky's mouth.
Hoffa stopped at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed. "Take off the cloak. We need to talk."
A faint clattering noise broke the silence—teeth chattering nervously.
But no one moved.
Hoffa's head turned slightly. "Don't be afraid, and don't back away. I can see you."
"Who are you!?"
A voice, both angry and panicked, came from the empty space before the tree roots. Suddenly, a young man with pale blond hair and a gaunt figure tore off an invisibility cloak. Grabbing a stone from the ground, he hurled it recklessly at Hoffa's head.
Hoffa couldn't be bothered with idle chatter. He calmly rolled up his sleeve, revealing his Dark Mark.
The young man froze mid-throw. His aggressive posture transformed instantly, from the determined stance of an ancient discus thrower to the groveling form of a eunuch presenting a royal decree.
Screech—
He fell to his knees, sliding several meters forward and stirring up a pile of leaves. He came to a stop at Hoffa's feet, staring at Hoffa's arm with disbelief. "You... you're a servant of the Master?"
"No," Hoffa said evenly. "I'm his friend. Your master sent me to find you. He needs you now more than ever."
As soon as Hoffa finished speaking, he regretted his words. The gaunt youth's eyes immediately welled with tears. His face contorted with emotion as he choked and stammered, "I... I knew it! I knew this day would come! The Master... the Master hasn't forgotten me! The Master hasn't forgotten me!"
He sobbed uncontrollably, louder and louder, and reached out to touch Hoffa's arm as if it were a sacred relic.
Hoffa hadn't anticipated meeting such a version of Barty Crouch Jr. How had someone like this managed to infiltrate Hogwarts for an entire year without being discovered? As Barty's tear- and snot-streaked fingers neared his arm, Hoffa reflexively kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling backward.
Rather than getting angry or calming down, Barty scrambled to his feet and rushed toward the house-elf restrained by a tree. He threw his arms around the elf in a fit of euphoria. "Winky! Winky! The Master needs me! The Master needs me!"
He was so overjoyed that he kissed the trembling elf several times on the face.
The poor house-elf stared at Hoffa with wide, terrified eyes, her entire body trembling as though she might fall apart.
"The Master needs me! The Master needs me! The Master needs me!"
Barty swayed and muttered like he was chanting a mantra. Then, suddenly, he turned to Hoffa with wild eyes and charged toward him with long strides, radiating fanatical fervor.
His manic demeanor disgusted Hoffa, who discreetly stepped back and raised a finger.
Barty's feet were instantly ensnared by vines, sending him tumbling to the ground. Hoffa snapped his fingers, releasing a jolt of electricity through the vines. Barty's hair stood on end, and he could only gurgle incoherently.
"Feeling calm now?" Hoffa crouched down in front of him.
"Where's the Master? Tell me, where's the Master!?"
Barty's fervor hadn't abated.
Crackle! Another surge of electricity coursed through him.
"Feeling calm now?" Hoffa asked coldly.
"You insolent wretch! I'm the Master's most loyal servant! How dare you treat me like this!" Barty foamed at the mouth in rage.
CRACKLE!!!
The next surge of electricity was several times stronger, leaving Barty stiff as a board and emitting a burnt smell. Even Winky trembled violently, tears streaming from her eyes as she watched.
Hoffa finally released the vines. "Feeling calm now?"
Barty stared at him in terror, unable to speak.
Snap.
The vines binding him unraveled. Hoffa stood up and began circling him slowly, the hem of his blue robe trailing over the mist-covered leaves with a soft rustling sound.
"Voldemort sent me to find you, so here I am. But he didn't say I couldn't kill you. So you'd better listen carefully to what I say."
"How do I know you're telling the truth!?"
Hoffa raised a finger again. Barty immediately clammed up and instinctively curled into a ball.
"Hmph," Hoffa snorted, lowering his hand. "Your Master has a plan for resurrection, and he needs you. Tonight, I'll take you away from here. Do you understand?"
"Yes, yes, I understand."
Barty finally seemed to comprehend. He crawled back to Hoffa's feet and stammered eagerly, "When do we leave, Mr. Bald?"
"What did you call me?" Hoffa's veins throbbed visibly on his forehead.
"Uh..." Remembering the electric shocks, Barty shrank back. "W-what should I call you?"
"You can call me Mr. Bach."
Hoffa thought for a moment and decided to give his surname. "Bach" was a common name abroad and wouldn't raise suspicion.
Barty immediately straightened up, his tone growing enthusiastic. "Then, Mr. Bach, shouldn't we let others know the Master is returning?"
"What?"
Hoffa was momentarily taken aback.
"My Master has been silent for so long. So many people have forgotten him, forgotten his greatness. Hmph." Barty began pacing, wringing his hands and laughing coldly. "I need to remind them who the true ruler of the wizarding world is, who the greatest Dark wizard in history truly is!"
"And?"
Hoffa frowned.
"So I'll do something for the Master. I'll send up the Dark Mark to announce this glorious moment!"
(End of Chapter)
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