Hiss—

The thick stench of blood became unbearable for Nagini. Without waiting for Voldemort's command, her body shot out like lightning, then slithered up a spruce tree thirty feet away. Finding Karkaroff's lower half hanging from the treetop, she opened her mouth lined with sharp venomous fangs and swallowed the corpse in one gulp.

Such a brutal scene was too much even for the ruthless Death Eaters. They stepped back, curling up uneasily, fearing they too might become food for this beast.

Voldemort, however, found the scene quite amusing. He chuckled softly, his slit-like nostrils flaring slightly.

"Oh, my dear Nagini, you were starving, weren't you? Wait... there will be more delicious offerings soon."

Voldemort's voice grew sinister as his terrible red eyes finally settled on the trembling Winky and the pale, corpse-like Barty Crouch Sr.

"Let me handle this, Master! I can do it alone! Please, Master, grant me this honor!"

Barty Crouch Jr. immediately understood Voldemort's meaning. He glared threateningly at the Death Eater who had just dealt with Karkaroff, growling low menacing sounds at them.

'Madman. Utterly completely mad!'

Cold sweat appeared under Lucius's hood as a sense of doom crept into his heart.

The Crouch family, like the ancient and noble Malfoys, belonged to the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families. Unlike the Malfoys, however, who had built their influence primarily through wealth and political maneuvering, the Crouches had cultivated deep roots within the Ministry of Magic for centuries upon centuries.

Even among all the ancient bloodline families with their histories and accumulated power, the Crouch family's reputation for integrity and their influence within the political field ranked among the very best in all of wizarding Britain.

But today, on this cursed night in this place of death, the entire Crouch lineage would meet its inevitable end—through the tragedy of father and son destroying each other in a perversion of everything their family had once stood for.

The bitter irony was not lost on Lucius. They had all initially followed the Dark Lord because he had promised to restore the glory and supremacy of pure-blood wizarding families, to return them to their rightful place as the rulers of magical society.

"Oh, of course, Barty. This is your moment of glory—no one will take that from you. But I believe," Voldemort smiled cruelly, "a high-ranking Ministry official should enjoy certain privileges... such as the honor of dying in a duel. So come then!"

Voldemort suddenly raised his voice. He strode quickly toward Barty Crouch Sr., flicking his wand lightly. Winky, who had been lying protectively over her old master, was flung aside and crashed hard to the ground.

Barty Crouch Sr. was pulled up from the ground, floating in mid-air as Voldemort's wand emitted a ghostly light though it was not to kill him.

The ethereal light swept rapidly over Barty Crouch Sr.'s entire body, quickly mending his collapsed ribs, twisted arms, and shattered leg bones. Even the crisscrossing bloody wounds on his skin healed under the light's caress. Within moments, Barty Crouch Sr. appeared completely restored.

Taking a sharp breath, Barty Crouch Sr.'s tightly closed eyes opened. He knew everything that had happened. Though he couldn't control his body while unconscious, his consciousness hadn't been extinguished—he had heard it all.

"The monster I gave birth to!"

Barty Crouch Sr. didn't look at the Dark Lord.

His eyes were bloodshot and his pale lips trembled uncontrollably as he stared at this creature that had once been his son, this thing that wore his family's face but possessed the soul of a demon who couldn't wait to tear him apart. His heart felt cut by knives.

"The greatest mistake of my life!"

"Father!" Barty Crouch Jr. sneered. "My disappointing father... wasn't it you who brought me out of Azkaban?"

Barty Crouch Sr.'s clenched jaw drew blood, but he had no response.

"Barty Crouch Sr., ah... the formidable Ministry official, known throughout the wizarding world for his tough stance against the forces of evil, his ruthless methods, his unwavering courage in the face of darkness. Oh, my friends, but look—"

Voldemort faced his Death Eaters, his tone mockingly theatrical as if introducing an exhibit.

"Yet he personally freed a Death Eater of Voldemort's, illegally imprisoning him at home for thirteen years. Oh, I must thank you, Barty— I must express my deepest gratitude for your magnificent hypocrisy. You provided invaluable assistance on Lord Voldemort's path to resurrection."

Many Death Eaters laughed, looking at Barty Crouch Sr. with mocking gazes.

The shame that Voldemort expected didn't appear on Barty Crouch Sr. Crouch's face. Harry, watching like an outsider, observed Crouch Sr. Because of his treatment of Winky, Harry disliked Crouch Sr. as much as Hermione did, but now he felt sympathy—sympathy for having given birth to such a monster—and even a touch of admiration.

He didn't grovel for mercy to save his life like Karkaroff. Facing the most evil dark wizard in modern magical history, whose very name had become taboo in the wizarding world, Barty Crouch Sr. glared viciously at Voldemort.

"It won't be like last time, Voldemort!"

"How dare you speak the Master's name, you—"

Barty Crouch Jr. immediately jumped up, raising his wand to 'judge' his own father.

"Wait!" Voldemort said coldly. "Won't be like last time... what do you mean?"

"Dumbledore will stop you!"

"Oh, Dumbledore? You're counting on that doddering old fool?"

Voldemort laughed.

"I took Harry Potter right under his nose! Oh, I very much look forward to his expression when he sees Harry Potter's corpse, and—"

Voldemort glanced at the three bodies on the ground.

"And these students... I'm afraid he'll lose his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts."

But Barty Crouch Sr. seemed not to hear Voldemort's words. He gritted his teeth, breathing heavily.

"And Watson—you could never face both Dumbledore and Watson at once!"

Some Death Eaters showed signs of unrest, seemingly agreeing with Barty Crouch's words. Voldemort laughed as if amused.

"Bryan Watson... I understand now. So, you're harboring such ridiculous thoughts, believing that history's most powerful dark wizard cannot face a senile old fool and a young upstart? Oh, how utterly fascinating and pathetically naive.

Perhaps the duel that occurred on the night of the Quidditch World Cup final gave you some misconceptions, but wait and see—I will soon prove that such thinking demonstrates nothing but ignorant foolishness. Voldemort's power is unmatched... Now!"

Voldemort looked fiercely at his Death Eaters.

"Remove your cloaks—let our impartial judge take a look!"

No Death Eater dared resist Voldemort's command. However reluctantly, they slowly revealed their faces. Harry's eyes widened as he memorized every face—he would wait for these people in hell!

Nearly everyone was an influential figure in British wizarding society, whose every word and action could cause ripples throughout the wizarding world.

But now, these people knelt behind Voldemort, becoming accomplices in his tyranny.

"Look at them!"

Though claiming not to worry about Dumbledore and Watson joining forces, Voldemort seemed angered nonetheless. He grabbed Malfoy by the collar, making him stumble.

"Look at these people, Barty Crouch!"

Voldemort showed a mocking smile.

"Self-righteous Barty Crouch, I imagine you've attended quite a few parties alongside Voldemort's followers. Just how many of them did you actually prosecute?"

This was indeed a tremendous insult to Barty Crouch Sr. His nails dug deep into his flesh as he glared with fury and hatred at these thugs who disguised themselves with wealth and power. He should have sent them all to hell—but he understood what Voldemort was telling him, and in his heart, he had to admit—

He was not a noble man like Albus Dumbledore.

Barty Crouch Sr. was finally wounded to his core. He could ignore torture, but he couldn't bear the torment within—he was not a qualified husband, not a qualified father, and not the qualified official he had hoped to become.

He had always disdained to refute others' opinions of him, but at this moment, facing his inner heart and truth, Barty Crouch Sr. had to admit he was merely an unprincipled Ministry official drunk on power.

"Come now, my dear Barty!"

Seeing the remorse and self-reproach on Barty Crouch Sr.'s haggard face, Voldemort smiled with satisfaction. He looked at his most loyal follower.

"Return your father's wand to him, and then... just as I have, personally wash away the shame from yourself. You will become Voldemort's most trusted Death Eater!"

Perhaps it was only in this moment that Harry finally understood why people called Voldemort the most evil wizard in history, and why people feared him so much they dared not even speak his name.

Voldemort could have simply taken Barty Crouch Sr.'s life directly, but he chose not to. Instead, he wanted to torment his soul, trample his dignity, and then take his life in a way a hundred times more cruel than the Killing Curse—all to prove to his followers that the renowned Barty Crouch was nothing more than livestock under his power of life and death, and that any wizard who dared oppose him would meet an extremely miserable end.

This approach was indeed remarkably effective in its intimidation.

That fear, almost carved into their very souls, immediately surged in the hearts of many Death Eaters—like Lucius Malfoy. Of course, there were also Death Eaters whose excitement and worship were plainly visible.

"Come then, my dear father!"

Barty Crouch Jr. pulled his wand from his pocket and struck the face of Barty Crouch Sr., whom Voldemort had just released. The wand rolled to the ground as he excitedly licked the corner of his mouth, revealing a cruel, excited smile.

"Come, let us duel! Oh, this will be the first time—and of course, the last. You know you're going to die, don't you? But your death will grant me redemption. I'll finally be free of the shame your blood has inflicted upon me!"

The Death Eaters hurriedly cleared a large circle around them. They all knew Barty Crouch Jr. had gone mad, and they feared being accidentally struck by his magic.

Father and son Crouch. Harry watched them, and even his numbed heart stirred again with endless sorrow.

All this time, he had so hoped for a family reunion—that his parents weren't heroes, that he wasn't the "Boy Who Lived," but that they were just an ordinary wizarding family like the Weasleys. While his Hogwarts classmates marveled at Neville's transformation, only heaven knew how much he envied Neville for being able to find his parents again.

Yet here in front of his eyes, this father and son had turned against each other and, at Voldemort's instigation, were about to fight to the death.

Barty Crouch Sr.'s expression had grown strange. When he had first awakened, he hadn't even glanced at the Dark Lord but had cursed his son with something approaching hatred.

But now that they were about to face off, Barty Crouch Sr. fell silent. He glanced at the wand on the ground, his blood-soaked hair hanging over his eyes, hiding the pain carved into his very bones.

"Oh, dear me?" Voldemort said in an amused tone. "You wouldn't be unable to bring yourself to act, would you, Mr. Crouch?"

Amid the Death Eaters' laughter and his son's humiliated roar, Barty Crouch Sr. tremblingly picked up his wand.

The only way to describe Barty Crouch Sr. now was "desperate straits."

Harry knew this was a battle with no suspense. Barty Crouch Sr. was indeed a wizard of great magical power—he might not be inferior to his son—but unfortunately, what he faced wasn't really his son at all.

When Harry first met Barty Crouch, it was on the night of last year's Quidditch World Cup final. Cold-blooded, ruthless, and domineering—that was the first impression he left on Harry, Hermione, and Ron. But at that time, Barty Crouch had indeed been imposing; his decisions couldn't be opposed by any Ministry official, including Mr. Weasley.

But now? Harry looked at Barty Crouch Sr.—the distinguished Ministry official was just a battered old man whose spine had been broken. Perhaps even Filch, who only dared bully young wizards, looked more dignified than him. His heart had already died.

"No!"

Barty Crouch Jr. was already raising his wand with a savage grin, but at that moment, a dark figure came wailing and running from the side, blocking Barty Crouch Sr.'s path.

It was Winky, whom Voldemort had earlier driven aside.

"No, Master Barty, you cannot do this!"

The house-elf's frail body shielded her master, her tennis ball-sized eyes brimming with tears, her voice shrill and desperate.

"You cannot kill your father, Master Barty! Master—he saved you, he brought you back from Azkaban!"

"Oh, how very... ah, how touching," Voldemort said, turning to glance at his Death Eaters with amusement, and they laughed cooperatively.

"A loyal little elf, willing to die to protect her master." Voldemort's tone grew cold.

"Get away, Winky!"

Perhaps it was Harry's imagination, but he thought this was indeed the first time tonight he had heard a hint of panic in Barty Crouch Jr. Crouch's voice.

"Get away from that man, immediately, Winky!" Barty Crouch Jr. roared. "If you want to live!"

"You cannot, Master!"

Besides Dobby, Harry had now seen another elf defying her master's orders. That tiny body was so tragically heroic.

"Oh, what a pity, my dear Barty—"

Voldemort shook his head, cold malice filling his scarlet eyes.

"I'm quite fond of your family's little elf. During this time, it has made Lord Voldemort's days very comfortable, which is why it has enjoyed such honor—appearing at my resurrection ceremony. But if it insists on interfering, then I'm afraid you'll have to bid it farewell."

"Despicable coward!"

The panic in Barty Crouch Jr.'s voice grew thicker as he glared at Barty Crouch Sr. with hatred.

"Hiding behind Winky for protection!"

"Go away, Winky—" Barty Crouch Sr. said wearily. "You cannot stop anything."

"No!"

Winky seemed to have truly broken through some barrier—even Barty Crouch Sr.'s commands could no longer control her. She gazed at her old master through tear-blurred eyes, clinging tightly to his leg.

Barty Crouch Sr. looked at Winky with such sorrow. Perhaps only now did he finally see Winky as family rather than a lowly house-elf who could be discarded at any time.

Barty Crouch Sr. bent down and grabbed Winky's arm, pulling her up and holding her suspended in midair. It was hard to imagine he still had the strength to pry apart Winky's desperately clinging thin arms. He looked into Winky's eyes.

"I hope you can survive, Winky."

"No, Master!" Winky sobbed, crying bitterly. "Winky wants to—"

Shockingly, the lifelong cold Barty Crouch Sr. suddenly smiled at Winky. Under the astonished gazes of everyone, including Barty Crouch Jr., he suddenly embraced Winky and whispered something in her large ear.

In Winky's shocked rigidity, he threw her away. She rolled several times on the ground before hitting the cauldron that had been used to brew the potion.

This scene left Barty Crouch Jr. stunned. Before he could recover, his father suddenly let out a great shout and raised his wand.

'Despicable coward!'

Barty Crouch Jr. cursed inwardly. He thought his father was trying to attack by surprise. He immediately prepared to dodge while raising his own wand, but—

A silver-bright curse light pierced the darkness, exploding in the air with a desolate, dazzling light!

Thud—

Barty Crouch Sr. fell to the ground. His throat had been pierced by his own magic, blood gushing from the hole in his neck like a spring. His body convulsed and curled like a catfish on a cutting board, his sorrowful gaze was fixed on his son.

What a long silence it was.

"Why!"

Barty Crouch Jr. roared madly. He rushed to Barty Crouch Sr.'s side, looking at this man who had brought him endless pain and shame.

"Why did you do this? Get up!" Barty Crouch Jr.'s voice trembled. "Get up and duel with me, you coward! How dare you—

CRUCIO!"

The Cruciatus Curse fell upon Barty Crouch Sr., but it no longer had any effect. Barty Crouch Sr.'s pain did not intensify. He looked at the son who had once made him so proud and smiled gently.

Before his blood ran dry, he said:

"You cannot kill your own father, Barty."

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