Chapter 261: "An Unexpected Confrontation"

The night air whistled past Alastor Moody as he flew through the sky on Charles Potter's Firebolt. His magical eye whirled continuously, scanning the thick canopy of the Forbidden Forest below. Years of experience as an Auror had sharpened his tracking skills to a razor's edge, allowing him to notice the smallest signs of movement, even in the darkness.

Moody spotted movement in a small clearing ahead and angled the broom into a steep dive. He landed smoothly, dismounting with practiced ease, his wand already in his hand. Standing before him was what appeared to be Barty Crouch Sr., looking far less disheveled and confused than Charles had described.

"Barty," Moody called, his voice gruff, his wand raised and ready. Every instinct, honed over decades of fighting Dark wizards, screamed that something was very wrong. "What's this I hear about you losing your mind and mumbling for Dumbledore? You gave young Potter quite a fright."

The man who looked like Crouch shifted uneasily, a flicker of something—fear? Calculation?—crossing his face. "Was I? I'm afraid I don't remember much. Must've been a bad reaction to a potion I took earlier. Experimental stuff from the Department of Mysteries, you understand. Leaves one a bit confused for a while. But I'm right as rain now, thankfully."

Moody's eyes narrowed, his suspicion growing with every word. "Is that so? And is this the same potion you've been drinking here at Hogwarts? That new habit everyone's been talking about?"

"Yes, that's right," Crouch replied smoothly, though there was a tension beneath the surface. "Nasty side effects, but quite effective when it works properly. Care for a sip? Might do that leg of yours some good."

"No thanks," Moody growled, his magical eye suddenly swiveling towards a nearby bush. "I don't much like the taste of Polyjuice. Leaves a funny aftertaste, don't you think?"

Crouch's composure cracked, a flash of panic crossing his face before he masked it. "Polyjuice? What do you mean?"

Moody's magical eye fixed on the bush, detecting a hidden presence. "Only that it would explain why there's someone else who looks just like you hiding in those bushes, Barty… or whoever you really are."

The imposter's face twisted with rage, the careful mask of Barty Crouch Sr. slipping away to reveal the manic intensity beneath. "That eye of yours is quite the nuisance. I think I'd rather like to pluck it out of your skull."

In an instant, both wizards raised their wands, and the forest erupted into a fierce duel. Spells crackled through the air, illuminating the darkness with flashes of red, blue, and sickly green. The peaceful night shattered with shouts of incantations and the explosive impacts of spells against hastily conjured shields.

Despite his age and physical limitations, Moody moved with the precision and fluidity of a seasoned fighter. His wand cut through the air, casting shields and counter-spells in rapid succession. Every movement was deliberate, every spell cast with the accuracy of a master duelist. His reputation as one of the most formidable Aurors was on full display.

Crouch Jr., though younger and more agile, was outmatched by Moody's skill and experience. But fear of failure—fear of disappointing his master and ruining their plans—pushed him to fight with the desperation of a cornered animal.

"Stupefy!" Moody roared, the red jet of light barely missing Crouch Jr. as he dove behind a tree, the bark exploding where the spell struck.

"Avada Kedavra!" Crouch Jr. countered, the sickly green light of the killing curse shooting just over Moody's head as the ex-Auror ducked and rolled, dodging another Cruciatus Curse that followed.

The duel raged on, the forest around them bearing the brunt of their battle. Trees splintered under the force of spells, the ground scorched and cratered by missed curses. The air crackled with magic, the very atmosphere warped by the intensity of their fight.

Moody pressed his advantage, and his experience was evident in every calculated movement. With a complex flick of his wand, he transfigured fallen branches into a pack of snarling wolves that lunged at Crouch Jr., forcing the younger wizard on the defensive.

"Give it up, Imposter!" Moody shouted, deflecting a bone-breaking curse with ease. "You're outmatched and outnumbered. It's only a matter of time before reinforcements arrive. You can't win this!"

Crouch Jr. snarled, his eyes wild with a mix of hatred and fear. He knew Moody was right—he was outmatched in both skill and experience. But surrender wasn't an option. Failing meant not just capture, but the disappointment of his master, the collapse of their grand plan. He readied himself for one final attack, pouring all his remaining strength into a desperate strike, when fate intervened.

Moody's magical eye suddenly swiveled sharply, detecting movement in the shadows beyond the clearing.

"Who's there?" Moody barked, his wand still trained on Crouch Jr. "Come out where I can see you!"

From the darkness emerged two figures. One was a small, hunched man with watery eyes—Peter Pettigrew. In his arms was something that made even Moody's blood run cold—a twisted, infant-like creature radiating a palpable sense of malevolence.

"Well, well," Moody growled, his voice filled with disdain. "Peter Pettigrew, the rat who betrayed the Potters. And what's that abomination you're holding?"

Pettigrew's voice shook as he answered, "You should show more respect, Moody. This is my Lord."

Moody's magical eye fixed on the creature. "When did you find a new Lord for yourself, Wormtail? You've got a strange taste in masters."

Pettigrew looked like he was about to retort, but the creature spoke first, its voice high and cold. "Quiet, Wormtail. He's trying to rile you up to gather information."

Moody raised an eyebrow. "The ugly little thing can talk. I shouldn't be surprised—I've seen plenty of bizarre things in my career. Once I stun the lot of you, I'll have all the time I need to figure this out."

Despite being outnumbered, Moody showed no fear. He knew he could handle Crouch Jr. and Pettigrew. Charles had likely alerted the other professors by now, and reinforcements would be arriving soon.

"Three against one, is it?" Moody sneered. "Still not great odds for you. Why don't you surrender now and save yourselves the trouble?"

Crouch Jr. snarled, "You're the one outnumbered, old man! My Lord will—"

"Your Lord will what?" Moody cut him off. "Need a diaper change? I've faced scarier things in my sleep, boy."

Moody braced himself for a prolonged fight, his wand ready, his magical eye spinning to track every movement. But then something unexpected happened. The twisted creature in Pettigrew's arms raised a skeletal arm, holding a wand in its grotesque fingers.

"Enough of this nonsense," the creature hissed. "Stupefy!"

A jet of red light shot from the wand, catching Moody completely off guard. He had not expected the strange creature to be capable of casting spells, let alone doing it so well. The spell was quick, and even as Moody began to understand what was happening, it was already too late.

The seasoned Auror, who had survived countless battles and outsmarted many dark wizards, had no defense against this unexpected strike. The stunning spell hit him square in the chest, and Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody crumpled to the ground, his magical eye still spinning.

Silence fell over the clearing. Pettigrew and Crouch Jr. exchanged uncertain glances, their eyes flickering between each other and the fallen Auror. They were wondering why their Lord had not just killed the old auror.

The infant-like Voldemort let out a cold, chilling laugh that seemed to echo through the trees. The malevolence in the air grew heavier, as if the very forest was holding its breath.