There was nothing secret about the reasoning process. Wade merely skipped over the part where he'd discussed it with Antoine and made sure to mention the clue Malfoy had given him.
The process of narrowing down the suspect to Filch sounded even simpler when told from his perspective—
Among everyone in the school, Filch was the person most likely to come into contact with outsiders and also the one most easily overlooked. Moreover, the sudden change in his attitude toward Wade was an obvious flaw.
On the surface, Wade had little to do with Filch, so Barty never imagined that this man—despised by both students and teachers alike—would one day form a friendship with someone else.
He hadn't even considered that possibility when performing Legilimency.
In some ways, this Death Eater was very much like his master, the Dark Lord—both possessed the same arrogance and obstinacy.
After listening to the entire account, Sirius—who had witnessed everything firsthand—finally showed an expression of sudden understanding, while a glint of approval flickered in Dumbledore's eyes.
"Very perceptive, Wade."
The Headmaster regarded him warmly, and a rare smile appeared on his face.
"But what pleases me even more is this: while most people fix their gaze on what shines brightly, you chose instead to treat our caretaker with kindness—to see his overlooked worth, and to earn his trust and loyalty."
Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his seat and scratched his cheek in embarrassment.
Dumbledore continued, "That is your most precious quality—the ability to see the places shrouded in shadow, to notice the small and voiceless who cannot speak for themselves… That quality is worth far more than any champion's trophy."
After a pause, his voice deepened. "Never lose it, Wade."
A moment of silence passed before Wade replied softly, "Yes, Professor."
A thousand-mile dike can collapse from an ant's nest.
He understood well how great the power of a small spark could be once it spread into a blazing fire. Wade never underestimated anyone—magical or not.
And that was something Voldemort could never comprehend. Even Dumbledore himself… might not always lower his gaze far enough to truly see it.
——
While they were speaking, Snape and Moody had already returned with the potions, and Professor McGonagall came back to Filch's office with them.
The cramped little room had probably never hosted so many people before. The floor was still cluttered with parchment and the remains of shattered file cabinets. With a flick of Dumbledore's wand, the mess neatly piled itself into a corner, clearing enough space for everyone to stand.
Moody, with a grim expression, forced the potion down the "fake Filch's" throat.
In an instant, Barty's body convulsed violently, as if countless snakes were writhing beneath his skin.
His nose twisted and bulged, the gray-white hair turning into a pale straw-like blond, and the wrinkled skin of his face melted and shifted like wax—finally reshaping itself into a young yet haggard face.
When the transformation ended, lying on the floor was a wizard in his thirties. Sunken cheeks made his cheekbones jut out sharply, his bloodshot eyes stared blankly, and his fingers twitched with nervous spasms.
"Crouch!" Snape exclaimed and couldn't help but step back, his voice was uncharacteristically shaken. "Barty Crouch Jr.!"
As the bones in his face reformed, Barty awoke from unconsciousness and groaned in pain. Hearing the voice, he turned his head toward Snape, then let his gaze sweep over Dumbledore and the others.
Professor McGonagall immediately stepped forward, blocking Wade from view, preventing Barty from fixing his eyes on her student.
"Oh, Severus…" Barty let out a smile that was twisted with madness, his voice hissing like a snake. "Happy to see an old friend?"
Moody, in contrast, stepped forward without hesitation. He grabbed Barty's jaw, forced it open, and poured the Veritaserum down his throat.
Barty writhed violently on the floor, but Sirius pinned his shoulder with his boot, holding him down as the clear liquid dripped into his mouth.
"N-no… no…" Barty mumbled, drool running down his chin. "You'll never… get any… information from me…"
Moody's face was dark with disgust. His hand clamped around Barty's throat like an iron vice, tightening until the man's struggles weakened, his pupils dilated, and his gaze turned glassy and vacant.
Only then did Moody release him and wiped his hand twice against his robe in revulsion.
Dumbledore crouched down in front of Barty and said in a calm and gentle tone: "Can you hear me?"
Barty's eyelids fluttered. His voice came out flat and mechanical. "I can hear you."
"Tell us your story, Barty Crouch," Dumbledore said softly. "Start from when you left Azkaban."
Barty spoke in a hollow, dreamlike voice:
"My… my mother begged the man I called Father. He smuggled me out of Azkaban. My mother drank Polyjuice Potion… became me… stayed behind in the prison… and then she died…"
"My father hid me at home… used the Imperius Curse to control me… made me wear the Invisibility Cloak all the time… the house-elf watched over me. Later…"
"Later, one time—something happened on some island, I think? He suddenly got very busy, left overnight on some trip… and forgot to cast the spell again. I broke free of his control for a while, regained my mind… then I found my mother's old wand in the house… stunned the house-elf, and escaped…"
"I knew he was looking for me, trying to bring me back… but it didn't matter… because I finally found my Master…"
Barty's breathing grew heavier, and his expression twisted into one of fanatic joy.
"My Master… hah… my Master is far wiser than my father. He even thought of using the forbidden magics in the Department of Mysteries—to make everyone believe we were dead…"
"The Department of Mysteries?" Moody growled. "How did he even dare touch that place? Even the Unspeakables hardly claim to understand half the magic in there."
"My Master needs Harry Potter, needs.." Barty said, his eyes bright with obsession. "..needs Harry Potter to resurrect himself in a more powerful form. The great Dark Lord must not have weakness. So I did everything I could to bring that boy to him…"
"I found some ancient dark magic in the Department of Mysteries… The Quidditch World Cup Final was the perfect chance. Harry Potter, just like his father, loves Quidditch—he was sure to attend."
"But the cursed forest… the one filled with darkened creatures—it was wiped out by those meddlesome Alliance. And the mascot I enchanted with potions became violent and bloodthirsty, throwing the entire campsite into chaos—it was supposed to be a perfect opportunity. I captured Harry Potter—"
Everyone in the room jolted in shock.
"What?!" they shouted almost in unison.
They stared at Barty, then turned to Dumbledore with wide eyes silently demanding: How did we never hear about this?
But then, Barty's expression suddenly twisted with terror and hatred.
"I thought I had him… I thought I'd delivered him to my Master… but no— it was all a trap! That boy unleashed a terrifying magic… one that destroyed my Master's body once again…"
"What?!"
The cry erupted from everyone present.
Moody shot to his feet so suddenly that his wooden leg nearly slipped. Professor McGonagall clutched her chest instinctively, as if to keep her heart from leaping out of her ribs.
Snape's reaction was the most restrained—and the most complex. His pupils contracted sharply, then his expression froze back into a cold, unreadable mask.
In his mind a face flashed almost identical to James Potter's. "This… impossible…" he muttered in voice low, each word squeezed out through clenched teeth.
Sirius, on the other hand, sprang up instantly, shouting, "What did you say?!"
Then, as the realization hit him, his brows furrowed. "No… wait! I asked Harry—he told me he didn't go off alone that night! It was—"
Sirius's eyes widened abruptly; his words caught in his throat.
He forced himself not to look at Wade, but a single, chilling thought flashed through his mind:
That night… Wade had gone off by himself.
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