Crouch's Revelations

An eerie scream rips through the silence of a small hall. In this hall, there is a small platform in the centre, surrounded by a magical dome so that whoever is inside cannot escape. And inside is a young man. His entire body is covered in blood, which flows from numerous wounds on his back, chest, legs, arms.... Only his face remains untouched. On that face there is only a single scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. The green eyes of the screaming man are full of pain mixed with hatred. He wriggles on the floor like a snake, trying to ease his agony. But he can't, for the curse directed at him has never been lifted.

The exhausted man can hear the whistling and hooting coming from the spectators. These spectators have come here today specifically to enjoy Harry Potter's torment. He hates them as much as he hates the man who is now standing next to him, almost right up to the dome and holding his wand, continuing the torture of the winner-who-shall-not-be-named. Though no, him, the man screaming in pain, hates more than anyone else. Him-Albus Dumbledore. The torture is interrupted when the barrier is torn down by a magical outburst of unprecedented power. Dumbledore is sealed into the wall, having previously been thrown across the room. The man in the arena struggles to get to his feet, his eyes blazing with rage, his voice hoarse from long screams on the verge of breaking, resounding through the hall.

- I swear on the name... by the power and honour of my noble, ancient lineage, that one day. I will avenge you, you old bastard. Vengeance. I will destroy you and all the bastards who betrayed me. me.

The man is blown away by some spell released from the spectator's wand. But now the oath is sworn and taken. Now everyone knows it and knows what power is hidden in Harry Potter, who even without a wand was able to accomplish what happened.

Through the buzzing in his ears, the man hears Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley talking.

- Bill said that the goblins had frozen Potter's accounts because of some kind of warning. Apparently the brat managed to tell them something. Also, everyone in Azkaban's accounts are frozen as well. So no-one gets anything and all our plans for the vaults go to Mordred.

- And the ritual on those who spent more than a month in Azkaban won't work," the old man said angrily. - They've outsmarted themselves.

- How could it not?! - Arthur exclaimed indignantly.

The door creaked open and Harry fell to the floor. It turned out that he had been moved to a holding cell. Once the rest of the prisoners had been entertained, they would be taken back to the prison.

- The magic of Azkaban restrains the magic of its prisoners, penetrates to the core and no rituals will take it. We've already done the experiments. So they're all just for our amusement. Oh, what a waste of magic....

Harry jumped up on the bed. There were large drops of sweat on his forehead. His t-shirt stuck to his body, the bedspread bunching up at his feet, his hands shaking. This dream often haunted the young man at night. There were others, even more terrifying. But a month before the four mages had performed the ritual that allowed them to return to the past, it was this dream that he had dreamed constantly. As if to remind him of the oath he had taken. But HERE was the first time he had ever had this dream. Breathing heavily, Harry leaned back on the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. There were heavy thoughts wandering around in the boy's head. There was no way to get rid of them. And there was no reason to get rid of them. After all, they were echoes of memories, those from THAT life. And Harry wasn't going to forget it and everything that had happened in it. To forget would be to betray himself, his friends, his loved ones. To forget would be to betray himself, his friends, his loved ones. Betrayal was a stigma that could never be washed away, a stigma that would be passed on to his descendants. And he didn't want that.

Potter got out of bed and went to the window. He stared out into the darkness for a long time, trying to find the answers to his questions, which he had plenty of. But he did not find them. And could anyone or anything give an answer, even if it was to such an eternal question as what to do? Or to another, no less eternal question - what is the right thing to do? Unable to find any answers, Harry went back to bed.

* * * * *

Four young men sat in ambush outside Bartemius Crouch's house. They had been waiting for over four hours. From Harry's recollection, Crouch Jr. should have broken the spell of subservience by now, hence Winky taking him out for walks in the courtyard of the house. In the time that had passed, they had become as stiff as could be, and their stomachs were demanding food. But neither of them complained of the discomfort, for they realised that the matter was important. Finally, after another three quarters of an hour, the door of the house opened and the housekeeper appeared on the doorstep. Winky looked round the yard in a businesslike manner and only then opened the door, allowing her ward to step out of the house.

A fairly young wizard with a slightly mad expression on his face stepped down from the porch steps and walked over to a bench under a large, spreading tree whose branches provided shade. Barty took a seat on the bench, scanning the yard with a wary eye. The elfess watched him like a kite, never letting him out of her sight for a second.

Harry and Draco glanced over at each other, whereupon Malfoy gave a short whistle. Neville and Ron on the other side of the courtyard threw several bottles of petrol towards the house, followed by a couple of spells. The corner where the bottles smashed against was immediately engulfed in flames, and Winky's attention turned to putting it out. At that moment Draco threw the same spell at Barty that the false frown had used to turn him into a ferret last fourth year, and Harry summoned him with his usual beckoning charms. Another short whistle from Malfoy and the four boys apparated towards the Longbottom mansion. This mansion was now their headquarters. Neville had suggested it himself, and so it was where the boys spent most of their time. Even Draco had practically moved in here, only occasionally venturing down to Malfoy Manor. Longbottom himself was only too glad that his friends had agreed to live in his house, otherwise it would have just been empty.

The boys entered the house and brought Barty back to normal. The young mage eyed them warily and suspiciously, wondering what the four teenagers wanted with him. Crouch Jr. quickly deduced the leader. He was a rather tall, well-built, black-haired young man with a serious look in his emerald green eyes. Barty's eyebrows went up when the three boys clearly indicated the position of the fourth in their company. Not with words, no, they showed it by the way they took their seats.

On the left arm of the chair where the green-eyed boy sat, the blond man sat with his right leg bent at the knee. Behind the back of the same chair and leaning against it, stood the brown-haired man. And the red-haired young man sat down on the floor, bending one leg and stretching out the other, with his back resting on the right armrest.

- Well, hello, Barty," the brunet said, squinting at Crouch.

- To what do I owe your hospitality? - The man licked his lips nervously.

- Let's start by introducing ourselves," the black-haired man said mockingly, and bowed his head slightly. - Lord Harold James Evans-Potter.

Barty dazedly shifted his gaze to the boy's forehead, but found no scar there. At that moment a haughty voice rang out, stretching the vowels in a mannerly manner.

- Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy family.

- Ronald Billius Weasley, heir to the Pruett family.

Crouch shifted his gaze from Malfoy to the red-haired boy and grimaced slightly.

- Don't make faces, Eater," the brown-haired man snorted. - And by the way, Lord Neville Franklin Longbottom.

Barty jerked up sharply, sitting in the chair across from the boys.

- Don't get so worked up," Potter snorted, "you and I just want to talk.

- About what? - Crouch ran his tongue nervously over his lips again.

- About why you're in Azkaban," Neville replied, smirking wryly.

- You know all that yourself. Why else would you need me?

- Not for what you think," the smirk never left Potter's lips. - So, are you going to speak for yourself or under veritaserum?

The man remained silent, he knew that the four boys would hear if he started talking. And after that he wouldn't have more than a second to live. The mage had no doubt about that.

- What's the point of me saying anything? - Barty finally spoke up.

- Would it make sense if we broke the spell? - Harry asked more seriously.

Crouch glared at the young man.

- How do you know that? No one could detect the presence of this curse on me.

- Everyone has their secrets, Barty and you won't know anything... unless you tell. So, make up your mind. The choice is yours," Potter pulled his wand out of his pocket.

- If you break the curse, I'll tell you everything," Crouch nodded. - I swear.

The brunet just nodded and pointed his wand at him. A quietly spoken counterspell and an almost transparent ray came off the end of the wand, shooting into the man's head. Crouch screamed and fell off his chair, clutching his head with his hands. After a few seconds, he fell silent and struggled to return to his seat.

- 'Morgana the great,' the mage wheezed, 'that hurts so bad. To think a schoolboy could take him down and the experienced aurors didn't even notice.

- Maybe they did," Draco shrugged, "but why would they take it off you? No one needs the extra headache.

- That's another thing I'm curious about," Neville said softly. - Why didn't your father do something about it?

- I was a nuisance to him," Barty replied. - You wanted me to tell you. Well, listen. In July 1980, we were led to the cemetery. We were me and a dozen and a half other Hogwarts graduates. We had to either accept the mark or get Avada in the forehead. I wasn't going to serve him, but barely had I received my diploma when something clicked in my head. It wasn't until this graveyard that my consciousness became clear. But I had no choice at that moment. I didn't want to die. I won't tell you what happened next, it's just not important. After that, I had to constantly attend Death Eaters' meetings and take part in attacks. I didn't care about Muggles, and I could easily use death curses on them. But on muggles... I tried to get by with simple curses from the school curriculum. And then Halloween 1981 came, and I almost went crazy with joy that the bastard was dead. But happiness never smiled on me for long and two days later the Lestranges found me. Rabastan and Rudolphus dragged us to the Longbottoms. They thought Frank and Alice knew how to resurrect the Dark Lord. What made them think that? As I gathered from their conversation, the pair had managed to overhear Dumbledore and Hmuri talking about how the young Longbottoms had a special artefact that could summon the soul of the dead from beyond the Fringe into the world of the living. The Lestranges had even found a rebirth ritual. Except that seemed like nonsense to me. Bellatrix wanted no part of it. She wasn't crazy. she was. Anyway, while they were holding her, I managed to escape. And then, a week later, they tried me. They said Igor Karkaroff ratted me out. But he wouldn't have done it of his own free will. He was my only friend, even though he was eight years older than me. I saw a glimpse of him in Azkaban. And I know for a fact he's wearing the same curse I was. And it wasn't just cast then. Anyway, by my reckoning, it was put on him before he became an Eater. He didn't want to serve that lunatic, either, and then he was in his servants' ranks. Before the trial started, Dumbledore came to see me in the holding cell. I don't remember anything else until just before they started closing the judgement. In Azkaban, Bellatrix and I were in adjoining cells. She was acting like a madwoman, saying that the time would come and the Dark Lord would be reborn. That he'd be grateful to those who'd been imprisoned in Azkaban for believing in his return. Mordred, it was creepy. But sometimes she would come to her senses and then curse her parents for forcing her to marry that bastard Lestrange. Cursed the Dark Lord for torturing her to the point where she lost the child she was carrying. Cursed her husband for forcing her to be tortured by wizards. And then she would start rambling again. A few years later, my parents came to Azkaban. My mother talked my father into letting her stay there instead of me. It was all worked out with the help of a reversal potion. Six months later, my mother died. And my father. He hated me for ruining his career, for giving my mum all her love to me instead of him, for dying for me. He kept me under a spell of domination, but this summer I was able to break it. You know the rest.

The boys, who knew the truth in general terms, thanks to the fact that Harry had brought the story to light before he went to Azkaban, were now silent, mulling over what they had heard. Finally, Potter coughed, and asked a question.

- Barty, do you want revenge?