A New Different World

The air was crisp and cool as Severus stood in the Ministry Hall alongside his fellow healers. The Portkeys had already been arranged—an assortment of old, mundane objects laid out on a table. The supplies were stacked neatly beside them, waiting to be transported along.

This was it. Time to leave.

Severus adjusted his intern robes, his expression unreadable as he observed the others. The emergency ward team was the only full healer team present for this, which made sense. They were general healers—capable of handling a wide range of medical emergencies, even if their knowledge wasn't as specialized as those in other departments. The senior healers from various other fields were present too, but only for worst-case scenarios.

"Alright, interns, grab your Portkeys," Senior Healer Grant instructed. His voice was calm, but there was an underlying firmness to it.

Severus reached for his assigned Portkey—a tarnished silver goblet—and grasped it firmly. He barely had a second to prepare before the pull took hold. The familiar sensation of being yanked forward by an invisible hook gripped his navel, and the world blurred around him.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it ended.

Severus landed smoothly on his feet, barely stumbling as they arrived at their destination. The same couldn't be said for a few of the other interns, who wobbled or even fell onto the ground with a grunt.

He ignored them, taking in his surroundings.

They had arrived at the outer skirts of a massive makeshift stadium, positioned near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He recognized the general layout from his own world, but there were clear differences. The stadium was much larger—easily capable of holding thousands more spectators than the one he remembered. The Ministry had likely expanded the seating due to the number of visitors.

His amusement was brief as an Auror approached their group, his navy-blue robes billowing slightly as he strode toward them.

"You're the St. Mungo's team, yeah?" the Auror asked briskly.

"That's us," Grant confirmed.

"Good. Follow me. I'll take you to your assigned tent."

The group trailed behind the Auror as he led them through the stadium grounds. The atmosphere was already buzzing with energy. Ministry officials moved hurriedly about, Aurors stood at strategic points, and visitors in colorful robes chattered excitedly.

As they approached the healer's tent, a familiar face stepped forward.

"Poppy," Grant greeted, grinning as he walked up to Madam Pomfrey.

"Grant," Pomfrey responded with equal warmth. "Merlin, it's been a while."

"About time we finally ran into each other again," Grant said with a chuckle. "Still running yourself ragged here, I see?"

Pomfrey sighed dramatically. "Oh, you know how it is. Hogwarts doesn't run out of reckless students, no matter how many times I tell them not to get themselves killed."

Severus felt a twitch of amusement at that. Some things never changed.

"Well, we're here to take some of that stress off your shoulders," Grant told her, glancing back at his team. "We'll handle the heavy lifting today. You sit back and enjoy the show for once."

Pomfrey snorted. "Enjoy the show? You're optimistic."

Grant grinned. "I try."

She gestured toward the tent. "Come in, then. I'll show you around."

The group stepped inside the healer's tent, a spacious area filled with cots, potions, and medical supplies. The space was designed for efficiency—every piece of equipment placed with clear purpose.

Pomfrey gave a quick rundown of the setup, explaining where additional supplies were kept and how they'd coordinate with the Aurors if any serious injuries occurred.

As she spoke, Severus listened quietly, already familiar with the procedures. He may have been an intern here, but in truth, he had more experience and knowledge than most of the senior healers in the room. That knowledge, however, was something he kept to himself.

He glanced toward the entrance, his mind already shifting toward the upcoming event. The First Task was about to begin, and with it, the perfect opportunity to observe.

Dumbledore. The champions. The visitors.

Everything.

Time to analyze certain things.

_____________________________________

Severus stood outside the healer's tent, his arms folded as he scanned the vast stadium before him. The stands loomed just ahead, empty for now but soon to be filled with an eager audience. It was a strange feeling to be here, to be standing in a place he knew so well yet had never stepped foot in before—not in this world, at least.

The crisp morning air carried the scent of damp earth, a reminder of the forest just beyond the stadium's edge. The sky overhead was clear, the late November chill biting against his skin despite the warmth of his healer's robes. He barely acknowledged it. His mind was too preoccupied with more pressing matters.

Two hours.

That's how long they had to wait before the First Task officially began. Two entire hours of standing around, watching and waiting. It was frustrating. Not because of the wait itself—Severus was nothing if not patient—but because this meant he had no freedom to move about.

He was stuck here.

He couldn't explore, couldn't sneak away to investigate Hogwarts or its occupants. He was tethered to this spot, forced to observe from a distance. His fingers twitched slightly, a testament to his irritation. It was a wasted opportunity, and he despised wasted opportunities.

Instead, all he could do was watch.

His dark eyes moved over the Aurors stationed around the stadium. There weren't many, ten to fifteen at most. Most of them stood in strategic positions, their gazes scanning the perimeter. But it was clear that their primary purpose wasn't to guard the general area.

They were here for the Minister of Magic.

Severus scoffed under his breath. Typical. The Ministry always had its priorities backward. Instead of ensuring the safety of the competitors—teenagers, no less—the Aurors were positioned to protect the Minister, who would likely be seated in the safest part of the stadium. It was laughable.

Still, their presence meant little to him. He had no intention of drawing their attention. His concerns lay elsewhere.

Crouch Jr.

Severus inhaled slowly, exhaling through his nose as he considered his options. He had been wrestling with this dilemma ever since he realized the timeline was aligning with the events of his past.

On one hand, exposing Crouch Jr. now would prevent Cedric Diggory's death. That was undeniable. If Crouch Jr. was captured, the Dark Lord's resurrection would be significantly delayed—perhaps even prevented entirely.

But therein lay the problem.

If the Dark Lord did not rise now, then everything that followed would change. Dumbledore and Potter had only found the Horcruxes because of the way events unfolded. If things were altered too drastically, some of those Horcruxes might never be found. Worse, what if they were hidden even more securely?

Severus narrowed his eyes.

The Dark Lord's resurrection had created chaos, but it had also set the stage for his eventual downfall. If that moment was postponed indefinitely, the Horcruxes could be scattered, hidden beyond reach.

What if a loyal Death Eater placed one inside a Fidelius-charmed house, never to be found again? What if they were locked away in an unbreakable vault, protected by enchantments that would take centuries to unravel?

It would be disastrous.

Severus let out a quiet sigh, his fingers flexing at his sides. No, he couldn't afford to act recklessly. He had to be careful, to play the long game.

Perhaps he could find a way to ensure Cedric's survival without disrupting the larger picture. It would be tricky—dangerous, even—but not impossible.

He glanced at the other interns beside him.

Penelope stood a few feet away, engaged in a quiet conversation with Zeba and the others. They were talking about the upcoming task, speculating on what creatures the champions might face. Their voices were hushed but tinged with excitement.

Severus turned his gaze away, uninterested in their chatter. He had no excitement for the event, only calculations. He needed to analyze everything—Dumbledore, the champions, the school itself.

Were they the same as he remembered? Or was this world different in ways he had yet to see?

The thought gnawed at him as he adjusted his stance, his eyes sweeping over the grounds once more. The students had begun trickling into the stands, their colorful robes standing out against the stone and wood of the stadium. Some were laughing, others whispering excitedly, pointing toward the arena where the champions would soon compete.

The energy in the air was shifting, anticipation building.

Severus remained still, letting the moment wash over him.

It was going to be a long day.

_______________________________

Severus stood with his arms crossed as his sharp gaze remained fixed on the podium. His face betrayed no emotion, but his mind was working tirelessly, analyzing each individual present.

The faces were familiar but not identical to those from his world. There were slight differences, but nothing drastic enough to make him rethink his understanding of this timeline. Dumbledore stood as he always did—tall and dressed in flamboyant robes, his long silver beard swaying gently as he moved. His eyes twinkled with the same knowing amusement, though Severus knew better than to trust that grandfatherly facade.

Beside him, Madame Maxime of Beauxbatons towered over the rest, her sheer size commanding attention. She held herself with dignity, her expression composed as she observed the proceedings. On the other hand, Karkaroff looked exactly as Severus had expected—an opportunist, shifting restlessly, his narrowed eyes flicking between the judges and the stadium as if searching for something. Probably an advantage for his champion.

Then there was Barty Crouch Sr., standing stiff and unyielding. His rigid posture and sharp features made him appear almost lifeless, though Severus knew the man was anything but. He had always been a ruthless enforcer of the law, a man who would sacrifice anything—including his own family—for what he believed to be justice.

And finally, there was Ludo Bagman, grinning widely as he worked the crowd. His booming voice echoed through the stadium, his excitement practically infectious.

"Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards of all ages—welcome to the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament!" Bagman's voice rang out, met with cheers and applause from the stands.

Severus glanced at the audience. The Hogwarts students were gathered in their respective house sections, banners and posters waving high in the air. Gryffindor's section was the loudest, naturally, cheering in full force. Hufflepuff's support was solid, though more subdued. Ravenclaw's students were clapping politely, their enthusiasm more measured. Meanwhile, Slytherin remained composed, their applause polite but not nearly as boisterous as the others.

Across from them, the Beauxbatons students were gathered elegantly, clapping gracefully, their expressions composed but still excited. The Durmstrang students, on the other hand, exuded confidence, sitting with arms crossed, heads held high, as if already expecting victory.

Severus turned his gaze toward the other side of the stadium. There, in the restricted area, stood several large cages covered in thick black cloths. Even from here, he could sense the powerful presence of the creatures within.

Dragons.

The real stars of today's event.

The Ministry had taken every precaution, stunning the dragons beforehand and keeping them covered to prevent the audience from getting a premature glimpse. Soon, however, they would be released into the arena, one by one, as the champions faced their task.

Severus kept his expression neutral, though inwardly, he remained unimpressed. He had always thought this particular task was borderline reckless. Pitting students against dragons was hardly a test of skill—it was a gamble. The only real challenge here was surviving.

"Now," Bagman continued, his voice brimming with enthusiasm, "our esteemed judges will head to the Champions' Tent, where each of our brave competitors will draw the dragon they shall be facing today!"

Another wave of applause followed. The excitement in the air was undeniable, with students whispering among themselves, making last-minute bets and predictions.

Severus, however, remained detached.

He had no interest in the theatrics. He was here for one reason only—to observe.

His eyes flicked back to Dumbledore, watching the headmaster's interactions carefully. He seemed relaxed, exchanging a few words with Maxime and Karkaroff as they prepared to leave for the tent. There was nothing unusual in his demeanor, though Severus knew that meant little. Dumbledore was a master at appearing harmless, even when he was anything but.

His gaze shifted to Crouch Sr., studying the man's rigid stance. Was there a flicker of tension in his posture? A slight stiffness that went beyond his usual strict demeanor?

Severus narrowed his eyes slightly.

Did he suspect something?

He had to remind himself that Crouch Sr. wasn't entirely oblivious. He had once caught his own son and sentenced him to Azkaban, after all. Even if the man was currently under the effects of the Imperius Curse, there was always a chance that some part of him sensed something was wrong.

And then there was Karkaroff, shifting from foot to foot, clearly impatient. The man was a coward through and through. Severus knew that his allegiance had always been to himself, nothing more. It was only a matter of time before he fled this world entirely, once he realized Voldemort's return was inevitable.

Severus exhaled quietly.

Everything seemed to be moving as expected.

For now.

The judges finally began moving toward the tent, disappearing behind its entrance flap to meet with the champions. The audience, meanwhile, continued to buzz with excitement, waiting eagerly for the names to be announced.

Severus took the opportunity to scan the field one more time. The Aurors were still in their positions, alert but relaxed. There was no sign of tension—no indication that anyone suspected the presence of Barty Crouch Jr. in their midst.

That, of course, could change at any moment.

Severus had already decided that he wouldn't interfere directly. He couldn't. The consequences of altering this event too much could be catastrophic. But he could prepare. He could ensure that, when the time came, he was in the right place at the right time.

His dark eyes returned to the podium, his expression unreadable.

The pieces were all in place.

Now, all he had to do was wait.