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Chapter 16: Burning Consequences.
🕑 Added 2024-12-30 12:52:47 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note:
Here it is... I'm finally done. Damn, I’m so tired, but this will be my New Year’s gift to you all. I hope you enjoy the chapters and, if you can, leave a comment, I’d love to hear what you think. It’s been an amazing few months since I started writing, and I’m excited to see this community continue to grow next year! Wishing you all a Happy New Year! Also... our boy is rich now! Let’s see what happens in the next chapter with the rolls, maybe he’ll get something juicy. And cookie to the reader who figures out which character was hinted at during the train ride, based on the clue in this chapter!
Celestial Ascendancy.
Chapter 16: Burning Consequences.
Elias Blake.
Hogwarts.
Walking briskly but keeping close to the girls, I couldn't help but let my thoughts spiral over what would happen after today. What would the consequences be for all of us?
Taking care of the fake Moody would, with any luck, derail Voldemort's plans enough to keep Iris out of the tournament. But that only meant he'd have to devise a new way to get her blood. I had a nagging suspicion that the original ritual he used in the books didn't require Iris's blood specifically, just the blood of an enemy. But being the theatrical, overdramatic bastard he was, Voldemort had likely chosen Harry for symbolic reasons.
If my memory served, and it could be faulty, I didn't think Voldemort even knew about Lily's sacrificial protection when he planned the ritual. Breaking it had been a coincidence. But I'd need to be ready if he tried another scheme to capture Iris.
The uncertainty clawed at me, leaving an unsettling queasiness in my gut. Was I doing the right thing? I prayed I was.
I didn’t regret my choice. Sticking to canon had its perks, but it wasn’t fair to the people I cared about. That was enough of a reason to step off the script. Looking back, I couldn’t believe how often I’d let things unfold how they were “meant to,” just because it was easier for me, ignoring the pain it caused those around me.
Yes, I had tried to avoid the worst consequences, but even then, my stubborn adherence to the timeline had put us all in danger more than I cared to count.
Shaking my head, I forced myself to let those thoughts go, clutching my wand tighter.
The past was set, but the future was mine to change. I wouldn't allow my friends to suffer for my mistakes anymore—not as long as I could help it.
One unexpected benefit of Umbris Abscondere was its versatility. I'd crafted it to be intimidating, making my voice sound ominous to strike fear into enemies. But with a little focus, I could also speak normally to those inside the spell's influence. This feature was invaluable for events like this.
"Where should we go from here?" I asked softly, my voice returning to its usual tone as I directed the spell's effects inward. It was my first time using this particular improved spell, but I was quickly adapting to its different uses.
Iris rummaged through her robes until she found the Marauder's Map. She whispered the familiar incantation, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," and the parchment revealed its secrets.
"Hmm," she murmured, scanning the map with a focused expression. "McGonagall is heading toward the headmaster with Professor Flitwick. Snape is near the castle entrance with Hagrid."
"That's good," I said with a nod. "It'll be hard for Crouch to escape with all of them on high alert. Where's Dumbledore?"
"He's about three minutes away from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom," Iris replied; she sounded tense, but I could not fault her.
"What about Moody and Crouch?" I pressed, knowing this was the most crucial question.
"They're both inside the classroom. Moody's name hasn't moved at all, so he's probably restrained and being kept for his hair alone," Iris said grimly. Hermione let out a sigh of relief at the confirmation.
"It's good that Polyjuice Potion requires the original person to be alive," Hermione added thoughtfully. "I don't understand the exact mechanics, but… magic," she finished with a shrug, noticing Iris's confused expression.
"So he's alive," Iris breathed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "That's good. I was afraid of the worst. But we really need to think more before acting in the future. If he'd died… it would've been our fault."
"I know," I admitted shamefully. "You have no idea how much I regret my decisions over the past few years. I can't apologize enough to either of you. My distrust of the professors… it bled into both of you."
“Enough, Eli,” Hermione cut in, her voice firm. “We’ve already gone over this. It’s not all your fault. What matters is that we’ve learned from it. We’ll be more careful from here on out, okay?”
Her tone softened, and even though I focused on the path ahead, ensuring we stayed in the shadows, I could almost feel her smile. Somehow, no matter what happened, Hermione always knew how to bring light to the darkest moments.
"That's interesting," Iris noted in surprise, continuing to look at the map. "There is no student in the vicinity."
"They probably sent them away in case spells go flying around," I mused out loud. "It's a good idea, I'm sure. Crouch Jr. won't be stopped without a fight."
"Do you think he has a chance of escaping, Eli?" Hermione asked with a frown.
Shrugging my shoulders, I replied, "No, not at all, even less with how pissed Dumbledore was. But he will give his best. He was a death eater and probably high rank at that, so I have no idea. I'm sure he was instrumental to Voldemort thanks to all the knowledge he could give to who his father is, but I don't know if he was a good duelist."
"That's true," Hermione nodded slowly, "But he probably has no qualms about using Dark magic, and we know how dangerous a single spell could be. In a real fight, a dark magic user can end anyone faster than an average wizard thanks to their spell selection."
Nodding at her but focusing on the spell, I continued, "That's true. We know about some nasty curses that can kill a person as fast as the killing curse, and he must know much more than us about the topic."
"It's for the best," Iris said firmly. "Real dark magic corrupts the wizard, and it's better not to risk it. I don't think it's worth it to learn those spells."
"Not everything the ministry says is wrong," I snorted, "Even if they include multiple spells that aren't dark in there just for what they do. Those could be useful, but we cannot get our hands on them right now."
"It's a shame that the ministry is so close-minded," Hermione said bitterly.
I shrugged, "Eh, we can learn by ourselves. Don't worry your pretty head about it. I'm sure we will get some opportunities in the future."
"Now, let's calm down and focus; they are in the next corner." Iris shushed us softly, and I followed her lead.
I could feel the movement on my back as the girls got ready for anything, and I took a deep breath; this was it.
Ahead, I could see Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick looking at the defense against the dark arts classroom with similar frowns, all of them with their wands drawn.
"Do you think Crouch knows they are here for him?" Hermione whispered.
"I don't think it matters much. Trust in the professors, Mione," I said firmly, looking at the scene expectantly.
We watched Dumbledore raise his wand, muttering something too quiet for us to catch. A faint shimmer of magic passed over the classroom door before disappearing. Wards, probably.
He was carefully dismantling them, layer by layer. McGonagall’s eyes scanned the corridor, her posture tense, while Flitwick readied his own spell. They weren’t taking any chances, and for good reason.
At the same time, McGonagall began weaving her wand with practiced precision, transfiguring every piece of furniture in the vicinity into weapons, sharp and elegant lances, beautifully carved shields, and various things with pointy ends.
But what truly amazed me was her seamless transition to concealment. With a single incantation, everything she had created vanished as if covered in an enormous invisibility cloak. The scale of her spellwork was breathtaking, covering such a large area with such precision and control.
Once, I might have been utterly baffled by the mechanics of such magic, but now, the perks I'd gained whispered faint ideas of how I might replicate the feat in the future.
Behind me, Hermione shivered. And she began muttering furiously under her breath.
I had to bite back a chuckle. If this weren't such a tense situation, I was sure she'd have been scribbling notes like a woman possessed.
"They're starting," I murmured, my grip tightening on my wand as I maintained our concealment. We were positioned at a safe distance, far enough to remain undetected but close enough to observe the unfolding confrontation.
We watched as Dumbledore knocked on the door with a calm face. McGonagall and Flitwick flanked him, both standing a few feet behind.
"Yes?" came the raspy voice of Moody from within, his tone gruff and impatient.
"Alastor, my friend," Dumbledore replied, his voice carrying that characteristic grandfatherly warmth though there was a distinct undercurrent of steel. "I need your help with something urgent."
The sound of Moody's peg leg thumping against the floor echoed from inside. His movements were unhurried as he approached the door. His scarred face appeared as expected when he opened it, his magical eye swiveling erratically.
"What is this, Albus? What happened?" Moody grumbled, irritation dripping from his words.
"Step outside with me," Dumbledore said gently, though his tone brooked no argument. "I'll explain as we walk. I'm afraid time is of the essence."
"This better be good," Moody snapped, stepping through the doorway. His performance was impressive, and every gruff word and mannerism matched the real Alastor Moody.
"So, explain," he barked in a sharp tone. Even now, his act didn't falter. He was every inch the paranoid, battle-hardened ex-Auror.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the man before him. His calm exterior betrayed none of his thoughts, which I was sure were racing through his mind. The tension grew, and I could feel myself getting nervous. This was it.
Dumbledore may have believed us as we told him in his office, but now he saw the truth. He had been busy planning for the Triwizard tournament, but he surely knew his old friend well enough to see the inconsistencies in his act better than anyone in the school.
"Alastor," Dumbledore began softly, "we have reason to believe there is a threat within the castle."
Moody's magical eye darted between Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick, briefly pausing where McGonagall had hidden her tools before swiveling back to the headmaster. It was brief, but I noticed Crouch tense minutely. "A threat? What sort of threat? And why do you need me for it? I was retired before you asked me for a favor to teach here. I'm sure the rest of the professors would be more of a help," he growled, his expression carefully neutral.
Fuck… His eye. I didn't think about that before. He had the real Moody prosthetic eye; and from what I remember, it could see through invisibility. I didn't think the professors had thought about that.
"Because," Dumbledore replied, stepping closer, "this threat requires someone with your… expertise and discretion."
Before they could continue, I tapped the girl's hand with mine, dropping my spell but staying behind cover, the corner of the corridor maintaining our secrecy.
"His eye can see through invisibility," I told the girls urgently, "Prepare defensive spells."
I didn't know how to explain this knowledge, but I wouldn't allow carelessness to harm anyone here who didn't deserve it.
"Be sure to protect me in case he fires something at me; if he uses a spell you don't know, use a physical shield; if not, go with a normal protego," I said to the girls seriously, and Hermione nodded, faintly murmuring under her breath as she transfigured a nearby chair into a metal shield.
I trusted her with my life, but that didn't mean I wasn't nervous about what I was about to do.
"Ready," Hermione said softly to avoid being heard.
Iris looked at me with steely eyes and nodded, her wand tight in her hand.
"I trust you, love," I grinned to hide my fear as I put my wand in my holster, ready to summon it if needed. Since the girls would protect me, I could focus on some retaliatory spell.
With a final deep breath, I walked out of the corner, attracting the attention of the professors.
"Mister Elias, what are you doing here?" McGonagall snapped harshly. "You should be in the Gryffindor common room until further notice."
I could see in her eyes that she feared for my well-being, but I ignored that. I couldn't allow myself to falter right now.
"Oh, my bad, Professor McGonagall. " I smiled calmly. "It's just that I needed to talk with the headmaster urgently."
McGonagall and Flitwick exchanged a glance. McGonagall should have let Flitwick know that I was the one who brought the information about the imposter to the headmaster, so my being here meant something was wrong.
I walked with my arms at my sides, showing my hands were empty to avoid starting the battle before I wanted.
I was far from them, about 50 feet if my guess was correct, so I had enough space to react.
Moody huffed, his lips twisting into a sneer, and he ignored me as I hoped, turning his back to me and making me smile. "You've got plenty of experts here, Albus. If this is about dark magic, I'm sure Severus would've—"
This was my chance. Without hesitation, I summoned my wand to my free hand and pumped an obscene amount of magic into my spell.
"Depulso," I snarled and watched as my spell flew with great speed toward his back; I didn't expect to hit him since that blasted eye could see 360 degrees, but at least it would attract his attention.
"He has Moody's eye and can see through invisibility!" I shouted as I dived to the side, moving before my spell reached Crouch. "He already knows you are onto him!"
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, in a motion almost too quick to follow, Moody's wand was in his hand, directly casting a protego against my spell. It broke the shield without trouble, but it dissipated before it could reach the bastard.
"Blasted child," the fake moody snarled, his eye spinning in his socket as he grimaced. Before the adults could react, he sent a sickly orange spell in my direction, and I cast a protego twenty feet away from me, but the spell passed my shield without stopping.
Before the spell could approach more, a metallic shield came from behind me, courtesy of Hermione, who was peeking from the corner. I smiled sharply. I loved that girl.
The spell hit Hermione’s transfigured shield, stopping it dead in the air. A sickly orange fire spread across the shield’s surface, melting it into a glowing, distorted puddle before fizzling. The heat from the spell hung in the air, and I felt a nervous sweat start to trickle down my neck. I didn’t recognize the curse, but I knew it would be deadly if it hit. My ability to handle fire wouldn’t do much against something like that.
Moody's false eye swiveled, locking onto me for a split second before Dumbledore, Flitwick, and McGonagall launched their counteroffensive. Their combined reaction was instantaneous, each firing spells at the imposter, forcing him onto the defensive.
Flitwick led with a roaring stream of blue fire, the flames licking hungrily toward the fake Moody.
He countered with a hastily conjured shield spell. I didn't know it, but I wanted that spell. It shimmered bright gold instead of the typical transparent barrier of a Protego. The shield caught the firestorm and flickered under the strain, but it surprisingly held the fire at bay.
I caught the faint tremble in his wand hand, and the labored breath he let out, holding that shield had clearly taken a toll.
McGonagall's transfigurations followed, and her ingenuity was breathtaking. Lances, knives, and jagged shards of marble hurtled toward the imposter, striking his golden shield with incredible force. Each impact sounded like dull thuds as they reached the shield. Everything McGonagall sent broke at the impact but left fractures like spiderwebs.
"Persistent old fools!" Moody snarled, his voice filled with frustration as the shield finally shattered under the relentless assault. The debris of McGonagall's conjurations hovered in the air for a heartbeat before raining down around him, forcing him to roll to the side and deflect the larger pieces with his wand.
She was vicious, and I liked that. But I noticed none of her weapons were aimed at Crouch's head or chest.
Dumbledore remained at the back. I didn't know what he had planned, but he hadn't attacked the imposter at all after the first stunner.
Then I felt a shiver as Crouch snarled from the floor. "Avada Kedavra," he said, pointing his wand at McGonagall, whose advanced age made her the slowest person in the room. She dived out of the path, but Crouch already considered that as he sent a dark, cutting curse against her torso.
That spell was nasty. Serratus Noctis was a dark cutting curse. It summoned a blade of dark energy that cut deep into the target, leaving jagged wounds that resist healing. The curse siphoned away the victim's magical strength and caused prolonged bleeding, but that wasn't the worst part.
The most dangerous effect this curse had was that it blinded the target with nightmarish visions and was known to make the one suffering from the curse commit suicide to escape its torment.
Before the curse could reach McGonagall, a shimmering piece of marble transfigured into place, intercepting the spell mid-flight. That's when it struck me.
Dumbledore wasn't attacking because he was leagues above anyone else in Transfiguration, even McGonagall. He wasn't wasting his magic in offense; he was the final line of defense.
Seizing the lull in the chaos, I sent a cutting curse toward Moody's peg leg, smirking as the crack resounded when he crumpled to the floor. His attempt to regain balance failed miserably.
A fierce shout drew my attention, and I turned to see Iris, her wand pointed at Crouch, unbridled fury etched on her usually teasing face.
"Fulmin!" she hissed in anger.
Jagged blue lightning erupted from the tip of her wand, arcing violently toward the impostor. It was fast, wide, and utterly relentless.
Trapped between Flitwick's onslaught of spells and Iris's unyielding attack, Crouch had no chance to dodge.
Cuts tore through his arms and good leg as Flitwick's spells found their mark, and a tortured cry escaped Moody's lips when Iris's lightning struck his body. He collapsed, smoke rising faintly from his singed robes and patches of scorched hair.
I couldn't help but snort at his disheveled, pitiful appearance. With a flick of my wand, I summoned his, ensuring he couldn't try anything foolish. Then, I hurried over to McGonagall.
"Professor, are you all right?" I asked, offering a smile that quickly turned into a frown as I noticed her grimace.
"I'm fine, Mr. Elias," she murmured, her voice strained. "Just an old woman's back protesting against the fall. These bones aren't built for this kind of excitement anymore." She chuckled softly despite the pain. "Be a dear and help me sit down."
With a small huff, I lifted her carefully and propped her against the wall.
Dumbledore's gaze shifted to our group, stern but with an unmistakable hint of approval. "Fifty points from Gryffindor for putting yourselves in harm's way," he said gravely, though the quirk of his lips betrayed him.
Hermione groaned softly, fixing me with a sharp glare. Iris crossed her arms with a satisfied smirk while I rolled my eyes.
"It was the right thing to do," Iris and I said in unison, glancing at each other and sharing a brief grin.
Dumbledore's chuckle broke the tension. "And one hundred points to Gryffindor for demonstrating bravery and knowledge beyond your years."
Hermione brightened immediately, her annoyance forgotten as she grinned and hugged Iris, who was the closest to her.
"What do we do with him?" I asked, motioning with my chin toward Crouch's groaning form.
Flitwick had chained the impostor and searched his robes, discovering a second wand hidden within. Fortunately, Iris's lightning had incapacitated him so thoroughly. No one had thought to check him for a second wand.
"Now, we ask questions," Dumbledore said firmly, clapping his hands. "Twinkle, be a dear, and fetch Madam Pomfrey."
With a faint pop, the house-elf appeared, and moments later, Madam Pomfrey arrived, straightening her robes from the abrupt teleportation.
"Twinkle brought Madam Fixer, Professor Dumbbells!" the elf squeaked proudly before disappearing with another pop.
"Merlin's balls, Headmaster, what on earth happened here?" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, her back to us as she surveyed the scene.
Iris couldn't suppress a snort, drawing the matron's attention and a sheepish flush to her cheeks. "My apologies, dears," she said with an embarrassed smile. "I wasn't expecting this."
Dumbledore sighed in quiet amusement, though the humor didn't reach his sharp gaze as he addressed Pomfrey. "Poppy, please make sure our impostor survives long enough for questioning."
"Of course, Headmaster," she replied, her tone professional as she began casting diagnostic spells over Crouch. "Dear me, he put up quite the fight, didn't he?"
I stepped closer, frowning as I spoke. "We should check on the real Moody. He's in the classroom, and he likely needs help."
"Quite right, my boy," Dumbledore agreed, his expression grave as he levitated Crouch. Together, we followed him, with me supporting McGonagall as she moved gingerly, her earlier pain still evident.
"Oh, Minerva," Madam Pomfrey murmured softly, her eyes filled with concern as she watched her colleague limp while leaning on my support.
"Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey," I said reassuringly, though my attention shifted to Professor McGonagall. She was frowning in pain.
Wanting to prove myself, I began casting some basic healing spells, watching as the professor's grimace slowly eased.
"You've learned healing spells, dear?" Madam Pomfrey asked in wonder. "It must have been quite a challenge, considering your sizable magic pool."
I snorted in wry amusement. "After the last scare, I figured it was necessary, especially with how often we seem to be in trouble."
The healer gave me an understanding smile.
"Thank you, Mr. Elias," McGonagall said softly, her voice tinged with gratitude. She tested her balance, standing up with more ease now. Her injuries had been minor, mainly from the fall, and the simple healing spells I'd used were enough to alleviate her pain and reduce any swelling.
The spells I'd cast were the basics every aspiring healer learned, nothing groundbreaking. While I could cause more potent healing thanks to the Grimoire, I chose to keep it to myself for now. There would be a time and place to showcase my mastery of the healing arts, but this wasn't it.
Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey busied herself tending to Crouch. Dumbledore, standing nearby, began murmuring incantations, his wand waving gracefully through the air.
"That's a vicious curse," he muttered darkly, his gaze fixed on the shining surface of the trunk. With a sharp flick of his wand, he finished whatever spell he was weaving.
"Alastor should be inside," he said softly, though his expression remained grim.
Flitwick nodded. He approached the trunk, opened it carefully, and leaned in and examined its depths.
"He's here," Flitwick confirmed seriously. "I'll bring him out."
He began levitating the real Moody with a precise swish of his wand.
Moody was awake and scowling at everyone, "It was about damn time, Albus. What took you so long?"
Dumbledore looked guiltily at the frail body of Moody, "I am sorry, my old friend. I'm afraid it would have taken longer if it hadn't been for these students. I was quite busy with the tournament and didn't spend much time with the impostor to see through his act. I thought the extra paranoia and how you acted was the stress getting into you." Dumbledore chuckled softly at Moody's scowl and motioned at Madam Pomfrey to look at him.
"Oh, Alastor," she murmured, shaking her head as she muttered incantations under her breath. "Dehydration, magical exhaustion, and Merlin knows what else. He's been under constant suppression spells."
Dumbledore's face darkened further, his expression as stormy as I'd ever seen it. "He will recover, I hope?" he asked, calm but with a depth of fury that made us shift nervously.
"With care and time, yes," Pomfrey assured him, her hands steady as she worked. "But it will take weeks, perhaps months before he returns to normal."
From my position, I kept my wand ready, watching Crouch warily. The bastard was laughing softly. I knew why he was like this, but he was so unhinged, and it disturbed everyone in the room.
"Did you think this would work forever?" Dumbledore asked quietly, his piercing blue eyes locking onto the impostor. "Did you truly believe your act would remain undiscovered?"
With a confident gait, McGonagall approached Madam Pomfrey's bag and began rifling through it until she found a vial filled with a sickly green potion. Uncorking it quickly, she tilted Crouch's head back and poured the contents into his mouth.
The potion's acrid smell made me instinctively turn my head, suppressing a gag. Its effects, however, were immediate. Crouch's body convulsed, his skin rippling unnaturally as his features morphed. Within moments, his proper form was restored, a pale, gaunt man with sunken eyes and a twisted sneer frozen on his face.
McGonagall stared at him, her expression a mix of shock and sadness. "He really is Barty Crouch Jr.," she murmured. "You're supposed to be dead."
Crouch Jr. glared at her, his chest heaving under the chains. "My dear father, the ever-righteous Barty Crouch Sr.," he said mockingly. "The man who sentenced me to Azkaban to preserve his reputation. Who paraded me before the Wizengamot like a lamb for slaughter to show the world his supposed justice. And yet, the same man who smuggled me out when my mother begged for my life."
McGonagall and Pomfrey gasped in shock, and Dumbledore's expression grew grave as he regarded the wheezing man before them.
"Fucking hypocrite," I muttered under my breath, scowling.
"Language, Mister Elias," Dumbledore admonished with a soft shake of his head.
"What? It's true. Wasn't he the same bastard who sent Sirius to Azkaban without a trial?" I shot back; frustration was evident in my tone.
Standing beside me, Iris scowled as well but then brightened, her voice turning hopeful. "Do you think this can help Sirius, Headmaster?"
"I'm afraid not, my dear," Dumbledore replied, lifting his hands in a calming gesture as Iris opened her mouth to protest. "In fact, it would only bring trouble. Allow me to explain."
He took a steadying breath before continuing. "If we use this incident to bring Barty Crouch Sr. under scrutiny, every case he presided over would be questioned. Every Death Eater he sentenced to Azkaban could argue that their trial was biased or invalid. Do you understand the implications of that? Lucius Malfoy and his ilk would exploit it to the fullest extent, and the entire judicial system could collapse under the weight of their challenges. The Ministry, especially Cornelius Fudge, would likely suppress this information to avoid the chaos it would bring."
Iris grumbled in frustration, but I placed my hand over hers, gently rubbing circles into her skin to calm her. "Don't worry. He'll be free, Iris. I promise you that. I will personally grab the rat for you, love."
Crouch Jr.'s laugh broke the tension, his sneer twisting his pale features. "You think you've won, old man?" he spat, his voice dripping with malice. "My master will be victorious. He'll kill every single one of you, and you'll wish you'd bowed before him when you had the chance."
"You think Voldemort scares us?" Iris scowled, her eyes dark with defiance.
"You dare say his name, you insignificant scum?" Crouch Jr. snarled, his voice rising to a near-shriek. "He will hang you from your intestines for this insult, girl!"
Before Iris could respond, I stepped between them, raising a hand to stop her. “What was your plan, Crouch? Why go to all this trouble?” I asked quietly, a hint of amusement in my voice.
“And why should I tell you, mudblood?” he sneered.
“As I thought. Voldemort’s really pathetic if he needs someone like you,” I shot back, matching his sneer.
Hermione immediately picked up on it, her sharp mind seeing through my move.
She smirked. “Can you imagine how low he’s sunk, depending on people like this? It’s pretty embarrassing.”
"You dare!" Crouch snarled, his eyes wild. "My master is the wisest of all! He will bring greatness to Britain when he returns!"
"He can't return," I mocked, tilting my head. "He's just a pathetic man with delusions of grandeur."
"He will return!" Crouch shouted, frothing at the mouth. "My master has plans that you wouldn't even begin to comprehend! You'll see when—"
A sudden purple spark flared in the corner of my vision, and instinct kicked in.
"Watch out!" I shouted, grabbing Iris and Hermione and pulling them against my chest as I moved, throwing us out of the line of fire as much as possible.
The purple spark erupted into a pillar of blinding flame, its heat higher than anything I'd ever felt. The air seemed to twist and scream as the fire consumed Crouch Jr., its violet hues shifting with an almost divine intensity.
Crouch's laughter turned to shrill, agonized screams that echoed in the room, chilling everyone to the bone. He tried to claw at his own face as the flames engulfed him, reducing his usual smirk to a mask of unimaginable pain.
"NO!" McGonagall shouted, raising her wand to cast a protective charm, but the flames recoiled violently, as if alive, rejecting all attempts to intervene.
The purple fire, whatever that was, seemed to eat the spells Professor McGonagall sent its way, and the intensity appeared to increase as Crouch continued with his agonizing screams. It was a traumatizing experience for everyone involved, and Dumbledore looked rooted in his spot as if he had seen a ghost.
Before Dumbledore could do anything, Flitwick, the closest one to Crouch, cried out in pain. A stray tendril of the purple fire lashed out, licking his arm. The diminutive professor staggered, clutching the burn as the flames left a deep, angry welt on his skin.
"Filius!" McGonagall gasped, rushing toward him.
Dumbledore didn't hesitate. "Fawkes!" he called, his voice alarmed like never before.
In a burst of golden light, Fawkes the phoenix appeared. The magical bird descended gracefully, perching by Flitwick. With a single mournful note, Fawkes leaned forward, letting his tears drip onto the burned flesh.
The effect was immediate. Flitwick gasped in relief as the burn diminished in size, but to my amazement, it didn't disappear completely. Whatever that fire was, it was strong enough to leave a scar even after a grown phoenix cried. I had no idea that was even possible.
Meanwhile, Crouch Jr.'s screams began to fade as the fire consumed him completely. The ash of his burnt body drifted with the breeze from the open window, the only remnants of him. The flame that had once roared grew weaker with each passing moment until all that remained was the charred outline of his body on the floor, a twisted, cruel smile frozen where his face had once been.
300 CP awarded, 800 CP in total.
