Shadows Of Another Time - Harry Potter Fanfiction

# Shadows of Another Time: A Harry Potter Fanfiction

## Chapter 4: The Quidditch World Cup

The atmosphere at the Quidditch World Cup was exactly as Hadrian remembered it—exhilarating, chaotic, and filled with the kind of unbridled magical enthusiasm rarely seen in the increasingly regulated wizarding world. Thousands of witches and wizards from across the globe had converged on the remote moor, their tents transforming the landscape into a bizarre hybrid of magical and Muggle camping that would have confused any non-magical observer who happened to stumble upon it.

Hadrian arrived early in the afternoon, apparating to the designated arrival point and presenting his ticket to the harried Ministry official who barely glanced at it before waving him through. He had dressed carefully for the occasion in robes that were well-made but not ostentatious—quality materials in subdued colors that wouldn't draw particular attention from either the pureblood elite or the more casually dressed majority.

His first priority was to locate the Weasleys' tent. According to Harry's most recent letter, they had secured a spot in the section reserved for Ministry employees, thanks to Arthur's position. Navigating through the maze of tents, many decorated with the green of Ireland or the red of Bulgaria, Hadrian kept his senses alert, both for potential threats and for the distinctive magical signature of his younger self.

He found the Weasleys' tent with little difficulty—a modestly sized structure with a handwritten sign proclaiming "MINISTRY OF MAGIC" stuck to the entrance. As he approached, a familiar redheaded figure emerged from the tent, and Hadrian felt a jolt of emotion at the sight of Arthur Weasley, alive and well, looking much younger than Hadrian remembered him from the later war years.

"Excuse me," Hadrian called out. "Mr. Weasley? Arthur Weasley?"

Arthur turned, his expression curious but welcoming. "Yes, that's me. Can I help you?"

"Hadrian Peverell," he introduced himself, extending his hand. "I'm a relative of Harry Potter's. We've been corresponding over the summer, and he mentioned he would be attending the match with your family."

Arthur's face lit up with recognition as he shook Hadrian's hand enthusiastically. "Oh yes! Harry's mentioned you in his letters to Ron. The American cousin, right? Or second cousin? The family connection is a bit complicated, as I understand it."

"Something like that," Hadrian agreed with a smile. "Is Harry here? I thought I might say hello in person since we're both attending the match."

"He's just gone with Ron and Hermione to fetch water," Arthur explained, gesturing toward a path that led through the campground. "They should be back shortly. Why don't you wait here? Molly—my wife—would love to meet you, I'm sure. She's always pleased to meet any family of Harry's, given the situation with those Muggles he lives with."

The familiar protective tone when referring to the Dursleys brought a rush of warmth to Hadrian. The Weasleys had been his first real exposure to a loving family, and their unconditional acceptance had meant more to him than he could ever express.

"That's very kind, thank you," Hadrian replied, following Arthur into the tent.

The interior of the tent was exactly as Hadrian remembered from his youth—magically expanded to accommodate three small bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen/living area with mismatched chairs gathered around a wooden table. The smell of sausages cooking on a small stove filled the space, and Molly Weasley was bustling about, directing kitchen implements with her wand while simultaneously managing the twins, who appeared to be in the midst of some mischief involving what looked suspiciously like Ton-Tongue Toffees.

"Molly, dear," Arthur called out. "We have a visitor. This is Hadrian Peverell, a relative of Harry's from America. Mr. Peverell, my wife, Molly."

Molly turned, her face immediately lighting up with the warm smile that Hadrian remembered so well. "Oh! How lovely to meet you. Harry's mentioned you in his letters to Ron. He was quite excited to learn he had family beyond those dreadful Muggles."

"Please, call me Hadrian," he said, accepting her firm handshake. "And it's a pleasure to meet you both. Harry has written about your family with great affection. I'm grateful to you for including him in your World Cup plans."

"Think nothing of it," Molly said dismissively. "Harry's practically one of the family. It's no trouble at all. Would you like some tea? Or perhaps something stronger? Arthur has some Ogden's Old stashed away."

"Tea would be lovely, thank you," Hadrian replied, taking a seat at the table when she gestured for him to do so.

"So, what brings you to Britain, Mr. Peverell?" Arthur asked, sitting across from him. "Harry mentioned your parents recently passed away. My condolences."

"Thank you," Hadrian said with a small nod. "And please, it's Hadrian. Yes, my parents were researchers—experimental charmwork. There was an accident in their workshop." He paused, allowing the practiced grief to show on his face. "Afterward, I decided a change of scenery was in order. I'd always been curious about Britain, given my family's origins here, and when I discovered the connection to the Potter line, it seemed like fate."

"Experimental magic can be terribly dangerous," Molly tsked, setting a cup of tea in front of him. "We have a son, Bill, who works as a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts. I worry constantly about the risks he takes."

The mention of Bill sent another pang through Hadrian. In his timeline, Bill Weasley had survived the Second Wizarding War, but had been killed during a goblin rebellion in 2010, one of the precursor conflicts to the larger magical civil war that had devastated Britain.

"Curse-Breaking is fascinating work," Hadrian commented. "I did some consultation with MACUSA's artifact recovery division during my time in America. Different field, but similar principles when it comes to risk assessment and magical containment."

This was part of his established backstory—expertise in magical artifacts and containment that would explain some of his more specialized knowledge without raising too many questions.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all three carrying pails of water. Harry spotted Hadrian immediately, his face breaking into a genuine smile of surprise and pleasure.

"Hadrian! What are you doing here?" he exclaimed.

"Surprise," Hadrian replied with a grin, rising to his feet. "Professor Dumbledore happened to have an extra ticket and thought I might enjoy the match. I remembered you'd be attending with the Weasleys and thought I'd stop by to say hello."

Harry set down his pail and moved forward, clearly unsure whether to shake hands or attempt some more familiar greeting. Hadrian made the decision for him, extending his hand but then pulling Harry into a brief, one-armed hug when the boy took it. It was a calculated move—familiar enough to establish their growing relationship but not so intimate as to seem inappropriate for their relatively short acquaintance.

"It's good to see you," Harry said, his obvious pleasure at the unexpected meeting warming Hadrian's heart. "These are my best friends—Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

Hadrian turned to face the two teenagers, and for a moment, the sight of them—so young, so innocent, untouched by the horrors they would face in the coming years—nearly overwhelmed him. Ron, gangly and freckled, without the scars and haunted eyes he would develop as the war progressed. Hermione, her hair bushier than Hadrian remembered, her face still round with childhood, lacking the strain and weariness that would become permanent features in his timeline.

"A pleasure to meet you both," Hadrian said, his voice remarkably steady despite the emotion churning within him. "Harry has told me a great deal about you in his letters."

"You too," Ron said, shaking Hadrian's hand with typical Weasley enthusiasm. "Harry says you've been telling him about his dad's family. That's brilliant—he never got to know much about them before."

"Harry mentioned you attended Ilvermorny," Hermione said, her eyes bright with curiosity as she shook his hand. "I've read about it in 'An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe.' Is it true that the sorting ceremony involves representations of the four house mascots reacting to potential students?"

Hadrian chuckled. Hermione's insatiable curiosity and love of learning had always been defining characteristics, even before the war had forced her to focus her brilliant mind on survival tactics and battle strategy.

"Something like that," he confirmed. "Though my experience was somewhat different since I was primarily educated at home. My parents were... rather protective."

The conversation flowed easily from there, with Hadrian answering questions about American magical culture and Harry eagerly recounting some of the stories and information Hadrian had shared in his letters. The atmosphere was relaxed and welcoming, exactly as Hadrian remembered the Weasley household—a sharp contrast to the tense, militarized environment it would become in later years as the family found itself on the front lines of the war against Voldemort.

As afternoon turned to evening, they joined the stream of wizards heading toward the stadium, the excitement in the air palpable as fans from both teams shouted encouragement, waved flags, and set off magical fireworks that exploded in showers of green and red sparks.

"I'll see you after the match," Hadrian told Harry as they reached the entrance to the Top Box, where the Weasleys' tickets placed them thanks to Arthur's Ministry connections. "My seat is a few sections over. Look for me near the main exit after the game, and perhaps we can discuss the finer points of the match."

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely! This is going to be amazing—I've never seen a professional match before."

Hadrian watched as the boy disappeared into the crowd with the Weasleys and Hermione, then made his way to his own seat. Dumbledore's ticket had placed him in a good location, not as prestigious as the Top Box but with an excellent view of the pitch and, more importantly, a strategic position that would allow him to observe both the match and the crowd.

As he settled into his seat, Hadrian scanned the stadium, noting the positions of the security personnel, the location of exits, and the clusters of wizards who seemed out of place among the festive crowds. His years of combat had trained him to identify potential threats, to read body language and magical signatures for signs of hostile intent.

Several individuals caught his attention—wizards whose stiff postures and watchful eyes suggested they were not simply there to enjoy the match. Some wore the uniform robes of Aurors or hit wizards, their alert gazes constantly scanning the crowd. Others were less obvious, dressed in ordinary robes but positioned in ways that suggested defensive formations. Ministry security, likely, or perhaps members of foreign protective details for the various dignitaries in attendance.

But there were others who set off Hadrian's well-honed instincts. A group of wizards in the expensive seats, their faces partially obscured by the shadows of their hoods, maintaining a strange stillness amid the excited crowd. A pair of men near one of the exits, seemingly casual in their conversation but positioned to observe everyone who passed. A witch whose hand never strayed far from her wand, her eyes constantly darting to a specific section of the stands where several Ministry officials were seated.

Hadrian made mental notes of each, committing their appearances and positions to memory. Some might be harmless—security personnel he hadn't identified, or simply paranoid wizards. But others could well be Death Eaters or their sympathizers, gathering intelligence for the attack that would come after the match.

His observations were interrupted by the arrival of the mascots and the beginning of the match itself. Despite the gravity of his purpose, Hadrian found himself genuinely enjoying the spectacle. It had been decades since he had attended a Quidditch match of any kind, let alone one of this caliber. The sheer athleticism on display was breathtaking, particularly Krum's feints and dives that demonstrated why he was considered one of the greatest Seekers of all time.

As Ireland took an early lead despite Krum's brilliance, Hadrian allowed himself to be swept up in the excitement of the crowd. These moments of joy and normalcy had become increasingly rare in his original timeline as the war had progressed and magical gatherings had become targets for attack. To be surrounded by thousands of witches and wizards simply enjoying a sporting event was a precious reminder of what he was fighting to preserve.

The match proceeded much as Hadrian remembered it—Ireland's superior team outscoring Bulgaria despite Krum's individual excellence, culminating in the Bulgarian Seeker's capture of the Snitch in a move that conceded the match but salvaged national pride. The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and groans as the final score was announced: Ireland 170, Bulgaria 160.

As the spectators began filing out of the stadium, Hadrian made his way to the designated meeting point near the main exit. He spotted Harry easily, the boy's unruly black hair standing out among the crowd as he enthusiastically recounted the match's highlights to Ron and Hermione.

"There you are," Hadrian called, approaching the trio. "Quite a match, wasn't it? Krum's Wronski Feint was one of the finest I've ever seen."

"It was brilliant!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement. "The way he dove—I thought he was going to crash for sure!"

"A textbook execution," Hadrian agreed. "Though Lynch wasn't so fortunate. That was a nasty collision with the ground."

"Mediwizards fixed him up quick enough," Ron said, still wearing his green rosette that was squeakily shouting the names of the Irish players. "But blimey, Krum was something else, even if Bulgaria lost."

"A strategic decision," Hadrian commented. "Bulgaria was too far behind to catch up. By catching the Snitch, Krum ended the match on his terms—a loss, but a respectable one, and entirely his own doing rather than watching Ireland's Seeker take the victory."

Hermione looked at him with newfound interest. "That's exactly what Viktor must have been thinking! Ron said he was mad, but it was the right decision from a strategic perspective."

The conversation continued as they made their way back to the campsite, Hadrian walking with the trio while the rest of the Weasley family followed a short distance behind. It was a perfect opportunity to solidify his connection with Harry and begin establishing rapport with Ron and Hermione, whose trust would be invaluable in the coming years.

When they reached the Weasleys' tent, Arthur insisted that Hadrian join them for a cup of tea before heading back to his own accommodations. Inside, the atmosphere was jubilant as the twins launched into dramatic reenactments of the match's best moments, while Ginny and Ron debated the finer points of the Irish Chasers' formation techniques.

Hadrian accepted a cup of tea from Molly and found himself seated next to Percy, who immediately launched into a discourse on the international security cooperation that had gone into organizing the World Cup.

"The logistics were extraordinarily complex," Percy said pompously. "Mr. Crouch—that's my boss at the Department of International Magical Cooperation—had to coordinate with magical governments from across Europe. The paperwork alone was staggering."

"I can imagine," Hadrian replied, hiding his distaste at the mention of Bartemius Crouch Sr., a man whose rigid adherence to rules and ruthless prosecution of suspected Death Eaters had, in Hadrian's timeline, ultimately contributed to the corruption of the very system he claimed to protect. "Events of this scale require considerable diplomatic finesse."

"Exactly!" Percy beamed, clearly pleased to find someone who appreciated the significance of his department's work. "Mr. Crouch speaks over two hundred languages, you know. Mermish, Gobbledegook, Troll..."

"Troll?" Fred interrupted from across the table. "All you need to speak Troll is to point and grunt."

As George demonstrated this technique to general laughter, Hadrian caught Harry's eye and shared a smile. The boy seemed more relaxed and happy than Hadrian had yet seen him, surrounded by people who genuinely cared for him and basking in the excitement of the day.

Eventually, as the celebration began to wind down and Arthur suggested that everyone should consider getting some sleep, Hadrian rose to take his leave.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he said to Arthur and Molly. "It's been a pleasure meeting your family."

"Will you be alright getting back to wherever you're staying?" Molly asked with characteristic concern. "There's a spare bunk if you'd prefer to stay here."

"That's very kind," Hadrian replied, "but I have arrangements not far from here. I'll be fine."

He turned to Harry. "I'm glad we had a chance to meet up. Perhaps we could correspond again before you return to Hogwarts? I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on that book I sent you once you've had more time with it."

"Definitely," Harry agreed enthusiastically. "I've been practicing some of those shield charms. They're really useful."

With final goodbyes, Hadrian left the Weasleys' tent and made his way through the campsite. Rather than returning directly to his small tent on the outskirts of the camping area, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and began a careful patrol of the perimeter.

He knew what was coming. In a few hours, once the celebrations had died down and most of the attendees were asleep, the Death Eaters would make their appearance. In his original timeline, they had targeted a Muggle family—the campsite managers—levitating them high into the air and subjecting them to humiliating, torturous treatment while destroying tents and creating panic among the campers.

The question now was how much to intervene. Preventing the attack entirely might alter the timeline too drastically, removing a key warning sign of Voldemort's rising power. But perhaps he could limit the damage, ensure the Muggle family escaped unharmed, or gather intelligence on the participants that would prove useful later.

As he circled the campsite, Hadrian noticed several clusters of wizards who were still awake, drinking and talking in low voices far from the main paths. Their body language and positioning sent warning signals through his battle-trained senses. These weren't ordinary revelers. They were organized, watchful, and segregated from the general population.

Finding a secluded spot with a good view of one such group, Hadrian settled in to wait. He cast a series of subtle enhancement charms—improved hearing, night vision, and a charm that would allow him to see through most magical disguises. Then he began his surveillance, prepared for a long night ahead.

Hours passed. The sounds of celebration gradually diminished as people retired to their tents. The magical thoroughfares that had been thronged with jubilant fans grew quiet, lit only by the occasional magical lantern or campfire.

It was nearly three in the morning when Hadrian's patience was rewarded. The group he had been watching suddenly became more animated, producing wands and masks from inside their robes. The masks were familiar—simplified versions of the elaborate silver Death Eater masks from the height of Voldemort's power, but unmistakable in their design and intent.

Hadrian tensed, readying himself for action. He had decided on his approach: he would shadow the group, identifying as many participants as possible while remaining undetected. He would intervene only if the attack on the Muggle family became life-threatening. Minor injuries could be healed, trauma treated, but death was irreversible—and in this case, unnecessary for the preservation of the timeline.

The masked wizards began moving with purpose toward the edge of the woods where the Muggle campsite manager and his family lived. Hadrian followed silently, his years of covert operations during the war making him virtually undetectable despite the relatively simple Disillusionment Charm.

As they approached the Muggle's dwelling, one of the wizards raised his wand. Hadrian recognized the gesture immediately—the preparation for a Bombardment Hex that would blow open the door. This matched his memories, but he still felt his pulse quicken with the old combat reflexes, the urge to stop the attack before it began.

He restrained himself, watching as the door was blasted open and the terrified Muggle family was dragged outside. More masked figures appeared from other directions, forming a loose circle around the campsite managers. Wands raised almost in unison, and the Muggles were suddenly hoisted into the air, suspended helplessly as the Death Eaters began to manipulate them like grotesque marionettes.

The noise had roused nearby campers, and soon screams and shouts echoed through the campsite as people emerged from their tents to witness the horrific scene. Panic spread quickly, with many wizards and witches fleeing toward the woods, others attempting to disapparate despite the anti-apparition wards, and a brave few drawing wands as if considering intervention.

Hadrian circled the perimeter of the attack, carefully studying each of the masked participants. Despite their disguises, he could identify several through their build, movement patterns, or distinctive magical signatures. Lucius Malfoy was unmistakable, his long platinum hair visible beneath his hood. Crabbe and Goyle Sr. were also easily identifiable by their bulky frames. Others were more difficult, but Hadrian was certain he recognized Nott, Avery, and possibly Macnair among the group.

The Death Eaters began to march through the campsite, blasting tents aside and setting some ablaze. The destruction was wanton, designed to create maximum terror while displaying their power. It was a show of force, a reminder that though their master had fallen, his followers remained ready to strike.

Hadrian continued his surveillance, occasionally casting subtle shielding spells to protect fleeing campers from debris or deflect particularly dangerous curses. He was careful to make these interventions undetectable, ensuring that nothing could be traced back to him.

His attention was diverted briefly by a familiar group emerging from the Weasleys' tent—Arthur hustling his children toward the safety of the woods, Harry, Ron, and Hermione among them. Hadrian felt a pang of concern, knowing that in the chaos, the trio would become separated from the others. But this, too, was part of the timeline he needed to preserve. Harry's encounter with Draco Malfoy in the woods, and later the appearance of the Dark Mark, were crucial events.

Still, he couldn't help casting a subtle tracking charm on Harry as the boy passed near his position. It would allow Hadrian to locate him quickly if the situation deviated from his memories and Harry found himself in unexpected danger.

The attack continued for nearly twenty minutes before the first Aurors and Ministry security personnel began to respond in force. The Death Eaters, seeing the arrival of organized resistance, began to disperse, releasing their Muggle victims who fell to the ground from considerable height.

Hadrian cast a wandless cushioning charm beneath the family, slowing their fall enough to prevent serious injury. It was a minor intervention, one unlikely to have significant repercussions on the timeline, but he couldn't simply watch innocent Muggles be gravely injured or killed.

As the Death Eaters disappeared into the night, Hadrian turned his attention to the woods where he knew the next significant event would occur. Moving swiftly but silently through the underbrush, he made his way toward the location where, according to his memories, the Dark Mark would soon be cast into the sky.

He arrived just in time to see a small, hunched figure standing in a clearing—Barty Crouch Jr., disguised as a house-elf through possession or proximity to Winky. Hadrian watched as the wizard raised a wand that didn't belong to him—Harry's wand, stolen during the chaos—and pointed it skyward.

"MORSMORDRE!"

The spell shot upward like a firework, exploding into the familiar and dreaded symbol of Voldemort's followers—a gigantic skull composed of emerald stars with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As the Dark Mark bloomed against the night sky, screams of terror erupted throughout the woods. For many, this symbol was more frightening than the masked attackers had been, a reminder of the dark days when finding the Mark floating above your home meant that death awaited inside.

Hadrian remained hidden, waiting for the events he knew would follow. Within minutes, a series of popping sounds announced the arrival of Ministry wizards, their wands raised as they surrounded the clearing where Harry, Ron, and Hermione had wandered—close to where the Mark had been cast.

"STUPEFY!" roared multiple voices, and jets of red light flew in all directions.

"Stop!" yelled Arthur Weasley's voice. "That's my son!"

The stunning spells fortunately missed their targets, but the confrontation proceeded as Hadrian remembered it—accusations against the trio, their explanation of hearing someone in the clearing, and the discovery of Winky with Harry's wand. Barty Crouch Sr.'s harsh dismissal of his house-elf was just as pompous and cruel as Hadrian recalled.

As the Ministry wizards escorted the trio and the Weasleys back to their tent, Hadrian remained in the woods, pondering his next move. The night had provided valuable confirmation that the timeline was proceeding as expected, along with intelligence on several Death Eaters who had participated in the attack.

More importantly, he had witnessed Barty Crouch Jr.'s actions directly, confirming the presence of one of Voldemort's most fanatic supporters. This was the man who would, in a matter of weeks, capture Mad-Eye Moody and assume his identity to infiltrate Hogwarts.

The question now was whether to allow that impersonation to proceed as it had in his original timeline, or to intervene. Preventing Crouch from kidnapping Moody would disrupt Voldemort's plan to use the Triwizard Tournament to capture Harry, potentially forcing the Dark Lord to develop an alternative strategy that Hadrian couldn't predict or prepare for.

On the other hand, allowing Crouch to impersonate Moody meant knowingly permitting a Death Eater access to Hogwarts and its students, including Harry. It was a heavy moral burden, one that Hadrian had wrestled with repeatedly since developing his plan.

In the end, the decision came down to control and preparation. By allowing certain events to unfold in a pattern he could anticipate, Hadrian could position himself to minimize the damage while ensuring that key developments—such as Voldemort's rebirth, which was likely inevitable in some form—occurred in a manner he could influence or at least prepare for.

With that thought, Hadrian disillusioned himself once more and made his way back toward the campsite. The attack was over, the Dark Mark fading in the sky as dawn approached. Ministry officials were already beginning the massive task of damage control, obliviating Muggles who had witnessed the magic, repairing destroyed tents, and taking statements from witnesses.

Hadrian slipped past them unnoticed, returning to his small tent on the edge of the campsite. Inside, he quickly packed his few belongings and prepared to disapparate. There was nothing more to be gained by remaining, and he had research to conduct based on what he had observed.

As he stepped outside and prepared to leave, Hadrian cast one last look toward the Weasleys' tent in the distance. Inside, he knew, Harry would be discussing the night's events with Ron and Hermione, processing the fear and confusion of what they had witnessed. It was tempting to go to them, to provide reassurance or guidance.

But this wasn't the moment for such intervention. Harry needed to process these events as part of his development, to build the resilience and determination that would serve him in the challenges ahead. Hadrian's role was to prepare the way, to subtly guide and protect, not to shield his younger self from every hardship.

With that thought, Hadrian turned on the spot and disapparated, leaving behind the chaos of the World Cup. He had much to do before the start of the school year—research to conduct, plans to refine, and preparations to make for the events that would soon unfold at Hogwarts.

The game was truly beginning now, and the stakes could not be higher.