Arthur had only just reached Dumbledore's side when the equally shocked Fudge whirled on him and demanded, "You! Why did you attack your Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?"
As a former elite Auror of the Ministry, Moody's relationship with Fudge wasn't exactly warm—different beliefs, constant friction.
But Fudge was still willing to speak for him.
After all, half of Azkaban's inmates had been dragged in by Moody's hand. His record was practically a monument to "hard work."
If someone like that retired and even the Minister offered no support—
Then Fudge's position as Minister really would be hanging by a thread.
Arthur didn't bother answering.
Instead, he looked at Dumbledore and said, "Headmaster, has Professor Snape not returned yet? If he doesn't hurry, I'm going to be accused of assaulting a professor."
Arthur clearly knew exactly why Snape had left.
Dumbledore also knew Arthur was joking. "Assaulting a professor" was nonsense.
After all, the first person to notice "Moody" was off had been Arthur himself.
Dumbledore certainly didn't believe Arthur didn't know the "Moody" in front of them was fake.
Then Dumbledore seemed to sense something. He smiled and glanced past Arthur's shoulder.
"Isn't he here already?"
Arthur turned—
And in the stunned silence of the crowd, Snape walked steadily toward them.
But the shock wasn't because of Snape.
It was because standing beside him… was another Moody.
This one was noticeably thinner than the man Arthur had frozen.
Not just thinner—he was practically skeletal.
It was as if he'd been starved in darkness for a year.
Dumbledore stepped forward and embraced him.
"My old friend," he said warmly. "It's wonderful to see you alive."
Moody's mouth twisted into something that almost resembled a smile.
"Not until I've had my revenge," he rasped. "I'm not closing this eye."
Dumbledore nodded, then turned to Snape.
"Severus… where did you find Alastor?"
Snape replied flatly, "In the impostor's office. He kept the real Professor Moody locked in a trunk—one that had been expanded with an Undetectable Extension Charm."
Arthur couldn't even begin to imagine what it looked like—eating, drinking, sleeping… living inside a box for a full year.
He shook his head, forcibly tossing the image out of his mind.
With a casual flick of his hand, Arthur summoned the frozen "Moody" over to them.
He looked at the real Moody and said, "Professor Moody. Your enemy."
Moody tore the magical eye off the impostor's face.
As he fitted it back into his own socket, his voice turned cold.
"Let me see who you are… daring to ambush me and wear my skin."
Moody's magical eye could see through illusions.
Of course it could see through Polyjuice.
The instant the eye locked onto the impostor's true form, Moody's expression snapped.
"It's you!" he barked. "You should be dead!"
From the way he spoke, he hadn't even known who had attacked him.
In fact, until now, he hadn't even realized his captor had been Barty Crouch Jr.
Fudge, hovering nearby, asked uneasily, "Who is it?"
Even Dumbledore's eyes sharpened. He'd known Moody was a fake… but he hadn't known the identity.
Arthur pulled out a small vial of clear liquid and splashed it across the impostor's face.
An antidote to Polyjuice.
The false features melted away.
The man standing there was revealed at last—
Barty Crouch Jr.
His appearance made both Dumbledore and Fudge stiffen in shock… and then, strangely, everything clicked into place.
After Crouch Sr. died, Fudge had worried about Barty Crouch Jr. possibly returning.
He'd never imagined the man had been inside Hogwarts all along.
And now, thinking back…
Crouch Sr.'s death almost certainly had something to do with his Death Eater son.
Fudge's face darkened as he stared at Barty, fury boiling up.
But Barty only curled his lip, eyes bright with fanatic hatred.
He couldn't move his body—Arthur's binding held him like iron.
He couldn't even move his lips to speak.
With a snap of Arthur's fingers, the binding loosened—just enough to let Barty's head and mouth move.
Barty gasped as control returned—
And immediately tried to speak, tried to taunt, tried to twist the scene.
But it was useless.
Arthur's binding didn't just lock muscles.
It locked magic too.
Barty's core was sealed—his magic couldn't circulate, no matter how violently he strained.
Arthur didn't bother listening to the man's venom.
He stepped back and let Dumbledore take center stage.
Compared to Crouch Sr.'s death, Dumbledore cared about one thing more—
What Voldemort was planning.
Dumbledore stared at Barty, his eyes like ice behind half-moon spectacles.
He asked question after question, trying to pry open the truth.
To be honest, Dumbledore regretted it now.
He had known something was wrong.
He had set the trap.
And yet… the fish had slipped the hook.
Harry—the bait—was gone.
Barty, however, wasn't going to hand over the answers that easily.
He twisted his expression into something smug, and when Dumbledore attempted Legilimency—
Barty resisted.
Not completely. Dumbledore was too powerful for that.
But Barty controlled what surfaced—steering the memories toward useless fragments, meaningless images, anything that wasted time.
Dumbledore withdrew, disappointment flashing across his face.
Then he looked to Arthur.
A silent request for help.
Arthur shrugged like it had nothing to do with him.
"What are you looking at me for?" he said lazily. "Snape has—"
"Cough—cough—cough!"
Dumbledore abruptly coughed, cutting him off.
His eyes flicked toward the side.
Arthur followed that glance and immediately saw Fudge standing right there.
He understood at once.
Veritaserum was tightly regulated by the Ministry.
Snape's stash definitely wasn't "officially declared."
Plenty of potion masters ignored that regulation in practice…
But saying it out loud in front of the Minister would only cause trouble.
Arthur smoothly changed direction.
"Didn't Snape complain to you about Muggle hypnosis?" he said instead. "Why not try that?"
Dumbledore blinked. "Ah… you know I'm not skilled in that field."
Then, with perfect calm: "Could I trouble you to help?"
Arthur rolled his eyes.
So in the end, it did fall on him.
Good thing he'd studied mental techniques before—back when he'd been researching applications of spiritual power.
However, hypnosis required cooperation.
And Barty Crouch Jr. was about as cooperative as a rabid wolf.
So Arthur thought for a moment—
Then picked up a small wooden rod and casually tapped Barty on the head.
Not hard.
Just enough to rattle him.
Then he tapped again.
And again.
Barty's expression began to blur—anger, hatred, resistance… all disrupted into dazed confusion.
It was a crude method.
But effective.
Physical "emptying" was still a kind of emptying.
Once Barty's mind slipped into that stunned, drifting blankness, Arthur pulled out a pocket watch.
The chain swung. The watch face gleamed.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Arthur murmured a few simple words—nothing magical, nothing that sounded like a spell.
The rhythm did the work.
The watch's swing became a steady pull, dragging Barty's scattered focus into a single line.
A moment later, Barty's pupils went slightly unfocused.
His breathing slowed.
His shoulders slackened.
He looked… hollow.
Arthur snapped the watch shut and stepped back.
"You can ask now," he said to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore stared, fascinated.
"That's it? It's that simple?"
Arthur shot him a flat look and nodded once.
Dumbledore turned back to Barty and began questioning immediately.
And to his astonishment—
Barty answered.
Not with riddles.
Not with defiance.
But with clear, direct words.
Truth spilling out, one line at a time, as if the fanatic's will had been peeled open and laid bare.
Dumbledore clicked his tongue softly in disbelief.
He hadn't expected Muggle hypnosis to work.
Not on someone like this.
And in the back of his mind, a thought quietly formed:
When this was over…
He might need to study the Muggle world a little more closely.
Advance Chapters Available on Patreon
patreon.com/WhiteDevil7554