The effects of Polyjuice Potion last only one hour.
The Death Eaters watched him in silence.
Pius Thicknesse was neither one of their own nor someone they could recruit. He was a firm opponent of their Master, a skilled and formidable wizard who had caused them countless troubles. Some among them had even been personally sent to Azkaban by him.
If this were truly Pius Thicknesse, they would have torn him apart on the spot.
But he wasn't.
More than ten minutes passed.
Pius Thicknesse's body began to distort—his long face shrinking into a smaller frame, his skeletal structure compacting, and his once well-fitted robes drooping loosely around him.
A pale, haggard, and sinister face—one all the gathered Death Eaters knew well—emerged before them.
"Barty?" someone gasped.
"Do not call me by that name," Crouch coldly rebuked.
The man shuddered. "My dear godson."
Crouch nodded in satisfaction. He rather liked that peculiar form of address—for among the Death Eaters, he alone had been acknowledged by "Father," becoming the closest to him.
"I heard you were dead?" the man asked cautiously.
Crouch sneered. "I should be dead."
"But Mrs. Crouch was weak—she couldn't bear to see the suffering of the one who, in blood and flesh, should be called her son," he said, recounting his own story in an indifferent, detached tone, as if speaking of someone else. "That foolish, insignificant Hufflepuff finally had a clever idea."
"He pleaded with Mr. Crouch to let him take my place using Polyjuice Potion. As a mother, she went to prison in her son's stead."
"Mr. Crouch isn't as rigid and impartial as he seems."
"He only plays that role so he can wield his whip and listen to the cries of obedient lambs."
"He agreed—I imagine without a moment's hesitation. He must have long grown tired of that madwoman who did nothing but complain."
Here, he paused briefly, raising his hand to cover one eye, his tone exaggerated, humorous, yet dripping with an inexplicable mockery.
"What great motherly love."
"She had already endured much torment at Mr. Crouch's hands."
"She didn't last long in Azkaban—she died soon after."
He let his hand fall, his fingers lightly pinching together.
"You all know that when someone dies while under the effects of Polyjuice Potion, they retain the appearance they had when they last took it. Everyone believed I had died. But no one realized that the one who perished was Mrs. Crouch."
"I lived."
He paused again, his gaze sweeping over the gathered figures.
"Regrettably, in the more than ten years since I left Azkaban, I never truly gained my freedom."
"Mr. Crouch imprisoned me, stole my wand, took away my thoughts, stripped me of my freedom. Not that it was much different from before—I had suffered the same under him long before I found my real father."
"I fought back constantly, and only recently did I break free."
"But once I did, I was disappointed."
Crouch's voice grew sorrowful, then furious.
"Fourteen years. From Father's disappearance to the moment I shattered my chains—fourteen years."
"And yet, all of you were useless!"
"Father was in Albania, alone, abandoned, without a single servant by his side, reduced to a mere fragment of a soul. He suffered. And what were you doing?"
Bellatrix was the first to weep.
The others feigned sorrow, putting on an act.
"Enough." Crouch waved impatiently. "I don't have time to settle accounts with each of you right now. Father is in grave danger—this is a critical moment."
"Of course…"
"But before that, there's one person I need to settle accounts with."
He dragged out the name, his voice thick with malice.
"Lucius Malfoy."
"One of the Death Eaters our Father once trusted most."
"You should be here. I specifically instructed Amycus to bring you out."
The blond man hunched over, groveling on the ground, crawling forward like a dog.
"My dear godson, I am here."
Crouch lowered his head, sneering.
"So you are, my dear Lucius."
"What a sight—how wretched you've become."
Lucius pressed his forehead against the toe of Crouch's boot.
"Father truly trusted you." Crouch sighed, his voice filled with false melancholy. "He wanted to entrust that precious thing to me—but while Father trusted me, he did not trust my family. So instead, he left it in your care."
"You know what I'm referring to, don't you?"
Lucius trembled.
The November wind carried Crouch's words through his body, stripping the warmth from his flesh, leaving behind only a hollow heart, suspended in his ribcage—cut open by the cold wind, bled dry, then left to wither.
"And what did you do with Father's trust?" Crouch raised his wand.
It wasn't his own.
Blackthorn wood, nine and three-quarter inches, dragon heartstring core.
A trophy seized from an Auror—a wand of formidable power, well-suited for Dark magic.
"Lucius, answer me. What did you do with Father's trust?" Crouch's voice remained calm.
Lucius bowed his head lower.
Trembling, terrified, too afraid to speak.
The lingering pain from the last Cruciatus Curse still clung to him.
"You betrayed Father," Crouch said, standing still even as Lucius pressed himself lower, his foot beginning to ache under the pressure. "You placed Father's most precious possession inside Hogwarts. You exposed Father's most important secrets."
"You sabotaged his resurrection—over and over again."
"Lucius, my dear friend, can I still consider you one of Father's most loyal servants?"
"Of course." Lucius rasped, desperate to respond. "I have always been the Master's most faithful servant."
He kissed Crouch's boot.
Crouch slowly nodded.
"Then prove it to me, Lucius. I have a task for you."
Lucius froze, his body and soul utterly drained.
"Look at me." Crouch's voice was soft.
Lucius forced himself to lift his head.
"You do know what Father entrusted to you?" Crouch asked.
Lucius clenched his teeth and nodded.
He hadn't known before. He had thought it was just another dangerous Dark artifact. But now he knew—it was far more than that. A Horcrux. The Dark Lord's Horcrux.
"Father had more than just that one." Crouch tapped Lucius's head with his wand. "Another is stored in the Lestrange family's Gringotts vault—the Hufflepuff Cup."
Years of torment in Azkaban had left Lucius emaciated. The dim light cast deep shadows over the hollows of his face, making him look like a corpse crawling out of its grave.
"Show us—show Father your loyalty."
"The Lestranges cannot show themselves, but they will give you the token."
"Help Father return, won't you?"
The weight of those words crushed Lucius, making it hard to breathe. He clenched his fists, forcing a smile.
"My dear godson, what must I do?"
"We need life force—a great deal of it," Crouch said emotionlessly, tapping his wand against Lucius's head. "At least twenty fresh, living souls. Deliver them into the vault. Let Father feed. Let him regain his strength."
Lucius paled even further.
It was difficult—not just because of the sheer number.
But because he had to deliver them into the vault.
"Why not simply retrieve the Master's artifact?" he asked cautiously, taking a deep breath.
"Idiot!" Crouch snarled. "We must keep the prison break a secret for as long as possible! Do you want Dumbledore and Potter to find out that the Death Eaters are preparing for Father's resurrection?"
"We are not yet strong enough to face Potter."
Bellatrix looked puzzled.
"Harry Potter? The boy the Master wants dead?"
"I remember he's at most sixteen—certainly no older than eighteen. Does he really have the power to rival the Master?"
Crouch's face remained cold.
"Fifteen."
"Potter is fifteen this year."
"But he is powerful—his magic surpasses mine."
Crouch paused for a moment.
"You all still remember Snape?"
The Death Eaters nodded.
It was impossible to forget someone so powerful.
And in that moment, they realized something—Snape, their strongest ally, the most dangerous card among them, was not here.
"Potter is as strong as Snape. No… perhaps by now, he is even stronger." Crouch spoke softly.
"In his third year, Potter was already capable of fighting Snape to a standstill. He even severed one of his arms."
Bellatrix gasped in admiration. "Snape is truly loyal—he must be eager to avenge the Master!"
"Loyal?" Crouch sneered, shaking his head. "I highly doubt Snape's loyalty. He is now the esteemed Potions Master of Hogwarts."
A Hogwarts professor?
Some of the Death Eaters, unfamiliar with the changes of the past decade, were stunned.
"And now, Potter is in his fifth year," Crouch continued, gesturing with his hand. "Last year, Father attempted another method of resurrection. We gathered twelve Death Eaters—not as elite as you, of course."
"But at the time, they were the best Father could summon."
"And even with Father's bestowed magic, granting them power comparable to yours, they could not even slow Potter down. He slaughtered them as easily as we cull Muggles."
"Fortunately, Father had foresight. He knew things might not go as planned. That's why he had me prepare other contingencies."
The Death Eaters stared, eyes wide.
They found it difficult to imagine—almost impossible to believe—that a mere fifteen-year-old boy could be as formidable as Crouch described.
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