Mysterious Journey

Chapter 1174 Barty Crouch Jr. (Part 2)

"Voldemort's mastermind? Planned last night's attack?!"

Barty Crouch Sr. paused for half a second, his calm expression instantly vanishing.

He abruptly stood up, quickly walked to the iron bars, and stared directly at Scrimgeour's angry gaze.

"What are you saying, Rufus—Voldemort, that's impossible, absolutely impossible! Until yesterday, Barty Jr. was under my control with the Imperius Curse at home. He couldn't have had anything to do with last night's attack. What are you talking about? What's going on?!"

Since he managed to "swap" his son out of Azkaban ten years ago, he had been certain that everything was under his control.

Even Scrimgeour and the others' surprise search, Crouch Sr. had previously thought the problem was with himself.

"The Imperius Curse? So that was your hiding method all along? Ha—"

Rufus Scrimgeour's eyebrows twitched, a hint of doubt flashing in his eyes, followed by a mocking expression.

"Crouch, what do you think led us to discover that Barty Crouch Jr. wasn't dead? We traced back the fireplace departure points—last night there were dozens of path entries from 'Riddle House'. Yes, Tom Riddle's Muggle father's old house. Guess who helped that Dark Lord purchase the house back, build the fireplace, and even, as a core member...arrange these trivialities of the attack?"

The old lion of the Auror Headquarters fixed his gaze on Crouch's face, observing every subtle change in his emotions.

"Traces are left behind where mortals walk...a quote Kingsley heard from Muggle police, I find it quite insightful. Voldemort and Crouch may have evaded magical detection, but they overlooked the insignificant Muggles. We heard about Barty Crouch from Muggles..."

"Muggles? Riddle House? What is all this?"

Old Crouch's eyebrows furrowed deeper, as if he saw an invisible net descending from the sky.

"Roughly a few months ago, a man named Tom Riddle bought Riddle House, all the procedures were handled by his butler. The Little Hangleton village constable, government officials, and the old gardener of Riddle House all saw Barty Crouch's appearance—although the Muggles' descriptions were somewhat vague, we could barely recall a certain pale-haired young man in our minds based on the name and appearance."

"So...you really knew nothing? Crouch, you were too conceited—"

Scrimgeour glanced at the shocked Barty Crouch, the weight in his heart finally easing a little.

He drew his wand and waved it gently around, isolating any possible prying eyes or eavesdropping.

"The situation has long been out of control. Your so-called control, the Imperius Curse...it clearly failed a long time ago."

"Our informant overheard part of Voldemort and Crouch Jr.'s conversation—right before they launched the attack—Professor Dumbledore and Madam Bones believe that you are still on our side, otherwise they wouldn't be debating whether to kill or capture you."

"However, regarding your case, there are still many disagreements within the Ministry..."

Scrimgeour took a deep breath, lowered his voice slightly, and looked at old Crouch behind the cold iron bars.

"Some senior officials believe your actions are a serious violation of the law and must be severely punished; others believe your actions don't warrant being lumped in with the Death Eaters and should be decided by the Wizengamot court after a trial. But regardless of which side, everyone agrees that, according to the 'Azkaban Special Provisions' you drafted, this is currently the most stable solution—the resolution passed unanimously in a small circle."

"At least for the time being, you must spend it in Azkaban. Of course, the current Azkaban wizarding prison isn't entirely reliable either—Voldemort will never let Azkaban go, there are too many followers and…potential followers who can strengthen his forces."

As he spoke, he tilted his head towards the Dementors hovering in the air not far away, and continued.

"Therefore, we choose to believe you one last time, Mr. Crouch."

*Clatter.*

A small box passed through the bars, flipped a few times, and rolled to Barty Crouch's feet.

"'We'...who are you referring to?"

"Those who believe in you—" Scrimgeour shrugged.

He watched Barty Crouch put away his wand, heave a sigh of relief, and waved his wand to dispel the protection.

"Once the dust settles, the Wizengamot will summon you to court... As for this time, I hope you can reflect on yourself and strive to obtain some mitigation in the court's judgment... Your work will be temporarily handed over by Ludo Bagman, so—"

Scrimgeour waved his hand, turned around, and walked towards the prison exit.

"Wait, Rufus... This isn't right!"

Crouch thought carefully for a moment, grabbed the bars with both hands, and shouted loudly.

"About my son, this is definitely a conspiracy—he must have been there when I left home last night. You have to warn Dumbledore and Cornelius, that 'Barty Crouch Jr.' appearing next to Voldemort is definitely someone else, you must be vigilant..."

"Then, what do you have to say about assisting Barty Crouch Jr. in escaping?"

"I..." Barty Crouch's tone faltered.

"In any case, we will investigate thoroughly, Mr. Crouch."

Scrimgeour paused, without turning his head, sighed softly after a moment of silence.

"However, as a former friend, I would like to give you some advice: don't think about continuing to defend or exonerate your son. The situation has developed to the point where you can no longer cover it up or fix it. People always have to pay for what they've done, that's reality."

"Instead of worrying about the Ministry's affairs, you should think about why you are in Azkaban..."

…………

*Creak—bang.*

The iron gate to Azkaban's outside world closed.

Barty Crouch's anxious, hoarse voice echoed deep in the dark iron prison.

As if some kind of giant beast was dragging huge stones, the cell he was in quickly moved, sinking downwards.

A few minutes later, accompanied by a dull thud of metal and stone colliding, Barty Crouch's cell shook violently and stopped in some dim, damp underground area. There seemed to be many cells around, but the mist and darkness blocked his view, only allowing him to see the outlines.

A kind of gloomy aura spread out, and the rotten edges of the Dementors' robes were faintly visible in the shadows.

"Oh, isn't this Mr. Barty Crouch? What a surprise!"

Just then, a shrill, somewhat hoarse and crazed female voice rang out from a cell not far from Barty Crouch.

"I heard the Dark Lord has returned? As a war hero in people's eyes, how did you end up being locked up in Azkaban? Oh, you shouldn't be thinking about these things now. You should also learn from others and beg your acquaintances in the Ministry to listen to your explanations, right?"

"He's crazy, Bella, didn't you hear? This old guy still seems to think his son is alive—"

"That's after all his only asset to please the Dark Lord, isn't it? Too bad—"

The woman who spoke first said with a sneer, shouting triumphantly in the darkness towards Barty Crouch.

"I said, the Dark Lord will return! Crouch! Soon, he will come back to save us! He will reward us especially! Only we are loyal! And you—when we get out of prison, you will be the most wonderful gift for us to celebrate our release—"

"Bellatrix? I didn't expect you to still be alive?"

Barty Crouch raised his eyebrows, sat back on his bed, and said calmly.

"That's right, Voldemort did appear last night, but you obviously didn't receive any summons—"

"If the Dark Lord you speak of really cares about you, then you should be fleeing and hiding with him, not still locked in Azkaban, fantasizing about rewards. Let me tell you, you are just discarded garbage."

Crouch's words were like a cold blade, instantly severing the Death Eaters' ridicule and sarcasm.

Just as he said, with the news of Voldemort's return, almost every Death Eater locked in Azkaban was asking:

Why didn't that Dark Lord summon them? Would that Dark Lord come to save them?

And Barty Crouch's words undoubtedly reopened this layer of uneasy wounds.

After all... their Dark Marks weren't even touched.

"Shut up, old man! The Dark Lord has his reasons—"

Bellatrix Lestrange, like a beast stabbed in its wounds, let out a shrill, angry shout.

"You should look around you! This is 'Crouch's' cell, the last 'Crouch' died inside."

This is…

The place where the last "Crouch" lived?

In the darkness that Bellatrix couldn't see, Barty Crouch's eyes flickered.

He didn't continue to pay attention to the messy, annoying noises outside, and turned around to examine the surroundings one by one by the faint moonlight.

In a sense, the crazy woman in the next cell was right.

This was indeed the place where a certain "Crouch" lived before his death, but... that "Crouch" was not Barty Crouch Sr.

On the wall near the single bed, there were still some crude patterns carved with hard objects. Old Barty had to get very close to barely see what they were—mostly silhouettes outlined with simple lines, looking like murals from ancient magical ruins.

"Oh, right, I suddenly remembered... That cowardly little thing still made some noise in the cell—"

Noticing the movement of Barty Crouch's footsteps, Bellatrix's voice flashed with some kind of evil pleasure.

"At first, I kept hearing him calling 'Mom', 'Mom' in his sleep..."

"Later, you and your wife came once, and he didn't continue to yell at night, but kept carving things on the wall all night long, keeping people from sleeping—the Ministry sent Aurors to check, and I heard they were drawings of his family—"

"What a pitiful guy, he might have thought you would come to save him before he died, but you didn't even come to claim the body..."

Family…

Old Crouch suddenly fell silent.

His fingers stroked the uneven, crude patterns one by one.

From being born in swaddling clothes to babbling, from wobbling to walking to receiving the Hogwarts letter...

The person who carved these patterns obviously didn't have much artistic talent, but the scenes weren't too complicated. At most, it was a small silhouette, plus a long-haired woman and a tall man, and sometimes there were even some small objects and text annotations next to them.

Noisy Diagon Alley, a flying broom...

Hmm, this seems to be Christmas? As for this, it should be a birthday, right?

Barty Crouch groped carefully along the wall, trying to identify the scenes depicted in the patterns.

He vaguely remembered some of the scenes, didn't remember some at all, and clearly remembered that he hadn't participated in at least half of them. However, in the "stories" on the wall, each picture had three figures neatly...

Every one, without exception, had that tall man.

As the patterns gradually extended, the carvings became shallower and shallower.

Finally, it stopped at the Hogwarts graduation ceremony.

The story reached its end there.

The carving belonging to the "father" was half finished, turning into a slanted line drooping downwards.

He leaned against the cold wall, slowly sat down, his strength seemed to drain away with the unfinished stroke.

Crouch closed his eyes, trying not to think about what happened next.

"... Dorine."

————

————

Hooray!