"Father?"
Barty Crouch Jr. suddenly burst into laughter, a harsh, brittle laugh that echoed through the empty living room that made it particularly grating on the ears.
"If you're asking about that old bastard who locked me up in that hellhole prison for over a decade," He struggled violently against the chains, the iron links clanging loudly as they scraped against each other and bit deeper into his flesh,
"maybe he's in the kitchen, still preparing his breakfast. Or perhaps the basement, sorting through his precious Ministry documents? Oh right—"
His voice took on a sing-song tone, dripping with vicious satisfaction. "Maybe you could check the garden instead. I planted some new shrubs there recently. They're growing quite well, fed by excellent nutrients."
Adrian and Dumbledore exchanged glances, both understanding perfectly the subtext of that statement.
What a good son, one must say. The very model of filial devotion.
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "How did you escape from Azkaban, Crouch Jr.? And what did you come out for—to resurrect Voldemort? Is that your purpose?"
Barty Crouch Jr. certainly wouldn't obediently answer Dumbledore's questions now that the initial shock had worn off.
He closed his mouth firmly, pressing his lips into a thin, defiant line, and remained motionless except for his breathing. He even stopped his struggles against the chains, conserving energy and adopting silence.
He knew all too well what falling into Dumbledore's hands meant: interrogation, trial, a lifetime in Azkaban if he was lucky, the Dementor's Kiss if he wasn't.
"Kill me then," He said with fanatic zeal, his eyes blazing with the conviction of a true believer facing martyrdom. "Go ahead—but it will be completely useless. My master will return soon, very soon. Dumbledore, you won't win this time. You can't stop what's coming. The Dark Lord's resurrection is inevitable!"
Watching Barty Crouch Jr., who looked just like a fanatic prepared to die for his cause, Adrian frowned with disgust.
Dumbledore shifted his gaze to Adrian, his expression thoughtful. "Perhaps we can extract more useful information from him before circumstances become complicated. Adrian, do you have any methods that might...?"
As he spoke, he blinked twice.
Adrian immediately understood Dumbledore's hint, catching the subtle communication.
So, did he happen to have any magical little tools on him that could make people tell the truth?
Yes, sir, yes he did. As it happened, he was quite well-prepared for such possibilities.
Adrian reached into his inner robe pocket and took out a small box, about the size of a ring box.
The box immediately began to enlarge in his hands with a soft humming sound, transforming through expansion charms into a full-sized suitcase that landed on the floor with a solid thump.
Adrian opened the suitcase with a click of the clasps, revealing an interior that was densely packed with small bottles filled with potions of various colors and viscosities.
Each bottle had detailed labels written in his handwriting, organized with the care of someone who might need to grab the right potion in an emergency. Just as he had mentioned before, like Snape, he always carried some necessary potions for various situations such as Veritaserum.
Look, now it came in handy!
Preparation always paid dividends.
Dumbledore glanced at Adrian's suitcase with his peripheral vision and was visibly stunned for a moment, his eyebrows rising toward his hairline in surprise.
The potions inside were all extremely precious, rare, expensive, and difficult to brew. He even spotted three separate labels for Felix Felicis alone, the legendary liquid luck that took six months to brew properly and cost a small fortune in ingredients!
'This... what hidden depths this young man has!'
Dumbledore stroked his silver beard thoughtfully, thinking about something.
Adrian selected one of the transparent small bottles, inside which a silver liquid swirled.
Barty Crouch Jr.'s pupils contracted violently the instant he saw the bottle.
"Veritaserum?" he hissed, his voice rising in pitch as his body unconsciously tried to shrink back from the bottle. "You're going to use that on me? That's—that's—"
"Cut the crap!" Adrian interrupted roughly, his patience exhausted.
He pulled out the crystal stopper with a soft pop and tersely grabbed Crouch Jr.'s jaw, forcing his mouth open despite his attempts to keep it sealed. The silver liquid poured into the struggling man's mouth.
Barty Crouch Jr. coughed violently, gagging and trying desperately to spit out the potion, but the Veritaserum had already slid down his throat. His body trembled once, twice, then began to still.
Soon, his eyes began to become unfocused and glassy, the light of consciousness dimming as his resistance was thoroughly dissolved by the potion's powerful effects.
Seeing the potion taking full effect, Dumbledore cleared his throat and leaned forward. He asked in a deep voice: "How did you escape from Azkaban? If I remember correctly, you should have died in Azkaban over a decade ago."
Barty Crouch Jr.'s lips began to open and close mechanically, moving without his conscious will, compelled by the Veritaserum flowing through his system.
"It was my mother," He replied in a flat, expressionless tone. "My mother drank Polyjuice Potion and took my place in the cell. That man secretly brought me home and controlled me with the Imperius Curse for years."
Hearing Barty Crouch Jr.'s words, Dumbledore closed his eyes as though struck, his face aging visibly in that moment.
Even though he had already suspected something of this nature after their earlier conversation, the confirmed truth was still chilling to hear spoken aloud.
A mother's sacrifice, a father's terrible choice, a son's continued devotion to darkness, it was tragedy layered upon tragedy.
Although Barty Crouch Sr. had a Death Eater for a son and had failed terribly in his bid for Minister of Magic, he still held a high and influential position in the Ministry of Magic with access to resources and authority.
Being able to arrange switching his convicted son out of Azkaban through careful planning was not particularly surprising.
"Then," Dumbledore continued asking, "why did you kill your father?"
"It was to complete my master's orders!" Barty Crouch Jr. practically shouted the response, his inner excitement and pride not even suppressed by the Veritaserum's flattening effects.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "What specific orders did Voldemort give you?"
Adrian pricked up his ears, leaning forward slightly and listening with intense focus.
This was the information they most wanted to know at present.
"Master..." Barty Crouch Jr. had just opened his mouth to respond, when suddenly his left arm began to twitch violently.
Through his tattered sleeve, the black Dark Mark began glowing with a sickly green light, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Dumbledore's head snapped up, his expression shifting instantly to alarm: "Someone is approaching! Death Eaters—they've been summoned!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, the entire house shook violently with explosive force. The walls trembled, pictures fell from their hooks, and with a tremendous crash of breaking wood and shattering plaster, the ceiling came crashing down in a shower of debris and dust.
"!" Adrian reacted on pure instinct, his wand already moving.
He quickly raised a powerful Shield Charm, the shimmering barrier springing into existence just as heavy rubble began raining down. Chunks of plaster and cracked wooden beams smashed against the magical barrier, creating visible ripples across its surface but failing to penetrate.
Before the choking dust had even settled, a curse carrying an eerie green light attacked them through the debris.
"He managed to contact the Death Eaters through the Mark," Dumbledore said grimly.
As he spoke, the Elder Wand moved in his hand with a sharp flick. A bookshelf tore itself from the wall and flew into the curse's path. The Killing Curse struck its dead center, blasting the furniture into fragments, but the obstruction had served its purpose.
Outside the shattered window, revealed as the dust began to clear, three figures wearing silver-white masks that gleamed in the afternoon light slowly revealed themselves.
Without a doubt—Death Eaters.
And judging by their masks and formation, the same group that had caused the riot at the Quidditch World Cup.
The tall Death Eater in front waved his wand in a complex pattern. The entire outer wall of the house instantly turned to fine powder, disintegrating as though it had never existed, opening the interior completely to the outside world.
This scene gave Adrian strong reason to suspect that Death Eaters were all recruited from demolition crews, given their apparent preference for destroying buildings.
Of course, that certainly wasn't the true purpose of these particular arrivals.
The three Death Eaters pressed forward in a tight triangular formation, advancing through the rubble with coordination.
Because of their concealing masks, Adrian couldn't identify them by sight, though their builds and movements might provide clues with further observation.
At this chaotic moment, Barty Crouch Jr. somehow broke free from the effects of the Veritaserum which was highly abnormal, as Adrian had used nearly an hour's dose.
The potion should have kept him compliant and truthful for much longer.
Dark magic was interfering, or perhaps the Dark Mark's activation had shocked his system enough to throw off the potion's influence.
He began laughing maniacally in his chains, the iron links rattling as his body shook: "Master has come to save me! You fools—you—"
Dumbledore raised his hand and a silent Stunning Spell shot from the Elder Wand, striking Crouch Jr. in the chest and silencing him instantly. His head slouched forward, unconscious.
Almost simultaneously, as though they'd been waiting for exactly that opening, three bolts of green light tore through the lingering smoke and dust, shooting straight at Adrian and Dumbledore's positions.
Adrian and Dumbledore both waved their wands in defensive movements, and two thick earthen walls erupted from the ground with a sound like grinding stone.
The three Killing Curses struck the walls with tremendous force, blasting them to pieces in explosions of dirt and rock fragments that scattered everything nearby.
Fortunately, neither defender was harmed, having already shifted position the moment the walls went up.
A flash of cold sharpness passed through Dumbledore's eyes.
The old wizard flicked his wrist with precision, and a concentrated golden light shot out like lightning, blindingly bright and impossibly fast.
Before the leftmost Death Eater could react beyond beginning to raise his wand, his chest was pierced cleanly through by the spell. A bowl-sized bloody hole appeared in his chest, the damage was disastrous and instantly fatal.
A muffled grunt of shock and agony came from beneath the mask, and the corpse crashed to the ground like a puppet with cut strings, blood pooling rapidly beneath the dark robes.
"Sectumsempra!" Adrian's voice rang out, casting almost simultaneously with Dumbledore's attack.
He'd recognized the opportunity, three enemies focusing on Dumbledore meant divided attention. His wand traced the precise pattern, and an invisible blade of cutting magic sliced through the air with a sound like tearing silk.
The severing curse struck. The head of the Death Eater on the right separated cleanly from his shoulders, flying high through the air in an arc of crimson spray. Blood splattered intensely across the broken walls and rubble, painting the destruction.
It was super effective. The body collapsed, twitching instinctively.
'It seemed that the three dark wizards who came this time were all rabble,' Adrian thought, analyzing the brief combat.
Or rather and this was more likely the truth, He and Dumbledore's magical attainments and combat experience far exceeded ordinary wizards, even trained Dark wizards.
"Hmm..." Dumbledore stroked his beard with his free hand, seemingly untroubled by having just killed a man. "You know this spell too, Professor Westeros. I'm somewhat surprised—Severus was actually willing to teach you Sectumsempra. He's normally quite protective of his personal creations."
"Now is not the time to discuss the finer points of Dark magic or who taught whom what spells," Adrian replied with strained patience, though he couldn't suppress a slight smile at the absurdity of the conversation timing.
"Please have some sense of crisis, Headmaster Dumbledore. There's still one Death Eater standing, and this situation hasn't resolved itself yet."
Seeing his two companions dispatched so easily, both dead within seconds of engagement, the last remaining Death Eater was clearly panicked. His entire body language changed from aggressive to defensive.
He staggered back several steps, nearly tripping over debris, his wand hand shaking visibly even from this distance. Then, with the desperate decisiveness of someone out of options, he suddenly threw out a crystal vial toward the still-unconscious Barty Crouch Jr.
The small bottle spun through the air.
"Diffindo!" Adrian's wand flicked lightly.
The crystal bottle shattered in midair with a musical clinking sound, fragments scattering but it was too late to prevent its contents from being released.
The powdery fragments struck Barty Crouch Jr.'s body, the magic spreading across his body like liquid Fiendfyre.
"Ahhh—" Barty Crouch Jr.'s eyes snapped open as he let out a piercing, inhuman scream of pure agony.
His entire body began visibly corroding and melting, his screams rising in pitch until they became unclear shrieks. In few seconds nothing remained but white bones that clattered to the floor.
________________
You can read more chapters on:
patreon.com/IamLuis