Mysterious Journey
Chapter 1135 Mad-Eye Moody
“Brandy, coffee, and if possible, a pot of tea,” Scrimgeour said, still looking quite pale.
“By the way, Mr. Scrimgeour. What about Mr. Crouch?”
Just then, Tonks, looking ashen-faced, glanced around, asking cautiously.
“What I mean is… since you arrived at the Leaky Cauldron first, Mr. Crouch should have successfully met up with you, but why isn't he here…” Tonks' hands, resting on her knees, trembled slightly. “Didn't you leave together, or…”
“Don't worry, Crouch and I left before you all—”
Scrimgeour looked at the young witch who had only joined the Auror Office a year ago, his expression softening slightly.
“Your decisions and rearguard actions below were excellent. A few of us alone wouldn't have been able to handle tonight's situation. We need more help. The wizards in the Ministry of Magic aren't just from the Auror Office. I sent Crouch to notify—”
Before Scrimgeour could finish, the bolt on the inside of the locked pub door suddenly slid open.
Scrimgeour drew his wand and turned around quickly, looking warily towards the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron.
“Who's there?!”
“It's me, Moody—Rufus, what's going on?”
As the door opened, a low, raspy voice echoed, like the vibration of an old bronze gong.
A man appeared in the doorway, pulling back his hood to reveal gray-white hair, hobbling in. Behind him was Barty Crouch, who hadn't been in the pub earlier, but Tonks' attention was almost entirely drawn to the wizard who had entered first.
She had never seen such a face. It looked as if it had been carved from a piece of rotten wood.
And the carver seemed to have only a vague idea of what a human face should look like, and wasn't very skilled with the carving knife.
Every inch of skin on that face seemed scarred, the mouth was like a crooked gash, and where the nose should have been, there was nothing.
But the most terrifying thing about this man was his eyes: one eye was small, black, and glittering; the other eye was large, round like a coin, and a bright, vivid blue.
That blue eye kept moving, never blinking, darting up, down, left, and right, completely independent of the normal eye.
The blue eye darted quickly around the pub, then rolled up and into the man's head, so that Tonks could only see a large white eyeball.
“Oh, thank goodness, Moody, it's good to see you—” Scrimgeour visibly relaxed.
Moody walked up to Rufus Scrimgeour. He held out a hand, which, like his face, was scarred and battered.
Scrimgeour shook his hand and said something in a low voice that Tonks couldn't hear. So she chose to poke Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was standing silently beside her, and asked curiously in a hushed voice, “Who is that wizard? I don't think I've ever seen him in the Ministry?”
“Alastor Moody. I think you've heard of him, he retired a few years ago—”
Kingsley said in a deep voice, glancing at Tonks, who still looked a little bewildered. “Remember what I told you before? 'Mad-Eye Moody,' the most outstanding and capable Auror in the Ministry of Magic's history. During the Wizarding War a decade ago, he filled half of Azkaban's cells with the people he arrested. If Dumbledore is the wizard Voldemort fears the most, then Moody is the Auror that all Death Eaters fear the most—”
“Speaking of which, you and those guys who broke into the Ministry crossed paths, Shacklebolt?”
Moody's raspy voice sounded, his conversation with Scrimgeour over, the blue magic eye rolled out again and stared at Kingsley.
“Yes, Mr. Crouch, Nymphadora and I were in the Ministry atrium at the time and ran right into them.”
“How strong were they? How many? Did you recognize any of them?” Moody asked bluntly.
“Well—” Kingsley Shacklebolt paused for a moment, glancing at the bar owner standing not far away.
“A private room, quiet, Tom,” Scrimgeour said quickly.
“Those should all be suitable, I'll get you towels, hot water, and something to eat and drink—”
Old Tom pointed to the passageway beside the bar and turned around and walked behind the bar, knowing when to gossip and when to leave. Tonight, the most appropriate thing to do was not ask any questions.
“Thank you, Mr. Abernathy. If anyone else comes, please point them this way.”
Barty Crouch nodded, adding, “There should be more people arriving later, tell them to come straight here.”
The group walked along the narrow passageway, leaving the bar and entering the nearest small private room.
Mad-Eye scanned the room with his magic eye as usual, tapped the floor with his cane, and a fire sprang up in the fireplace.
“It's safe here, speak,” Moody said, dragging a chair from beside the fireplace and sitting down.
Scrimgeour and the others also found a sofa or chair to sit down. Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat and began to talk about what had happened in the Ministry atrium, his face serious. Scrimgeour and Moody occasionally asked a few questions, and Crouch and Tonks occasionally helped to add details.
With the crackling of the fire and Kingsley's narration, the atmosphere in the room became heavy.
“There are thirty fireplaces in the left and right atrium of the Ministry combined, if we follow your previous description…”
Scrimgeour was silent for a few seconds, then his face began to turn a little green. “At least forty or fifty wizards invaded the Ministry?! Do you know what that means? This is no joke, based on that scale, this incident could be…”
“Wizarding War, Rufus. Obviously, a new war has begun.”
Mad-Eye Moody said coldly, his scarred, incomplete face full of icy expression.
“Unless Crouch, Shacklebolt, and the three of them all hallucinated, we'd better accept the fact as soon as possible—Dumbledore's warning was right, Voldemort and his Death Eaters have returned! We have no choice but to face them head-on.”
“Voldemort is back? But where did he gather so many Death Eaters from?!”
Barty Crouch pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling his head was a little swollen. This was too crazy.
“That's something we'll figure out later, of course…” Mad-Eye Moody glanced at Scrimgeour and said in a deep voice, “But, frankly, I'm not too surprised. Too many got away back then… and now so many years have passed.”
“In short, the immediate priority is to recall the Aurors who are on assignments, and find as many helpers as possible—”
Moody frowned heavily, looked at the room with only five people, and began to look uneasy.
“Mr. Crouch, are you sure you sent out the emergency signal? Why hasn't anyone responded yet? Did they all fly over on brooms?! Even if Cornelius Fudge can't come back for the time being, surely not all the Ministry of Magic wizards are asleep?”
Bang!
Just then, the door to the private room was suddenly pushed open.
A burly, tall wizard hurried in from outside the door, holding a broom in his hand.
“Damn it! What the hell is going on?! Are all the fireplaces in England broken?!”
“Level One Incident, Mr. Bagman. The Ministry of Magic has fallen, suspected dark magic forces have returned—”
Scrimgeour glanced at the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports who had rushed in, and answered subconsciously, then suddenly paused.
“Wait, what did you just say… what's wrong with the fireplaces?!”
————
————
Yay!