Moody suddenly found the world twisting before his eyes.
The 'lighter' in Wayne's hand devoured all illumination like a black hole, plunging everything into boundless darkness. Before Moody could speak, deadly peril prickled at his back. Reacting instinctively, he whirled and conjured a transparent shield with a flick of his wand, which immediately rang with a cacophony of impacts.
In this lightless void, Snape too emitted a silvery glow, the two men shining like twin beacons in the night.
"Conspiracy! This is all a conspiracy!" Moody roared. "You've deceived me! Where's Dumbledore? Damned Death Eaters!"
"Still maintaining the act?" Snape sneered, his footwork precise as he unleashed a rapid succession of spells – Disarming Charm, Laceration Curse, Impediment Jinx – shattering Moody's protective barrier.
The impostor's heart pounded violently at Snape's words, though his performance never faltered. "I warned Dumbledore never to trust Death Eaters! Have you come to avenge your fellow scum?"
"Interpret it however you wish. I am here for vengeance!"
With that, Snape's eyes flashed dangerously as he abandoned verbal sparring for an onslaught of vicious curses.
Wayne observed from the shadows, admiring the spellwork flying between them. Snape had specifically requested non-interference – likely itching for proper combat after years of teaching.
What?
That incident subduing Harry and Sirius last term?
That barely qualified as a warm-up.
The current opponent was quite suitable—considerably stronger than Sirius.
A searing ball of flame expanded and exploded, transforming into two fiery serpents that lunged at Moody. After realising negotiations were futile, Moody's attacks grew increasingly vicious.
With his magical eye, the darkness gave him an advantage, but his limp hindered his agility and movement.
Snape continuously used magic to control the battlefield, his invisible Laceration Curse blades proving impossible to defend against. The sheer magical power sliced into Moody's thick walking stick, producing a piercing screech.
"Reducto!" Snape hissed—the first time he'd spoken an incantation since the fight began.
Wayne noticed Snape's face flushing red, veins bulging along his neck.
A silver-blue streak shot forth, shattering Moody's shield charm. The force sent him flying backwards, blood spewing from his mouth. Several ropes shot from Snape's wand, binding him tightly, while the wand in his grip was swiftly snatched away.
In just a few exchanges, 'Moody' had been utterly defeated by Snape.
Click!
A crisp mechanical sound rang out as pure white light bloomed from Wayne's hand, returning everything to its original state. The room was restored.
'Moody' lay unconscious, while Snape stared oddly at the 'lighter' in Wayne's hand.
"What is that?"
Wayne tossed it twice before pocketing it. "A Deluminator. Handy, isn't it?"
Snape's expression said, 'You're having me on.'
Since when could a Deluminator swallow all light, creating a space of absolute darkness? Their fierce duel had left not a single item in the Headmaster's Office damaged.
The old bat snorted. "Fine, keep your secrets. No need to lie."
"It is a Deluminator," came Dumbledore's resigned voice from above. He descended the spiral staircase to join them. "One I gave him, in fact."
"Got any more?" Snape's eyes gleamed as he nudged Dumbledore with his elbow.
"Just the one," Dumbledore said, wincing. "I wouldn't have parted with it if not for trading it to Wayne for those Phoenix ashes. It was a carefully crafted piece from my youth."
He glanced at the boy and sighed. "Newt really... sold me out completely."
Wayne grinned. He wanted to clarify that it wasn't Newt but Grindelwald who'd revealed this—but with Snape present, some topics were best avoided.
At the mention of Phoenix Ash, Snape's expression shifted uncomfortably. He changed the subject. "Lawrence, bring out that map of yours."
Wayne produced the Marauder's Map and spoke the password. Sure enough, Barty Crouch Jr.'s name appeared in the Headmaster's Office—right beside the three of them.
Dumbledore's gaze deepened. "Polyjuice Potion lasts only an hour. Let's wait. It won't be long now."
"Too tedious." Wayne stepped forward, wand already in hand, aimed at the unconscious Moody. "Reveal your true form."
Ordinary reversal spells had no effect on Polyjuice Potion, but Wayne's modified version—supercharged with magical power—worked wonders on Animagi, Polyjuice, and even human Transfiguration.
Moody's face began to change. The scars gradually faded, his skin smoothed out, and his mutilated nose grew whole again. With a sudden clatter, his wooden leg was pushed off by a newly grown one, followed by his magical blue eye popping out of its socket.
"Chirp!"
Jerry poked his head out of Wayne's pocket, his beady eyes fixed on the magical eye. He let out a delighted cry before scrambling out of the pocket and dropping to the ground, lifting the eye as if he'd found a priceless treasure.
Seeing that no one was paying attention to it, the creature quietly stuffed the magical eye into its belly and hopped away.
All three of them were staring intently at Moody—no, at this moment, he should be called Barty Crouch Jr.
Snape's breathing grew rapid. During the years he had spent by Voldemort's side, he had dealt with Barty Jr. on numerous occasions.
"Severus, have you brought the potion?"
Just as Snape pulled out a small vial of clear liquid, Wayne cut in ahead of him: "Use mine instead. Veritaserum Plus Pro Max Ultra Edition—five times the potency."
Hearing this naming style so characteristic of Lawrence, both men twitched at the corners of their mouths.
Nevertheless, Dumbledore took it and poured three drops into Barty Jr.'s mouth, then pointed his wand at his chest: "Enervate!"
Barty Jr. opened his eyes, his gaze vacant, his cheeks slack.
Dumbledore placed him on a single-seater sofa and sat opposite him.
"Can you hear me?" Dumbledore asked calmly.
"Yes," Barty Jr. murmured.
"Where have you hidden Moody?"
"In his own trunk. Open it with the seventh key—he's inside."
"Severus," Dumbledore looked up, "could you fetch Alastor for me?"
Snape frowned deeply. "Let me hear the rest. He's not in any immediate danger, after all."
He was just getting into the juicy details, and now they wanted to shoo him away? Was this any way to do things?
Dumbledore didn't press the matter and continued, "How did you escape?"
Perhaps the question was too vague, because Barty Jr. began recounting his escape from Azkaban.
Though Dumbledore had heard this part before, he didn't mind confirming it again.
Snape, however, had still been unconscious at the time and had no idea the process had been so convoluted. His expression grew complicated.
Finally, the timeline progressed to this summer.
"From mid-July onwards, my father became incredibly busy. He went to the Ministry of Magic, took Winky with him, and only brought me one meal a day."
"Otherwise, nothing changed. Then... then..." Barty Jr. shook his head, a twisted smile spreading across his face. "My master came for me!"
"What?!" Snape's face paled. "The Dark Lord has returned?!"
Dumbledore pressed his lips together, raising a hand to silence Snape and urging Barty Jr. to continue.
"One night, he was carried into my home by his servant, Wormtail. They were accompanied by a large snake."
Dumbledore's eyebrows twitched. "Voldemort rescued Peter?"
"No," Barty Jr. said dully. "Wormtail was rescued by a Russian Dark Wizard. He needed Wormtail's ability to transform into a rat to help him bypass traps in some ruins. Later, Wormtail escaped from that Dark Wizard and fled to Albania, where he found the master."
"What was that Dark Wizard's name?"
"Wormtail didn't say. He didn't know himself."
Under the influence of Veritaserum, Barty Jr. couldn't possibly lie. So, despite his lingering doubts, Dumbledore let him continue.
"I was free, back at my master's side. The master said he wanted Potter—he needed Potter to return to life."
"So I, Wormtail, and Uroboros ambushed Moody."
"Who is Uroboros?" Dumbledore frowned, having never heard the name before.
"Uroboros isn't a person. It's our master's closest pet—a juvenile Basilisk. With its help in petrifying Moody, we could deal with him easily without causing much disturbance."
At this moment, Snape was drenched in sweat, his eyes filled with anxiety and fear.
Setting aside Pettigrew's escape, Voldemort had already returned without anyone's knowledge. Though he was extremely weak, the mere mention of his name was enough to terrify many.
"Did Voldemort send you? What do you aim to achieve by replacing Moody?"
Barty Crouch Jr. gave a crazed smile. "Our great and wise master has invented a resurrection spell. He needs the blood of his enemy, and Potter's blood—with its peculiar connection to him—will make him even more powerful."
"I'll make Potter participate in the Triwizard Tournament, help him win, and then deliver him to our master."
"How will you deliver him?"
"Perhaps... we could turn the trophy into a Portkey?" Barty revealed their plan.
Dumbledore's eyes flashed with anger, for it was indeed a brilliant idea.
The tradition of the Triwizard Tournament—the final task was usually a comprehensive obstacle course. The first to lift the trophy would be declared the winner. If Harry were transported away at that moment, they would be completely unprepared.
But... as his anger subsided, a faint trace of something resembling delight appeared in Dumbledore's eyes.
"Dumbledore!" Snape suddenly barked. "Now! The Dark Lord is at his weakest now. We can capture him and kill him for good! With you and Lawrence here, we can succeed!"
He yanked Barty up by the collar, face to face. "Tell me! Where are the Dark Lord and Pettigrew now?"
"I don't know," Barty smiled. "The master sent Pettigrew away with him to nurture Uroboros. He wants the Basilisk to grow quickly."
"Damn it." Snape threw him to the ground in frustration.
"Calm yourself, Severus," Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. "We've uncovered their plot. The initiative is now ours."
"Do you have any more questions?"
"I'll fetch the trunk," Snape snapped, picking up the keyring he'd dropped earlier before storming out.
The moment he left, the portraits of former Headmasters on the walls erupted into chatter.
"What a meticulous plan. The Crouches always did produce clever ones," remarked a Ravenclaw Headmaster.
"Clever?" Phineas Nigellus snorted. "Aligning with Voldemort is the height of stupidity!"
The Ravenclaw Head didn't argue but sneered, "Phineas, have you forgotten how you praised Voldemort decades ago?"
"You said he'd restore the glory of pure-blood families. Why the change of tune now?"
Phineas flushed red. "He nearly killed two of my great-great-grandsons! I'd strangle him myself if I could!"
"You? He'd Avada Kedavra you before you could blink."
"..."
Dumbledore paid no attention to the bickering portraits. He sat quietly, processing the flood of information and piecing together the puzzle.
Wayne crouched in front of young Barty and asked a few more questions.
Such as Voldemort's current condition, what he usually ate, and whether he'd killed anyone.
To maintain their cover, no one had been brutally murdered by Voldemort before young Barty left.
As for now, he couldn't say.
Wayne pretended to casually brush his hand against young Barty, making the lingering mark even more concealed.
A weakened Voldemort wouldn't notice, but old Dumbledore was still spry—if he found something during an inspection, Wayne would need an excuse.
Soon, Snape returned carrying the trunk again. Following young Barty's method, they inserted the first six keys in sequence, then turned the seventh after inserting it. The space inside transformed.
It was a basement, where a man lay on the floor, sallow-faced with dishevelled, greying hair.
Dumbledore crouched to examine him. "Just a simple unconscious state, and under the Imperius Curse. It seems Alastor hasn't eaten well these days—he's lost a lot of weight."
"Severus, I leave him to you. Poppy shouldn't know about this."
Snape countered, "And what about young Barty? How will you handle him?"
"He can't die," Wayne interjected first. "Though Mr Crouch despises this son, he was bought with his wife's life. So he must live."
"Of course," Dumbledore nodded. "Young Barty must live—at least for now. But I haven't decided how to proceed. Give me some time."
"Not just now," Wayne insisted firmly. "Even if he dies, it must be by my hand—or Crouch's."
"I still hope you'll reconsider carefully," Dumbledore sighed. "After all, Barty is his father."
"And also the one who hates him most." Wayne glanced at young Barty, now dragged in by Snape. "The right to deal with him is mine, Professor."
"As you wish." Dumbledore couldn't sway the boy's resolve and dropped the subject.
"Very well, you may leave now. Severus, inform me once Alastor regains consciousness."
"As for Mr Lawrence, I'd like to hear your thoughts on some subsequent plans."
"No problem."
...
Snape left with the trunk—he'd stuffed Moody back inside.
Wayne lingered, waiting until Snape had exited before shutting the door and drawing the curtains over the Headmaster's portraits.
Dumbledore was puzzled by his actions. "Is there something else, Mr Lawrence?"
Wayne leaned in and whispered, "Headmaster, may I ask... what happened between you and Grindelwald after I left that day? Why did you ban both the Gender-Swap Mints and the Itching Powder?"
Dumbledore's expression stiffened before relaxing slowly. He raised his arm, pointing at the door.
"Get out."