"Why the long face, Harry?" asked Cedric. "Not excited for the match?"
"Hmm? No, of course I am," Harry said quickly. He'd been lost in thought, plotting out his actions over the coming hours, meticulously crafting a game plan to foil the Death Eaters' plans for the evening. Cedric examined Harry curiously for a moment before shrugging and continuing on ahead with his father.
Everyone else in the large group was excited beyond belief as they made their way through the grounds up to the stadium, decked out in either green and gold for the Irish or red and black for the Bulgarians. Harry had opted for an Aidan Lynch jersey, supporting his fellow Ravenclaw, even though he suspected he would have a rough game tonight. Only Cedric had joined him in green (and Damian, naturally, who mirrored everything Cedric did), while most of the Weasley clan were supporting Krum.
"Weasleys, with me!" Arthur announced as they reached the stadium. "We're in the Top Box, with the Minister!"
"See you 'round, eh Harry?" said Neville as he and Hermione made to follow the redheads up to their special seating.
"Yeah, see you," Harry nodded. "Take care not to lose any valuables while you're up there!"
"Yeah, will do," Neville said with a tinge of confusion, before parting ways with the Potters. Harry remembered all too well how Barty Crouch Jr. had stolen his wand in the Top Box and used it to conjure the Dark Mark; with any luck, Neville would avoid a similar fate.
The Potters and Diggorys made their way through the packed main concourse to their own seats near the center of the arena. And unbeknownst to Harry, they would have familiar neighbors… "Ah, there's Dale now!" said James, greeting Dale Greengrass when they arrived at their section. "You remember my children, Harry and Dahlia?"
"But of course!" Dale beamed, shaking Harry's hand enthusiastically. "Daphne has nothing but wonderful things to say about you, Harry."
"Glad to hear it," Harry said honestly, peering around for the familiar blonde. "Where is she?"
"She and Mother think Quidditch is un-lady-like," Astoria rolled her eyes from beside her father. "It's just me."
"Don't listen to that stick in the mud," Dahlia giggled, giving her friend a hug. "We ladies can scream and holler with the best of 'em, right?"
"And who better to appreciate the physique of the athletes?" Astoria said with a cheeky grin. "I can't wait to feast my eyes on that dreamboat Krum…"
"Alright, enough of that," Dale groaned good-naturedly. But he then leaned in close to Harry and muttered, "But I'm eager to get a look at Krum myself – I hear he's quite the flyer!"
"Same," Harry agreed. He had, of course, witnessed Krum's brilliance in the air in his last timeline, and expected no different tonight. Perhaps the new Quidditch rules would alter the night's outcome slightly, but if anything, it just gave Krum more opportunities to show off his skill on a broom.
Once the stadium had filled around them, Minister Fudge took to the microphone from his box to welcome the crowd. Harry watched his speech through the Omnioculars his father provided, keeping tabs on the rest of the group behind the Minister. Barty Crouch Sr. had yet to arrive with his house-elf and concealed son, but Harry had to assume they would be in attendance. He had no reason to suspect Crouch Jr. would attempt to harm Neville or anyone else in this timeline as in the last. But he did feel a bit uneasy about allowing such a dangerous man to sit unchecked so near the Boy Who Lived…
"And here come the Bulgarians!" Fudge boomed. The crowd roared in appreciation as Krum led the team out of the tunnel, soaring high over the stands in tight formation. Harry's lingering memories of Krum had been of the gangling, awkward young man he'd known at Hogwarts – he'd forgotten how much of a natural he was on a broomstick, in his element, at the height of his powers. Krum pumped a triumphant fist in the air, looking every bit the global superstar he was.
There were suddenly whoops of delight as the Bulgarian cheerleaders flooded out onto the pitch: Veela, strutting proudly before the crowd and blowing kisses to the men in the stands. Harry felt the shift all around him: men were shouting, vying for their attention, some physically trying to climb down the supports to join them on the field as their wives and sisters struggled to hold them back.
Harry felt a powerful wave of magic assaulting his senses as the allure of the Veela nearly overwhelmed him. He slammed his Occlumency barriers into place, aided by years of nightly practice before bed. He looked around; Cedric and Damian were practically drooling from the mouth, staring slack-jawed at the gorgeous women, as too were Dale Greengrass and Amos Diggory. Only James stood unaffected among the men; he and Harry met eyes and shared a silent laugh of pity for their fellows, while Dahlia and Astoria made loud gagging noises to Harry's right.
The Irish took the field soon after, and Harry cheered appreciatively for Aidan Lynch as he led his team through their warm-ups. Despite their home field advantage, the cheers were less than for the Bulgarians, who had the star power and international fan base to compensate. Though if this timeline was anything like the last, the Irish would likely do just fine this evening, Lynch notwithstanding.
Ludo Bagman stood to take over for Fudge in the Top Box as the two teams faced off at midfield. "Good luck to both teams!" he boomed jovially. "Play hard and play fair, you lot. And the Quaffle is away – the finals have begun!"
It was clear to Harry in the first frantic three minutes of the match that Ireland was vastly superior to Bulgaria, as in the last timeline. Their Chasers were faster, their Beaters stronger and more accurate. The green and gold were on the offensive from the first second, mounting a formidable offense against the unprepared red and black, taking a 30-nil lead in the blink of an eye as the crowd roared appreciatively.
But high above the action, the match-up between Viktor Krum and Aidan Lynch was another story entirely. Lynch looked tentative and unsure, following Krum closely, afraid to let him stray too far. He didn't even appear to be looking for the Snitch; his eyes were firmly on Krum, afraid of the younger man wresting away control of the match unopposed.
"Lynch is playing too passively," Cedric muttered. "What is he doing?"
"He's setting himself up to get baited by Krum," James agreed. Harry watched on, already sensing what was to come, as it had come to pass in his prior timeline.
"And Krum's spotted something!" Bagman shouted into the microphone, as the Bulgarian flattened himself to his broom and rocketed towards the ground. "Lynch is going after him...he's gaining ground fast…"
That should've been his first clue something was wrong, Harry thought. Gaining ground on the best Seeker on the world, on the world's fastest broom? In hindsight it was blindingly obvious what Krum was about to do…
Krum reached out his arm as though to catch the Snitch, as he rapidly approached the grass below. Lynch did the same, oblivious to the ploy. Krum pulled up hard at the last second, toes skimming the grass as he canceled his dive at the last possible millisecond. Lynch was not so lucky – he tried to pull up but had gained too much speed, nosediving into the pitch with a dull thud.
"Ooh, rough luck there, Lynch!" shouted Ludo Bagman with glee as the Irish Seeker gingerly picked himself up from the grass. "Gotta be careful chasing the likes of Krum: ride like lightning, and you'll crash like thunder!"
"Brilliant Wronski Feint!" James laughed uproariously. "Never seen one in person before!"
"This is incredible flying!" Cedric said, in awe at the display Krum was putting on.
"Yeah," Harry agreed absentmindedly. But he couldn't bear to focus on the action happening down below. His Omnioculars continued to stray upwards, towards the Top Box, where the Weasley group was sitting. Neville, Ron and Hermione were excitedly watching the action, but directly behind them Harry could now see Winky the house-elf guarding an empty seat, which she continuously glanced sideways at in concern.
He must be there, Harry thought gravely. Why should he wait until nightfall to make his move? There was ample security around the Top Box, and the Aurors could take him into custody before he could hurt anybody. Now was as good a time as any.
"Dad...hey, Dad!" said Harry, elbowing his father in the side hard.
"KNOCK KRUM OFF HIS BROOM, LYNCH!" James shouted hoarsely. "Hmm? What is it, Harry?"
"Dad, look!" Harry insisted, handing over his Omnioculars. "Up in the Top Box!"
"What are you doing, people-watching during a game like this?" said James. "Bulgaria's getting flattened!"
"It's an emergency!" Harry shouted. James finally relented and took the device from Harry, looking as directed up into the Minister's seating area.
"What am I looking for here?" he huffed.
"The empty seat, behind Neville Longbottom," said Harry. "I think there's someone hiding under an Invisibility Cloak up there."
James squinted through the Omnioculars for quite some time. "Could be, I guess," he shrugged. "There are plenty of empty seats around—"
"Please, Dad, believe me!" Harry pleaded with him. "Crouch Jr. is extremely dangerous, and he needs to be stopped!"
James looked torn between watching the match below and listening to his son, but he finally sighed and stood from his seat. "I'll pass along the message to my colleagues," he said. "Be back shortly." And he made his way down the row and back into the stadium concourse below.
He was gone for several long minutes as the game degenerated heavily down on the pitch. Bulgaria had resorted to nasty fouls in a futile attempt to slow down Ireland's offensive onslaught, and the leprechauns were fighting the Veela on the grass far below. Two of the three Snitches had been caught already by Krum as Lynch flew around the pitch in a daze, but the score remained 150-110 in favor of the green and gold.
Movement caught Harry's eye from above, and he directed his Omnioculars back up to the Top Box. A team of six Aurors had swept into the box, wands drawn, causing considerable alarm; Minister Fudge had sprung to his feet, despite the Aurors clearly instructing everyone to stay seated. Harry could see a few familiar faces among the guards, including Kingsley and Tonks, so he had faith that they would do their job despite Fudge's blustering.
Winky looked extremely distressed as Kingsley jabbed his wand at the empty seat beside her. Harry watched as the man groped about the empty space, seemingly finding nothing. He also sent out a flare of light blue light from his wand, which apparently did not turn up anything suspicious. He turned to his fellow Aurors and shrugged.
He's not there, Harry thought with dismay, as Fudge began dressing down the abashed Aurors for interrupting the match. But Harry kept his eyes on Crouch Sr. and Winky, who each looked incredibly nervous at the turn of events. The Aurors eventually departed the Top Box, and James returned to his seat soon after.
"Kingsley sent along a Patronus saying it was all clear," James muttered as he took his seat beside Harry. He said nothing more, but Harry could feel his father's silent frustration with his son.
"Sorry, Dad, I really thought he was there—" Harry began.
"It's alright, son," James sighed. "Protecting the Minister is my job. I would never be angry with you if your visions suggested he might be in danger."
Fudge isn't the one that needs protecting, Harry thought bitterly. He wondered if perhaps Crouch Jr. had never entered the Top Box at all, or if he'd managed to slip out before the Aurors could conduct their search. Or was the timeline radically different once again, and Crouch Jr. was nowhere near the World Cup to begin with? Was he just misinterpreting Winky's body language as something less serious?
Raucous cheering broke Harry from his stupor, and he returned his attention to the action on the pitch as Krum entered a steep dive. Lynch followed tentatively, wary of another deadly feint, but Harry could see that Krum's aim was true. The Bulgarian snatched the final Snitch out of the air, and after a moment's confusion, the stadium erupted in thunderous applause.
"An incredible hat trick by Viktor Krum!" Ludo Bagman screamed hoarsely over the cheering crowd. "The first in World Cup finals history! But it's not enough to take down the Irish, who win the match 170-160 and claim the Cup!"
Some things never change, Harry thought as he watched Team Ireland land on the pitch and celebrate wildly at their victory. The Bulgarians looked utterly dejected, aside from Krum, who looked irate with his teammates for failing to give him any support whatsoever. Hard to blame him after the spectacular heroics he'd just put on display…
After a muted trophy ceremony, in which Fudge descended down to the pitch to bestow Team Ireland with the Cup, the crowd began to filter out towards the exit. "Sure to be a rowdy evening," remarked Dale Greengrass as their little group made their way through the throngs of people. "Nobody knows how to celebrate quite like the Irish."
Or the Death Eaters, Harry thought bitterly to himself. His mind was already hours ahead, plotting out the course his evening would take. His plan was risky, but if successful, it would make a bold statement. Draw a line in the sand. Perhaps this would be the wake-up call the Ministry needed to get their act together – he doubted it, but optimism was all he had to cling to these days.
Britain will not fall to these cowards hiding behind their masks, he thought resolutely. Not again.
The group reunited with the Weasley clan outside the grounds, most of whom were exhilarated from the match. "What a show!" Charlie Weasley was raving to anyone who'd listen, settling on Harry and Cedric as his latest audience. "Take notes, boys: that is how a Seeker ought to play this game...bold and fearless!"
"You'd better not try any of that against me next season, Potter," Cedric ribbed the younger boy lightly. "I'd like for both of us to make it to graduation with our necks unsnapped."
"No promises," Harry winked. "I have a knack for risking my own life unnecessarily as of late."
His attention was diverted by the sight of Neville, Ron and Hermione near the back of the pack, having a hurried, hushed conversation. He made his way over to them. "Something the matter?" he asked.
"Neville's misplaced his wand," Hermione sighed. "You should find a staff member and ask them to search the Top Box for it."
"I already told you, Hermione, I looked all over the box for it before we left!" Neville groaned. "It's not up there. Maybe I left it in the tent…"
"I wouldn't worry about it," Harry shrugged. "Wands always tend to find their way back to their true masters in time."
He neglected to mention that he knew exactly where the wand was: in the hands of Barty Crouch Jr., biding his time, waiting for his moment to strike. He must have slipped out of the box before the Aurors could search his seat – perhaps aided by Neville's wand to cloak his escape. With any luck, Harry would be returning that wand to Neville by night's end.
Harry hung back with the younger members of the group on the way back to the campsite, keeping one hand on his wand in his robes at all times. For all he knew, the Death Eaters could choose to mount their attack early, and the underage students would need protecting above all else. Neville in particular, who was both currently wandless and also the number one enemy of any Death Eater who crossed their path.
By the time they reached their circle of tents, the party was already underway. Charlie was dancing around the roaring fire in the twilight, shirtless, one hand beating his green-painted chest and the other clutching an open bottle of Firewhiskey. Bill and the other adults joined him soon after in the celebrations (as did the twins, who were swiftly turned away for being underage).
"Bed, all of you," Arthur said sternly, looking to the twins. "You two are responsible for the others tonight."
"You too," James said to Harry, taking his own sip of Firewhiskey. "You're in charge of your sister and cousin."
"Alright," Harry nodded solemnly. "But remember what I said last night." Harry retreated to the tent, hoping that his father would not drink to excess that evening – he might need his help after all.
Despite the lack of alcohol, the twins managed to concoct a decent party in their own tent, which the girls joined them for. Harry had no clue how they'd managed to procure ice-cold Butterbeer, but had long ago stopped questioning how the twins managed anything when it came to mischievous revelry. He sat with the rest of the group in a circle, laughing and enjoying the festive atmosphere.
But he kept one ear open to the outside world all the while, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He could not remember when the Death Eater attack had begun last time, and didn't want to let it degenerate to the same level it had the last time before taking action.
"You look distracted, Harry," Neville remarked during a lull in the conversation. "What's the matter?"
"I think something bad is going to happen tonight," Harry muttered. "An attack on the campgrounds."
"Who would do something like that?" Ron frowned.
"Death Eaters," Harry frowned, causing the two boys to look concerned.
"Blimey...did you have, like, a vision about it?" asked Neville quietly, as he was one of the few who knew Harry's Seer cover story.
"Something like that," Harry nodded. "But I could be wrong. Just being cautious is all."
Had he done enough in this timeline already to change the Death Eaters' plans? Would his foresight once again fail to materialize into reality? He'd been wrong before, and he feared all his preparation would be for naught…
He forced himself to not fret about it and enjoy the company of his friends and family. Fred and George were telling embarrassing stories about their brothers (including one another), drawing raucous laughter from the crowd. They even convinced an abashed Cedric to share the story of their successful prank during first year flying lessons, in which the twins had rubbed doxy powder on Cedric's broom, forcing him to spend hours in the locker room showers after scrubbing desperately at his sensitive regions.
"Scoot over, will you, Harry?" asked Ginny innocently, indicating the fold-out chair he was sitting in. Harry instead stood up and offered her the chair, which she reluctantly took; he'd spent the last fifteen minutes watching her unsuccessfully try to goad an oblivious Neville into inviting her to her sit in his lap. Dahlia was having similar bad luck flirting with a distracted Cedric, while Damian was bragging to a mortified Hermione about how much weight he could lift. Ah, young love, Harry thought bemusedly to himself, shaking his head at the obvious and ham-fisted attempts to woo the opposite sex.
Then, just as the festivities were winding down, there came quite suddenly a sound of screaming from far off in the distance. Everyone in the tent jumped to their feet, straining to listen.
"What's that?" asked Damian.
"Death Eaters," Harry said grimly, drawing his wand. "It's starting."
"What do we do?" asked Hermione fearfully.
"Get far away," said Harry. "Find the adults and run."
"What about you?" Damian demanded.
"I'm fighting," Harry said resolutely. "If no one else is willing to stop them, I'll do it myself."
"Harry, that's not a good idea," Cedric said warningly. "We should go to the adults and see what they think—"
"Yeah, these are dark wizards we're talking about!" Neville said fearfully.
"Then go," said Harry pointedly. "I won't ask anyone to follow me. But I'm not taking this lying down."
Before any of the others could protest, Harry left the tent, emerging into the already smoke-filled air. The adults' tent was dark, as his father and the others had clearly retired for the night after copious drinking. Harry could hear screams of terror and see far-off bursts of flame as the Death Eaters began their march through the campsite. Harry located the source of the commotion and set off, prepared to fight.
"Hold up, Potter!" came a voice from behind him. Harry turned; Fred, George, and Cedric exited the tent behind him. "We've got your back."
"Me too," piped in Neville, emerging from the tent behind them.
"You haven't got a wand, Neville," said Harry. "And they'll want you dead more than anyone else. Grab the others and run, now."
Neville froze under Harry's commanding tone, then nodded, and he and the five other youngest students scurried off into the darkness in the opposite direction. Harry turned to the older boys, who stood ready behind him, awaiting his lead. Harry was unaccustomed to being the leader, but apparently his D.A. skills from the previous timeline had carried over, and they looked to him for further instruction.
"Follow me," he said, and he set off at a light jog, the others close behind. The sounds of conflict intensified as they drew closer; people ran past in a blur, scrambling for safety, shouting in many languages. They passed by a couple tents that had caught flame; Harry doused them with water, and sensed the other three doing the same behind him. Their silent presence emboldened him, reminded him that he was not alone – a feeling he'd craved subconsciously for the past three years.
Harry rounded a corner, and there they were: Death Eaters, some three dozen in total, packed tightly together, marching down the center row of tents. They were laughing openly from behind their masks, lighting tents ablaze and levitating Muggles over their heads, cackling at their cries of terror.
"Uh, Harry, we should leave—" stammered Fred at the imposing sight. But Harry didn't hesitate. He walked out into the center of the Death Eaters' path, wand drawn, staring the group down.
"Stand aside, child!" one of the masked Death Eaters at the front jeered. "Run off to your mummy before you get hur—aaaaahhh!"
The man was cut off by Harry's wordless Bone-Breaker Curse, shattering the man's leg and sending him sprawling to the ground in agony. The procession froze momentarily in shock, looking from the fallen figure to the fourteen-year-old boy in their path.
"What on earth are you doing, Harry?" hissed Cedric.
"Sending a message," Harry growled. And he began firing curses into the crowd: Bone-Breakers, Cutting Curses, Bludgeoning Hexes, and every other dangerous spell that sprang to his mind. Several connected, causing more shouts of pain and surprise as four more Death Eaters fell to his wand. The tightly-packed group scattered; a few Apparated away out of fear, not expecting resistance, while most dove for cover amongst the surrounding tents.
"Harry, look out!" shouted George; his Shield Charm barely deflected a curse aimed at Harry's head. The Death Eaters were beginning to fight back; Harry shifted to defensive mode, blocking incoming curses and sending the occasional counter-curse back. He was forced to back away slowly towards cover as the Death Eaters began to regroup, their initial shock fading as they realized they still had the numbers advantage and were up against a group of teenagers.
"Lay your wand down, foolish boy," a voice hissed from behind a mask; Harry immediately recognized it as Lucius Malfoy's. "No need for anyone else to get hurt—"
"Tempesta electra!" Harry shouted. A dark storm cloud formed over the huddled Death Eaters, booming ominously with thunder and crackling with lightning. The Death Eaters were once again mystified, temporarily pausing to look up at the frightening cloud hovering over their heads. But this was no benign illusion like in Harry's second year; he'd been tweaking and updating the spell for this moment.
"No Dark Lord to protect you tonight," Harry said ominously, his Sonorous-fueled voice echoing through the clouds. "Flee now, or feel the wrath of thunder upon you."
And Harry swiped down with his wand. Thick bolts of electricity began to rain down upon the Death Eaters, eliciting more shouts of pain and fear. Loud pops rang out through the night as more Disapparated away into the night, their night of unopposed revelry come to an abrupt end. Others scrambled away, no longer interested in fighting, just trying to escape the torrent from Harry's storm.
But one of them would not be getting away. Harry stalked after his target, batting aside the man's feeble attempts to curse him as he stumbled backwards in the grass. Harry Stunned the man and bound him in thick ropes, kneeling before his enemy. He yanked off the mask to reveal the unconscious but fear-stricken face of Lucius Malfoy. Harry resisted the temptation to kick the man's teeth in; instead he took Malfoy's wand in both hands and broke it in two with a satisfying snap.
"Bloody hell, Harry," came an awed voice from behind him. He turned; Fred, George and Cedric were still crouched behind a nearby tent, wands drawn, shaking furiously. The latter was slowly approaching, looking down at the man Harry had just overpowered. "You just took on a whole army of Death Eaters by yourself."
"They're cowards," Harry spat, looking down at Malfoy with contempt. "The whole lot of 'em. One shred of resistance and they run for safety, like cockroaches." It had been a gamble on his part, but it played out exactly as he suspected: the Death Eaters lacked strong leadership and wouldn't expect anyone to put up a fight, and they had crumbled at the first sign of trouble.
"Boys!" a booming voice yelled from the darkness; James, Arthur, and Amos were sprinting up to the scene, eyes wide. James surveyed the landscape, checking first to ensure the boys were not hurt, then seeing the wreckage left behind by Harry's storm, then spying Lucius Malfoy Stunned and bound at his son's feet. "What in Merlin's name…?"
"Potter!" Amos suddenly gasped, pointing off into the distance. Everyone turned: the Dark Mark had appeared in the sky over a thicket of trees, roughly a quarter-mile away.
"Dad, what is that?" Cedric asked fearfully. The twins too looked to their own father for answers.
But not Harry. He gave James a different look, one of pure resolve. James recognized it at once, his eyes alighting in fear.
"Don't do it, Harry," he warned. But Harry ignored him. His main target would not get away on his watch.
Destination. Deliberation. Determination.
Harry spun on the spot, his father's shouts of protests being drowned out as he was pulled into the terrible feeling of compression and Disapparated away.
Harry emerged out the other end, gulping in a large breath as his feet touched down in a forest clearing. It was much darker here; the only light was the Dark Mark glittering in green over his head. Harry blinked a few times in rapid succession, eyes adjusting to the low light.
Then he saw him. Barty Crouch Jr., wand pointed upwards, admiring his handiwork painted across the skyline. Harry could not afford to waste a moment.
"Stupefy!" he shouted. His bolt of red light shot out across the clearing after the man. Crouch saw it coming just in time, flicking his wand to block the spell and turning towards his newest opponent. The man's face was screwed up in an expression of pure rage, and Harry felt the danger radiating off of the man. It gave him pause for the briefest of moments, long enough for Crouch to raise Neville's wand and say the dreaded words:
"Avada Kedavra!"
A bolt of green light erupted from the wand and shot straight towards Harry. He dove out of the way, but he needn't have, as the spell was intercepted by a large boulder tossed into its path, pinging harmlessly up into the sky. Crouch spun around wildly looking for the new arrival, and snarled as James Potter strode into the clearing, wand brandished, cool rage in his eyes.
"You will not harm my son!" James spat, and Harry felt a chill down his spine at the fearsome sight of him. He'd faced his father in practice duels, but had never seen him in a real battle before, and James struck an intimidating figure. Even Crouch seemed momentarily cowed, but he quickly sprang into action, launching a flurry of curses at the Auror.
James moved with lightning speed, faster than Harry could have imagined. His wand was a blur, deflecting spells and sending counter-attacks back at Crouch. Harry watched the two enemies duel with amazement, spellbound by the fearsome display of magic.
He shook out of his stupor and stepped forward beside his father. "Harry, get out of here!" James demanded.
"Not a chance," Harry snarled. He began firing spells of his own at Crouch, doubling the amount of offensive pressure on the man. Crouch erected a powerful Shield Charm and spun to his left, but James flicked his wand to animate the earth behind him, with miniature dogs forming from the dirt and nipping at Crouch's heels.
Crouch grunted in frustration and twirled Neville's wand around his head like a whip, sending a powerful blast of wind outwards to expel the animated creatures. He turned his wand back towards James, murderous intent in his eyes—
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, and Neville's wand was wrenched from Crouch's hand, soaring up into the air for Harry to catch. James' follow-up jinx bound the man in thick ropes, as he toppled over to the ground, screaming with rage.
"You should have killed me, boy!" Crouch Jr. snarled at Harry as he and James closed in. "I'll remember your face...I'll make you suffer in ways you could never imagine!"
"You'll do no such thing," James said coldly, silencing the man with a harsh flick of his wand. "The dementors will no doubt be glad to see you again, Barty."
Small pops of Apparation appeared all around them as Aurors and Ministry officials arrived at the clearing to investigate. There were gasps of surprise all around when they saw who was bound at James' feet.
"What is the meaning of this?" Fudge said irritably as he walked to the front of the pack, freezing at the sight before him. "Merlin's beard, is that Barty Junior? I thought he was in Azkaban!"
"His father certainly has a lot to answer for," James said bitterly. "We need to find him and question him, along with that house-elf of his."
"If his house-elf is on the Ministry registry, it will be compelled to appear at my command," said Fudge. "We only need to learn its name."
"It's Winky," Harry piped up, and many heads turned towards him. Fudge looked astonished at the sight of the boy.
"How do you know this, young man?" Fudge demanded. "And what are you doing out here, caught up in all this?"
"It's my fault, Minister," James cut in, stepping in front of his son. "I took my son and ran, and we happened to cross paths with Crouch. He was only defending himself."
"You...but this...oh, very well," Fudge huffed. "WINKY!"
There was a small pop, and Winky the house-elf blinked into existence in the clearing. She immediately burst into frantic tears at the sight of her master's son, bound and helpless on the ground.
"Oh, Mister Barty, no! You was not supposed to leave the tent!" Winky wailed. "Why is you doing this?"
"Listen to me, house-elf," Fudge commanded. "I order you to locate your master, Crouch Sr., and bring him to me at once."
Winky shivered with fright at these words. "Winky is not to do it," she wailed. "Winky cannot disobey her master, who bade her be silent!"
"As Minister of Magic, I order you to do as I say!" Fudge blustered. But Winky only continued to stare fearfully up at the man, trembling but saying nothing.
"With respect, Minister," said a deep, booming voice, as Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forward, "house-elves do not recognize any authority above their own master. The current laws do not compel them to betray their master's orders—"
"Perhaps new legislation is in order?" Harry piped in, thinking suddenly of Dobby and Kreacher, still serving their own twisted masters. "To allow house-elves to act against their masters if they are given conflicting orders?"
"Preposterous!" Fudge sputtered. "The pure-blood houses would have my head!"
"Then I'm afraid there is nothing we can do with Winky here," James frowned. "Unless you wish to bring charges against her?"
"She has been harboring a fugitive," Kingsley pointed out. "We can detain her and prevent her from serving her master further, but that is the extent of it."
"Fine," Fudge spat. "Take the elf away. And the runaway as well."
The Aurors moved forward to put Winky and Crouch Jr. in magical handcuffs, preventing them from Disapparating. Winky continued to sob openly, looking absolutely miserable as Kingsley gently led her away from the clearing.
"I'm putting you in charge of cleaning up this mess at the campsite, Potter," said Fudge harshly to James. "Round up whoever we captured and process them with the DMLE. What a bloody mess this night has become..." Then the Minister turned to leave, following Kingsley and the other Ministry officials out of the clearing.
Alone at last, James turned to Harry, examining his son head to toe. For a moment, Harry was certain his father was about to lay into him, to admonish him for his actions. Instead, he wrapped Harry in a tight hug, which Harry gratefully returned. He'd never known the protective embrace of his father before, but it was warm and comforting, and he relished in the moment for as long as possible.
"Let's get you back to your mother and sister," said James, turning to guide Harry out of the clearing. Harry made to follow, but took one step and stumbled, feeling a sharp pain shoot up his leg.
"Ouch!" he winced, looking down at his foot; it felt oddly numb, and his shoe felt as though it was filled with mush.
James helped Harry to the ground and removed his shoe and sock, immediately recoiling from the sight. "You've Splinched yourself again," he muttered, waving his wand over the affected area; Harry felt a hot warmth as James staunched the bleeding. "Lost two toes this time. Let's get you to a Healer."
Harry nodded, feeling suddenly light-headed; he must not have noticed the Splinching thanks to all the adrenaline coursing through his system. He took his father's hand, grateful for the support, and felt himself whisked away back into that horrible feeling of compression as they Disapparated from the clearing.
A/N: You wanted more wins for Harry to balance out the losses? Well, here's a big one! Also, shout out to one of my favorite movies, The Place Beyond the Pines, for providing the bad-ass line of dialogue that inspired this chapter's title!