Hogwarts, a side room off the Great Hall.
Headmaster Dumbledore was calmly cleaning phoenix feathers out of the Sorting Hat.
The Hat lay upside down on the small round table, point facing down, eyes and mouth tightly shut, looking like a gray cat exposing its belly.
It was made of ordinary linen, dull and gray in the lamplight. There was no lining originally; layer after layer of patches had become the lining instead.
No alchemical runes or visible magic showed in the stitching, yet it carried the thoughts of the four founders. It had served as the sole standard for Sorting at the school for a thousand years.
Dumbledore wore his half-moon spectacles, chin tilted up, eyes slightly narrowed as he carefully plucked out Fawkes's soft feathers one by one.
"Working on something so hard on the eyes after dark?" a voice said behind him.
Dumbledore pushed his glasses up and turned. A young professor in a trench coat stood there.
"Melvin? You actually came back before term started?" Dumbledore sounded genuinely surprised.
The Muggle Studies professor—who was famous for dragging his feet until the last possible moment—smiled and sat down beside him. "There's something I need to discuss with you. Nothing to do with school business. It's about the savior you've been carefully raising."
"Harry?"
Dumbledore paused, pulling another phoenix feather free and placing it in a special tray. "I thought he was staying with Sirius. Did something happen?"
The tray had a blackened hardwood exterior and a soft satin lining inside. Static held the weightless feathers in place so they wouldn't float away on any draft.
"As a student about to enter his fourth year, he saw me heading into Knockturn Alley late at night and decided to follow me anyway. An old witch in the alley hit him with a handful of powder and knocked him out cold. I happened to have a meeting arranged, so I locked him in a room. Most students in detention would reflect on their mistakes, but the Boy Who Lived showed zero remorse. He rummaged around and found a memory thread I had hidden." Melvin sounded a little exasperated.
"And, purely by chance, there was also a Mirror in the room for viewing memories?"
Dumbledore continued cleaning the feathers Fawkes had left in the Hat. The Hat itself was already quite dirty and usually wasn't cleaned before Sorting, but some things still needed to be removed in advance—spiderwebs, mouse or owl droppings, moldy sweets, that sort of thing.
"Yes, exactly that kind of coincidence."
Dumbledore stopped for a moment. "Whose memory? What was in it?"
"Caractacus Burke's. A memory from before he retired and went into hiding. I got it from Mr. Borgin."
"The former owner of Borgin and Burkes?"
The old Headmaster had taken a keen interest in Tom Riddle's life after Hogwarts and had thoroughly researched his employment history, so of course he knew this was Tom's old boss.
Dumbledore's expression shifted slightly. He was silent for a few seconds, then removed his glasses and set his work aside. "What exactly did Harry learn?"
"That Tom Riddle made several Horcruxes, and we have already found five of them." Melvin looked straight into the Headmaster's clear blue eyes. The kind old wizard rarely looked this serious.
"How many do you think are left?" Dumbledore asked.
"A person's soul can't be torn apart indefinitely, not even Voldemort's. He isn't a mindless fool. He probably planned from the beginning to split it into… seven pieces?"
"That was the original plan…" Dumbledore repeated softly.
"But things never go exactly as planned. Even the greatest Seers can't predict the future with certainty. Our little rat friend has already returned to his old master and brought me some useful information."
Melvin reached into the Sorting Hat, rummaged around theatrically, and pulled out a hamster cage. Inside, nestled in wood shavings, was a white rat.
"Hey!" the Hat protested.
Melvin gave it a couple of reassuring pats, then slid the cage across the table toward the Headmaster. "Barty Crouch Jr.—Voldemort's most loyal follower."
"Mr. Crouch's son?"
Dumbledore looked mildly startled. This wasn't an Animagus transformation, so it wasn't perfectly hidden. With Melvin's hint, he could now see that the little white rat was actually a wizard. "I thought he died in Azkaban ten years ago."
Over the next ten minutes, Melvin told the Headmaster about the Crouch family's clever prisoner swap, the tragic witch who had been sacrificed in the process, and Bertha Jorkins.
"…I ran into him the night of the Quidditch World Cup final. Harry had lost his wand and Barty picked it up. He tried to cast the Dark Mark to stir up even more chaos, but I caught him on the spot."
Dumbledore looked momentarily dazed. He stared down at the white rat and, for a brief second, saw the Crouch father and son as they had been during their school years.
He still remembered that both had been outstanding in their year. They had earned every certificate on their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, enjoyed excellent reputations among their classmates, and were well-liked by the professors. Both had promising futures after graduation.
Barty Crouch Sr. had been a key figure in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—one of the first to take a hard line against Death Eaters. He had signed the authorization for the use of Unforgivable Curses… When the war ended and the trials began, young Barty's identity as a Death Eater was exposed. The entire hall had turned to stare at the man sitting in the judge's seat. The middle-aged wizard had simply steadied his breathing and insisted on the harshest sentence.
The white rat in the cage suddenly went wild again, gnawing frantically at the bars with red eyes, looking like it had rabies.
"I had the Crouch house-elf deliver a message to Mr. Crouch. I told him to come to the school and speak with you once he'd thought it over. He's taken several days—probably still hesitating, or maybe just avoiding it. But he works in International Magical Cooperation, so he can't dodge the Triwizard Tournament forever…"
As they spoke, there was a knock at the door. Professor McGonagall entered. She looked mildly surprised to see Melvin, gave him a nod, then turned to Dumbledore.
"Mr. Crouch has arrived. He wishes to see you. He's waiting in the Entrance Hall."
...
Inside the Headmaster's office, a figure sat in a chair clutching a teacup, head lowered, face hidden in shadow.
"It was my fault… Dumbledore… I swapped out my own son… I cast the Memory Charm on Bertha…"
Mr. Crouch's voice was slow, with occasional pauses and little emotion. He didn't sound like a criminal weeping and begging for forgiveness from the defendant's chair. He sounded more like the presiding judge announcing the charges.
The office fell quiet. Both Dumbledore and Melvin listened in silence. Only the portraits of previous Headmasters huddled together, whispering among themselves in voices only they could hear.
The cage holding the white rat sat on the table. The creature that had been frantically gnawing at the bars moments earlier was now perfectly still, watching the disheveled Mr. Crouch with open mockery in its eyes, as if laughing at his performance.
Dumbledore sighed. "I have no intention of passing judgment on you, Mr. Crouch… I know your character, and I understand the sacrifices people are willing to make for family. But you also know that we must follow the rules."
"Yes, I know." Crouch lifted his head. His hair and stubble were unkempt, like any elderly wizard in a pub. His eyes bulged as he stared fixedly at the white rat.
"I could not withstand my wife's pleas, because I shared the same thought. That was my mistake." Crouch spoke quietly. A flash of surprise crossed the rat's eyes, then vanished.
Melvin passed over the report from Albania. It detailed the recent massacre: a British witch had clashed with local dark wizards; more than a dozen of them had chased her into the forest and all died horribly…
Because Bertha Jorkins had registered her identity when she checked into the tavern, she was now listed as a missing witch, and the Ministry was seeking any related information.
"You used to go through more than a dozen case files every day in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You never let a single dark wizard slip away. Many people feared and respected you." Dumbledore spoke the polite words gently.
"Now it is my turn to sit in the defendant's chair as the criminal."
The silence stretched. Crouch asked no foolish questions. He made no attempt to bribe Dumbledore or beg him to cover anything up. Before coming to Hogwarts he had already prepared himself for the worst.
He looked at the young professor and asked softly, "You called me to Hogwarts instead of reporting me directly to the Ministry. Is there a special reason?"
"I need you to do me a favor. Voldemort has returned to Britain and is preparing to resurrect himself. He has already received word about your son. We have prepared a plan to kill him once and for all."
Mr. Crouch's pupils contracted sharply as he absorbed the shocking news.
The white rat in the cage immediately began thrashing again, gnawing wildly at the iron bars.
"The Dark… Voldemort is truly not dead!?"
Mr. Crouch's eyes bulged. He sat rigid in the chair, face ashen. After the initial shock faded, a cold light entered his gaze. "If he has truly returned to Britain, why was the Ministry not informed at once? Why not stop his resurrection immediately? Letting him return could cost many lives."
"We informed them three years ago. Almost no one believed us."
Dumbledore gave a quiet sigh. "A disembodied spirit can only be truly killed once it regains a physical body."
Mr. Crouch remembered the Mirror footage that had first made the device famous. He fell silent.
Melvin continued outlining the plan. "Voldemort already knows about your son. He needs loyal, reliable servants. I expect he will visit your home soon. My plan is for Dumbledore to drink Polyjuice Potion, impersonate your son, and infiltrate Voldemort's side to make sure nothing unexpected happens."
Dumbledore's eyes suddenly widened. He turned and stared at Melvin with a very complicated expression.
Before Mr. Crouch could answer, the old Headmaster cleared his throat. "Mr. Crouch, I imagine you would like to speak with your son. Please wait here. I believe Professor Levent and I also need to have a word."
As Dumbledore stood, his wand flicked lightly over the cage and the white rat. With a soft pop, a middle-aged wizard appeared.
He was a pale man with a few freckles and unkempt, straw-colored hair. He looked older than his early thirties; fine wrinkles already lined the corners of his eyes. He was thin and clearly weak and exhausted, yet his eyes burned with hatred and fury.
"I hope you and your son have a pleasant conversation."
Dumbledore and Melvin rose and retreated into the inner study—the room where the Pensieve was kept.
"You never mentioned that the plan included me going undercover!" The moment the door closed, Dumbledore demanded an explanation. It was rare to see the usually composed Headmaster this agitated.
"I was about to tell you in the side room off the Great Hall," Melvin said with perfect seriousness. "I couldn't think of a more suitable person for the job."
"?"
"Order members all have their own responsibilities, and spreading the information would be risky. The other Hogwarts professors have classes to teach and can't leave. You, however, don't teach."
"What about my duties as Headmaster?" Dumbledore sounded distinctly annoyed.
"What important duties does the Headmaster actually have? Professor McGonagall can handle the Board of Governors. The four Heads of House manage day-to-day school affairs. Next year's main event is the Triwizard Tournament. The Headmaster only needs to sit in the judges' box and act as a mascot. We can bring Aberforth back temporarily to stand in as Headmaster."
"Aberforth…"
Dumbledore was momentarily speechless. He stared straight at Melvin, unable to come up with a single counter-argument.
"You know Tom Riddle better than anyone. You're a master of Legilimency and Occlumency. Staying at Voldemort's side would let you gather clues about the remaining Horcruxes, observe the state of that python, and learn the exact details of the resurrection plan."
Melvin found his own reasoning increasingly convincing. "Besides, your dueling ability is the strongest. Infiltrating the enemy is safest for you. Even if you're discovered, a disembodied Voldemort won't be able to do anything to you."
Melvin was quietly impressed with his own brilliance. He wasn't like James and Sirius—fools who would ignore the obvious. When you had a legendary wizard available, why not use the legendary wizard?