Bang!
The wooden door burst open. Filch hobbled inside, limping slightly, and began rummaging around the room for a quill and parchment.
Standing in the doorway, Wade caught the door with one hand before it could swing shut and pushed it open again as he glanced around Filch's office.
It wasn't his first time here. The cramped little room was just as dark and cluttered as before—yet surprisingly clean. Not even a cobweb could be seen in the corners.
Wade's eyes swept over the room casually—until suddenly, they narrowed.
From the side of a half-closed drawer stuck something grimy and red, curved like a bent blade. It looked as though it had been crushed under great force, the shell warped and deformed.
Wade recognized it immediately—it was the leg of a Cleaning Crab.
As he examined it, the wooden door behind him quietly eased shut again, and with a soft click, it closed completely.
Beside him now, faint footprints appeared on the dusty floor—shallow, but unmistakable.
Filch, meanwhile, seemed to have finally found what he was looking for. He slapped the parchment down on the desk, then cast a malicious glance at Wade.
"Let's see… what should I punish you with?" he sneered. "How about scrubbing the corridors without magic? Or maybe cleaning the toilets? That ought to teach you a proper lesson…"
"What happened to your Cleaning Crabs?" Wade suddenly asked.
Filch's eyes flicked toward the half-closed drawer. He stomped over, yanked it open with a loud clang, then slammed it shut again with even greater force—this time, the crab leg disappeared inside completely.
Filch hunched his back and his face twisted in disgust. "Those so-called 'new model cleaning dolls'—all scams! Cost me a pile of Galleons, and they couldn't even handle Peeves's gum! Broke down after just a few days!"
He stalked back over, scraping his chair noisily across the floor as he sat down. Pulling out his quill, he began to write Wade's punishment notice and muttered darkly:
"Oh, right—the magic dolls were your invention, weren't they, Wade? Useless things! My old ways still work best… detergent, wire brushes, and a few students crying as they scrub the toilets—those never fail…"
A vein throbbed twice on Wade's forehead. Fury roiled in his chest, but instead of anger, a cold smile spread across his face.
Without a word, he whipped out his wand—
At that same instant, Filch twisted in his chair, reaching under the desk—another wand shot out from below!
"Stupefy!"
"Stupefy!"
The two voices overlapped almost perfectly. Twin flashes of spell light collided midair and rebounded, exploding against the wall and blasting apart the entire disciplinary ledger. Torn parchment filled the room like a flurry of snow.
The chandelier above them swung wildly, and half its candles snuffed out.
In the wavering shadows, both men took a half step back and their eyes reflected the same shock.
"Filch" hadn't expected a student like Wade to dare attack a school official; Wade hadn't expected Filch to be ready to strike at the exact same moment.
"Well, well," the "Filch" impostor sneered, baring his teeth in a ghastly grin with his wand trained on Wade. "I thought you were one of the good ones."
Wade raised his own wand, and a cold laugh escaped his lips.
"Since when," he said evenly, "could Mr. Filch use magic?"
The administrator before him still looked the same as ever—thin and stooped with his murky eyes bloodshot and his brown robe covered in stains.
At first glance, nothing about him seemed unusual.
But above his head floated a name: [Barty Crouch].
There was no doubt—this was the very same Barty Crouch Jr., who had escaped from Wade last time using a Portkey.
"Oh? So you know too—that this man is just a pathetic Squib? When did that become common knowledge?"
Barty Jr., unaware of the history between Wade and the real Filch—and not realizing Wade had already seen through his disguise—gave a mocking laugh.
"To be publicly insulted by such a useless man, and worse, for him to have the authority to punish wizards—isn't that ridiculous? That's Dumbledore's Hogwarts for you. He spoils fools like these until they forget what fear even means."
As he spoke, he was also inching slowly around, waiting for the slightest moment of distraction from the boy across from him.
From the two competitions alone, it was clear that Wade Grey wasn't the bookish alchemist type—but only now, facing him head-on, did Barty Jr. realize just how formidable the boy truly was. Not a single gap in his defense.
A flicker of envy crossed his mind.
He himself had been a prodigy in his youth, but compared to Wade Grey, his own brilliance seemed pale and ordinary.
Then his thoughts jumped to that "Harry Potter" he'd seen before—to that horrifyingly powerful stream of flame, like the sun itself.
—Could I have been wrong that time? Was that boy not disguised by some powerful wizard, but actually Harry Potter himself?
Could the so-called "Savior" truly be as strong as the legends claimed—not Dumbledore's boast, but fact?
Has the new generation of wizards really evolved that far? They all looked so ordinary on the surface…
Lost briefly in that memory of the sun-like inferno, Barty Jr. failed to notice the instant Wade's wand flicked silently through the air!
He jolted in alarm and rolled aside. At the very last second, a Shield Charm deflected the streak of red light.
The chains on the wall sprang to life like iron snakes, snapping toward Wade. A cabinet in the corner flew up into the air, shattered by a lashing chain with a loud crash!
Amid the storm of parchment scraps, Barty Jr. straightened again, an evil smile curling his lips. He raised his wand at Wade and hissed, "Imper—"
Bang!
A jet of red light struck him hard from the side. The "Caretaker" was blasted across the room and slammed into an iron rack before crashing to the floor with a clatter.
"The Imperius Curse? You filthy beast, you really dared to use it!"
Sirius dropped his Disillusionment Charm, and stormed over and gave the unconscious Barty a furious kick—twice—before flicking his wand. Ropes shot out and wrapped tightly around Barty's body.
In a voice cold as steel, Sirius muttered, "Rot in Azkaban, you bastard. May the Dementors be your sweethearts."
He still couldn't forget the agony those creatures had inflicted on him—but the thought of his enemy suffering the same fate gave him grim satisfaction.
Meanwhile, Wade bent down, picked up Barty Jr.'s fallen wand, and slipped it into his hand. Then, quietly, he murmured:
"Expecto Patronum."
A silver-white eagle burst from the tip of the wand, circled once in the air, and vanished.
"You've notified Dumbledore?" Sirius asked.
"Yeah." Wade nodded. "Now let's look around — the real Filch should still be somewhere in this room."
Barty Jr. was a brilliant actor, but to perfectly impersonate someone, he definitely needed to study his subject closely — to observe, imitate, and compare constantly.
Wade began opening the cabinets and drawers one by one. When he reached a cluttered storage box in the corner, he finally saw the real caretaker lying inside, motionless.
Barty hadn't bothered to magically enlarge the box, so Filch had clearly endured a miserable stretch of time trapped in that cramped space.
When Wade helped him out, the old man could barely straighten his back. He was filthy — as if he'd rolled in a dung pit — and a terrible stench clung to him. Even after Wade cast several Cleaning Charms, he still wasn't completely clean.
But despite the pain twisting his face, when Filch saw Wade leaning over the box, he gave a wide, gap-toothed grin.
"I knew you'd figure it out!"
When the caretaker was laid on the bed, he even said proudly, "I didn't tell him that the Cleaning Crabs were your invention — not a word about you, I swear!"
Wade looked into the old man's trusting eyes and suddenly felt a pang of guilt.
Before he'd suspected that the murderer might be connected to Filch, he hadn't noticed any change in the caretaker at all… truthfully, he'd been like most students — often ignoring Filch's existence.
But lying trapped in that box, Filch had seen Wade as his only hope of being recognized.
Suppressing the uneasy feeling in his chest, Wade smiled and said, "No wonder… he seemed to think the Cleaning Crabs were just some mass-produced gadget. Did he try using Legilimency on you?"
"Of course he did! But I've been at Hogwarts for decades — you think I don't know how to defend myself? Legilimency, the Imperius Curse — I can resist those!"
Weak as he was, Filch still couldn't hide his excitement. He spat as he spoke, "When he tried to cast those spells, I filled my mind with all the times I tormented Harry Potter… oh, and the other students too! As long as he didn't ask directly about you, I could keep those memories buried!"
"Amazing!" Wade said sincerely. "Even powerful wizards can't always manage that."
"Hah… lucky he didn't take me seriously enough to dig deeper," Filch chuckled, then suddenly remembered something. "By the way — my crab…"
Bang!
The door burst open again. Dumbledore stood in the doorway, scanning the room. Only when his gaze passed over everyone did his cold expression soften slightly.
"How are you all?" the Headmaster asked as he stepped inside. "Wade, Sirius — Argus?"
"We're fine," Sirius said with a grin. "But that fake Filch over there might be out cold for a while."
"Mr. Filch is a bit weak," Wade said. "I think he'll need to stay in the infirmary for some time."
Dumbledore nodded gently. "Minerva, please take Mr. Filch to the hospital wing."
"Of course." Professor McGonagall entered, levitated both Filch and the bed, then turned to Wade. "Mr. Grey, I think you might also need to—"
"He'll stay here for now, Minerva," Dumbledore interrupted softly. "I'll see that he's examined afterward."
"…Very well." McGonagall gave Wade a worried look, then left with Filch floating before her.
Moments later, Snape and Moody entered the room.
The Potions Master locked eyes with Sirius for several tense seconds — a silent battle of loathing — before finally kneeling down to inspect the unconscious impostor.
"Strange…" Moody muttered. "There's something off about this man…"
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⭐Harry Potter: Becoming a Study God (HP:BSG)- 200+ Chapters
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