After John's training, the golden little figures had already mastered some basic combat techniques.
On the vast plain, the Water Guardian dashed forward and charged straight at the Fire Guardian.
Whenever water and fire collided, clouds of steam would be created.
The Fire Guardian opened its mouth, spewing flames rapidly toward the Water Guardian.
The Water Guardian raised both hands, transforming them into a curtain of water that blocked the attack.
One attacked with fire, the other defended.
The two quickly shrank in size, and before long, the two little fellows, now less than fifty centimetres tall, were punching and kicking each other.
John shook his head helplessly. "When facing an attribute that counters your own, you need to learn to adapt."
With a snap of his fingers, the bodies of the two Divine Guardians exploded apart, and the golden little figures that fell out still refused to stop.
The two little fellows rolled around on the plain, wrestling with one another.
"Alright, stop."
Only after John spoke did they finally stop fighting.
The little fellows followed behind John and entered the Constellation Society through the entrance to the plain.
As soon as they entered the Constellation Society, they scattered and busied themselves with their respective tasks.
Opening a cabinet, John took out a bottle that had finally been filled with starlight.
He stuffed the starlight into his handbag and left the Constellation Society.
The two little fellows who had been fighting earlier grabbed onto John's sleeves and climbed along them until they reached his shoulders, where they sat down.
Today, John was going to Hagrid's place to collect his goods.
It had to be said that Hagrid really had connections. No matter what kind of materials he needed, Hagrid could get his hands on them.
He arrived at Hagrid's hut.
He knocked on the door politely.
"I'm over here," Hagrid's voice called out from the vegetable garden.
John walked around and found Hagrid driving pests out of the garden.
"These things are really annoying," Hagrid said viciously. "I ought to buy some insecticide."
"Sometimes things aren't that complicated, Hagrid."
John walked over and drew his wand, pointing it at a wooden stump nearby.
"Guardian Charm."
The stump rapidly grew larger, with vines sprouting all over its body.
The little fellow on John's shoulder transformed into runes and burrowed into the Tree Guardian's body. Light shone from the eye sockets of its vine-covered head.
The Tree Guardian stomped on the pests, crushing them, while its vines spread out and dragged the insects hidden in the soil to the surface.
"What is that?" Hagrid's mouth fell open, startled by the tree-man, which was almost as tall as he was.
"A spell."
John walked toward the hut and asked, "Have you gathered everything?"
Once again amazed by John's creativity, Hagrid left the Tree Guardian behind to continue playing whack-a-mole and followed after him.
"Everything's here, though some of the stuff isn't exactly legal. You'd better make sure no one finds out."
"The creation of magic shouldn't be shackled, Hagrid."
John entered Hagrid's hut. Large and small crates were stacked everywhere, filled with all kinds of materials.
"These cost quite a few Galleons, but I used the money from your materials fund."
To make it easier for Hagrid to acquire materials for him, John had set up a materials fund for him at Gringotts.
Standing at the doorway, Hagrid asked in confusion, "How are you planning to take all this away?"
"With magic, of course."
John opened his handbag, and the materials were sucked inside.
The handbag was like a bottomless pit. Even after stuffing the roomful of materials into it, there wasn't the slightest bulge.
"And what's that little fellow?" Hagrid was very interested in the golden little figure on John's shoulder.
John held out his hand and let the golden little figure stand on it before passing it to Hagrid.
"I call them Divine Guardians," he said.
Hagrid curiously examined the little fellow in his palm and asked in confusion, "Is this your magic too?"
"You could say that." The Divine Guardians were an accidental creation. Spreading his hands, John said, "I plan to make them the finest bodyguards."
"Well, I've already gotten used to your wild ideas."
Hagrid returned the Divine Guardian and heard something tapping against the window. The two turned to look.
A snowy owl was outside, unhappily pecking at the window. The moment Hagrid saw it, he instinctively covered his beard.
"It's Basil." John opened the window, and Basil flew in, swatting the Divine Guardian off before landing on John's shoulder.
The dizzy little fellow shook its head, while Basil handed a letter to John.
After opening it and taking a glance, a look of surprise appeared on John's face.
"Why is Barty Crouch Sr. asking me for advice on buying a gift?"
The letter was from Barty Crouch Sr.
As for the poor owl that had delivered it, Basil had probably thrown it who knew where.
Barty Crouch Sr. wanted to buy a gift that a young person would like, and after much thought, he had come to John.
After all, John was young enough and was also a son.
Even John found himself at a loss.
After all, he didn't really know what kind of gifts young people liked.
Thinking about the young people around him, he felt they were even less reliable than he was when it came to coming up with ideas.
"I think young people would probably like something cool."
Returning to his dormitory, John sent a reply to Barty Crouch Sr.
When handing the letter to Basil, John repeatedly warned it,
"Don't bully the Crouch family's owl, and don't bully the Ministry of Magic's owls either."
After feeding Basil three dried minnows, John let it deliver the letter.
...
Barty Crouch Sr. had been busy with many things lately.
He was the Minister for Magic and was occupied with matters concerning the International Confederation of Wizards. He also had to find time to monitor Grindelwald's activities in Poland.
At some point, some people within the International Confederation of Wizards had begun placing their hopes on Barty Crouch Sr.
They hoped that, just as he had formulated a plan to eliminate Voldemort, he would devise a strategy to deal with Grindelwald.
This was also because the British magical community was currently the strongest in Europe.
They possessed two people capable of standing against Grindelwald. It could be said that they held the most chips at the table.
But only Barty Crouch Sr. knew that neither of the two chips in his hand could actually be commanded.
Therefore, after Grindelwald appeared in Poland, he chose to wait and see.
He had now obtained the position he had once pursued.
Yet the bloodline of the Crouch family still regarded him as an enemy.
"Something cool?"
Sitting in the Minister for Magic's office, Barty Crouch Sr. was somewhat puzzled by John's words.
He didn't really understand young people's tastes. When he thought of something cool, flying brooms came to mind.
"I remember he used to like Quidditch too."
Only then did Barty Crouch Sr. realise how vague his understanding of his son's preferences actually was.
Things he had once taken for granted had now become his deepest regrets.
He had been so ruthless, hastily sentencing Barty Crouch Jr. to Azkaban.
After the truth came to light, Barty Crouch Sr. realised just how foolish he had been.
That guilt made him desperate to make it up to Barty Crouch Jr.
He decided to buy a flying broom.
Walking into the Quidditch shop, he asked, "Which flying broom is the best?"
The shop owner immediately smiled and said, "You want to know which broom is the best? Without a doubt, the Firebolt."
The owner led Barty Crouch Sr. to a display case, where a Firebolt rested quietly inside.
"Used in professional competitions, with outstanding performance," the owner said enthusiastically.
The moment Barty Crouch Sr. saw the price, his face turned livid.
The thing cost as much as a year's salary.
In the end, thinking about repairing his relationship with his son, he gritted his teeth and bought it.
But he had forgotten one thing.
Barty Crouch Jr. only had one hand. How was he supposed to fly?
Without thinking things through, Barty Crouch Sr. brought the broom to the Inverted Garden.
Barty Crouch Jr. worked there as a gardener and occasionally appeared at Silverhand Manor.
It seemed he had already grown accustomed to tending flowers. With an expressionless face, Barty Crouch Jr. planted flower seeds into the soil.
Seeing Barty Crouch Sr. approach, he had no intention of acknowledging him and carried his bucket to another area.
"Son."
Barty Crouch Sr. hesitated before taking out his gift and handing over the broom.
"I remember you used to like Quidditch."
Barty Crouch Jr. glanced at the broom-shaped object and said indifferently, "I don't like it anymore."
The answer was heartbreaking.
After a moment of silence, Barty Crouch Sr. said, "If you're willing, you can come back to the Crouch family."
"Do you remember what you said?" Barty Crouch Jr. walked past him. "Your son is already dead."
"Son." Barty Crouch Sr. set down the broom and asked, "What would it take for you to forgive me?"
Barty Crouch Jr. stopped and looked back at him, speaking in a mocking tone.
"Do you know what I can't stand most about you?"
"It's the way you speak," Barty Crouch Jr. muttered to himself. "You never think you're wrong. You just don't want the Crouch family's bloodline to end with you."
Barty Crouch Sr.'s expression darkened. "I never..."
"When I was little..."
Barty Crouch Jr. looked at his father's weathered face and said, "I always followed your instructions. I studied hard and worked hard to become better, hoping to earn your approval and your pride."
"But I never heard a single word of praise from you. If I excelled, it was only because I was supposed to. If I didn't, then it was because I hadn't worked hard enough."
"What you wanted wasn't a son. You wanted an obedient tool, a good child who would do everything you asked."
Looking straight into Barty Crouch Sr.'s eyes, Barty Crouch Jr. said firmly, "I can't be that."
Barty Crouch Sr. opened his mouth, but in the end, he could only watch his son walk away in dejection.
He had so much he wanted to say. He wanted to tell him that he had always been proud of Barty Crouch Jr., but the words simply would not come.
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