The beech tree approached the figure in black, digging into the damp soil and embedding its roots. Then, as if sighing with relief, its branches and leaves shivered once before settling back into stillness.
The figure in black pointed his Wand at the spruce tree in front of him, muttering a long Spell in a low voice. His words were drowned out by the pouring rain, making them inaudible even if one stood beside him.
Yet, the spruce tree in front seemed to hear him. Its branches shook unnaturally, and then its previously straight trunk bent, as if stretching.
The nearby ground began to tremble, heave, and crack, as if some colossal beast was about to emerge from underground. Surrounding shrubs and wild grasses toppled over, and insects scurried out frantically, scattering in all directions.
But before the surface soil had fully split apart, the figure in black patted the spruce tree's trunk, and everything quieted down again.
Only then did another furtive figure emerge from deep within the woods, timidly approaching the spruce tree and using a pen to draw a circle of Magic Mark symbols on its trunk.
The figure in black watched silently. Once the symbols were drawn, he pointed his Wand again. The black Magic Marks emitted a faint, dark green glow before fading from sight.
"Continue," he said in a cold voice. "You need to finish drawing on all trees thicker than three people hugging them before the rain stops."
The other person wore a bitter expression, meekly assenting. He picked up his pen and bucket and went to find other large trees. The rain streamed down his face, impossible to shield, making him look utterly miserable.
Golden strands of hair slipped from the edge of his hood, damply sticking to his face. The man shivered from the cold, his hands and feet icy, yet he dared not complain in the slightest.
A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, suddenly illuminating the dark forest and the rather handsome face beneath the hood.
Lockhart was much thinner than before, with several ghastly scars on his neck. He walked with a bowed back, weakly approaching another extremely thick oak tree.
The figure in black watching him from behind was Barty Crouch Jr. Lockhart shivered under his cold, disdainful gaze. He desperately wanted to flee, but the mere thought of Voldemort's methods filled him with such dread that he dared not even contemplate resistance.
Moreover, he couldn't escape.
Voldemort had placed an extremely vicious curse on him. If Lockhart attempted to escape, betray Voldemort, or leak information, the curse would kill him.
—Given this, I should have just stayed in Azkaban!
Lockhart couldn't help but think.
But then, he remembered the terror of the Dementors, the despair, loneliness, and emptiness of being in prison, and he couldn't help but tremble twice more.
For a moment, Lockhart compared the two, unable to discern whether the Dementors were more terrifying or Voldemort more fearsome.
In any case, both had tormented him endlessly.
Recalling his days as a bestselling author, adored by countless fans, and his time at Hogwarts, surrounded by many teenage girls, it all now felt as beautiful and fleeting as a dream.
Lockhart wept and whimpered as he drew Magic Marks on the tree. Through his tear-blurred vision, he accidentally drew a few symbols incorrectly.
He was startled, so frightened that he forgot to cry. He secretly glanced behind him and saw Barty Crouch Jr. casting a Spell on another large tree, not noticing him. Only then did he relax.
He dared not let Barty Crouch Jr. discover his mistake—most of the ingredients for this Potions bucket were contraband. Garr had flown all over the world just to gather this small amount.
If that cold-hearted devil found out he had drawn incorrectly, it would mean Crucio at the very least, and he might even be fed to Nagini...
Those wretched Death Eaters had no human decency, not even towards their own comrades!
While resentfully cursing Barty Crouch Jr. to an early death, Lockhart carefully covered the mistakenly drawn parts with his hand, struggling to channel his Magical Power. His face flushed red, and finally, he saw the symbols gradually fade and disappear.
—In his extreme fear, he had actually successfully cast a Wandless Spell!
Lockhart couldn't celebrate. Fearing that Barty Crouch Jr. would discover he had spent too much time on this tree, he quickly finished drawing and picked up his pen to find the next tree.
Another yew tree stirred, then gradually settled.
Barty Crouch Jr.'s peripheral vision caught Lockhart glancing around the forest like a thief. He disdainfully "tsk'd."
He stepped forward to leave, when suddenly, a corner of his robe was tugged. Barty Crouch Jr. frowned and looked over, seeing the small beech tree. One of its horizontally growing branches had snagged his robe.
This was their first experimental subject.
Perhaps because it was too young, it acted like a child even after being awakened; or perhaps its trunk was too thin, preventing the Magic Marks from being fully drawn. Whatever the reason, it simply couldn't disguise itself as quietly as the other large trees.
This small tree liked to wander around and, like a chick, always liked to follow behind Barty Crouch Jr., impossible to chase away or shake off.
Barty Crouch Jr. pulled his robe back, walked around it, and headed towards another large tree. He hadn't gone far when he heard a rustling sound behind him.
He sharply turned his head and saw the beech tree tiptoeing like a cat, carefully following him. When he turned around, it hastily stopped, pretending to be just a normal tree.
Barty Crouch Jr. frowned and continued to walk. After a moment, the beech tree indeed crept up behind him again.
Perhaps the silent night forest evoked an inner fear and loneliness, but he actually found this companionship quite pleasant, even feeling an urge to confide.
"Can you understand what I'm doing? Of course, you can't—because you're just a brainless tree."
The beech tree shook its branches, delighted that he had tacitly allowed its presence and even spoken to it.
As for what Barty Crouch Jr. said, it naturally didn't understand, nor could it convey it to anyone.
So, Barty Crouch Jr. felt more at ease pouring out his heart—people with too many secrets always need a "tree hole," and Barty Crouch Jr. was no exception.
"The Potions, my father's bones, the servant's flesh—these are all ready. All that's left is the enemy's blood. All that's left... Harry Potter."
Barty Crouch Jr. lowered his voice and said:
"But that boy is too well protected. I need an opportunity... We need to create an extremely chaotic scene to snatch him from his protective circle, and we cannot be tracked by Dumbledore before the Master is fully resurrected."
"This competition is a great opportunity... In a few days, a hundred thousand Wizards will gather in the arena, and Harry Potter will be among them. You saw him too, didn't you?"
Barty Crouch Jr. turned to look at the oval arena, muttering, "The traitors, the opposition, and those ignorant fools who are protected—they all need to pay a heavy price!"
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