After leaving the Great Totem, Harry hurried to the castle at top speed and found Dumbledore.
The old man had been staying in his former headmaster's office during this time—after all, Harry's usual residence was still the Great Totem.
Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Snape, Professor Sprout... With the most combat-capable people from all of Hogwarts, Harry and the group headed straight for the arena far from the castle.
Without revealing Rita's existence, Harry only briefly explained Crouch's abnormality and the purpose of this trip on the way. So, although Professor McGonagall and the others found it hard to imagine that little Crouch was still alive and had used Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself as his father and infiltrate the school, they still prepared for battle.
The arena, with its audience already departed, felt somewhat empty and desolate. On the way, Harry and the others only encountered some Ministry of Magic employees busy repairing damaged buildings, clearing garbage, and doing odd jobs. Upon inquiry, they learned that Crouch was in his temporary office and showed no abnormalities.
Harry knocked on the door.
"Come in."
Old Crouch's voice came from inside. But when Harry and the others entered, it was clear that old Crouch was surprised by so many people appearing in his office at once.
"Has something happened?" Crouch asked in confusion. "Did Muggles or wizards sneak into Hogwarts during yesterday's match?"
"Something has indeed happened," Harry explained casually. His gaze quickly swept over the temporary office, and in just a few seconds, he spotted the large box Rita had described, placed right beside the cabinet next to the bed.
"After yesterday's match ended, when Professor Snape returned to his office, he discovered that some of his rare herbs—"
"Avada Kedavra!!!"
He struck without warning!!
No one could have expected such a ferocious expression on Crouch's old face. Before Harry could finish speaking, he suddenly drew his wand and unleashed a Killing Curse without any foreshadowing.
Harry was right— the same thought flashed through the professors' minds simultaneously. Having prepared in advance, they naturally wouldn't be hit by such a spell.
But little Crouch seemed to have anticipated being discovered. Right after the unexpected Killing Curse, he cast a second spell: the Blasting Curse.
Boom!!
It was just like the explosion Peter Pettigrew had used twelve years ago to cover his tracks. The entire temporary office, along with this section of the corridor in the arena, was blown to smithereens.
This decisiveness left even Harry in awe. Wasn't little Crouch worried about blowing himself up? And he didn't care about killing his father? Did he truly feel no love at all for the father who had raised him—and who, from what it seemed now, had secretly rescued him from Azkaban's prison?
But soon, Harry no longer puzzled over this question.
Because he had already caught a whiff of an extraordinarily familiar stench—the stench of Fel.
In the dust and smoke from the explosion that hadn't yet settled, Harry was certain what that flash of green light meant.
Little Crouch had actually become a demon—a demon transformed from the wizard race.
"Demon!!" Without hesitation, Harry let out a battle roar and shouted, "Stay alert! Be careful of anyone approaching us!"
"Evanesco!"
Dumbledore waved his wand to clear the smoke and dust blocking their vision.
Some nearby Ministry of Magic groundskeepers had already run over to the now-open corridor, nervously raising their wands toward the scene, both tense and curious—after all, what had just been blown up was the office of one of their top bosses, Crouch.
But there was no trace of little Crouch, and even that hint of Fel stench had dissipated, leaving no possibility of pursuit.
His face grim, Harry knew he had likely encountered the worst—and most disgusting—situation.
That is, Voldemort's fragment of soul, which had fully transformed into a demon, had returned to this world from the Twisting Nether and turned some of his still-loyal Death Eaters into demons.
The key point was that these demons transformed from wizards seemed to have astonishing stealth abilities, able to easily conceal their Fel energy and assume the appearance of ordinary people. This was extremely similar to a type of utterly repulsive demon from Harry's memory, one skilled in disguise.
But Harry could also confirm that the fleeting Fel energy just now was definitely not from a Nathrezim—what the people of Azeroth commonly called a dreadlord. Those demons used Shadow, not Fel.
What a pain.
It was like stepping in dog shit while walking outside, then stepping in more with every stride—disgusting. In Harry's eyes, demons with disguise and infiltration abilities were exactly that kind of dog shit.
Using this ability to lurk among enemies, tempting those with weak wills to fall, leading them astray—in countless battles of the past, Harry hated fighting these enemies the most. Dreadlords sat at the same table as satyrs in his book: both disgusting scum.
He'd rather go toe-to-toe in a fair fight with orcs.
Hmm, that kind of thinking would make Harry a pit lord in the Burning Legion, no doubt.
With that in mind, Harry leaped to a high spot and shouted:
"Everyone! I am Hogwarts Headmaster Harry Potter—quiet down!"
The title of Headmaster Potter now carried considerable authority and credibility.
"A Death Eater has infiltrated here and disguised himself as Mr. Crouch. After being discovered by me and numerous professors, he caused this explosion and fled. Now, I require all of you to stand still and not move. I suspect he has used the chaos from this explosion to hide among you."
"I need to verify the identities of everyone here. Until your department heads arrive, I hope you remain calm, don't panic, don't overthink, and avoid any actions that could lead to misunderstandings—Professors Dumbledore and Snape will be watching you. Understood?"
He gave a brief explanation of the current situation, and these Ministry employees naturally had no objections. Both Dumbledore and Snape were highly intimidating, especially the latter.
The other professors weren't idle either; they used their prestige to help control the situation at this time, keeping an eye on the people in the surrounding area who had been nearby when it happened.
And sure enough, for these graduates of Hogwarts, the professors' names carried a lot of weight. Many even joked lightheartedly with the professors from their own houses without any tension.
After roughly arranging things, Harry headed straight for the large box Rita had mentioned for hiding people—there were no complications, no traps. When Harry opened the box, he saw an elderly man lying quietly inside.
It was Crouch. Harry carefully identified him before recognizing this haggard, gaunt man as the one he had seen in court long ago. The hair that had once been combed neatly against his scalp was now matted with grime; who knew how long he had been confined in this box.
"Let me handle it," Professor Sprout leaned in and said. "He probably needs some nourishing potions."
"Thank you," Harry nodded slightly.
The Herbology professor wasn't just good at nourishing plants; she could do the same for humans. Under Professor Sprout's efforts, it didn't take long for old Crouch to regain consciousness. But his eyes were vacant, his soul as if dead—blank, dazed. Dumbledore tried speaking with him several times but got no response.
It wasn't until Harry grew impatient and had Snape force-feed him some invigorating potion that old Crouch started to look somewhat like a living person.
"I can hardly believe the message you sent, Headmaster Potter. Ah, Dumbledore, you're here too—this is truly..." Leading a group of personnel, Scrimgeour pushed through the crowd aggressively. "Crouch, my God, you really..."
He started to speak but stopped, then tried again. Scrimgeour had rushed to Hogwarts at top speed with Aurors after receiving Harry's magical express message. He couldn't believe what Harry had written—what about old Crouch and little Crouch— But the haggard old Crouch before him, even sitting in the box, forced him to believe everything Harry had said.
That is, old Crouch had done something stupid.
A very, very stupid thing.
"...We can't have so many people watching here," Scrimgeour said quietly to Harry after taking a deep breath. "Crouch is still the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation; he still represents the Ministry's face."
"That's difficult, Rufus," Harry replied in a low voice. "I'm certain little Crouch has become a demon—and the most troublesome kind, one that can disguise itself as others."
"What do you mean?" Scrimgeour paused. "You mean he's among these people right now?"
"Yes, so we need our own screening. Ask them some secrets to prove they're still themselves," Harry said with a headache.
He kind of missed those cold-faced, bad-tempered, stubborn demon hunters. At least those hard-to-get-along-with guys could easily spot demons hidden in crowds.
Those stubborn blind ones were experts at it—professionals.
Too bad they weren't in this world.
"Minister, we did find Polyjuice Potion in the kettle that had been partially consumed," an Auror who had finished checking the scene suddenly leaned in and whispered, gesturing to the side.
To verify the potion's effects, one Auror had taken a sip—and soon, he transformed into a brand-new Barty Crouch.
This undoubtedly proved that the information Harry sent was true, at least in part.
And when another Auror used specialized tracking magic and special dust to reveal a young figure in the air—one that hadn't consumed Polyjuice Potion—there was nothing more to say.
"Scrimgeour..." Crouch suddenly spoke, drawing everyone's attention to him. He seemed like someone just returning to the real world from another, surveying his surroundings before lowering his head.
"Sorry..."
"I really wish you'd put that apology energy into upholding the law instead of repeatedly, over and over, trampling it underfoot!" Scrimgeour said furiously. "I never thought you'd do something like this! Crouch! Even though we don't get along, and we were rivals in the Minister election, I did respect you—once!!"
"But not anymore," Scrimgeour reverted to his expressionless demeanor. "No matter what, when little Crouch—this man who should have died long ago—reappears, it's over. Barty Crouch, by the authority of the Minister for Magic, you are dismissed."
"Your review will be held shortly. I hope you've thought about what to say then... and your final destination."
There wasn't much to think about, really. Using authority to free a prisoner from Azkaban—that meant Crouch himself would have to stay in Azkaban.
Even unrelated to Sirius's case, Crouch had already committed a crime.
"No need," Crouch sighed deeply, looking utterly defeated. "It was him... my son, little Barty Crouch... He's no longer a wizard, no longer human. He's a demon..."
Crouch's voice was extraordinarily hoarse.
"...Back then, I used my authority to swap him out of Azkaban... There was no choice. Jenny kept crying; she couldn't let him go, even willing to trade herself for him... I had no choice. Jenny kept begging me..."
"...So Jenny drank the Polyjuice Potion and swapped that bastard out of Azkaban... Then she died inside... You should know, when someone dies after drinking Polyjuice Potion, the body doesn't revert..."
Crouch continued revealing the secrets of the past.
"...Then I kept him locked up at home, controlling him... He hated me, resented me, saw the Dark Lord as his true father... Ha... He wanted to escape every moment, to find his master, so I fed him Draught of Living Death and used the Imperius Curse to control him, keeping him from fleeing the house..."
Those who heard Crouch's confession couldn't help but gasp.
Self-admitting to using the Imperius Curse—and on his own son—no less. Just using one of the three Unforgivable Curses was enough to land Crouch in Azkaban until he died.
But more than that was the shock. Whether the professors or the Aurors present, everyone was stunned by Crouch's words. No one could imagine that the ever-serious, rigidly just Crouch—who had sentenced his own son to Azkaban and fought on the front lines against Voldemort—had done such things.