"You idiot! Don't breathe down my neck!"
The remnant soul, recoiling from the stench, had barely opened his eyes when he was confronted with a bristly, unshaven face.
Panic seized him. Thank Merlin I'm not wearing a diaper. The remnant soul, who feared little else besides death, rarely encountered anything that genuinely terrified him.
"Oh! Sorry, Master! I just wanted to..."
"Don't even think about it!" Veins throbbed on the remnant soul's bald head.
But he quickly regained composure. Despite his predicament, the thought of Tom's reaction to his return ignited a thrill within him. Tom will never expect this! And that old fool Dumbledore! Bringing another version of me to stir up trouble!
The initial surge of fury subsided, replaced by a gleam of manic excitement in the remnant soul's red eyes. "Just you wait... hehehe... hahahaha..."
...
Meanwhile, back at his headquarters, Tom read Barty Crouch Jr.'s letter detailing the remnant soul's location and plan.
As in the Goblet of Fire timeline, the remnant soul wanted Barty Crouch Jr. to impersonate Moody and infiltrate Hogwarts to plot his "resurrection."
Barty Crouch Jr. sought Tom's guidance, cautiously suggesting they humor the remnant soul for now. A flat rejection might rouse suspicion and escalate the situation beyond their control. Of course, if Tom disapproved, Barty Crouch Jr. could simply end the remnant soul's miserable existence with a flick of his wand.
"Very well. Moody will have to suffer a little longer, then."
Tom had no intention of letting Barty Crouch Jr. kill the remnant soul—not yet. He wanted to savor the look on the remnant soul's face when he realized he'd been betrayed. That would greatly amuse Tom's twisted sense of humor.
Besides, Tom needed to deal with the remnant soul personally to complete the mission. Finding the remnant soul wasn't difficult, nor was destroying the Horcruxes.
But without the remnant soul causing mayhem, Harry's school years would be utterly dull. Tom relished the prospect of the remnant soul's antics, willing to play along when necessary to ensure maximum entertainment.
After skimming Barty's letter, Tom began drafting a reply. Barty was likely already hunting Moody, so writing the letter would be harmless; the remnant soul would be none the wiser.
Handing the letter to a rather fierce-looking owl, Tom turned to another letter on the desk. It was from Fudge.
"The Quidditch World Cup? Cassandra mentioned something..."
The letter announced that the Quidditch World Cup was less than a month away. Fudge cautiously inquired about Tom's interest in attending, offering the very best and largest box seats. Of course, Tom could bring as many guests as he wished.
Furthermore, should Tom tire of watching the match, he was welcome to try his hand as a referee. A lack of Quidditch knowledge or refereeing experience was of no consequence. The great Dark Lord could do as he pleased and even declare a losing team on a whim.
"..."
Fudge's servility was almost comical. Had Tom ever encountered a more obsequious sycophant? Perhaps Barty and the others might one day surpass Fudge, a feat that seems impossible.
"Quidditch, eh? No doubt that blithering idiot will show up with his pitiful schemes."
The image of the Dark Mark looming over the Quidditch World Cup brought a subtle smile to Tom's lips.
"I shall attend, then."
Having informed Fudge of his decision, Tom summoned Nagini, instructing her to gather a contingent of Death Eaters for the Quidditch World Cup.
The 1994 Quidditch World Cup was to be held at the newly built Dartmoor Stadium in Devon, England. Securing Death Eaters from England and neighboring countries should suffice.
The remnant soul will bring his lackeys; I couldn't possibly arrive alone. It will be more entertaining to overshadow the other party.
Tom knew the remnant soul would never appear before him, but he was certain the remnant soul would be aware of everything that transpired at the Quidditch World Cup.
Either way, whether I see it or not, the look on the remnant soul's face, as though he'd just swallowed a dung beetle, will be worth it.
"Oh, and Harry and his friends seem rather fond of Quidditch as well; I shall invite them."
...
That evening, at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the Black family, Harry received Tom's letter in his room.
"What?! Sir is taking us to the Quidditch World Cup?!" Harry slammed his fist on the table in utter disbelief. "Cassandra isn't lying, is she?"
The letter was indeed from Cassandra. Despite her obvious displeasure at Tom's decision to invite others, and a few snide remarks directed at Harry, she confirmed that Tom wished for them to attend the Quidditch World Cup.
"..."
Harry's mind, dormant for days, struggled to process this. He knew Cassandra well enough to realize she would have preferred Tom to take only her. Without Tom's express instruction, she wouldn't have bothered writing to him.
"Is this a dream?"
Harry's eyes shone with anticipation and disbelief. At Hogwarts, even when he and Malfoy were playing Quidditch, Tom never attended their games.
Harry understood that Tom had little interest in Quidditch. Hence, his shock at receiving this invitation.
As for his anticipation, watching the game with Tom was something Harry desired even more than watching it with his deceased father, whom he'd never even met.
Taking a few deep breaths to compose himself, Harry reread the letter. Confirming that he hadn't misread, he continued reading. The final sentence read, "The teacher said to remember to invite Malfoy as well."
---