"Well...the newcor, has there been a reply from Hogwarts?"
On the fifth floor of the Ministry of Magic in the United Kingdom, inside the International Magic Cooperation Departnt office, a middle-aged man in a gray-black wizard robe, with neatly combed gray short hair, adjusted the small glasses perched on his nose bridge. He lifted his head from a lengthy report, seemingly rembering sothing, and glanced up at the sowhat empty office.
It was already two and a half hours past quitting ti at the Ministry of Magic, and typically, he’d be the only one there.
But, a few days ago, soone even more of a workaholic than him had popped up in this office... What was the newcor’s na again? Weber, or Weasley?
Couldn’t recall.
"Yes, sir, the letter arrived twenty minutes ago—"
Percy Weasley quickly stood up from his chair, his red dium-length hair slicked back. Just yesterday morning, Fred joked that the glossy hair cream looked as if Percy had emptied the household oil barrel on his head.
Indeed, only three or four days into the break, and Percy had already plunged into work he’d long prepared for, even though his girlfriend... oh, now ex-girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, had invited him for a graduation trip after finishing school, which Percy bluntly refused—
The relationship ended as soon as graduation ca.
Actually, it ended even before their graduation because Percy quickly left school after his N.E.W.T. exams without even attending William’s "finals." Now, Percy was standing respectfully before his superior, Barty Crouch, slightly bent over, handing over the envelope he held.
The envelope bore a red seal, and Barty Crouch picked up a small knife beside him, opened the envelope, and unfolded the letter—
"...Looks like Dumbledore has decided, tsk, had to be now."
Barty sighed, unhappy with Dumbledore’s plan to invite additional schools to the Triwizard Tournant, as he was currently the head of the International Magic Cooperation Departnt. Not only did he have to busy himself with the Quidditch World Cup final hosted in England in a month, but he also had to help Hogwarts host the Triwizard Tournant.
Though these tasks were in cooperation with the Departnt of Magical Gas and Sports, Barty knew well—
Ludo Bagman was a slippery fellow, and working alone was more efficient than collaborating with him.
So, Dumbledore was piling work on him...
What could he do?
Barty’s face briefly showed an involuntary smile before it quickly disappeared; his expression turned gloomy as he tossed the parchnt from the envelope onto the desk. Leaning back, the hard wooden chair supported his weight, "Wei...ber?"
"Weasley, Percy Weasley, sir."
Percy’s face fell slightly but quickly recovered, the freckles on his face turning purple-red—he truly admired the middle-aged man before him, perhaps to a blind extent, or he wouldn’t have begun work and proceeded not to go ho for two consecutive days—
Indeed, the reason Barty Crouch noticed a more dedicated workaholic than himself was that Percy hadn’t gone ho last night.
But, was his mory for nas really that terrible? Percy had corrected him about his na over ten tis in the past three days, yet he repeatedly got it wrong. If Percy weren’t aware that he wasn’t that kind of person, he might suspect he was doing it deliberately.
"Alright, Weasley, I have a task for you now..."
"..."
Damn it, Weasley it is. At least he recognizes , even entrusting with work that seems ant for him. Isn’t that trust, a sign of grooming the next successor?!
Answer !
Percy’s hands clenched slightly at his sides, taking a deep breath, he replied seriously, "Mr. Crouch, please go ahead—"
"Help draft a letter, the recipient is Maoshan Magic Technology Institute in the East..."
"Da-da—"
"..."
"Co in—"
"Percy, you... oh, Director Crouch? You’re here too."
A balding head peeked in from outside the room, Arthur Weasley frowned looking at Percy, who turned to him, wanting to say sothing, but noticed Barty Crouch’s gaze on him, pausing, and then walking fully inside—
"I’m the father of this child, Arthur Weasley, from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office."
"So..."
Barty nodded, indicating he understood, then raised his question.
"Ah, Percy didn’t return ho last night, and his owl ssage wasn’t returned, causing his mother so worry—"
Arthur sighed, glancing at Percy, who was slightly hunched, as if his back was bent, and said without much amusent, "But today, his brother Bill returned from Egypt, and he’s not staying long. Molly—that’s my wife, wants to bring Percy back for dinner..."
"Dad!"
Percy cut off Arthur, quickly turning toward Barty, "Director, tonight I can—"
"...No, you should just go ho tonight, Wes... uh, yes, go ho, please."
Barty remained silent for a mont, eventually sighing, raising a hand to interrupt Percy’s attempt to demonstrate his resolve that "not returning ho wasn’t an issue, that he was willing to shed blood for the Ministry of Magic," shaking his head, "You should understand, compared to family, authority... huh."
A slight, almost imperceptible, pain flickered in Barty Senior’s eyes; Percy, bent over, didn’t notice it, but Arthur standing behind him did.
The slightly balding, red-haired middle-aged man couldn’t help but sigh—since graduating, he had joined the Ministry of Magic, and he certainly hadn’t forgotten the case about Barty Crouch Jr. that had once stirred the entire British Magic Realm.
Arthur still rembered, after Barty Senior personally sent his own son to Azkaban, Barty Crouch Jr. soon died in Azkaban’s prison, and shortly thereafter, Barty Senior’s wife also passed away due to illness, leaving Barty Senior as the sole survivor of the Crouch Clan in an instant.
Though Arthur had never experienced the tragedy of a father burying his child, he understood the aning behind Barty Senior’s words.
He regretted; if he had paid more attention to his son back then, perhaps he wouldn’t have been brainwashed by that damn Voldemort and beco a Death Eater. Then, he might still have a perfect family, and he might even have beco the Minister of Magic—
If it weren’t for the incident with Barty Crouch Jr., Fudge would hardly have had a chance to rise to power.
"Alas..."
Arthur sighed, not knowing what to say, he just held Percy’s arm and led him out.
"Wait..."
"Weasley, go ho, go ho, alright?"
"...Oh."
Yelled at, Percy seed a bit dazed, and he was pulled out of the office by Arthur. Watching the dark oak door close again behind them, Arthur’s expression was a bit strange. He paused for a mont, finally unable to resist asking, "Wei...Weasley, who is that?"
Percy seed to be stimulated by the question and shouted, "It’s all your fault, originally, originally I had a chance—"
"A chance for what? To be a slave for old Crouch?"
"...I can’t even talk to you!"
Percy looked at his "useless" old dad, huffily flinging his sleeves and striding down the corridor.
"Hey, wait for ."
Arthur quickly followed, he sighed, seeing Barty Senior’s appearance made him suddenly feel sothing—
...
...
Ten minutes after the two Weasleys left, the always silent Barty Senior finally straightened up. He raised his hand and placed the letter on the table at the top of a pile of docunts, so he could rember it first thing when he returned the next day—
He took a deep breath, grabbed the hat hanging by the door, and with slow yet steady steps, walked down the corridor.
The man’s pace was not fast, but he still reached the fireplace that led ho, stepped into the green flas, and as soon as he did, the dark Ministry of Magic before him disappeared, replaced by a warm, fla-lit fireplace. He sighed, placed his hat on the sofa, and took off his Wizard Robe.
"Winky?"
Circumventing the sofa, the man called out.
"Master Crouch—"
Hearing the call, a frail House-Elf poked its head out from the kitchen, nervously saying, "The young master was very good today, he ate well at lunchti!" As the house-elf finished speaking, Barty Senior’s gaze shifted to the dining table, and he gently flicked his Magic Wand—
The next mont, a vacant-faced young man appeared at the dining table. His complexion was rosy, looking very healthy.
It was just that, no matter how one looked, the vacant eyes on the man’s face were a bit creepy.
"Good evening... Barty."
Barty Senior sighed as he sat across from the man. The next mont, the elf called Winky brought a plate of food to Barty Senior, who, after greeting, fell silent as he began to eat. His expression was sowhat dark and indistinct, with the flickering candlelight casting his face in sharp relief.
"Master Crouch, I want to take the young master to see the Quidditch World Cup—he’s been very good lately! Hasn’t done anything wrong!"
Winky’s voice was sowhat sharp. It stood in the kitchen, its large, ping-pong-ball-like eyes fixed intently on Barty Senior, who was wiping his mouth after eating.
"No, the possibility of exposure..."
"But! The young master has already behaved—"
"Shut up! That’s because of my spell!"
"When he was in school, the young master loved Quidditch so much. If he doesn’t see the World Cup final, he definitely..."
"Bang bang—"
A dull knock interrupted the conversation between the man and the elf; both pairs of eyes instinctively looked toward the door not far away, but Barty Crouch Jr. still stared vacantly at the wood grain on the solid wood dining table in front of him—
"Bang bang—"
The knocking grew more urgent.
The next mont, with neither Barty Senior nor Winky noticing, the corner of Barty Crouch Jr.’s mouth suddenly curled up slightly.
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