HP:BSG - Chapter 700: Legilimency

Barty Jr. let out a muffled groan of pain—but soon, a faint, almost blissful smile spread across his face. His memories were being examined by his master. What better proof of loyalty could there be?

He could feel it—a hand roughly rummaging through his mind. 

Voldemort, of course, could have slipped in silently and unseen, but he was doing this deliberately, forcing his presence into every corner of Barty’s thoughts—a brutal reminder of his power and authority.

Barty braced himself on the floor, trembling, while flashes of memory sped through his mind:

He was locking the old caretaker into the trunk… standing by the door disguised as Filch, watching Harry Potter and his friends laughing as they entered the Great Hall… deliberately provoking Wade, bringing him into his office, just about to strike when Sirius suddenly appeared out of nowhere—

The pace of memory-searching abruptly slowed. The magic dug into his consciousness like knives, splitting his head with agony.

Yet Barty resisted the instinct to fight back. He forced himself to remain compliant and still.

Mad-Eye Moody was forcing Veritaserum down his throat, eyes burning with fury as he interrogated him—

“No… no… I’ll never betray my Master…”

Barty screamed through the pain, and his willpower flared violently against the truth potion’s effects. His magic surged out of control—

Moody was thrown across the room, crashing hard into the wall… Dumbledore burst in, and a light blindingly bright appeared before Barty’s eyes—

He was forced back into his true form, his identity revealed… tied to a chair, his head drooped limply, barely conscious, almost lifeless. Outside the door, several voices were arguing heatedly:

“We can’t hand him over to the Ministry, Dumbledore!”

Moody’s roar was feral, spitting with fury. “Those fools won’t accomplish anything! Give him to me! Three days—that’s all I need! I guarantee he’ll tell us everything he knows!”

“No, Alastor.”

Dumbledore’s voice was calm but resolute. “This man is a Ministry fugitive. He must be interrogated and contained under their authority. I trust Rufus Scrimgeour is just as capable an Auror as you are.”

“Aren’t you worried that handing him over will let him slip away again?” Moody snapped. “I don’t trust those reckless young fools!”

“Rufus is no longer young, and Kingsley has survived countless battles,” Dumbledore replied softly. “It’s time to pass the torch to the next generation, and enjoy a bit of retirement, my dear old friend.”

Then—a deafening explosion echoed from afar, followed by shrieks of panic and chaos.

Footsteps rushed away from the door. The guards had left. The man tied to the chair twitched a finger.

Moments later, a tall student slipped quietly into the room. He glanced around, quickly shut the door, and hurried to Barty’s side.

“Mr. Crouch… Barty Crouch Jr.?”

Barty raised his head weakly. “Who… are you?”

“I’m Ryan Smith. I serve the Dark Lord as well.”

The student spoke quickly and waved his wand to undo Barty’s bindings, then poured a vial of restorative potion down his throat.

Barty’s mind was still hazy, but even so, he instinctively disliked the boy’s smug, self-satisfied tone. At the same time, suspicion—wild and tangled—began to grow like weeds in his heart.

He grabbed Ryan’s wrist and, in fits and starts, demanded, “How did you… know… I was here?”

His fingernails dug into the boy’s skin. Ryan gave a pained hum and his face twisted, but he dared not remain silent.

“It was Wade Grey,” he said in a trembling voice. “I heard him bragging to his friends… that he helped catch a Death Eater. I followed and eavesdropped, and that’s how I found out.”

“Then I reported to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord said… at all costs, you must be rescued…”

— and then unimaginable rewards would be promised to him.

Of course, Ryan didn’t say that last part out loud, but the Dark Lord’s appetite for recruits at Ilvermorny was well known.

“at all costs” pleased Barty deeply and made him choose to trust Ryan Smith.

With Ryan’s help, he escaped his prison room as fast as possible and slipped into the nearest secret passage. But as they were preparing to leave, Barty suddenly turned back.

“No… I can’t just leave like this!” Barty’s eyes went wild; a hoarse whisper scraped from his throat: “No matter what… I have to… I must complete the Dark Lord’s task…”

“Are you insane?” Ryan hissed softly. “Dumbledore will discover your escape soon! If you don’t go now, it’ll be over for you!”

Barty snapped his head up; bloodshot veins crept into his eyes.

“No! The mission must be finished… this time… I… I cannot fail again! I must deliver Potter to our Master! You have to help me. If you expose me, you’ll have no good end either!”

Ryan’s fingers clenched and loosened, indecisive—his gaze alternately hard and weak. In the end, ambition won out over reason.

He ground his teeth. “Fine, I’ll help you! But if things go wrong, you leave immediately!”

“No problem!” Barty agreed without hesitation—though whether he would keep that promise was another matter.

The flow of memory sped up again.

Ryan helped Barty hide among Ilvermorny students’ dorms. Hogwarts quickly realized Barty had escaped and launched searches, but they couldn’t possibly find someone hidden among Ilvermorny students.

From various hidden vantage points, Barty watched Dumbledore and others hurry by with grave expressions; he saw Aurors coming and going from the school, but they never found anything.

Soon, the Tournament arrived. Barty pulled Ryan aside and explained his plan—

“There’s only one way to accomplish our goal: turn the Cup into a key to my Master’s side, and ensure that Harry Potter is the first to touch the Cup.”

“That’s impossible.” Ryan’s face soured. “With Wade Grey around, how could Harry Potter come first? You even failed to capture that Grey!”

“Then make Grey the target of every competitor.”

Barty’s face darkened. “I’ll arrange for every champion to encounter Wade Grey, make his life harder. And I’ll clear as many obstacles from Potter’s path as I can. Of course, just in case, I’ll also tamper with the Goblet of Fire.”

“That’s manageable.” Ryan hesitated. “Do you need me to do anything?”

“Of course.” Barty looked Ryan in the eye. “I need a pair of eyes.”

“Eyes?” Ryan didn’t understand.

“Yes,” Barty said. “A pair of eyes that can watch every competitor’s movements—whether or not they appear on the broadcast—without attracting anyone’s attention.”

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