Chapter 260: Chapter 260: "A Frantic Chase"
The old stone walls of Hogwarts echoed with the hurried footsteps of Charles Potter as he sprinted through the entrance hall, his heart pounding. The urgency of his mission pushed him forward, his mind racing from the strange encounter he'd just had in the Forbidden Forest. As he turned a corner at full speed, he almost crashed into Professor Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody.
"Charles!" Moody shouted, his normal eye widening in surprise while his magical eye swiveled around, taking in Charles's disheveled appearance and panicked expression. "What's got you running like that, lad? You look like you've seen a ghost—and not one of the friendly ones."
Gasping for breath, Charles struggled to explain. The words tumbled out quickly, his voice shaking with both exertion and fear. "Professor! It's Mr. Crouch—he's in the forest—something's wrong—we need Dumbledore—"
Moody's face grew serious as Charles described what had happened with the delirious Barty Crouch Sr. His magical eye spun faster with each detail, as if searching for unseen dangers hidden in the castle walls.
"Dumbledore's away on urgent Ministry business," Moody growled, his voice tense, clearly frustrated at the headmaster's absence at such an important time. "But this can't wait. Not with everything that's been happening. Show me where you left him, Charles. Now."
Without hesitation, they set off toward the Forbidden Forest at a brisk pace, Moody's wooden leg thumping steadily in rhythm with Charles's hurried steps. The night air felt thick with tension as they approached the spot where Charles had left Krum and Crouch, the dark forest closing in around them.
When they reached the clearing, they were met with an unexpected shock. Instead of finding Crouch and Krum, they found only the unconscious body of Viktor Krum lying on the forest floor. There was no sign of Crouch—he had disappeared as if he had never been there.
"Bloody hell," Moody muttered, his magical eye spinning rapidly as he looked around. "This is worse than I thought. Charles, I need you to do something for me, quickly. Summon your broom—that Firebolt of yours. I'll need its speed for what comes next."
Though confused by the request, Charles didn't hesitate. He raised his wand and called out, "Accio Firebolt!" His voice echoed through the forest, and moments later, his sleek racing broom zoomed into view, coming to a stop beside them.
Moody grabbed the Firebolt, his gnarled hands gripping the polished handle tightly. "Good lad. Now, I need you to take Krum to Madam Pomfrey. Make sure he's looked after properly. I'll track down Crouch—whatever's going on here, it's not good, and we can't let him slip away."
Charles opened his mouth to argue, to insist on helping, but Moody cut him off with a stern look. "No arguments, Potter. This is beyond you now. Get Krum to safety and alert the other staff. That's how you can help best."
Reluctantly, Charles nodded and used his wand to levitate Krum. As he began making his way back to the castle, he glanced back and saw Moody mounting the Firebolt, his magical eye already scanning the forest as he took off.
---
Rewind the clock by a few minutes, and we find ourselves back in the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Viktor Krum stood guard over the mumbling form of Barty Crouch Sr., growing more uneasy with every passing moment. The shadows around them seemed to deepen, the usual sounds of the forest muted as if nature itself was holding its breath.
Suddenly, a twig snapped nearby, the sound sharp in the eerie quiet. Krum turned quickly, his wand at the ready, his reflexes honed by years of Quidditch training. To his shock, he found himself staring at another Barty Crouch Sr.—a perfect duplicate of the man lying at his feet.
"Who are you?" Krum demanded, his accent thick with tension, his wand aimed directly at the newcomer. "Why do you look like him? What's going on here?"
The second Crouch raised his hands in a calming gesture, his voice calm and confident. "I am the real Barty Crouch Senior, Mr. Krum. I'm here on official Ministry business, though I can't say more than that. The man you've been guarding is... let's call him an experiment from the Department of Mysteries who escaped. Lower your wand, lad, and let me take care of this situation."
Krum hesitated, torn between his instincts and the desire for a simple explanation. Just then, the Crouch on the ground, who had been mumbling incoherently, suddenly snapped to attention at the sound of the other's voice. His eyes, previously vacant, sharpened with a mix of recognition and anger.
With a snarl, the prone Crouch tried to grab a wand that wasn't there, his hands grasping at nothing. Realizing he was unarmed and outnumbered, he made a split-second decision. In a burst of energy, he scrambled to his feet and ran into the forest, hoping to lose his pursuers in the darkness.
Krum, caught off guard, turned his attention to the fleeing man. In that instant, the second Crouch—who was actually Barty Crouch Jr. in disguise—seized his chance. With lightning-fast reflexes, he sent a stunning spell flying at Krum.
The red light hit Krum square in the back, and the Durmstrang Seeker fell to the ground without a sound. Crouch Jr. wasted no time, immediately casting another stunning spell at his fleeing father. The spell found its mark, and the elder Crouch collapsed mid-stride, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Standing alone in the clearing, Crouch Jr. surveyed the scene, his mind racing. He had narrowly averted disaster—if his father had escaped, it could have ruined everything. Now, he needed to act quickly to control the situation and salvage their plan.
He turned his attention to Krum. The Durmstrang champion was a complication, but killing him would attract too much attention. Krum's fame meant his disappearance would lead to a major investigation, potentially ruining the entire tournament.
With a grimace, Crouch Jr. pointed his wand at Krum. "Obliviate," he muttered, carefully altering the young man's memories. He erased any recollection of seeing two Crouch Seniors, replacing it with a vague memory of being attacked by an unseen figure while guarding a confused Ministry official.
With that done, Crouch Jr. turned back to his father. Time was running out. He needed to get beyond the Hogwarts wards so he could contact his master and arrange for his father's capture once more.
Casting a Disillusionment Charm over his father's unconscious body, Crouch Jr. began moving through the forest, always alert for any signs of pursuit. His progress was slow, weighed down by the need for stealth and the unconscious form he was carrying.
As he neared the edge of the Hogwarts wards, he heard a sound from above—the unmistakable whoosh of a broomstick slicing through the night air. Someone was chasing him, and they were moving much faster than he could on foot.
Acting quickly, Crouch Jr. hid his father in a dense thicket, covering him with an Invisibility Cloak. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped into a small clearing to face whoever was coming. He could only hope his disguise would hold up under scrutiny and that he had the skills to deal with this new threat.
Chapter 261: Chapter 261: "An Unexpected Confrontation"
The night air whistled past Alastor Moody as he flew through the sky on Charles Potter's Firebolt. His magical eye whirled continuously, scanning the thick canopy of the Forbidden Forest below. Years of experience as an Auror had sharpened his tracking skills to a razor's edge, allowing him to notice the smallest signs of movement, even in the darkness.
Moody spotted movement in a small clearing ahead and angled the broom into a steep dive. He landed smoothly, dismounting with practiced ease, his wand already in his hand. Standing before him was what appeared to be Barty Crouch Sr., looking far less disheveled and confused than Charles had described.
"Barty," Moody called, his voice gruff, his wand raised and ready. Every instinct, honed over decades of fighting Dark wizards, screamed that something was very wrong. "What's this I hear about you losing your mind and mumbling for Dumbledore? You gave young Potter quite a fright."
The man who looked like Crouch shifted uneasily, a flicker of something—fear? Calculation?—crossing his face. "Was I? I'm afraid I don't remember much. Must've been a bad reaction to a potion I took earlier. Experimental stuff from the Department of Mysteries, you understand. Leaves one a bit confused for a while. But I'm right as rain now, thankfully."
Moody's eyes narrowed, his suspicion growing with every word. "Is that so? And is this the same potion you've been drinking here at Hogwarts? That new habit everyone's been talking about?"
"Yes, that's right," Crouch replied smoothly, though there was a tension beneath the surface. "Nasty side effects, but quite effective when it works properly. Care for a sip? Might do that leg of yours some good."
"No thanks," Moody growled, his magical eye suddenly swiveling towards a nearby bush. "I don't much like the taste of Polyjuice. Leaves a funny aftertaste, don't you think?"
Crouch's composure cracked, a flash of panic crossing his face before he masked it. "Polyjuice? What do you mean?"
Moody's magical eye fixed on the bush, detecting a hidden presence. "Only that it would explain why there's someone else who looks just like you hiding in those bushes, Barty… or whoever you really are."
The imposter's face twisted with rage, the careful mask of Barty Crouch Sr. slipping away to reveal the manic intensity beneath. "That eye of yours is quite the nuisance. I think I'd rather like to pluck it out of your skull."
In an instant, both wizards raised their wands, and the forest erupted into a fierce duel. Spells crackled through the air, illuminating the darkness with flashes of red, blue, and sickly green. The peaceful night shattered with shouts of incantations and the explosive impacts of spells against hastily conjured shields.
Despite his age and physical limitations, Moody moved with the precision and fluidity of a seasoned fighter. His wand cut through the air, casting shields and counter-spells in rapid succession. Every movement was deliberate, every spell cast with the accuracy of a master duelist. His reputation as one of the most formidable Aurors was on full display.
Crouch Jr., though younger and more agile, was outmatched by Moody's skill and experience. But fear of failure—fear of disappointing his master and ruining their plans—pushed him to fight with the desperation of a cornered animal.
"Stupefy!" Moody roared, the red jet of light barely missing Crouch Jr. as he dove behind a tree, the bark exploding where the spell struck.
"Avada Kedavra!" Crouch Jr. countered, the sickly green light of the killing curse shooting just over Moody's head as the ex-Auror ducked and rolled, dodging another Cruciatus Curse that followed.
The duel raged on, the forest around them bearing the brunt of their battle. Trees splintered under the force of spells, the ground scorched and cratered by missed curses. The air crackled with magic, the very atmosphere warped by the intensity of their fight.
Moody pressed his advantage, and his experience was evident in every calculated movement. With a complex flick of his wand, he transfigured fallen branches into a pack of snarling wolves that lunged at Crouch Jr., forcing the younger wizard on the defensive.
"Give it up, Imposter!" Moody shouted, deflecting a bone-breaking curse with ease. "You're outmatched and outnumbered. It's only a matter of time before reinforcements arrive. You can't win this!"
Crouch Jr. snarled, his eyes wild with a mix of hatred and fear. He knew Moody was right—he was outmatched in both skill and experience. But surrender wasn't an option. Failing meant not just capture, but the disappointment of his master, the collapse of their grand plan. He readied himself for one final attack, pouring all his remaining strength into a desperate strike, when fate intervened.
Moody's magical eye suddenly swiveled sharply, detecting movement in the shadows beyond the clearing.
"Who's there?" Moody barked, his wand still trained on Crouch Jr. "Come out where I can see you!"
From the darkness emerged two figures. One was a small, hunched man with watery eyes—Peter Pettigrew. In his arms was something that made even Moody's blood run cold—a twisted, infant-like creature radiating a palpable sense of malevolence.
"Well, well," Moody growled, his voice filled with disdain. "Peter Pettigrew, the rat who betrayed the Potters. And what's that abomination you're holding?"
Pettigrew's voice shook as he answered, "You should show more respect, Moody. This is my Lord."
Moody's magical eye fixed on the creature. "When did you find a new Lord for yourself, Wormtail? You've got a strange taste in masters."
Pettigrew looked like he was about to retort, but the creature spoke first, its voice high and cold. "Quiet, Wormtail. He's trying to rile you up to gather information."
Moody raised an eyebrow. "The ugly little thing can talk. I shouldn't be surprised—I've seen plenty of bizarre things in my career. Once I stun the lot of you, I'll have all the time I need to figure this out."
Despite being outnumbered, Moody showed no fear. He knew he could handle Crouch Jr. and Pettigrew. Charles had likely alerted the other professors by now, and reinforcements would be arriving soon.
"Three against one, is it?" Moody sneered. "Still not great odds for you. Why don't you surrender now and save yourselves the trouble?"
Crouch Jr. snarled, "You're the one outnumbered, old man! My Lord will—"
"Your Lord will what?" Moody cut him off. "Need a diaper change? I've faced scarier things in my sleep, boy."
Moody braced himself for a prolonged fight, his wand ready, his magical eye spinning to track every movement. But then something unexpected happened. The twisted creature in Pettigrew's arms raised a skeletal arm, holding a wand in its grotesque fingers.
"Enough of this nonsense," the creature hissed. "Stupefy!"
A jet of red light shot from the wand, catching Moody completely off guard. He had not expected the strange creature to be capable of casting spells, let alone doing it so well. The spell was quick, and even as Moody began to understand what was happening, it was already too late.
The seasoned Auror, who had survived countless battles and outsmarted many dark wizards, had no defense against this unexpected strike. The stunning spell hit him square in the chest, and Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody crumpled to the ground, his magical eye still spinning.
Silence fell over the clearing. Pettigrew and Crouch Jr. exchanged uncertain glances, their eyes flickering between each other and the fallen Auror. They were wondering why their Lord had not just killed the old auror.
The infant-like Voldemort let out a cold, chilling laugh that seemed to echo through the trees. The malevolence in the air grew heavier, as if the very forest was holding its breath.
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