Dumbledore listened quietly until the conversation came to an end.
Sirius hadn't actually seen the two people speaking; even within his memory, only thick bushes and lush green leaves swayed around him.
Wormtail's voice was full of trembling and nervousness, just as people remembered him from the past.
It seemed that even among the Death Eaters he served, Peter Pettigrew still hadn't earned true respect or trust—something that didn't surprise Dumbledore in the slightest.
As for the other man, his voice was hoarse and low, entirely different from the Barty Crouch Jr. of the past. However, that alone wasn't enough to conclude that he wasn't Barty Crouch Jr.
After all, even if he hadn't died in Azkaban, no one could know what he had gone through over all these years. It would be perfectly reasonable for him to have changed significantly.
He might have used Transfiguration or potions to completely alter his appearance and live under another identity—with his true identity known only to fellow Death Eaters.
In fact, if his voice had been identical to what Dumbledore remembered, the headmaster would have been more certain he was a fake.
Thus, Dumbledore didn't waste effort trying to determine the identity through voice. Instead, he focused on what was actually said.
When the memory finished playing, he tapped the Pensieve with his wand. The sounds and images vanished from the air, leaving only the silvery memories swirling calmly inside.
Sirius blurted out eagerly, "Dumbledore, was that really Barty Crouch Jr.? Was there something fishy about his supposed death?"
Dumbledore pondered for a moment and replied:
"Voldemort hasn't truly been resurrected yet—he must be in a very weakened state right now. Someone he would still trust in such a condition, someone capable of easily subduing Lockhart and Gale Troka… There are very few like that among the Death Eaters."
Take Lucius Malfoy, for example. He is a typical opportunist—he only knelt before Voldemort when the Dark Lord was at full strength. When Voldemort is weak and vulnerable, he would never let Malfoy know where he is.
Sirius fell silent.
So… was it really Barty Crouch Jr.? And does that mean his father, Barty Crouch Sr., was also involved?
He opened his mouth to ask, but then realized—without solid evidence, Dumbledore would never speak his suspicions lightly.
After all, Barty Crouch Sr. was currently the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Although his influence had declined, many still respected and trusted him far more than they did Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.
"They're targeting Harry," Sirius said grimly as his eyes sharpened. "Dumbledore, I remember that place. Shouldn't we just…"
He made a slicing motion across his neck with his fingers—his meaning was clear.
Dumbledore met his gaze and, after a moment, said, "Leave this to me. You and the others have only one task, Sirius."
"What is it?" Sirius leaned forward and asked urgently.
"Protect Harry," Dumbledore said. "That is the most important thing."
…
The locked iron gate silently opened in the stillness. Dumbledore walked through the overgrown garden and gently waved his wand—an invisible ripple spread out around him.
The surroundings were eerily quiet, not even the chirp of an insect. Only the cold night wind continued to blow, making the old man's silvery beard and hair drift with the breeze.
This courtyard looked desolate and barren to others, but to Dumbledore, traces of magic were everywhere.
However, the source of that magic had already left this place.
He passed a wooden cabin and heard the sound of dripping water from within. Glancing inside, he saw an old man collapsed on the floor with his pale gray eyes staring at the sky—he was already dead.
On the nearby table, an aluminum kettle had been knocked over, and water was dripping continuously from its edge.
Next to the kettle was a plate of steak, half-eaten, with a blackened fork tossed carelessly to the side.
Dumbledore continued through the courtyard. He tapped the front door's latch with his wand, and with a faint click, the door opened. He stepped inside.
The hallway and foyer were thick with dust, carrying a faint smell of decay—it looked like no one had entered for a long time.
Following the magical traces, he ascended the stairs, walked down the corridor, and finally came upon a room that had clearly been carefully maintained.
The room was tidy and pristine. Heavy curtains blocked out the sunlight, a soft Persian rug covered the floor, and faint embers still glowed in the fireplace.
On a nearby table was a glass and a small porcelain bowl. A delicate silver spoon rested inside the bowl, and a trace of white liquid clung to the bottom—likely some rare potion.
Dumbledore took a step forward and suddenly raised an eyebrow slightly.
A blood-red glow flared beneath his feet, hidden within the soft fibers of the carpet. If it hadn't been night, it might have gone completely unnoticed.
"Boom—"
If someone had been standing in the courtyard and looked up at that moment, they would've seen a thick, dark green cloud of smoke suddenly erupt from one of the upstairs rooms.
Then—like time had reversed—it rapidly shrank back in just a few seconds, leaving only a faint, foul-smelling trace in the air.
Shortly afterward, Dumbledore came back down from upstairs. Aside from his hat being a little crooked, he looked no different than when he had gone up.
Then, Dumbledore went to a nearby graveyard, and as expected, he discovered that one of the graves had split open down the middle—the remains inside had vanished without a trace.
The old man stood silently beside the empty grave, and let out a quiet sigh.
He was growing increasingly certain that the person assisting Voldemort in his resurrection was none other than Barty Crouch Jr.
Voldemort is an arrogant and prideful man. Even if Lockhart and Gale had stumbled upon his hiding place, after interrogating them and discovering they were merely desperate fugitives, Voldemort might have killed them or forced them into servitude—but he wouldn't have gone so far as to relocate in a hurry.
But Barty Crouch Jr., who had been imprisoned, escaped, and managed to stay hidden for over a decade—he would be cautious. He would choose the safer route.
From various Death Eaters, Dumbledore had learned that Barty once had an extremely close relationship with Voldemort. Voldemort treated him like his own son, and the young man in turn regarded Voldemort as a father figure.
Because of that, Barty would be in a position to persuade Voldemort to take a more secure path. Other Death Eaters might not have that influence.
They had even taken Tom Riddle Sr.'s remains—Voldemort's father's bones—with them.
And yet, this course of action left Dumbledore with a lingering sense of unease.
If they were so determined to avoid exposing their hiding place, then why would the cowardly Wormtail dare to lead Lockhart and Troka there in the first place?
Standing alone in the desolate cemetery, Dumbledore narrowed his eyes and gazed into the distance. His fingers gently rubbed the surface of his ancient wand, and his mind turned over every tiny detail.
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