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0666 Crouch Sr.
🕑 Added 2025-03-26 12:42:59 +0000 UTCThe emerald-green glowing vines pierced through the stagnant underground air with a sharp, penetrating whistle like a steel rod slicing through butter. They moved with terrifying precision, stabbing straight toward Barty Crouch Sr.'s head.
This sudden, unexpected turn of events stunned even the fanatical Barty Crouch Jr. into momentary stillness. He had automatically assumed that this woman, who had demonstrated no true loyalty to the Dark Lord despite her supposed alliance, was about to attempt an assassination of his beloved master.
But astonishingly, unexpectedly, she seemed to be directing her magic at his father—the man who had brought Barty Jr. so much supposed humiliation and suffering throughout his life. The realization sent conflicting emotions across his face.
Even Voldemort himself hadn't expected this particular development. However, despite whatever private satisfaction he might have gotten from watching Barty Crouch Sr. meet a violent end at another's hand, the Dark Lord had no intention of allowing his valuable prisoner to die prematurely.
With just the slightest, almost unnoticeable tremble of his wand's tip—a nauseating, sickly green light erupted from the wand. The color of the Killing Curse illuminated the chamber with its glow, striking the rapidly approaching vine tip with accuracy just milliseconds before it could pierce Barty Crouch Sr.'s skull!
Crack!
The sound of death magic colliding with life magic reverberated through the chamber like a thunderclap. Even though Voldemort currently had just a fragile remnant of a body, his Killing Curse was still not to be underestimated. The moment the lethal Curse—loaded with a potent, aura of pure death made contact with the vine, the evil, corrupting magic began instantly devouring the life force within the plant.
The green vine, from its tip all the way down to the magically conjured root that Cliodna had summoned from the wooden table, blackened at a horrifyingly visible speed.
The process resembled a time-accelerated film of natural decomposition—the lush green color drained away as the plant withered, darkened, and then disintegrated into fine, powdery ash that fell gently onto the dinner table's surface like seasoning upon the untouched feast.
Though Voldemort's defensive magic had successfully neutralized Cliodna's attempt, the distraction had served its purpose. The white mushroom soup that had been magically forced into Barty Crouch Sr.'s nose and mouth now seeped out from his bloody mouth and swollen nostrils. His tortured body finally stopped its violent convulsing, relaxing into a state of relative stillness.
Cliodna watched the slowly falling ashes, her gaze swept over the small, charred black stick that remained in her open palm. Her expression revealed nothing, maintaining silence that concealed the thoughts beneath. If... she had her real staff in hand--
However, she didn't make another move. Her goal had been achieved.
In the illusorily warm room, the air was as heavy as if frozen.
"Miss Cliodna—"
For the first time since her arrival in this underground chamber, Voldemort's unnatural eyes looking directly at Cliodna held completely undisguised murderous intent. He spoke with deceptive lightness that contrasted sharply with the malice radiating from him, "Perhaps you should favor us with a comprehensive explanation for your... impulsive actions—"
Barty Crouch Jr., still partially recovering from his earlier punishment, glared at Cliodna with a ferocity that bordered on animal savagery. His bloodless lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl, and he seemed ready to take direct, violent action against her at any moment.
However, the memory of the excruciating punishment he had just received for acting on his own made him hesitate just enough to restrain his murderous impulse. But the veins on his forehead still bulged, his body was tense. With just a hint from his master, he would immediately pounce and fight this woman to the death, even though she was a powerful witch who had once survived against Bryan Watson!
"His appearance is disgusting—"
The coldness emanating from between her eyebrows diluted what would otherwise have been the natural gentleness of Cliodna's face. After a moment of calculated silence that, she said with ice-cold detachment, "It made me completely lose my appetite."
'Disgusting? Lose appetite?'
Voldemort's scarred, nearly nonexistent eyelids were raised slightly at this unexpected response, and genuine surprise flashed briefly through his eyes. Clearly, Cliodna's explanation for her intervention was something he hadn't anticipated. He thought this woman's actions stemmed from her naive kindness and sickening pity.
"Oh, hehe, that's right— that's absolutely right, yes, how inconsiderate of me. My apologies, Miss Cliodna, I didn't consider it thoroughly enough—"
Voldemort started laughing in that high-pitched, unnaturally sharp way that had terrorized the wizarding world for decades. His laughter, lacking of any genuine humor, was instead filled with a perverse kind of joy. "Indeed, oh, it's very nauseating to dine in such conditions. Then, oh—"
His words trailed off as something unexpected caught his attention.
Perhaps it was because Barty Crouch Sr., who had been kept under the powerful Imperius Curse for a long period of time, had gradually developed some degree of resistance to its mind-controlling effects.
Or perhaps it was due to Barty Crouch's own remarkable, innate willpower that had once made him such a formidable force in the Ministry.
In any case, after the violent tossing and convulsing he had endured during Voldemort's sadistic "feeding," the nearly dead Barty Crouch Sr. unexpectedly and against all odds regained a flicker of awareness in his tortured mind.
Barty Crouch Sr.'s upper body remained sprawled across the table. He could only rely on his bruised chin to partially support his lying head.
Though already unable to coordinate his movements due to extensive nerve damage from repeated applications of the Cruciatus Curse, he couldn't voluntarily move a single muscle, but his eyes still registered the woman seated across the table.
His damaged vocal cords could only produce hoarse, rattling "eh eh—" gasps from his blood-filled mouth, but his gaze remained fixed on Cliodna with desperate intensity.
"Oh, you actually recognized her—"
Voldemort showed slight surprise at Barty Crouch Sr. regaining even this minimal level of consciousness, though this surprise was at most similar to the casual interest one like him might show upon seeing a dog with broken legs still courageously attempting to stand upright through sheer force of will.
"—Yes, that's right, Crouch, this is indeed Miss Cliodna sitting before you. You recognized her instantly, didn't you? Oh, I shouldn't even bother asking such an obvious question. You definitely wouldn't forget her face, right? It was she who rescued my most loyal servant, saving him from your persecution—"
"Eh eh—"
Even on the verge of death, the burning hatred in Barty Crouch Sr.'s eyes as he glared at Cliodna across the table was still palpable and unforgettable in its intensity.
Voldemort also noticed with sadistic pleasure the raw hatred emanating from Barty Crouch Sr.'s gaze. He seemed to find this last display of emotion extremely entertaining and continued with a knowing chuckle,
"By the way, Mr. Head of International Magical Cooperation, Miss Cliodna is currently brilliantly posing as the real Alastor Moody, serving as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts... She is working diligently for, oh, I think it's relatively harmless to tell you at this juncture, Miss Cliodna is working tirelessly and effectively for Lord Voldemort's complete revival—"
Barty Crouch's cloudy, bloodshot pupils suddenly started shaking uncontrollably in their sockets. He stared at Cliodna with new horror, looking past this woman's silence. Suddenly, with the clarity that sometimes comes to the dying, he understood some crucial things that he had not realized before in his tortured state!
'Cliodna — disguised as Alastor Moody, successfully becoming the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts?
Working directly under the noses of both Bryan Watson and Albus Dumbledore? And still not detected or exposed?!'
Knowing with certainty that he was doomed to die—the only remaining question being whether death would come sooner or agonizingly later—a sudden, unexpected surge of desperate energy erupted in his heart.
It was difficult to determine whether this final reserve of strength came from pure hatred or from a flickering, dying ember of hope. Whatever its source, this mysterious force actually provided Barty Crouch Sr. with enough strength to attempt moving!
Under the genuinely astonished gazes of the other three people in the underground chamber, Barty Crouch Sr.'s nearly destroyed arms somehow dragged his trembling hands to press against the wooden surface of the table.
The veins on his forehead bulged disturbingly beneath his pale, scarred skin, and a powerful light suddenly burst from his briefly clear eyes, burning with the intensity of his former self.
Slowly, agonizingly, little by little, using reserves of willpower that should have been impossible in his condition, he leveraged his hands to support his broken body and gradually pulled himself upright into a sitting position.
Then, with excruciating effort, he rotated his head toward Voldemort. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of effort, he directly faced Voldemort!
Barty Crouch Sr.'s movements caused every wound on his tortured body to reopen simultaneously, and fresh blood started flowing from dozens of cuts. He resembled a man built entirely of blood and suffering, yet somehow, he remained upright without collapsing. It was nearly impossible to understand the level of physical agony he must have been enduring at this moment.
Barty Crouch Sr. didn't even glance at the beast he had once given birth to—his son who now knelt beside Voldemort, watching his father with a mixture of shock and hatred. Instead, the dying man's firm gaze were fixed upon Voldemort's grotesque little body. He stared directly into the inhuman eyes of the Dark Lord; his own gaze completely devoid of the fear that Voldemort was accustomed to stirring in his victims.
"He, he, he—"
Barty Crouch Sr. could no longer form clear words or sentences, his vocal cords having been damaged during the weeks of torture, but he still attempted to produce a hoarse brisk laughter. Facing Voldemort unflinchingly, he summoned the last bits of his control over his facial muscles to force his bloodied facial features into what was unmistakably a mocking, contemptuous expression of ridicule.
In that instant, the crimson light in Voldemort's eyes flared, like signal flares warning of imminent destruction. His hand resting seemingly casually on the table had already reflexively grasped his wand tightly... However, after a momentary internal struggle, he ultimately overcame the powerfully tempting impulse to strike Crouch down immediately.
"You're actively seeking death, aren't you, Mr. Head of Department—"
Voldemort said with dangerous softness, "You want to cleverly avoid suffering further torture, so you're deliberately trying to provoke the great Dark Lord into granting you a quick end... Oh, I won't fall so easily for such an obvious trick. What I mean to say is that I will ensure your inevitable death becomes significantly more valuable to my cause, Mr. Crouch. And now!"
The Dark Lord slowly turned his head to look directly at Barty Crouch Jr., who was practically trembling with anticipation, "I believe our esteemed Mr. Head of Department still requires substantially more time to deeply and thoroughly repent for his past foolish actions against Lord Voldemort and his faithful followers."
Without another word, Barty Crouch Sr. was roughly dragged away from the table by his own son, who grabbed him with unnecessary violence. After the heavy wooden door closed behind them with a thud, feeble, pitiful wails and the house-elf Winky's heartbreaking weeping pleas quickly floated back through the thick door, creating a haunting soundtrack to their continued meal.
"The unpleasant garbage has been properly cleared away, Miss Cliodna—"
Voldemort looked at Cliodna with a calculating smile, "I believe now, you should have regained some appetite. Come, Miss Cliodna, have some. After all, this is a family dinner..."
After a moment's hesitation, Cliodna silently sat down and picked up the silver fork beside her plate.
"Oh, since Hogwarts has already been mentioned in our conversation, I hope you'll forgive my nosiness, Miss Cliodna—" Voldemort's gaze never left Cliodna's face as he stared deeply into her eyes, searching for any flicker of deception. His tone remained superficially polite, "Our plan is proceeding smoothly, correct?"
This, in the end, was the true purpose behind Voldemort summoning her on this bitter winter night.
"We signed the binding magical covenant under the witness of the Twin Serpent Staff, Mr. Voldemort—" Cliodna responded with calmness, meeting his gaze directly without flinching, her voice was steady and firm. "You should trust your ally."
After staring deeply into those emerald eyes for a long time, Voldemort finally nodded with satisfaction apparently finding no cause for immediate concern in her steady gaze.
The sky over the wilderness was still neither bright nor dark, making it hard to tell if it was day or night.
Standing at the cave entrance, Cliodna didn't immediately put on her hood but started quietly staring at the sky.
The ghostly wailing cold wind on the wilderness brushed past her hair, the dancing strands were whipping her pale cheeks. Her clear and pure eyes were now filled with confusion.
Bryan Watson's face with a gentle smile suddenly jumped into her mind. Those penetrating light purple eyes that somehow always seemed to see far more than others, appeared to be staring straight at her soul.
'Where should everything go in the end?'
Cliodna's gaze drooped from the endless sky to the snow and a clear tear slid silently down from the corner of her eye, condensing into an ice bead in mid-air and disappearing into the soft snow.
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