The one who appeared, dragging a foot behind him, was former Auror Professor Moody.
"Ah, Professor Moody."
After giving me a suspicious look, Professor Moody's magical eye whirred and swiveled toward Mr. Crouch.
"What are the two of you doing here, in a place like this? Hmm?"
His gaze seemed to suggest we had been engaged in some shady deal or secret meeting. I shook my head with all my strength.
"Well, um, we were discussing a business deal regarding product deliveries from GM Company, and then he started telling me stories from the past…"
"Oh?"
Professor Moody looked at Mr. Crouch with interest.
"I heard you weren't feeling well. So you've recovered enough to give long-winded stories to a young girl, have you?"
"For every old tale an old man tells to the young, his lifespan is said to grow a little longer."
Mr. Crouch answered sarcasm with sarcasm, yet surprisingly there was no hostility in the air. Rather, they seemed like old friends of many years. Considering they had once been in a superior-subordinate relationship and were close in age, perhaps they had even been senior and junior during their Hogwarts days.
"Now then, I seem to have kept you listening to old stories for quite some time, and it's already growing dark. I suppose I should take my leave."
Only then did I notice the faint outline of the moon rising in the sky.
"Alastor, may I leave the rest to you?"
"Protecting students is part of a teacher's duty."
Professor Moody replied with a low grunt, and Mr. Crouch turned back to me.
"Do you have a multifunctional two-way mirror? I shall give you my contact information."
Just as Percy had said, Mr. Crouch was well-versed in the latest technology. Despite his age, he handled GM Company's multifunctional two-way mirror flawlessly.
"Thanks to the advancement of communication magic, the work of the Department of International Magical Cooperation has become much easier. In time, I would like to see it spread throughout the entire Ministry of Magic."
"I'm sure Penelope and the others would be delighted to hear that."
"Do pass it along. The future of the wizarding world rests upon imaginative young people like yourselves. Supporting you is the role of us old folk."
Mr. Crouch smiled gently. He did not appear to have any hidden agenda. Rather than someone desperately clinging to past glory as Sirius had suspected, he seemed to have accepted the past for what it was and was trying to move forward. That was how he appeared to me.
"Well then, that will be all for today. If you ever need anything, feel free to contact me at any time."
With that, Mr. Crouch turned on his heel and strode off toward the school gates, back straight and dignified, just as he had arrived.
**
After Mr. Crouch left, Professor Moody addressed me instead.
"You've grown quite close."
"My mother always says there's no harm in building as many connections with influential people as possible."
I tried to brush it off casually, but Professor Moody snorted.
"If it's your mother, she'd definitely say that. But you didn't strike me as the sort who'd be interested in Crouch's past."
"Really? I'd be interested in hearing about your past too, Professor Moody, if you were willing to tell me."
At that, Professor Moody's cheek twisted oddly.
"I see. You certainly know how to please an old man. More often than not, the elderly take a liking to youngsters who are willing to listen to their stories."
His magical eye spun around and fixed squarely on me.
"However, let me warn you that swallowing an old man's tales whole is dangerous. Carelessness is the greatest enemy."
There it was. Carelessness is the greatest enemy.
This favorite phrase of Professor Moody's had actually become something of a secret catchphrase among the students. Recently at Hogwarts, it had become fashionable to taunt someone who fell for a prank by shouting, "Carelessness is the greatest enemy!" But that is another story.
"You mean… I should also be cautious about what Mr. Crouch said earlier, in the sense that memories tend to become embellished?"
"That's part of it. When people talk about themselves, their own convenient perspectives inevitably slip in."
"Then what kind of person was Bartemius Crouch, in your view?"
When I asked, Professor Moody stroked his chin.
"A man worthy of respect. Not one I admire in the slightest, though."
It was a decisive judgment.
"If I had to put it into words, he was as though principles and propriety had put on clothes and started walking around. Unlike those pure-blood scions who rest on inherited privilege, he embodied noblesse oblige. He was a true noble."
The Crouch family was one of the oldest in the wizarding world and counted among the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Yet unlike pure-blood families who lived off passive income or family businesses, they were essentially a hereditary political family. Many of its successive heads had left their mark as senior officials in the Ministry of Magic.
"He was so competent as to be beyond reproach. There wasn't the slightest flaw in the righteousness he spoke. Incorruptible and spotless, a fair and upright politician devoted to his ideals. In short, he was a slave to justice."
With something almost like pity in his voice, Professor Moody let out a sigh.
"But his son was different. I once met him at a social gathering. He was an ordinary child who spoke happily about Quidditch. His father was famously a Quidditch hater."
Having been an old acquaintance of Mr. Crouch, there was a somber note in Professor Moody's voice when he spoke of the son.
"No matter what he said aloud, Crouch loved his son without question. And the boy must have felt that love too, to an overwhelming degree."
Expectations can sometimes become pressure. Among Slytherin students born into elite families, many struggle under the weight of expectations to become elites themselves simply because of the circumstances of their birth.
Still, when one asks whether strict elite education is inherently wrong, one must also consider that parents often have their own unavoidable reasons.
To be born into a prestigious family is both a blessing and a curse. One inherits not only the wealth and trust built by one's ancestors, but also their grudges and resentments. From the moment one gains value, for better or worse, others begin to see opportunities for use.
That is why so many people approach with flattery. While such a person can access more connections, opportunities, and assets than an ordinary individual, without the talent and strength to wield them properly, they will instead be used up and consumed.
Above all, it was an era when Lord Voldemort was rising to power. Mr. Crouch, known as a leading figure of the anti-Dark faction, had many enemies. It was not only he himself who could be targeted. His family could have been at risk at any time.
Given that, one cannot definitively say that Mr. Crouch was wrong to train his son so thoroughly.
"Crouch did everything in his power to ensure his son would lead a happy life. He provided gifted education, introduced him to high society, taught him aristocratic manners, even educated him in Muggle knowledge, which was rare at the time. He had him graduate at the top of his class at Hogwarts, placed him on the elite track at the Ministry, and advanced his career. Someday, he likely hoped his son would inherit the Crouch family, lead the wizarding world, and become someone admired and respected by all."
From a third party's perspective, Mr. Crouch's actions were entirely correct. As a parent, he had provided more than enough, offering the shortest path toward assured social success.
"Crouch's misfortune was that his son was incompetent. Those were not truly the grades of someone capable of finishing first in his class. At heart, he was a wastrel who rested on the privilege of his pure-blood heritage and vented his frustrations by bullying Muggle-borns."
"That's rather harsh."
"Of course it is. They say a child rarely understands a parent's heart, and that boy was exactly that. Don't you think so?"
The smile that appeared at the corner of Professor Moody's mouth was unlike any expression I had seen from him before. He had just praised Mr. Crouch and ridiculed the son, yet the smile itself was bleak and hollow.
"I… don't think we can necessarily say that Mr. Crouch's son was unfilial."
I spoke with a troubled expression.
"I do believe, as you said, that Mr. Crouch was capable, righteous, and kind. If his son had followed his words, perhaps there might have been a future where an enviable elite father-and-son pair led the Ministry of Magic."
However, I continued,
"In everything you just described, the son's own will never appeared even once."
Professor Moody smiled boldly and gestured with his chin for me to go on.
"Mr. Crouch surely loved his son. But he likely did not love Bartemius Crouch Junior."
In his father's eyes, the boy may have been seen not as an individual named Bartemius Crouch Junior, but simply as 'the son of the Crouch family,' just as others saw him.
On one side was a father trying to grant 'the happiness of being the heir to the Crouch family.'
On the other was a son seeking 'the happiness of being Crouch Junior as an individual.'
When it came to what each defined as happiness, there may have been a gulf between them too vast to bridge.
"Mr. Crouch struck me as someone with an exceptionally strong sense of responsibility. He seemed the type who would not question equating the demands of one's birth and position with personal happiness. But perhaps his son was not the same."
Even in his conversation with me, Mr. Crouch had shown a tendency to link individual traits with the characteristics of one's Hogwarts house.
He likely expected his son to behave in ways befitting an aristocrat, a child, a man, an Englishman, and believed that conforming to the attributes one was born with was directly connected to happiness.
"Do you think that's wrong?"
"Only the person involved can decide what the right answer is."
For example, once you're sorted into Slytherin House, it is certainly easier to live if you adopt pure-blood ideology. Or perhaps, if you are born a girl, life is smoother if you devote time to fashion. If you are born English, speaking in indirect expressions might make things easier.
If everyone were like that.
Professor Lockhart would abandon his unrealistic hero fantasies and live a life suited to his abilities. Professor Lupin would not live as a wizard, but among a community of fellow werewolves.
Headmaster Dumbledore would become Minister for Magic simply because that was what others expected of him. Hermione would endure being slandered as "Mudblood" without causing a stir.
Astoria would accept her "blood curse" and live quietly and obediently. Crabbe and Goyle would accept that they were unpopular and give up on the dance party.
However, objective success or aptitude does not always align with what a person truly desires. That is why we struggle and worry about so many things.
As for me, I happen to be an outstanding student, blessed with beauty, athletic talent, popularity, and even fame. If I were to enter the Ministry of Magic and work diligently, becoming Minister for Magic one day would not be beyond reach.
But my dream is not to become Minister for Magic. Since childhood, I have cherished the book The Adventures of Nike, and like its heroine Nike, I wish to travel the world and write stories.
Even if, for some reason, I were forced to give up on traveling, the only one who should decide that is me.
"Mr. Crouch was likely fortunate that his objective aptitude happened to align with his own desires. But even if they share exactly the same name, parent and child can never be the same person."
At that, Professor Moody's mouth twisted, and a chilling smile surfaced.
"…Is something amusing?"
"No. It's just that I've heard words like that before."
He muttered as though speaking more to himself than to me.
"It was I who captured Crouch's son. I conducted the interrogation as well. When dealing with a criminal of that magnitude, the use of Legilimency and Veritaserum was unavoidable. I looked into that boy's memories many times…"
A bad feeling crept over me, and I stared at Professor Moody.
"Don't tell me…"
"Yes. That's right."
A fearsome expression, unlike anything I had ever seen, crossed his face.
"In Slytherin, you will make your true friends."
Contrary to expectations, Crouch Junior had been sorted into Slytherin House.
"Indeed, Slytherin's sense of fraternity is remarkable. Even the son of the executioner who sent many Death Eaters to the Dementor's Kiss was treated as one of their own once he was sorted into Slytherin."
"—"
At Slytherin, Crouch Junior was not bullied. On the contrary, he was blessed with friends who, like him, suffered under the pressure of their parents. For the first time in his life, he met peers who saw him not as 'the son of the Crouch family,' but as 'Bartemius Crouch Junior.' It is not difficult to imagine how much solace that must have brought to his heart.
"In time, his cunning Slytherin friends began teaching him how to wear a mask. As he spent more time with them, he learned to vent his frustrations by bullying Muggle-borns. Like many of his friends, he embraced pure-blood ideology to fill the void in his wounded pride…"
It hardly needs to be said where that path ultimately led.
"When he first entered Hogwarts, Crouch Junior was in the midst of open rebellion. But outwardly, he began to obediently follow his father's words and set off down the smooth path his father desired. Crouch believed at last his son had come to understand him."
In reality, the opposite was true. The more his father praised his obedient behavior, the colder the boy's heart became.
By then, his heart no longer belonged to his birth father, Crouch Senior, but to a new father he had chosen for himself: Lord Voldemort.
Mr. Crouch's honesty, unyielding convictions, and brilliant mind elevated him to the rank of a highly capable official and even a candidate for the next Minister for Magic.
Yet those very traits made him stubborn as a father, unwilling to indulge weakness. In wishing for his son's happiness, he allowed no opposition and managed him thoroughly. In effect, he sought to turn his son into a puppet of righteousness and success.
From Mr. Crouch's perspective, his son's betrayal—abandoning the carefully prepared, smooth path laid out before him to become a Death Eater—must have seemed a sudden and incomprehensible act of folly.
But from the son's perspective, becoming a Death Eater was almost inevitable.
"In the end, the father was the one who was right."
If this were a novel, the stubborn father would eventually relent and respect his son's wishes. The son, pursuing the path he chose for himself, would achieve success, and the family would reconcile in a happy ending.
However, the real story of the Crouch family was not so sweet. In the end, the one who proved correct was the father who tried to turn his son into a puppet, and the son, in seeking independence, walked a path that led to ruin.
"The only path left to the boy was to pitifully beg for mercy in court. Even that failed to shake his father's resolve and only caused his mother sorrow."
A cold wind whistled between us.
"What… should the Crouch father and son have done?"
It was not a question directed at anyone in particular. Even if there had been a correct answer, it was already a story that had ended.
"Who knows? If anyone had known that, Crouch wouldn't have fallen from power, and his son wouldn't have ended up in Azkaban."
The more I heard, the sadder and more hollow the story felt. That was precisely why I could not help imagining. I could not stop pondering.
If only, if only something had been different.
"…I know two people who are somewhat similar."
What I spoke of was a story of misunderstanding I had learned by chance last year. A tale of someone who, out of weakness, betrayed a friend and led him to his death, and out of fear, falsely accused another friend, compounding one mistake after another.
"…You mean Sirius Black."
Without responding to Professor Moody's words, I continued.
"I don't know the circumstances behind his betrayal of his best friend. Perhaps it was a gradual descent, born of many small mistakes."
Even the smallest misalignment of gears, if left to accumulate, will eventually cause everything to break.
"But at the same time, I can't help thinking… if even one small misalignment had been corrected, perhaps the gears might have turned smoothly."
If Mr. Pettigrew had surrendered himself sooner.
If Mr. Crouch Junior had turned himself in like Lucius and the others.
Even if past sins could not be erased, perhaps they would not have compounded further.
Professor Moody wore an expression that seemed somewhere between exasperation and resignation, yet he spoke clearly.
"Perhaps. But that is not what happened."
Perhaps such a development might have been possible. But reality did not unfold that way. Mr. Pettigrew betrayed Sirius and the others. Crouch Junior tortured the Longbottoms.
That was the truth, and Professor Moody forced me to face it.
"As far as I can recall, the boy never showed remorse to the very end."
"I suppose not. Even if he was wrong, it was the life he chose. He likely had no regrets."
His father, too, admitted defeat but claimed no regret. In that sense, they may have been more alike than they realized.
"In fact, there was never a zero chance that the Dark Lord might have won. There are many things you can't know until the end."
"That's true. No matter how much you regret or agonize, the past cannot be changed. Only the future can."
There is not just one shape of righteousness. It varies from person to person. There is chance, luck, and compatibility. The accumulation of all logic and absurdity in the past ultimately shapes the future.
"Conversely, no matter what the past may be, the future can always change."
Professor Moody grabbed his hip flask and took a long swig, his magical eye spinning rapidly.
"Therefore, Celestia, never let your guard down. Carelessness is the greatest enemy. You never know what the future holds."
In the end, I did not learn very much from my conversations with Mr. Crouch and Professor Moody. At most, I learned that Mr. Crouch no longer seemed particularly obsessed with power, and that Sirius's suspicion that he had snuck into Professor Snape's potion storeroom in a bid to regain his former position was unlikely.
And yet, for some reason, I felt that I must never forget this conversation.
(End of chapter)
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09