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The once-quiet Crouch manor finally had guests again.
It was still the same house, but when the original master was in charge it had felt cold and silent. Now that new owners had taken over, every room blazed with light.
"Little Barty" sat at the long dining table with the others. The table, unused for years, was now covered with tempting steaks and mushrooms. Silver cutlery clinked pleasantly against plates and goblets.
According to the house-elf Winky, the family had eaten at a small table for the past thirteen years. Mr. Crouch would just pick at a few bites, while young Barty was usually kept under the Imperius Curse and rarely conscious.
"What do we do next?" "Little Barty" asked, wiping his mouth.
After lifting the Imperius and Confundus Charms, they had spent some time catching up and reminiscing about the past thirteen years.
Right after Voldemort disappeared, Bellatrix and Barty Jr. had gathered a group of Death Eaters and tried to extract information from Order members. The Longbottoms had been victims of the Cruciatus Curse, but even after their minds were broken they refused to talk.
Later, Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody led the Aurors in pursuit. Bellatrix and the others were captured on the spot. Barty escaped in the chaos. He had planned to lie low and wait for the right moment, but he was betrayed in court, sent to Azkaban for two years, until his mother—stricken with grief and gravely ill—proposed the prisoner-swap escape plan on her deathbed. After that he had been kept prisoner at home.
Right now Mr. Crouch stood in the corner gnawing on a cold, hard slice of black bread. "Little Barty" remained expressionless, seemingly unconcerned.
Wormtail and Umbridge were learning for the first time that there really were Death Eaters who served Voldemort out of pure loyalty, without any thought of personal gain or status—driven solely by personal worship.
"Don't worry. I have a thorough plan."
Voldemort lay in the pram, speaking softly. His body couldn't eat, so he was sustained by a formula mixed with Nagini's venom. "They are preparing to restart the Triwizard… no, this time it will be the Quadwizard Tournament. That is our opportunity."
"Little Barty" felt a spark of interest. The information Voldemort had just shared matched exactly what Melvin had provided. This was a good start.
"What can I do for you?"
Voldemort smiled silently, hissing like a serpent, and began to outline his long-term plan.
Wormtail and Umbridge kept their heads down and ate in silence. Wormtail listened to Voldemort's scheme and gave a tiny sneer. In the two months they had spent together, neither of them had received any kindness. Voldemort only showed this pleasant mood in front of "Little Barty."
"Wormtail, why are you hanging your head? You look rather resentful," a cold voice asked from beside him.
Cold sweat instantly broke out on Wormtail's back. The middle-aged wizard across from him had a pale face and was staring straight at him. The long years in Azkaban and the Crouch house had twisted the man's personality. Right now he was directing pure malice at Wormtail.
Voldemort also lifted his head. After a moment of silence he hissed softly, "Pay no attention to the cowardly rat. Go, Wormtail. Watch the house-elf in the kitchen."
Wormtail gave a low "Yes," stood up, gathered the plates, and carried them into the kitchen. Now that Voldemort had found his truly loyal servant, the rat who had crawled out of the gutter with him had become irrelevant—even fit only to stay with the house-elf.
Only a very few people knew that the timid, cornered rat actually served another master.
"Back to my plan. I want Umbridge to impersonate Miss Jorkins and return to the Ministry. While she's there, she will search for a certain prophecy orb for me."
"Yes, great Dark Lord!" Umbridge said triumphantly.
Voldemort laughed with clear delight. "And you, my dear little Barty—I need you to impersonate Mad-Eye Moody and enter Hogwarts. Wait for the right moment and bring Harry Potter to me…"
They finally ended the meeting in the early hours of the morning. Voldemort took the master bedroom that had once belonged to Mr. Crouch. Wormtail stayed in the adjacent room to attend to him. Mr. Crouch and Winky remained downstairs, ready to assist at any time. Umbridge chose an elegant guest room, while "Little Barty" took the top floor for lookout duty.
"Little Barty" watched the others separate on the staircase and continued upward. His hard-soled shoes creaked on the old wooden steps, the sound echoing through the silent old house.
During those few hours the white rat hidden in his pocket had been restless. Because Melvin's Undetectable Extension Charm pouch wasn't fully sealed, faint sounds from outside had reached it. The rat had heard Voldemort mistakenly trusting Dumbledore. The real Barty Crouch Jr. had become frantic, struggling and gnawing at the bars of the cage in a desperate attempt to give a warning.
"Little Barty" knew this Death Eater was fiercely loyal and wanted to alert his master. He actually respected that kind of devotion. But the rat's noise had been too small to matter.
Umbridge muttered that no one understood the Ministry's operations better than she did, so she was clearly the best choice for the undercover mission. She dragged Bertha Jorkins off to their room, preparing to extract memories.
"Little Barty" continued upstairs. He also needed to extract some exclusive memories to ensure the undercover operation went smoothly.
He climbed all the way to the top floor, pushed open the door at the end of the corridor, and entered a spacious room with a desk and bookshelves. There was even a small attic. Through the stained-glass window he could see the python slithering in the courtyard below.
Muffliato.
Silencio.
Protego Totalum.
"Little Barty" cast the spells with practiced ease, like a trained operative. Once the door was closed, every sound was sealed inside the room. Even if Nagini pressed against the window, she would only see a sleeping wizard on the bed.
Dumbledore reached into his pocket and pulled out the rat cage, setting it on the desk. After a brief pause he took out several potion vials.
These were the undercover supplies Melvin had prepared for him. The potions had been brewed by Snape.
The one with the slightly noticeable scent was Polyjuice Potion—ready to be mixed with a hair from "Little Barty" and combined with his own Transfiguration for perfect disguise. Even a resurrected Voldemort would never see through a legendary wizard's methods.
The colorless, odorless, perfectly clear vial was Veritaserum—for extracting information from Barty Jr. Combined with the Imperius Curse, Legilimency, and the century-old cunning of a master wizard, a mentally damaged Barty would be able to hide nothing.
The remote manor fell quiet. The house was sealed by powerful, hidden magic. Dumbledore sat at the desk, the Elder Wand turning slowly between his fingers.
After more than a decade of directing others from behind the scenes, suddenly going into the field himself felt a little unfamiliar.
"The Dark Lord is invincible!" The wand touched the rat. It burst out of the cage and transformed back into a man, eyes bloodshot.
He made no pointless struggle. The wizard before him was a world-renowned legend who had defeated the leader of the Saints, Grindelwald, long before Barty was born. During the wizarding war he had been the only man the Dark Lord truly feared.
Barty knew perfectly well that even if Voldemort himself stood here—weak, without a wand—he would be unable to mount any effective resistance.
"In fact, the reason he looks like that now is because he was defeated thirteen years ago," Dumbledore said with perfect calm.
Seeing the snake-faced infant in the pram for the first time tonight had surprised even Dumbledore. He had been told it was created using Nagini's venom mixed with unicorn blood to form a temporary body for the disembodied spirit. The old Headmaster had to admit that, in the realm of dark magic, Voldemort's skill was unmatched.
From a purely magical standpoint, the resurrection plan he had described was entirely feasible.
"That only proves the Dark Lord defeated death. Death itself is on our side. You may stop him once, but you cannot stop him forever. The Dark Lord will rise again sooner or later."
"A powerful wizard can live two or three hundred years. If Voldemort keeps trying, he may fail for the next two centuries."
Dumbledore paused, then added softly, "And even if I go to my death early, there is still Melvin… the young professor who caught you that night. He is Nicolas Flamel's student. If he brews the Philosopher's Stone, Voldemort will have no chance for a very long time."
Barty suddenly fell silent. Despair settled over him like deep night.
"Why do you serve Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked slowly, his clear blue eyes fixed on the pale wizard. "You were born into a happy, loving family. Your mother adored you—she was even willing to take your place in Azkaban. Your father was never one of those rigid pure-blood traditionalists. You had no reason to choose him."
"What would you know?"
Barty gave a scornful laugh. "That old man never cared about me. He only cared about his position. The Dark Lord and I trust each other. We have a great deal in common. We both had deeply disappointing fathers. We both were ashamed to carry our fathers' names. I simply haven't killed my father yet to complete my transformation!"
Dumbledore looked mildly surprised. Voldemort had apparently told Barty his real name—and even the secret of his parentage.
He blinked. "Did Voldemort ever entrust you with anything important?"
"What?"
Barty looked confused, not understanding the question.
Dumbledore plucked a hair from Barty's head, uncorked the Polyjuice Potion, mixed it in, and shook the vial gently. "During the first wizarding war, Voldemort gave certain very important items to the followers he trusted most. Lucius Malfoy received the diary. Bellatrix Lestrange was given a cup. Regulus Black knew the location of the locket. What about you?"
Barty's face gradually flushed red, as if blood were rushing to his head. The information stung his loyalty deeply.
"Damn you, old man—what exactly are you asking? Do you think I'll tell you? I'm not like those spineless opportunists. They're traitors! Those items were tests the Dark Lord gave them, and they failed!"
After the words left his mouth, Barty regretted them. Dumbledore was no kindly old man. For years people had whispered that he was a ruthless old wizard who would do anything to hold power. Now that Barty had fallen into his hands, who knew what kind of torture awaited him.
Dumbledore watched Barty's furious expression and nodded thoughtfully. "Voldemort gave you nothing."
Barty glared at him, teeth clenched, face twisted with hatred.
Dumbledore sighed and stopped trying to extract Horcrux information from Barty. He began preparing tomorrow's Polyjuice dose, his mood rather complicated.
The undercover mission was proving more complicated than he had expected. Fortunately, Wormtail, Umbridge, and Mr. Crouch would all cooperate.
...
"My dress robes nearly ended up being ugly second-hand ones," Ron grumbled.
Harry, Hermione, and Ginny sat facing each other in the train compartment. Hedwig and Pigwidgeon hung upside down from the luggage rack, their round eyes darting everywhere. Crookshanks lounged quietly in his wicker basket, yawning.
The weather on the first day of term was awful. Fierce winds howled outside, rattling the carriage windows. Torrential rain blanketed the Hogwarts Express. Raindrops streaked down the glass in long, thin lines. As one Ravenclaw girl put it, they looked like harassing doxies.
Harry thought the description was surprisingly accurate—the raindrops really did look like transparent insects.
"Weren't they replaced later? They're from Gladrags Wizardwear. They even advertised during the World Cup. The styles were pretty nice, right?"
Hermione and Ginny stayed out of the conversation. Hermione's dress robes needed no discussion, and Ginny—on George and Fred's advice—had gone to a London tailor to have hers custom-made.
Thinking of that dress, Ginny stole a quick glance at Harry. Two spots of pink appeared on her cheeks.
The Muggle tailor's dress robes had been shockingly expensive. The twins' internship wages hadn't covered it, so they had asked their mother to chip in. Their pocket money would be cut in half for the next few months.
But if she could dance with Harry…
Only Hermione wasn't interested in clothes. She rubbed Crookshanks's head. "This morning at the station, Mr. Weasley left in a hurry. Did something happen?"
"It was Mad-Eye," Ron said, waving a hand.
Seeing Hermione's puzzled look, Ginny took over. "Mad-Eye is the retired Auror Moody."
"I know that."
"He reported to the Aurors that he heard someone breaking into his yard. When he sneaked out to check, he was ambushed by his own dustbin." Ron raised his hand as he spoke.
"Isn't Mr. Weasley in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts? Why is he handling Auror work?" After a month and a half interning at the Daily Prophet, Hermione now understood the wizarding world quite well.
Ron shrugged. "Because Mad-Eye attacked the dustbin and blew rubbish everywhere, attracting Muggle police. The Ministry sent Dad to deal with the exploding dustbin."
"…"
Harry listened to his friends chatter. The anxiety that had been gnawing at him since the strange dream gradually eased. He gathered his thoughts and carefully reviewed the clues still lingering in his memory.
Remembering those horrifying images, a thought struck him. Could the python have been pregnant? Had Voldemort possessed the egg and been born as that snake-faced infant?
"I have to tell the professor about this when we get back to school," Harry decided firmly.