Thick Of It

The Quidditch World Cup was an experience like no other. Hermione found herself swept up in the electric atmosphere, surrounded by wizards and witches from every corner of the world. Flags waved, magical fireworks erupted in dazzling displays, and chants echoed across the enormous stadium. Even Hermione, who often prided herself on her poise, felt the infectious excitement creeping into her veins.

Seated with the Weasleys, Hermione peered through her Omnioculars, marveling at the speed and agility of the players. The game had barely begun, but the crowd was already on its feet, cheering every feint and dive as if the match were already on the line.

Yet, Hermione being Hermione, her attention began to wander. The Omnioculars became less about the players and more about observing the fascinating array of people gathered for the spectacle. She scanned the stands, chuckling softly at a wizard with a lion's head hat roaring loudly and gasping at a group of Veela dancing to wild applause.

Then, her gaze fell on something—or someone—that made her breath hitch. Directly opposite her, perched precariously at the edge of the railing, was a man in a sharp black three-piece suit and a long coat. He didn't seem to belong in the lively chaos of the crowd. He was an island of stillness, detached from the frenzy surrounding him. No Omnioculars, no cheering, just a calm, enigmatic presence.

What struck Hermione most was how much he resembled Jason. She couldn't shake the uncanny similarity—the sharp features, the posture, even the way he seemed to hold himself with a quiet intensity. It was unnerving.

Hermione nudged Harry urgently, trying to keep her voice steady.

Hermione: "Harry, look at that man over there. Across the stadium. Doesn't he look like Jason?"

Harry, engrossed in the game, tore his eyes away from the pitch just long enough to humor her.

Harry: "Who? Where?"

Hermione: [pointing with her Omnioculars] "Straight opposite us. The man in the black suit, sitting on the railing."

Harry squinted, scanning the direction she indicated, then shrugged.

Harry: "Hermione, there's no one there. It's an empty seat."

Hermione frowned and quickly brought her Omnioculars back up, her pulse quickening. She focused on the spot where she had seen the man, but to her dismay, the seat was empty. Her brow furrowed as she lowered the Omnioculars, scanning with her own eyes.

Hermione: "He was right there. I'm sure of it."

Harry glanced at her with mild concern.

Harry: "Are you sure you're okay, Hermione? You've been studying loads lately. Maybe you just imagined it."

Hermione's lips tightened.

Hermione: "I'm fine, Harry. I just… He was there."

Before Harry could respond, a deafening cheer erupted from the crowd as Viktor Krum performed a daring maneuver. Ron jumped to his feet, shouting at the top of his lungs.

Ron: "Krum scores! Woooooo! That's how it's done!"

The commotion pulled Harry and Hermione's attention back to the match. For the rest of the game, Hermione couldn't shake the nagging feeling .

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The rain fell relentlessly, soaking the crowd that still lingered in the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup final. It painted the world in shades of grey, blurring the line between celebration and sorrow. The victors reveled, their laughter echoing in defiance of the downpour, while the defeated nursed their bitterness, muttering curses under their breath. But the chaos of the surface hid something deeper—a darker undercurrent waiting to strike.

Hidden in the chaos is the element, waiting to strike like snakes. And I'm there too.

A commotion erupted on the far side of the grounds. Shouts turned to screams as people began to scatter. The air grew heavy with fear, and the crowd broke apart like a wave crashing against the rocks. Amid the pandemonium, dark-robed figures emerged, their faces obscured by masks, their wands raised. Death Eaters.

Some begged for help. Others ran, their screams swallowed by the storm. Jason moved silently, weaving through the fleeing crowd like a shadow.

Watching.

Twenty of them, Jason noted, moving in formation like a pack of wolves. Their path was predictable, their arrogance blinding them to the reality of their vulnerability. They didn't know he was here.

3 years of preparation have turned me into a nocturnal animal. I must choose my chance carefully.

He had studied them—studied their methods, their tactics, their weaknesses. The vastness of the area worked in their favor. He couldn't be everywhere at once, but he didn't need to be. They didn't realize they were walking into a trap.

They have a signal. When that light hits the sky, it's not just a call—it's a warning.

A Death Eater raised his wand.

Death Eater: "Morsmordre!"

A jet of green light streaked into the sky, exploding into the Dark Mark. The skull and serpent coiled above them, casting a sickly glow over the scene, a chilling proclamation of their dominance. To the Wizarding World, it was a symbol of terror. To Jason, it was something else.

Fear is a tool. They think themselves as hiding in the shadows. But I am the shadows.

The Death Eaters moved forward, oblivious to the barrel standing innocuously in their path. Jason's wand flicked, sending a sharp, crimson spell toward the target.

Jason: "Expulso."

The explosion ripped through the rain-soaked air, a roar that silenced the screams and scattered the Death Eaters like leaves in a gale. The blast consumed those closest to it, leaving charred ground and broken bodies in its wake. Those who were farther back were thrown off their feet, dazed and scrambling.

Jason stepped back into the cover of the shadows, his eyes scanning the scene, measuring the aftermath. The surviving Death Eaters turned, trying to catch sight of their attacker. One caught a fleeting glimpse of a dark figure retreating into the forest, but fear and survival instinct overrode their desire for vengeance. They fled in the opposite direction. As auror will be coming .

Jason didn't follow. He didn't need to. He knew the explosion would summon the Aurors soon enough. His work here was done. But he couldn't leave without sending a message.

He pointed his wand at the sky, his voice low but firm.

Jason: "Avis Lux."

A streak of blue light shot upward, forming a magnificent bird with glowing wings. It soared through the rain, its figure cutting through the Dark Mark. The bird tore the serpent in half, standing triumphant on the skull with its wings unfurled. The eerie green light of the Dark Mark was extinguished, replaced by the radiant blue glow.

To the Death Eaters, it was a sign of their failure. To the innocent, it was hope.

Jason turned, his footsteps silent as he melted into the darkness, leaving the chaos behind. The Aurors would find the remnants of the Death Eaters, the bodies, the scattered masks—and the message he left in the sky.

they think rule the night. But the night is mine.

The silence after the storm was deafening. Jason moved through the muddy terrain, his boots splashing in the shallow pools left by the relentless rain. The air was heavy with the lingering scent of wet earth and scorched wood from the earlier explosion. His soaked cloak clung to him, but he paid no mind to the discomfort. His gaze was fixed ahead, his mind a storm of its own.

Jason's Monologue:

The rain has stopped, but it's not cleansing. It doesn't wash away what I've done. I've crossed a line tonight. A line I can't uncross.

He stopped, his breath misting in the cold air. His hands trembled slightly as he looked down at them. For a moment, he swore he could see blood smeared across his palms, vivid and accusing. He clenched his fists tightly, willing the phantom stain away.

Now I'm a murderer. Not just someone who fights back, but someone who plans, executes, and takes life. I led them to my trap. I fired the spell. I ended lives.

His breathing quickened as the weight of his actions settled over him like a suffocating shroud.

Somewhere, someone has lost their son. Someone's child won't come home. A father, a husband, a brother—gone. And I'm the one who made it happen. My hands are stained, and no amount of rain will ever wash them clean.

He stared at his clenched fists, the imaginary blood growing darker in his mind's eye. His jaw tightened, and a bitter laugh escaped his lips, humorless and cold.

And yet, I'd do it again. That's the truth, isn't it? I can tell myself it's about timelines, that I'm preserving some grand design, but that's a lie. A convenient one. I killed them because I wanted to. They were Death Eaters—monsters who brought pain and terror wherever they went. They took my parents from me, ripped their love from my life. They've made countless others suffer. And if they gain control again, they'll hurt the people I care about. My friends. The ones I've come to love like family. I can't let that happen. I won't let it happen.

His fingers loosened, falling open at his sides. The imagined blood faded, replaced by a steely resolve.

They won't hurt me again. They won't hurt anyone I love. I'll take every advantage I can. I'll weaken their forces, break them piece by piece, and erase them from existence. This isn't justice. It's survival. And if I have to become the thing they fear, so be it.

The night pressed in around him, the forest alive with distant noises—branches snapping, leaves rustling in the wind. Jason tilted his head back, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they gleamed with a quiet intensity.

Without another word, Jason transformed. His body shifted and shrank, feathers replacing flesh, until a sleek black raven emerged where he had stood. Spreading his wings, he took to the skies, his silhouette disappearing against the darkened clouds.

High above the world, Jason flew through the night, silent and watchful. Below him, the remnants of the Death Eaters scattered like rats, their plans in ruins.

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okay guys i did something different . tell me how you liked it .