The news headline came as a shock to Barty Crouch Jr. He had escaped the Quidditch final campsite long before dawn and was therefore unaware of the carnage that Harry had unleashed on the death eaters. His eyes squinted as he continued reading.
In a shocking series of events, shortly after midnight following the conclusion of the Quidditch World Cup final, thirteen individuals dressed in the infamous black robes and the mask of the Death Eaters, robes that had for a very long time been seen as symbols of murder, pillage, and terror during the First Wizarding War, launched a sudden attack on the campsite of the event. Wizards and Witches who after a joyful time at the game had been sleeping unaware were taken by surprise.
More than a dozen people were injured during the assault, but fortunately, no deaths of the civilians have been reported so far.
Panic and chaos swept through the grounds as terrified spectators tried to flee.
The DMLE, led by Director Amelia Bones, arrived too late to counter and prevent the attack but someone else had already intervened.
A masked individual made a dramatic appearance in the midst of the chaos. What followed next was utter carnage. A massacre the likes of which the wizarding world had not seen in decades. Those attackers were not merely killed. They were obliterated. Torn apart. Crushed. Shredded beyond recognition. The killings were so brutal that even describing them in words was difficult.
Every one of them were killed brutally and the bodies of the few have been mangled beyond recognition. Except for one wizard, whose body was found impaled through the jaw with a spear, none of the thirteen had intact corpses.
The article then elaborated in grim detail the sequence of events that followed the mysterious battle.
These events have left the magical community reeling with questions.
Who were these thirteen individuals? What was their true motive? Why were they dressed as Death Eaters? Do they have any connection to the Dark Lord? And does the sudden appearance of the death eaters in years is some kind of foreboding? Or is it just as the ministry is trying to project this attack. Few individuals walking down the wrong path with no larger picture.
Neither the Head of the DMLE nor the Minister for Magic has provided answers.
But more importantly. Who was the masked individual?
Was he a saviour? Or another monster?
The sheer brutality of his methods, his raw power and disregard for restraint, has left the wizarding public divided. Was he truly a protector? Or simply a new kind of horror, worse than the one they once feared?
An Auror, speaking on condition of anonymity, admitted that even with Director Bones and the Head Auror present, they were powerless against that man.
And once again, just like before, neither the DMLE nor the Ministry had any answers.
In the centre of the front page, surrounded by dense columns of text on all sides, was a large moving image of the masked individual, Harry Potter. The picture had clearly been extracted from the memories of one of the spectators at the Quidditch World Cup.
While none of the man's facial features were distinct, the blazing eyes were standing out vividly. Two burning orbs that seemed to pierce through the paper itself.
Barty read the article with sharp focus, his eyes darting across every word. Then, slowly, his gaze lifted to the photograph again.
Even though it was just a moving image, Barty could feel something crawling under his skin. A deep, cold unease that only grew stronger the longer he stared into those eyes. It was hard to think that a mere picture could frighten him.
He let out a long breath, forcing calm into his voice as he called out, "Get me some tea."
The inn he was sitting in was a small one. Given the size of the settlement, it had only a handful of tables, and since it was still early morning, the room was quiet and empty except for a single server who had been polishing glasses behind the counter.
When there was no response to his order, Barty frowned and raised his head from the newspaper. But the words caught in his throat.
Across from him, seated calmly at his table, was the same man from the photograph.
The morning sun had just begun to filter through the window and its rays were falling directly across Barty's face, forcing him to squint to see the man clearly.
Even so, he could see those eyes. The same burning eyes that had been in the photograph.
"Enjoying the morning newspaper with tea?" the man said in an amused tone. "Quite the hobby you have, Mr. Crouch."
Barty's pulse spiked as he tilted his head, struggling to make out the silhouette. And then recognition dawned on him. And it was horrifyingly clear.
"Harry Potter…" Barty whispered, shock freezing him in place.
His eyes were constantly flickering between the moving image on the front page and the man sitting before him, and his mind almost refused to accept the reality he was seeing.
"Yes," said Harry with a faint smile. "That is me."
Barty's hand twitched toward the wand, his instinct taking over. In an instant, he raised it and fired a curse.
Harry did not even blink. He simply lifted his index finger, and a transparent magical barrier shimmered before him. The curse struck the shield and vanished with a dull crackle.
"Do you fools never learn?" Harry asked softly, his tone edged with mockery as he pointed toward the newspaper. "You have read what happened. You know you are no match for me."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering. "I was trying to have a civil conversation, Mr. Crouch. Would you not oblige me?"
Under normal circumstances, Barty might have relished the chance to confront Harry Potter. He would have been happy to complete his revenge for the downfall of the dark lord. But now, after the article he had just read, after the fear curling in his gut, his blood had run ice cold.
He fired another spell. He was more desperate this time, and the moment the spell left his wand, he vanished from his chair.
Harry swatted the curse aside with a lazy wave of his hand. He raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly as he felt the ripple of apparition magic.
"I should have sealed the place," he muttered to himself.
A moment later, his voice echoed softly through the empty inn as if it was some hassle, "Making me do extra work."
Barty reappeared deep in the woods. Though he had done no physical work, his breathing was ragged, and his heart was pounding in his chest. He crouched low, gasping for air as he tried to steady himself.
He was just about to turn on the spot again, to flee further, when the space in front of him twisted.
Harry appeared out of thin air. His expression was calm and he was amused.
Before Barty could even raise his wand, a spell hit him square in the chest, and everything went black.
As Barty's body slumped to the ground, Harry stepped closer, kneeling beside him. He placed his index finger on his forehead.
"Let us see what you have been hiding," he murmured.
And then, just as he had done to Peter Pettigrew, Harry closed his eyes and slipped into Barty's mind, peeling back every barrier and memory. The hunt had begun once more.
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