0517 Barty Crouch

 Barty Crouch Sr. looked haggard, as if he had just recovered from a serious illness and his eyes, once sharp and alert, now darted about the room with an unsettling nervousness.

Crouch seemed unusually sensitive to the cold, despite the warmth emanating from the roaring fire. He huddled closer to the hearth, his shoulders hunched and trembling slightly, as if trying to absorb every ounce of heat. After casting an impatient glance at Bryan, he quickly averted his gaze, fixing his eyes intently on the dancing flames. It was as if he yearned to melt into the fire itself, to escape the penetrating gazes of those around him.

Bryan casually moved to Crouch’s other side, standing beside him with Dumbledore on the opposite flank.

“What’s wrong?” Bryan asked, his tone carefully controlled to sound casual. His eyes, however, missed nothing as they scanned Crouch’s face. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing whatsoever!” Barty snapped, his tone matching the impatient expression that flashed across his face. He shrugged his shoulders dismissively, inching even closer to the fireplace. The flames cast an orange glow on his sallow skin, creating an almost ghoulish effect.

Despite his rough denial, Crouch seemed compelled to offer an explanation. His words tumbled out in a rush, “I’ve been traversing half of Europe these days – first Norway, then Wales and Romania. Everything progressed smoothly enough at first; the dragon reserves in those locations had already carefully selected their most suitable specimens for the champions to face. But when we reached the Hungarian Horntail, things went awry. The staff there wanted the big fella to get used to its cage early, but they forgot it’s the time when it least wants anyone near!”

With obvious reluctance, as if the very movement caused him pain, Barty pulled back his sleeve to reveal an angry red burn that sprawled across his forearm like a gruesome tattoo.

“The timing couldn’t have been worse,” he continued, his words tumbling out in an almost agitated rush. “We nearly lost the entire handling team. The healers at St. Mungo’s kept me confined to a bed for two endless days, and even then, the head Healer insisted I needed at least another week of recovery.

Absolutely impossible, of course. Young Weasley in the office means well – perhaps too well, his enthusiasm practically bubbles over – but he’s too young, lacks the experience. And with the champion selection looming…” His voice trailed off abruptly, as if he’d suddenly remembered he was saying too much. He stood there, breathing heavily, as if the explanation had drained him of his last reserves of energy.

Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling with concern behind his half-moon spectacles, spoke up. “Barty, you truly look like you need proper rest—”

To both Bryan and Dumbledore’s surprise, Barty strongly agreed. “Oh, yes, yes Indeed!” he exclaimed, his gaze once again fixed on the dancing flames. The fire reflected in his eyes, giving them an almost feverish gleam.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Dumbledore, and you too, Bryan, I desperately need a moment of privacy before tonight’s feast begins. The champion selection is only the beginning – I have to rush back to the Ministry later. So many matters requiring my personal attention…”

He released a weary sigh that seemed to deflate his entire being, his eyes drifting closed as exhaustion etched deeper lines into his face. His arm rested heavily on the mantelpiece, his body swaying slightly as if he might succumb to sleep at any moment.

Bryan, sensing the need to give Crouch some space, turned to Dumbledore and said. “Let’s give Barty some space, Headmaster Dumbledore—”.

“Much appreciated, Bryan—” Barty mumbled, his eyes still firmly shut. His voice was dry, almost raspy, as he added, “Solitude is exactly what I require right now. I must admit, that St. Mungo’s Healer may have had a point after all. This cursed arm is absolutely screaming!”

The walls of the small room were adorned with numerous portraits, their occupants watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of interest. Some of the figures gazed at Barty Crouch with admiring eyes, clearly impressed by his dedication to duty even in the face of physical discomfort.

As Dumbledore and Bryan made their way to the door, Dumbledore turned back, addressing Crouch’s hunched form. “If you need any help, Barty—” he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine concern, ” Don’t hesitate to send word through any of the portraits. They can locate me wherever I might be within these walls.”

With that, they left Crouch alone in the room, with the crackling fire as his only companion.

The spacious Great Hall, usually bustling with activity, was relatively quiet. However, a large crowd of young wizards had gathered in the entrance hall, their excited chatter filling the air as they pointed at the Goblet of Fire.

The ancient artifact stood proudly in the center of the hall, erupting with mesmerizing blue-white flames that cast an otherworldly glow on the eager faces surrounding it. The students were so engrossed in the spectacle that they failed to notice Professor Dumbledore and Professor Watson quietly exiting from the front of the hall.

Outside, the drizzling rain had prematurely darkened the sky, casting a gloomy shroud over the Hogwarts grounds. Considering the limited time remaining before the evening feast, Dumbledore and Bryan opted not to return upstairs. Instead, they left the Great Hall through a discreet side door, their footsteps echoing softly as they made their way to a small, secluded courtyard nestled between several of the castle’s imposing towers.

The dark green lawn, freshly washed by the gentle rain, had taken on an eerie, almost black hue. Raindrops glistened on each blade of grass, creating a gleaming carpet that seemed to absorb what little light remained in the gloomy evening.

At the heart of this lush area stood an ancient spruce tree, its knotted branches reaching towards sky like grasping fingers. Surrounding the tree was a circular flowerbed, meticulously constructed from warm goose-gray stones. The leaves of the old spruce rustled ominously as they were struck by the falling rain, creating a dark, almost terrifying symphony that perfectly matched the foreboding atmosphere.

This secluded courtyard, rarely visited even on the brightest of days, now had only Dumbledore and Bryan. The two wizards stood in contemplative silence, the weight of their recent discovery hanging heavily in the air between them.

Bryan’s gaze swept across the courtyard once, taking in every detail, before settling on Hogwarts’ highest and most imposing structure – the Astronomy Tower. Its silhouette loomed against the darkening sky overlooking their meeting.

“Was it Voldemort’s doing?” Though he was asking a question, Bryan’s tone was very calm.

Dumbledore, his long silver beard glistening with tiny droplets of rain, stroked his chin. His deep gaze seemed to pierce the dark clouds above, as if searching for answers in the turbulent skies and replied thoughtfully. “I believe so,”

A long silence enveloped the two. Neither spoke, both lost in quiet contemplation of the problem at hand. The only sounds were the soft patter of rain on leaves and the distant, muffled excitement emanating from the castle.

Bryan’s mind raced with questions and theories. If Voldemort already had an agent working for him inside Hogwarts, why would he also seek to control Barty Crouch?

After all, Crouch wasn’t just any Ministry official – he was effectively the second-in-command at the British Ministry of Magic. His position was incredibly sensitive; if someone were to accidentally discover he was under the Imperius Curse, it would certainly not bode well for Voldemort in his current vulnerable state.

Logically, Voldemort should take extraordinary cautions to remain hidden in the shadows, avoiding any action that might reveal his presence to the wizarding world at large. Yet here he was, not only taking this enormous risk but doing so directly under the watchful eyes of both Dumbledore and Bryan. It was indeed a puzzling matter. Bryan had some vague theories forming in his mind, but nothing concrete enough to voice aloud.

When it came to understanding Voldemort’s twisted psyche, Dumbledore certainly had an edge over Bryan. After all, he had been the one to first introduce young Tom Riddle to the magical world, personally extending his Hogwarts acceptance letter to that peculiar, overbearing boy in the London orphanage. He had watched firsthand as that brilliant but troubled child transformed himself into the most feared dark wizard of the age, whose very name most people feared to speak.

Sensing the shift in Bryan’s demeanor, Dumbledore broke the silence.

“I don’t think Tom chose to act on Barty to control the Ministry through him. Oh, I have no doubt that’s part of his long-term strategy, but certainly not his immediate concern—”

He paused, his blue eyes twinkling with a mix of concern and deep thought.

“My assessment is— and I guess you’ve reached a similar conclusion, Bryan, is that something unexpected will unfold during tonight’s Halloween feast, barely an hour from now. This is certainly no spontaneous scheme – it will be the result of Tom’s meticulous planning. However, it’s reasonable to anticipate that both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will react rather… unfavorably… to the prospect of Hogwarts having two champions in the Tournament.

Ah, of course, if Hogwarts had only one champion, and he was an underage wizard under seventeen, Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff might not raise such strong objections—”

Bryan nodded, his quick mind immediately grasping the implications of Dumbledore’s words. “I see what you mean—” he said, his brow furrowing slightly. “You think Voldemort is worried these two schools might firmly resist the champion selection results, so he needs a wizard with authority to speak up.”

A small frown creased Bryan’s forehead as he continued, “It’s surprising he’s so cautious and can consider problems at this level. I thought after losing most of his soul, his mind wouldn’t be so sharp anymore.”

Though his words were clearly meant in jest, there was an undercurrent of genuine surprise in his tone. If Dumbledore’s guess was correct, Voldemort had indeed demonstrated a level of foresight and strategic thinking that was somewhat unexpected.

Whether the truth aligned with Dumbledore’s theory didn’t require much speculation – Barty’s behavior at the evening’s feast would undoubtedly reveal his true purpose. He had obviously come to Hogwarts with a specific goal in mind; otherwise, he could have easily feigned continued illness at St. Mungo’s.

The real cause for concern, however, lay beyond this immediate situation.

If Voldemort had indeed controlled Barty Crouch solely to ensure the addition of an extra participant in the Triwizard Tournament, what would be his next move after achieving this goal?

Would he cruelly discard Barty as a sacrificial pawn after his usefulness was exhausted? Or would he seek to use him as a strategic foothold within the Ministry of Magic?

Whichever path Voldemort chose, it was clear that Dumbledore and Bryan couldn’t simply stand idly by and watch events unfold. Yet intervening now would be unwise. Voldemort had finally extended a tentacle from the darkness; this was his most vulnerable moment. Any hint that he might have been exposed would likely drive him back into hiding, potentially setting back their efforts to control his plans by months or even years.

Bryan’s thoughts turned to another puzzling aspect of the situation. Had Voldemort been lurking in Barty Crouch’s home ever since leaving Little Hangleton?

But upon further reflection, he dismissed this idea as unlikely. As a well-known high-ranking official in the British Ministry of Magic, Barty Crouch’s residence would undoubtedly have a constant stream of visitors, both expected and unexpected. Such an environment would be far too uncomfortable and risky for Voldemort in his current weakened state.

After long moments of contemplation, Bryan finally spoke. “I’ll have Sirius pay more attention to Barty’s recent condition,” he said, his voice low and determined. “Of course, I’ll tell Sirius to keep his distance from Barty Crouch.”

Dumbledore pondered this suggestion for a moment before nodding, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

In the void above them, the wild wind roared furiously like an ancient war horn calling warriors to battle. Standing in the darkened courtyard, Dumbledore and Bryan faced the rolling darkness, their figures silhouetted against the encroaching night. They seemed like a living barrier, separating the gloomy, ominous courtyard from the brightly lit Great Hall outside, where hundreds of students eagerly awaited the evening’s event, blissfully unaware of the dark clouds gathering on the horizon of their world.

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