"After that, old Barty went to the Hog's Head."
Sirius, wearing the communication bean, leaned against the counter with a frown. "I thought he was going to meet someone, but he just had a drink alone and left."
"He spotted you?" Wade asked sharply on the other end.
Sirius paused in thought, then shook his head. "Doesn't seem like it… I don't think so… There was just something strange about him."
"Because he let Bagman off?" Wade asked.
"Exactly."
Sirius sneered. "Crouch has always been known for being iron-faced and impartial. Even if Fudge himself pressured him, he would never swallow back the harsh words he'd already spoken. Even though he was cold toward Bagman, I still think… letting him go so easily just doesn't fit his style."
"Maybe something else distracted him."
Wade pondered. In the original story, wasn't Crouch at this point already being tormented by his runaway son?
This time, though, it seems young Barty had escaped his father's control even earlier. Old Barty had been searching for him in vain, unable to tell anyone the truth, so it makes sense if he is unsettled and distracted.
But if, as in the original, he is already under the Imperius Curse from his son—that is far more dangerous.
After thinking for a moment, Wade said: "Leave this matter for now. I'll find a way to look into it."
Sirius raised his eyebrows. "You're at Hogwarts—what way do you have to investigate? Don't tell me you're planning to sneak out again?"
"Of course not," Wade replied. "I don't think asking him directly will work, but it might be better to start with Mr. Crouch's house-elf."
"House-elf?" Sirius frowned in thought.
"I heard someone mention that Mr. Crouch has a house-elf named Winky?"
Wade continued: "That little one is the closest person to Mr. Crouch. If her master is acting strangely, she's bound to notice first."
"And who exactly do you plan on sending to find this out?" Sirius asked.
"Who else?" Wade said. "Naturally, Dobby."
…
The moment Dobby received Wade's mission, he dropped the half-finished chores in his hands and disapparated to Hogwarts in under three seconds.
"Mr. Wade Grey trusts Dobby! Dobby will surely complete the task!" His ears quivered with excitement, and his big eyes sparkled. "Dobby already knows Winky—Dobby knows where to find her!"
"Besides gathering information, what's more important is secrecy."
Wade crouched down and said gently: "I don't want either of Winky's masters—old or young—to know about this. Can you persuade her to keep quiet for you?"
"Don't worry, Mr. Grey."
Dobby swayed as he spoke: "Few wizards care about house-elves the way Mr. Grey does. To them, we're like specks of dust, unworthy of notice. Winky's master is no different… Dobby will make sure Winky doesn't mention it, and her master won't bother to ask."
"Then I'll leave it to you, Dobby." Wade smiled.
"This is very important. Take your time, don't rush. And if you see Winky's young master—Barty Crouch Jr.—don't hesitate. Come back immediately. Understand?"
From Kreacher of the Black family, Wade had learned that for house-elves, their obsession with fulfilling a master's command could grant them a power that surpassed even life and death.
Of course, this only happened when their loyalty ran very deep.
"Barty Crouch Jr.?" A flicker of fear flashed in Dobby's eyes, but he nodded vigorously. "Dobby understands! Dobby will remember!"
"Dobby, you know him?" Wade asked curiously.
"I once heard my old master—no, Lucius Malfoy—speak of him…"
Dobby shivered involuntarily. After a pause, he went on: "That young man is a devoted follower of the Dark Lord… a very frightening person."
…
A round-faced couple walked arm in arm up a hillside with sunlight pouring over their faces, illuminating their identical gentle smiles.
Not far away, an old woman wearing a vulture-topped hat stood watching and her eyes welled with tears.
She stepped forward, about to speak, when a violent shudder went through her whole body.
The radiant sky instantly clouded over, and even the sunlight turned a dim, ominous green.
Madam Longbottom whipped around—and saw a pale, thin young man standing not far away with a cruel, bloodthirsty grin on his face. With a blank expression, he raised his wand and said:
"Crucio!"
"No—no—!"
Madam Longbottom screamed, throwing herself in front of them, but the curse's light passed through her body as if she wasn't there!
"AAAHHHH—!"
The round-faced couple's smiles turned to raw agony and despair. Their screams pierced the air as they writhed, then collapsed limply to the ground with vacant eyes.
In an instant, the entire world shattered, dissolving into nothing. Madam Longbottom felt as though she'd been kicked hard, sent flying into endless darkness.
Everywhere she looked, in every direction, fragments of scenes floated in the void—memories of Frank and Alice Longbottom, whatever they had once been doing:
Eating, sleeping, strolling together, smiling with their baby in their arms, a gentle hand stroking a pregnant belly, going to school, babbling words beside their parents…
No matter the image, soon a Death Eater like a black crow would burst into it.
Sometimes it was Bellatrix, sometimes one of the Lestrange brothers, often Barty Crouch Jr. or Antonin Dolohov—and sometimes even Voldemort himself.
They were like shadows that existed everywhere, barging into every bright memory, destroying, torturing, tearing it apart. The pain replayed again and again, until the memory crumbled into fragments and vanished into darkness.
Countless times Madam Longbottom tried to stop it, but all in vain. In the black world she broke down, sobbing helplessly.
Since the tragedy of her son and daughter-in-law, she had never once revealed such weakness before others.
Suddenly, the entire world trembled.
"Gran! Gran!"
Neville's voice called again and again. Only when she opened her tear-filled eyes did the boy sigh in relief.
"Let me do it, Gran." The boy's fingers, clumsy but determined, wiped the tears from the old woman's face. His voice was steady, gentle as he repeated: "Let me try."
Madam Longbottom's lips trembled. "Neville…"
She had always raised her grandson with sternness, pushing him to be strong, to be brave, to face his life head-on.
But deep down, she knew exactly what kind of child her grandson was—so kind, so clumsy.
How could she ever entrust him to face the same mental torment that had destroyed his parents?
Yet this time, Neville reached out without waiting for her permission. For the first time, he unclasped the stone necklace from her frail wrist and wrapped it around his own arm.
"Trust me, Gran." The boy spoke slowly, firmly. "I will bring Mum and Dad back."
He smiled faintly, closed his eyes, and whispered the incantation.
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