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Chapter 65: The Fanatic’s Despair
🕑 Added 2025-04-08 16:37:19 +0000 UTCBarty Crouch Jr. had always believed in the Dark Lord. From the moment he first heard his master’s voice, he knew he had found his true father—a man who understood power, ambition, and the need to reshape the world. His real father, Barty Crouch Sr., was nothing but a tyrant, a man who cared more about his reputation than his own son. Barty had spent years under his father’s Imperius Curse, trapped in a prison of his own mind, dreaming of the day his master would return and free him.
And return he did. Fourteen years after his fall, the Dark Lord came to him, weak but alive. Barty’s heart had swelled with joy. Finally, he was free. Finally, he could serve the man he admired above all others. But the Dark Lord was not as he remembered. The betrayal of the fickle Death Eaters—traitors like Lucius Malfoy—had slowed his return. Barty’s blood boiled at the thought of those cowards who had abandoned their master in his hour of need. But now, he was here, and Barty swore he would do whatever it took to restore the Dark Lord to his former glory.
It was Barty who had suggested the plan to infiltrate Hogwarts. He and Peter Pettigrew had ambushed the retired Auror, Alastor Moody, in his own home. Barty had taken Moody’s identity, his eye, and even his limp, all to ensure no one would suspect him. He didn’t want to leave his master’s side, not after so many years apart, but he knew he was the only one who could do this. The only one who could retrieve Harry Potter and ensure the Dark Lord’s return.
The infiltration had been flawless. No one doubted his identity, not even Dumbledore. With the help of the Polyjuice Potion, he had maintained the charade for months. He had manipulated the Goblet of Fire to ensure Harry’s participation in the Triwizard Tournament. Everything was going according to plan—until Dante Malfoy appeared.
The boy was a thorn in his side from the very beginning. Arrogant, insufferable, and far too clever for his own good. He had insulted the Dark Lord openly mocking him. Barty had wanted to curse him on the spot, to make him pay for his insolence, but he had held back. He couldn’t risk exposing himself. Not when the Dark Lord’s return was at stake.
But then when he had humiliated Draco. The boy had confronted him and shared a revelation that chilled him to the bone. Dante knew. He knew he was fake. For days, Barty had been consumed by fear. Had Dante told anyone? What would happen to the plan? What would happen to his master? But Dante had done nothing. He had simply watched, as if the entire situation were a game to him.
Barty had sighed in relief and refocused on his task. But it quickly became clear that helping Harry win was impossible. Dante was too powerful, too skilled. No amount of assistance could bridge the gap between Harry and that monstrous boy. Barty had spent countless nights pacing in Moody’s office, his mind racing for a solution.
In the end, he had gambled on Dante’s arrogance. He had approached the boy, revealing the truth about the Portkey and the Dark Lord’s plans. To his relief, Dante had agreed to help. The boy’s cruelty and disdain for the Dark Lord had worked in Barty’s favor.
When the third task began, Barty had watched as the champions entered the maze one by one. His eyes had met Dante’s, and the boy had given him a faint nod. Hope and excitement had ignited in Barty’s chest. It was working.
Soon after, the first red spark had appeared in the sky—Fleur had been found unconscious in the maze. Then another spark—Viktor had been discovered in the same state. Barty had nearly danced with joy. Dante was keeping his word.
And then he felt it—the call of the Dark Lord. His master had returned. Barty’s heart had swelled with pride and relief. He had done it. He had fulfilled his mission. But he had to remain calm. He couldn’t reveal himself. Not yet.
Minutes later, Dante had appeared on the stage, holding the Triwizard Cup in one hand and Harry Potter’s shoulder in the other. The audience had erupted in cheers, but Barty’s mind was racing. Why was Harry here? Why had they returned together?
Dumbledore had approached the two, his expression of concern as he looked at the two. “What happened?” he had asked.
Dante had shrugged. “We had a round trip. I picked Harry up on the way.”
But Harry had looked pale, almost terrified. He had stepped away from Dante, his voice trembling as he spoke. “He’s back. Voldemort is back. Dante helped him return so he could torture him. He did it in front of the Death Eaters.”
The crowd had fallen silent, murmurs of disbelief spreading through the audience. Cornelius Fudge had stepped forward, his face red with anger. “What kind of traps did you put in the maze, Dumbledore? The boy’s gone mad!”
“I’m not mad!” Harry had shouted, his voice desperate.
Barty’s eyes had flicked to Dante, who was smiling faintly, as if the entire situation amused him. Barty’s heart had raced. What had happened? What had Dante done to his master?
He had limped forward, grabbing Harry by the arm. “Come with me, boy,” he growled, his voice low and urgent.
Harry had tried to resist, but Barty had no patience for it. He had pulled the boy forcefully, his mind racing. He had to know what had happened. He had to know what Dante had done to the Dark Lord.
As he dragged Harry away from the crowd, Cornelius, not waiting to clarify the situation, looked back at the audience and announced “The maze had Harry Potter confused and delusional, Dante Malfoy had taken time to bring the boy with him seeing his state. The champion is Dante Malfoy.”
The audience exploded in cheers, Dumbledore who the closest to Dante looked at him with a questioning gaze. Dante looked back at the headmaster and said with sly smile “The mastermind just took Harry”
Dumbledore's face darkened.
___________
Barty Crouch Jr. dragged Harry into Moody’s office, his mind a storm of fear and rage. The boy stumbled but stopped resisting, his face pale and his body trembling. Barty shoved him into a chair, slamming the door shut behind them. He gripped Harry’s shoulders tightly, his magical eye spinning wildly as he leaned in close.
“Focus, boy,” Barty growled, his voice low and urgent. “Tell me everything that happened. Now.”
Harry swallowed hard, his voice shaky but clear. “Dante Malfoy enchanted the cup to send me to a graveyard. Voldemort was waiting there with a death eater. He used my blood to regain his power, then called the other death eaters. But then Dante arrived. He… he mocked Voldemort. Voldemort tried to kill him, but Dante defeated him. It was horrible. Dante tortured him, made him scream, and then cursed him. He said it would cause a slow, agonizing death.”
Barty’s grip tightened on Harry’s shoulders, his face turning pale. “Enough with the lies!” he roared, his voice trembling with fury. “Tell me the truth!”
Harry flinched but held his ground. “I’m telling the truth! Voldemort ran away with the death eaters. Dante let them go.”
Barty released Harry and began pacing the room, his mind racing. “No,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “The Dark Lord is the greatest wizard. There’s no way he could be defeated. No way!”
He turned back to Harry, his face twisted in rage. “You’re lying! You must be lying!”
Before Harry could respond, the door to the office was blasted open. Barty spun around, only to be hit with a powerful Expelliarmus. His wand flew from his hand as Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall rushed into the room. Dumbledore moved with surprising speed, grabbing Barty by the neck and pressing his wand to his throat. McGonagall hurried to Harry’s side, her face filled with concern.
Dante leaned casually against the doorframe, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Your master is back now,” he said, his voice calm and mocking. “There’s no need to turn a blind eye to you anymore.”
Barty’s eyes widened in shock and fury. “What did you do to the Dark Lord?” he screamed, his voice cracking. “You can’t defeat him! He’s the greatest wizard in history!”
Dante chuckled, his silver eyes gleaming with amusement. “The same stupid proclamation your master made. In the end, he was crawling on the ground, screaming and crying. What did I do? I cursed your beloved master to a slow, painful and agonizing death. He’ll struggle and suffer for the next three to five years, then die like a dog with nothing but despair.”
The professors stared at Dante in shock, their faces showing how disturbed they were. Barty’s mind reeled, his heart pounding in his chest. This couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be.
Dante’s smile turned icy as he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Barty felt a searing pain spread through his body, burning him from the inside out. He screamed, collapsing to his knees as his form began to change. The Polyjuice Potion’s effects unraveled, revealing his true face.
Dumbledore’s eyes widened in recognition. “Barty Crouch Jr.?” he said, his voice filled with disbelief.
Snape’s lips curled into a sneer. “It seems he didn’t die in Azkaban after all.”
Dante tilted his head, his expression one of mild curiosity. “So, he’s the son of Bartemius Crouch? You put your own father under the Imperius Curse? That’s low, even for filth like you.”
Barty’s face twisted with hatred. “That man is not my father,” he spat. “Only the Dark Lord can be.”
The professors exchanged uneasy glances, their faces dark with anger and disgust.
Dante chuckled, his tone light but his eyes cold. “The day you attacked Draco, I placed two things inside your body. The first spell can undo the effects of the Polyjuice Potion.” His smile faded, replaced by a look of icy malice. “The second is payback for Draco.”
He snapped his fingers again.
Barty’s body convulsed as blood began to seep from his eyes, nose, and ears. He screamed in agony, clawing at his face as his skin began to rot and decay.
Dante watched impassively, his voice calm and detached. “This is based on my understanding of the bloodborne curse. It will make you bleed slowly from your orifices. Your body will rot and decay until you die. Be proud—you’re the first victim of this curse.”
Dumbledore stepped forward, his voice firm but urgent. “Dante, undo the curse.”
Dante’s smile returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know how,” he said casually. “I made it, but I didn’t think of a fix yet.”
With that, he turned and left the room, leaving the professors and Harry.
Harry’s face was pale, his mind racing. [He left the fake professor in that state because of Draco?] he thought, his stomach churning with fear. [Then what is Dante going to do to me and the others?]
The room was filled with the sound of Barty’s agonized screams, a grim reminder of the power and cruelty of Dante Malfoy. The professors exchanged uneasy glances, their faces dark with worry. Dante’s behavior was arguably worse than death eaters.
