18th August 1994 — 10:27 pm
World Cup Campsite
Getting out of the stadium after Fudge's announcement proved…hectic.
As we made our way across the VIP box and started down the purple-carpeted stairs, people kept stopping me—shaking my hand, introducing themselves, offering hurried congratulations to the young inventor whose Wiphones would soon show the Triwizard Tournament live across the world for the first time in wizarding history.
It was flattering...and exhausting.
And it made moving anywhere at normal human speed completely impossible.
Eventually we were swept along with the rest of the crowd pouring out of the stadium toward the campsites. Raucous singing drifted across the warm night air, occasionally punctuated by bursts of laughter or the distant boom of celebratory fireworks. Leprechauns shot overhead in glittering streaks of gold and green, cackling wildly and swinging their tiny lanterns like drunken pyrotechnics.
Beside me, my friends were practically vibrating with unasked questions.
To their credit, they had the good sense not to ask anything sensitive in the middle of several thousand curious witches and wizards.
That restraint lasted until our tents came into view.
"So," Harry said, unable to hold it in any longer, "how long have you known about this Tournament?"
Before I could answer, Mr Greengrass gave a soft chuckle and glanced toward the other adults.
"Why don't we give the children some room?" he suggested mildly. "They clearly have quite a few things they wish to discuss. Care to join me for a nightcap, folks?"
The invitation was met with knowing smiles and quiet laughter.
Mr and Mrs Longbottom, Sirius, Remus, and my parents all graciously accepted, drifting toward the Greengrass tent with the unmistakable air of adults who intended to let curiosity run its natural course—at a safe conversational distance.
The rest of us—Harry, Neville, Hermione, Daphne, Tracey, Rachel, Ginny, Luna, Astoria and me—headed inside our own tent.
As we stepped into the drawing room, the outside noise dulled to a distant murmur. I gave a casual wave toward the enchanted refrigerator in the corner and summoned a small flotilla of Butterbeers, sending the bottles drifting neatly into waiting hands.
Once everyone had settled, I dropped onto a sofa and took a slow sip before answering.
"If you're asking when Fudge told me," I said, "the answer is—three days ago."
All eyes locked onto me.
"A week ago, when I arrived here and set up shop, Fudge and Bagman stopped by for a visit. I showed them the Argus drone… and floated the idea of recording the match and distributing the footage through the Wiphones. Entertainment for the masses."
I took another sip, letting the memory play out.
"Four days later, they came back and asked whether it would be possible to broadcast an event live across Europe. I told them Europe wouldn't be a problem—our network could handle the entire world."
A small pause.
"That's when they told me about the Tournament."
Rachel frowned slightly.
"Why didn't you tell us?"
I gave her a look.
"Because Fudge explicitly told me not to speak about it to anyone until he made the announcement himself."
That answer settled the question—but not the curiosity.
Neville stood and crossed quietly to the tent entrance. He turned a small brass knob embedded in the canvas wall, and with a soft sealing sound the doorway closed completely, muting the outside world even further.
When he returned, his voice was low.
"Did the Tournament happen in the other world?" he asked. "Did you see it?"
Everyone leaned forward.
I nodded once.
"Yes, it did. And yes, I did."
They waited.
I said nothing.
Daphne's patience lasted about three seconds.
"Well?" she demanded. "How was it?"
I considered the question carefully, then gave the only honest answer that wouldn't spoil everything.
"In a word—cinematic."
Harry stared at me.
"That's it? That's all you have to say?"
"That's all I want to say," I replied calmly. "The Tournament will last the entire school year. I'm not going to ruin it by handing you the script in advance."
A faint smile tugged at my mouth.
"All I'll say is this—it's going to be fun."
I paused, then added almost casually:
"Oh. And before we go back to school… you guys might want to take some dance lessons."
Harry blinked.
"Dance lessons? What for?"
"For the Yule Ball, obviously."
His expression didn't improve.
"The Yule Ball," I explained, "is a formal Christmas dance hosted by the school during the Tournament. The opening dance is mandatorily performed by the champions and their partners."
Harry's shoulders slumped in instant defeat.
"And just like that," he muttered, "any desire I had to enter this tournament is gone."
Soft laughter rippled through the room.
Ginny, however, looked more serious than amused.
"Will the tasks be dangerous?" she asked quietly.
I met her eyes.
"They'll be difficult," I said. "And for the unprepared…very dangerous."
The room grew still.
"Which is why," I continued, "I don't want any of you trying to enter this tournament."
Daphne folded her arms.
"Why? You don't think we can handle ourselves?"
"It's not about your ability," I said evenly. "It's about taking unnecessary risks."
She scoffed.
"Like you've never taken those."
"I take risks when I understand the board," I replied. "This… is different."
Then I exhaled softly.
"But fine. If you still insist on knowing what you'd be walking into—here's one detail."
They leaned closer.
"The first task," I said, "involves stealing an egg."
Blank looks all around.
"That's it?" Neville asked. "Just steal an egg? From who?"
I held his gaze.
"From a forty-foot-long, fire-breathing dragon."
The reaction was immediate.
Disbelief.
Shock.
A fair bit of horror.
Harry shook his head.
"You're joking."
"I'm not."
I let the words settle.
"You have to steal an egg from underneath a nesting mother dragon… while the entire school watches from the stands as you try your best not to be lacerated, eviscerated, or worse, incinerated."
Neville's voice rose in outrage.
"That's insane! How is that not the definition of mortal danger?"
I gave a small, humorless shrug.
"I hear you, Neville. Truly. But the powers that be want a good show. And a good show they shall have."
Hermione, who had been silent until now, finally spoke.
"You're going to participate… aren't you?"
Her voice was quiet, but there was nothing uncertain about the question.
I looked at her for a moment before answering.
"I am."
A flicker of worry crossed her face.
"Why?" she asked. "You just said you don't like taking unnecessary risks. So why take part in this bloodsport? For eternal glory?"
I couldn't help it—I scoffed.
"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione. All glory is fleeting."
I tilted my head slightly. "Can you name the last Tournament winner? Or the first one?"
She opened her mouth… then closed it.
"You can't," I said gently. "And I'd wager the same for most people. Because in the end—no one really cares."
Her brow furrowed deeper.
"Then why?" she pressed. "It can't be the prize money. You already have millions of galleons in Gringotts."
I let out a slow breath.
"Because of Igor Karkaroff."
Blank looks met the name.
"Who?" Harry asked.
Before I could answer, Luna spoke in her usual dreamy calm.
"Igor Karkaroff," she said. "I read in my father's notes that he was a Death Eater who was captured and imprisoned during the last war."
I nodded.
"The cowardly slimeball managed to save himself by naming other Death Eaters to the Wizengamot. Got his crimes pardoned. After that, he slithered into Durmstrang, climbed the ranks… and now he's the headmaster."
Neville looked horrified.
"The headmaster of Durmstrang is a Death Eater?"
"Yes."
A bitter edge crept into my voice.
"And the worst part? Now that he leads one of Europe's three great magical schools, he fancies himself Dumbledore's equal. Which is especially amusing—considering Dumbledore was present at his trial."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
"Teachers aren't supposed to help Triwizard champions. They're meant to solve the clues and face the tasks on their own—with only their friends beside them."
My gaze moved slowly across the room.
"Hogwarts professors, under Dumbledore, will follow the rules. Madame Maxime will bend them… but only slightly."
A pause.
"But Karkaroff?"
My voice cooled.
"He'll do anything to make sure Durmstrang wins."
Silence settled.
"I know who the champions will be," I continued quietly. "And if events unfold the way I fear they will… Durmstrang will take the Cup."
I leaned back, a faint hardness settling in my chest.
"And I would rather leave Hogwarts entirely than watch Karkaroff drape his arm around Dumbledore's shoulder and flash that yellow-toothed smile that says, 'Well, you tried your best. But the better school won.'"
Hermione still looked troubled.
"Why not just help the Hogwarts champion?" she asked softly. "Give them everything they needs to win."
I shook my head.
"Because his pride—and his friends—would never let him believe a third-year knows better than a NEWT-level student."
A small shrug.
"And even with a perfect plan, there's no guarantee he wouldn't panic and get his face burned off or something."
She didn't smile.
"But it would still be dangerous for you."
I grinned.
"Hermione… I'm currently trying to figure out how to complete the tasks without making it look too easy."
A few surprised looks met that.
I softened my tone.
"Look. I'll be fine. I promise. These tasks are nothing compared to some of the things I've already faced."
The tension didn't vanish—but it loosened.
After that, the interrogation continued in smaller ways.
Hints. Guesses. Careful fishing for details.
I gave them nothing.
Eventually, the flap of the tent opened and mum and dad returned, conversation and laughter trailing in with them. That was the unspoken signal that the night was ending.
One by one, everyone dispersed.
Harry, Neville, Daphne, Tracey, and Astoria headed back to their tents.
Hermione, Luna, Rachel, and Ginny claimed the bunk-bed room.
Mum and Dad took the master bedroom.
I was left with the final room—small, quiet, twin-bedded.
But sleep was the last thing on my mind.
Instead, I sat at the narrow desk and retrieved three holo-projectors from my storage ring, arranging them carefully across the polished wood.
Two projections showed live feeds from Argus drones drifting silently high above the campsite—
one sweeping slow patrol circles across the sprawling grounds,
the other fixed on the stretch of land surrounding our tents.
The third display showed the inside of the Crouch family tent.
My ant drone had long since slipped from Crouch Jr.'s shoulder and now clung unnoticed to the inner canvas wall, its lens capturing the quiet tableau inside—
Barty Crouch Sr.
His son.
Winky hovering anxiously nearby.
Now...we wait.
If events still followed the bones of the original timeline…
the attack will happen soon.
If it happens at all.
I took out The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven, opened it, and began to read—eyes moving across the familiar incantations while my attention remained split across three glowing windows of the present.
Time passed.
Outside, the distant Irish celebrations slowly faded—
songs softening, cheers thinning, fireworks dimming into scattered sparks against the night.
The campsite drifted toward sleep.
And then—
My enhanced hearing caught it.
Faint screams coming from far away.
I looked up instantly.
On the patrol projection, movement flickered at the far edge of the grounds. Black-robed figures wearing masks were moving, setting nearby tents on fire.
A quiet smile touched my lips.
"Showtime."
---
Lucius Malfoy had not worn the robes in thirteen years.
The dark fabric settled over his shoulders like a memory he had never truly shed. For a long moment he simply stood there, fingers resting against the edge of the silver mask lying on the table before him. Then, with slow deliberation, he lifted it and placed it over his face.
The mirror reflected the truth he preferred.
Not the courteous nobleman who hosted Ministry officials and endured political theatre with practiced smiles.
Not the patient observer forced to watch the slow dilution of magical society.
No.
This was who he truly was.
A Malfoy.
Pure.
Proud.
Unyielding.
And tonight, the world would be reminded that while the Dark Lord might have fallen… his ideals had not.
His thoughts turned—inevitably, bitterly—to a single name.
Benjamin Carter.
The insolent boy who had stripped him of both servant and gold through nothing more than smoke and mirrors.
For two years Lucius had searched the darker corners of the world, quietly, methodically, hunting any whisper of his former master.
He had found nothing.
Nothing to suggest the Dark Lord was any closer to resurrection than he had been the night he fell.
Which meant the truth was simple.
Dumbledore… and the boy… had deceived him.
Extorted him.
Him.
Lucius Malfoy.
The humiliation burned colder than rage.
His gaze drifted to the object resting silently on the table behind him.
A Wiphone.
Less than two months, and already the blasted thing was everywhere.
Draco had returned from Hogwarts with one, prattling on about its wonders. Lucius had dismissed it at the time—another trivial novelty born of Muggle contamination, no doubt encouraged by the boy's mudblood mother.
Yet within weeks, Carter had transformed the trinket into power.
Gold flowed into his vault.
Influence followed swiftly behind.
Fudge, predictably, had begun circling like a well-fed vulture seeking a more profitable corpse. That alone did not trouble Lucius—politicians were tools, and Fudge had long proved a particularly pliable one.
What troubled him… was the speed.
The boy was not merely gaining favour.
He was consolidating it.
And the announcement tonight—
Lucius's jaw tightened beneath the mask.
Broadcasting the Triwizard Tournament live across the world.
Wiphone sales would surge.
Carter's wealth would swell.
His reach would lengthen into places even Ancient families could not easily counter.
Lucius had known about the Tournament for months, courtesy of his old associate Karkaroff. Quiet plans had already formed—subtle bets placed, information positioned, advantages arranged so that Durmstrang's victory would be… inevitable.
All perfectly discreet.
All perfectly profitable.
All now far more difficult beneath international scrutiny.
Every irritation.
Every obstacle.
Every humiliation.
All traced back to the same source.
Benjamin Carter.
And so, tonight, the problem would be removed.
Lucius picked up his wand from the table, its sheath left behind in the safety of his own tent.
He stepped into the adjoining room.
Masked figures waited in silence, already dressed in the regalia of a past the world pretended was gone. Dark robes. Hidden faces. Breathing hushed behind silver.
This was not Lucius's tent—nor any of theirs.
It belonged to the young foreign couple now lying crumpled on the floor, stunned and obliviated into harmless nothingness.
Lucius turned toward the figure he recognized to be Nott Sr.
"Do you have them?" he said softly.
Nott inclined his head, crossed to a narrow closet and opened the door.
Inside lay the campsite manager—Mr Roberts—huddled with his wife and two children. A boy and a girl. Pale with terror, eyes wide in the dim light.
Lucius regarded them with distant satisfaction.
"Let's show them," he said smoothly, "what real sport looks like."
Laughter rippled through the masked circle—low, eager, cruel.
The Death Eaters began to move. The Muggle family was lifted helplessly into the air behind them, bodies bound in invisible force, drifting like grotesque balloons in a dark parade.
Lucius followed last, robes whispering across the ground.
To the others, this was merely indulgence—a night's release of accumulated frustration through Muggle suffering. Nothing more.
None of them knew the true purpose.
Right now, Fenrir Greyback and his pack waited patiently in the shadows near Carter's tent.
When the chaos began, Andrew Carter and the rest would rush toward the disturbance.
And Benjamin Carter—
along with the Boy Who Lived—
would be left alone. Alone and Vulnerable.
Lucius felt a slow smile curve beneath the mask.
Tonight is the night.
---
19th August 1994 — 12:43 a.m.
World Cup Campsite
The sounds coming from the campsite had changed.
The singing had stopped completely. In its place came screams—sharp, frightened sounds carried across the night—along with the noise of people running in every direction. From the projection in front of me, I watched hooded Death Eaters moving slowly across the darkened field. They laughed and jeered as they went, sometimes sending spells at tents or at fleeing figures simply because they could.
Most of them had their wands pointed straight upward. High above the marching group, four struggling bodies floated helplessly in the air, bound by invisible magic and dragged along like puppets pulled by unseen strings of light trailing up from the raised wands.
Two of the figures were very small.
My jaw tightened as I recognised the campsite manager, Mr. Roberts, and what was almost certainly his family. Watching children being treated as objects for amusement stirred a deep, steady anger inside me, and with it formed a quiet resolution.
This ends tonight.
I heard hurried footsteps approaching outside. Quickly shutting down all the projections, I stood just as the door unsealed and Dad burst into the room. He saw me awake and simply said,
"Good, you're up. Put on your jacket and come with me."
I picked up my jacket from the chair without asking questions and followed him into the other bedroom. Mum had just woken Rachel, Ginny, Luna, and Hermione. They were still in their pyjamas, blinking sleepily and trying to understand what was happening.
Rachel said groggily, "What's going on?"
Mum replied urgently, "No time to explain, sweetheart. Just put on your jackets and follow us."
The girls hurried to obey, pulling jackets over their nightdresses, and within moments we all stepped outside.
The campsite was in chaos. People were screaming and running toward the woods, trying to escape. In the distance, Death Eaters were moving slowly through the tents, more masked wizards joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents were blasted apart as the crowd of attackers swelled.
The Longbottoms and the Greengrass family emerged from their tents, as did Harry, Sirius, and Remus and hurried toward us. Dad quickly ushered everyone into our tent.
Once inside, he turned to Mum and said,
"Mira, I need you to take the kids back home."
Then he looked at me.
"Ben, open a portal back to our house."
He turned to Sirius, Remus, Frank Longbottom, and Cyrus Greengrass.
"I suggest you all do the same. Go home and stay there until it's over."
Mum held Dad's hand and asked quietly, "What are you going to do?"
Dad smiled at her and said, "I am an Auror, darling. I think you already know what I'm going to do."
Mum shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous, Andy! You can't go against so many of them alone."
"He won't be alone," Sirius said at once. With a fierce smile, he took out his wand and added, "I have been waiting for thirteen years to kick some Death Eater arse."
Remus smiled faintly. Turning to Harry, he said gently, "Go with your friends, Harry. Sirius and I will be back for you as soon as we can."
Harry looked from one to the other and said stubbornly, "I don't want to go. I want to stay. I can fight."
Sirius stepped in front of him and bent down until they were eye level. Resting a hand on Harry's shoulder, he said softly,
"I know you can. And trust me, one day you and I will fight evil side by side. But this is not your fight. You vanquished Voldemort, Harry. You did your part. Now let us do ours. Please, go with your friends. I promise, Remus and I will come back for you."
Harry looked at Sirius for a long moment, then at Remus, and finally nodded.
Frank Longbottom said nothing. He simply held Alice's hand for a moment, then laid a reassuring hand on Neville's shoulder. Cyrus Greengrass did the same with his wife and daughters, giving them a brief, steady smile.
Dad looked at me meaningfully, and I opened a portal to the living room of our house. Warm light spilled into the tent from the other side.
Mum looked at Dad and said softly, "Come back safe."
He gave her a reassuring smile. Then he looked at Rachel and me, and without another word, he walked out of the tent. Sirius, Remus, Frank Longbottom, and Cyrus Greengrass followed him.
Mum watched the closed entrance for several moments. Alice Longbottom placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and offered a reassuring smile. Mum returned a tired one before turning to Rachel.
"Come on, Rachel. It's time to go home."
Rachel looked up at her and said, "I don't want to go. I want to stay."
Mum knelt slightly and answered gently, "Honey, your father can't fight properly if he has to keep worrying about us."
Rachel lowered her eyes, then looked toward me. I smiled and said quietly,
"It's alright, Rachel. Everything is going to be okay. Go on."
Slowly, she walked through the portal. Luna followed her, then Hermione and Ginny—though Ginny glanced back toward the campsite before stepping through, worry clear on her face. Harry and Neville went next, followed by Astoria, Tracey, and Daphne.
Finally, Mum, Alice Longbottom, and Aurora Greengrass crossed into the house.
From the living room beyond the portal, Mum looked back at me and said, "Come on, Ben."
"In a minute," I replied. "I'll just seal the store and join you all."
"Leave it," she said. "You can do it later."
I smiled slightly. "Relax, Mum. It will only take a few minutes. Besides, after everything you have seen me do, you know I can take care of myself."
And with that, I closed the portal.
I then took a deep breath.
Time to get to work.
Standing beside the table, I took out the holo-projectors again and checked the feeds. The Death Eaters were still rampaging across the campsite, their slow march cutting a path of panic through the fields. But my attention shifted to the smaller window showing the ant drone.
It was no longer inside the Crouch tent.
Now latched onto the fabric of Crouch Jr.'s trousers, it showed him being dragged hurriedly across the field by Winky, away from the advancing Death Eaters. Hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, he struggled violently, twisting and pulling as though trying to break free and run toward his former allies. Winky, desperate and frightened, finally cast a binding spell to stop him from escaping.
Well, time to end his suffering.
I took out my Wiphone and tapped the small ant icon on the screen. The display shifted to the drone's status window.
Standby.
My thumb moved once.
Primed.
On the projection, the ant drone detached from Crouch Jr.'s trouser leg and dropped lightly to the ground. It scuttled a short distance away, putting a few feet between itself and its target.
I tapped the final command.
Activate.
Through the drone's optics, I watched as the effect began within seconds.
Barty Crouch Jr.'s body jerked sharply. At first Winky seemed to think he was simply struggling again, but then the convulsions worsened. His breathing turned heavy and ragged. A faint choking sound escaped his throat.
Realising something was terribly wrong, Winky pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. The sight of him gasping for air made her cry out in panic. She tried to help him—tried to hold him up, to do something, anything—
—but the poison had already done its work.
Crouch Jr. went still.
His eyes remained open.
For a few quiet seconds, Winky simply stared. Then she broke down beside the body, sobbing uncontrollably.
Watching it felt…unpleasant. Not because of what I had done—I knew exactly what he was capable of, and what he would do if he ever regained freedom. There was no regret in ending that threat.
Only a quiet sympathy for the grieving elf.
I directed the ant drone to move farther away. A moment later, the feed dissolved into darkness as the drone erased itself from existence.
I exhaled slowly.
The side dish was over.
Time for the main course.
I was about to refocus on the Death Eaters when a soft alert flickered across my spectacles. One of the perimeter wards to the south-east had been triggered.
I opened the Argus feed covering that section of ground.
Movement showed among a thin line of scattered trees.
Thirteen figures crouched low in the undergrowth. They wore no robes—only dark, practical clothing suited for hunting rather than ceremony. Lean bodies. Scarred faces. The posture of predators waiting for the right moment to strike.
I zoomed in on the large guy at the centre and recognised him instantly.
Fenrir Greyback.
So the others must be part of his pack.
Interesting.
This deviation hadn't occurred in the original timeline.
I stood and left the tent.
Outside, the night air was heavy with smoke and distant screams, yet the patch of ground before the trees felt unnaturally still. I walked forward at an unhurried pace and stopped roughly a hundred feet from where they hid.
"Morning," I said. "Aren't you all going to introduce yourselves?"
For a moment, nothing moved.
Then a low, unpleasant chuckle drifted from the shadows.
Greyback stepped into the open, his pack following behind him. Some of them carried wands of poor quality. Most relied on something else entirely.
"Hear that, boys?" Greyback said. "He wants us to introduce ourselves."
Muted laughter answered him.
"Fine by me," he continued. "Fenrir Greyback. These are my men. And you must be Benjamin Carter. You look bigger than you did in your picture."
I gave a small shrug.
"Blame puberty for that. So what brings you guys here at this ungodly hour?"
Greyback's smile sharpened.
"Why, you do. Someone paid a hefty bit of gold for your head. You and your friends. Where are they? Hiding in the tent with the women?"
More laughter.
Unimpressed, I said, "Let me guess. Lucius?"
The smallest flicker in his expression confirmed it.
I smiled faintly.
"It was, wasn't it? Unexpected…but not altogether surprising. Perhaps my recent success made him nervous. Or maybe he never managed to get over his bruised ego after our short meeting in the Headmaster's Office."
"Enough!" Greyback snapped. He glanced at his pack. "Get him."
They rushed forward.
I didn't move...didn't need to. As they closed the distance, I dropped my hand in a casual gesture.
Every one of them slammed to the ground.
The local gravitational pull increased fourfold, pinning them flat, forcing the air from their lungs. Greyback alone managed to remain partly upright, though even he dropped to his hands and knees under the strain.
"What the—?" he growled.
I walked calmly among them, my body easily handling the strain of 4x gravity.
"Ah, gravity," I said mildly. "Quite the heartless bitch, isn't she?"
He raised his head with effort.
"You think this trap of yours can hold me, boy?"
I looked at him and said, "You seem to be under the impression that I need tricks to take you down. Allow me to disabuse you of that notion."
I released the pressure around the two of us.
Greyback staggered, then straightened. Behind him, his pack shouted encouragement from the ground.
He smiled as his fingernails lengthened into claws.
"Big mistake, kid."
He lunged.
I stepped aside with minimal effort.
He attacked again.
And again.
Each time, the result was the same.
To a human, Greyback's speed would be very impressive.
But to a thing like me, a thing like him was just too...slow.
Gradually the cheering behind him faded.
Soon he was breathing hard.
"Is that it?" I asked.
He looked at me angrily and yelled, "What the hell are you?!"
I simply said, "Just a guy taking out the trash in his backyard."
I moved.
The punch landed in his stomach. He folded forward. My elbow drove into his back, dropping him to the ground. A final kick to the face left him dazed and motionless.
Silence settled.
I looked over the fallen pack.
"I want to thank you all," I said calmly. "Truly. Just a few hours ago I was considering researching a cure for lycanthropy. But discovery...requires experimentation. And I have no intention of hurting Remus. So, how fortunate for me that you strapping young lads decided to bravely volunteer yourselves for the cause."
Greyback's pack members looked at me, terrified.
I smiled and said, "I promise I won't let you suffer. Much."
I sent an Area of Effect variant of the Stunning spell around me, knocking out all the werewolves. Not taking any chances, I waved my hand. The dirt from the ground rose and fashioned itself into cuffs around their hands and legs. Another wave of my hand, and the dirt cuffs transmutated into ones made of Tritanium.
From my Storage ring, I took out a briefcase whose expanded internal space had atmospheric charms added in it. The pocket dimension inside my Storage ring, while great for keeping things in stasis, was not conducive for storing living things. Hence why, the briefcase.
I opened the case and waved my hand, bringing Greyback and his men zooming into the briefcase, which I then shut and stored back in my Storage ring.
Alright, all the side quests are complete. Hopefully.
Time for the endgame.
---
The campsite was in chaos.
Green fire arced through the air as curses slammed into tents, trees, and anything unlucky enough to fall in the path of the marching crowd of hooded dark wizards. The Death Eaters laughed and jeered as they advanced across the field, while droves of panicking witches and wizards fled before them.
High above the crowd, the manager of the campsite, Mr. Roberts, spun helplessly in midair, his arms and legs bound by invisible force. His wife and children floated beside him, screaming in terror, suspended nearly fifty feet above the Death Eaters like real-life marionettes.
A group of Ministry wizards stood in a loose semicircle some distance away. Among them were Andrew Carter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Frank Longbottom, and Cyrus Greengrass. Sirius had wanted to rush forward, but Amos Diggory had stopped him.
The Ministry feared that any direct attack might provoke the Death Eaters into killing the Muggle hostages in retaliation. For now, they were forced onto the defensive—able to do little more than deflect stray curses and prevent further casualties.
Lucius Malfoy stood among the Death Eaters, his wand raised lazily, silver mask gleaming in the firelight. He tilted his head upward, admiring his handiwork as the terrified Muggles struggled uselessly.
"Look at them," he said. "So fragile. It's a wonder how they have managed to survive this long."
Those nearest him laughed.
Lucius fired another Incendio toward a nearby tent—
—and in the next instant, the campsite changed.
Powerful lights from above flooded the area around the Death Eaters, turning night into something close to day. Movement stilled. Voices faltered. One by one, heads lifted toward the sky.
No one was prepared for what they saw.
Hovering high above the campsite, surrounding the crowd of hooded figures, were three enormous discs of burnished metal, each easily the size of a Quidditch pitch. They rotated silently, concentric rings spinning in opposite directions, their surfaces etched with glowing lines of cold blue light that were painful to look at for long.
The campsite fell into sudden, complete silence.
Then a column of pale blue light descended from one of the saucers, striking the floating Muggle family and enveloping them completely. The force holding them aloft shattered. They screamed—yet instead of falling, they were drawn gently upward, disappearing one by one into the glowing underside of the craft.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then the Death Eaters understood.
Their hostages were gone.
"Apparate!" Lucius shouted.
They tried.
But none of them could leave.
The space around them behaved exactly like inside of anti-apparition wards—yet no ward was visible. As Ministry wizards began firing curses toward the trapped Death Eaters, the balance shifted. Now it was the masked figures who scrambled to defend themselves.
"We can't apparate!" Macnair screamed. "It's blocked—something's blocking it!"
Theodore Nott Sr looked up at the hovering saucers and felt a creeping suspicion about what held them in place. In anger—or desperation—he hurled a blasting curse toward one of the discs.
The orange spell raced upward—
—and struck an invisible barrier, deflecting harmlessly away from a translucent energy shield.
In that instant, Nott Sr realised—he fucked up.
The calm blue glow of the saucers shifted, deepening into an ominous red.
The undersides of the crafts brightened.
Then the ships began to rain fire.
Beams of searing energy lanced downward with cold precision. The glowing shields raised in panic by the Death Eaters tore apart like paper. Where the beams struck flesh, there was no burning, no maiming—
only disintegration.
Bodies vanished into ash and dust. Screams ended mid-breath. Within seconds, nothing remained of the masked figures but scorched earth scattered with grey residue.
Lucius Malfoy raised his hands, terror breaking through his composure.
"Wait—!"
A beam caught him before the word finished.
He vanished in a flash of white.
Silence followed.
The ground where the Death Eaters had stood was empty.
The ships ceased firing. The red light faded, returning once more to the same calm, mesmerizing blue—as though the threat had been acknowledged and removed.
From one saucer, a pillar of pale blue light descended again, touching the earth. Within it, Mr. Roberts and his family reappeared and were lowered gently to the ground. They collapsed together, sobbing, clinging to one another after their ordeal.
Around them, witches and wizards watched in stunned silence.
Above, the three saucers brightened—so intensely that everyone was forced to shield their eyes. The humming sound rising from them climbed steadily toward a piercing crescendo.
Then, in a single motion, the ships shot upward—like shooting stars reversed—streaking into the sky and vanishing into the heavens in the blink of an eye.
Darkness returned to the campsite, broken only by the flicker of burning tents.
For a long time, no one spoke.
At last, Sirius turned to Remus and seized him by the shoulders.
"Moony, did you see that?! Tell me you saw it!"
Remus continued staring blankly at the empty sky.
Nearby, Andrew Carter's gaze remained fixed on the same spot where the saucers had disappeared.
He spoke quietly, almost to himself.
"Did we just get saved by aliens?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BREAKING NEWS!
Aliens have abducted the next chapter!😱👽😱
They demand a sizeable amount of power stones and reviews with which to fuel up their ships and return home.