Chapter 619: The Missing Barty Crouch Jr.
The stairs leading to the stadium were blanketed in plush, purple-red carpet.
Sean, Minerva, and Severus ascended with the crowd, watching as the river of
wizards branched off into the stands on either side. They continued upward until
they reached the very top of the stairs, emerging into a small, exclusive Top
Box perched at the highest point of the stadium, positioned directly opposite
the golden goalposts.
Inside, two rows of twenty purple-and-gold chairs awaited the guests.
"Sean!"
Harry and the entire Weasley family were already there. Justin and Hermione were
waving at him with frantic enthusiasm.
"Go on," Minerva said, releasing Sean's hand. "Stay with your friends."
"Go," Snape added with his usual, clipped brevity.
Sean walked over and was immediately pulled into the center of the group.
"Look down there!" Ron shouted, gesturing toward the pitch.
None of them noticed the slightly awkward, unreadable expressions on Justin and
Hermione's faces as they glanced at Professor Snape.
Below them, a sea of a hundred thousand wizards and witches was slowly settling
into their seats. The oval stadium was arranged in a steep, tiered rake that
vanished into the heights. Everything was saturated in a mysterious, golden
luminescence that seemed to emanate from the stadium itself. From their vantage
point, the pitch looked as smooth and perfect as green velvet.
At either end of the field stood three fifty-foot-high hoops. To their right,
nearly level with the Top Box, was a colossal blackboard. Golden words were
currently flashing across its surface as if written—and then erased—by a giant,
invisible hand.
The students leaned in to read the glowing advertisements:
THE BLUEBOTTLE: A BROOM FOR ALL THE FAMILY—SAFE, RELIABLE, AND WITH A BUILT-IN
ANTI-THEFT SIREN...
MRS. SCOWER'S ALL-PURPOSE MAGICAL MESS REMOVER: NO SPOT TOO STUBBORN!
GLADRAGS WIZARDWEAR—LONDON, PARIS, HOGSMEADE...
Sean scanned the Top Box. As he had suspected, there was no sign of Winky.
In the original timeline, the Crouch family house-elf should have been here,
ostensibly saving a seat for Barty Crouch Sr., but in reality guarding the
invisible, Imperiused Barty Crouch Jr.
But things had changed.
"Barty Junior... there was no mistaking him, sir. He was a man supposed to be
dead, yet we saw him with our own eyes.
"We don't believe it was a disguise. Voldemort's raid on Azkaban required his
most fanatical acolytes, and as we well know, Barty Junior was exactly that."
Sirius Black's report echoed in Sean's mind.
He knew for a fact that the younger Crouch had been liberated during the
Dementor-breakout several months ago. Despite Voldemort's attempts at
misdirection in the Riddle House, the Azkaban incident had confirmed that his
most loyal servant was back at his side.
And what of Alastor Moody? Sean wondered. Has he been replaced already?
He didn't have the answer yet. But when the new Professor arrived at Hogwarts in
September, the truth would be revealed.
Just then, Sean's Magic Hand Mirror vibrated in his pocket.
[Grandpa Marcus: Where are you hiding, little Green? This box is packed; I can't
find your head in the crowd. Come find your grandfather; I've bought enough
sweets to feed a dragon.]
Sean wove through the huddle of wizards toward Marcus's section. His enhanced
senses made it easy to locate the old man's shock of white hair amidst the
crowd.
Near the front of the box, Justin and Hermione were whispering together, while
Ron was staring through his Omnioculars with manic glee.
"This is brilliant!" Ron cheered, fiddling with the replay knob on the side of
the brass device. "I can make that bloke over there sneeze again... and again...
and again!"
"There's a mascot performance before the match," Harry noted, reading from his
program.
"Oh, those are always a treat," Mr. Weasley added from a few seats away. "Each
national team brings something exotic from their home country to show off."
The Top Box continued to fill with high-ranking officials. Sean watched as
Marcus shook hands with several wizards who radiated an air of old-money
authority.
Two rows behind them, Percy Weasley was jumping up and down every few seconds to
bow to passing dignitaries, looking like a man sitting on a very agitated
porcupine. When Cornelius Fudge himself entered the box, Percy bowed so low that
his glasses slipped off and shattered on the floor. He turned beet-red, repaired
them with a frantic flick of his wand, and slumped into his seat in a daze of
embarrassment.
"Harry! And Mr. Green! You're both here. Splendid, splendid."
Fudge approached, seizing Sean's hand in a firm grip and refusing to let go,
acting as if they were old schoolmates.
"And Harry Potter, of course," Fudge said loudly, turning to the wizard behind
him—a man in magnificent, gold-trimmed black velvet robes who clearly didn't
speak a word of English. "Harry Potter... come now, sir, surely you know the
name? The boy who survived the Dark Lord... you must recognize him—"
The Bulgarian Minister suddenly spotted the lightning-bolt scar. He let out a
loud, excited string of Slavic syllables and pointed a finger at Harry's
forehead.
"He doesn't understand a word of English, a real headache, I've been using hand
signals all morning," Fudge whispered to Sean, adopting the tone of a harried
butler. "It's a mercy, really. If I told him who you were—the famous Mr.
Hermes—I don't think I could keep these foreigners from rioting. The world is
quite desperate to meet you, Sean. Heh heh..."
Sean watched as the Bulgarian Minister's expression shifted. He was standing
close enough to have heard every word.
He unceremoniously shoved Percy aside and stepped directly in front of Sean.
"It is a supreme honor to meet you at last!" the Bulgarian Minister said in
perfect, crisp English.
Fudge stared at him, jaw dropped and face turning a sour shade of red. "You
speak English?! You've had me miming like an idiot for three hours!"
"My apologies, Cornelius. I found it quite entertaining," the Bulgarian replied
with a grin, still clutching Sean's hand.
After a polite handshake with the foreign dignitary, Sean finally reached
Marcus's side.
The old Auror was contentedly chewing on a handful of Bertie Bott's Beans, a
large basket of snacks resting on his lap. He stood up with a grin when Sean
arrived.
"Take some, take some! Share them with your friends. Good friends are hard to
come by; I didn't appreciate mine enough when I was a lad..."
The old wizard's eyes twinkled with a secret joy.
"More importantly, little Green... I have some news. I've managed to convince an
old fossil of a colleague to act as your training partner this summer. It wasn't
easy to drag him out of retirement, let me tell you..."
"Grandpa Marcus... who is it?" Sean asked. He had a very unsettling suspicion.
"Heh. 'Mad-Eye' Moody."
Marcus beamed, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.