The flames roared just as wildly as Crouch's smile.
His eyes and expression twitched with feral malice.
Harry stared at him across the distance, glanced at the time on his wrist, then gave a light flick of his wand.
The steel serpents pressed down, bodies flattening and charging like a runaway train, crashing toward Crouch.
The earth shook; flames parted; trees splintered.
Molten gold-like streams glowed beneath the serpents' bellies.
Harry leapt into the air, reaching into the Sorting Hat mid-flight and drawing the Serpentbone Sword.
He locked his eyes straight onto the figure hidden behind the flames.
Crouch's heart skipped a beat.
His smile stiffened, his hateful gaze shifting to shock and disbelief.
Harry Potter hadn't gone to extinguish the fire.
No time to think.
The massive serpents, wrapped in Fiendfyre, were almost upon him—
and Harry, sword in hand, was diving from the sky.
Should he try casting a spell at Harry?
He'd only be crushed by the serpents before he could succeed.
And even if he tried, there was no guarantee he could harm Harry.
Crouch waved his wand—
the earth beneath him bulged upward like a spring, launching him backward, quickly forming a stone wall.
The serpents slammed into the wall with a deafening crash, shattering it into pieces.
Harry landed lightly, flicked his wand, sweeping away the converging Fiendfyre with sheer magical force, and without hesitation, charged at Crouch.
"What's with that expression?" Harry asked lightly, still attacking with deadly precision,
"Why aren't you smiling?"
"Crouch, you're a handsome guy—you should smile more."
His chatter didn't slow his strikes; the sword danced, each thrust aiming at vital points.
Crouch dodged desperately, flinging spells as best he could—
but they barely slowed Harry.
In magical power, stamina, reflexes—he was utterly outmatched.
"You're wondering why I didn't save the forest first, but came to capture you?" Harry thrust forward, closing the distance.
Crouch tried to retreat, lifting his wand to cast—
Harry kicked his leg.
Caught off guard, Crouch stumbled and fell.
"Expelliarmus!"
A flash of red burst from Harry's free hand, striking Crouch's wand.
The wand flew from his hand, skimmed past Harry's ear, and landed straight into the raging fire—
where it snapped with a crack and was consumed.
Harry stepped on Crouch's chest, checked the time again:
"Fifty-three seconds. Not even a full minute."
"Understand now?"
Harry raised his wand high, magic surging, rushing like a tidal wave.
"Finite Incantatem!"
Magic rushed out, smothering the Fiendfyre's fuel, extinguishing the flames with sizzling hisses.
Harry pulled a pouch of seeds from his pocket, flinging them forward.
A flick of his wand—
a gentle breeze carried the seeds across the scorched earth.
Wherever they landed, the seeds rooted and sprouted instantly.
Snow still melted into mist, but tiny hints of green poked through the ash, restoring a sliver of life to the land.
Crouch clutched Harry's boot weakly:
"Potter, you truly are extraordinary."
"Thanks for the praise, Professor. Should I expect some House Points?" Harry said, peering down at him.
Around them, the faint sound of plants growing filled the air.
Crouch nodded with difficulty:
"Of course—twenty points to Gryffindor."
"For your superb swordsmanship, and your... remarkable spellwork."
He paused.
"But Potter—this ends now."
His grin twisted hideously as he yanked something under his robes.
With a click—
a thick plume of white smoke burst forth.
No magic aura—
it was a mundane smoke bomb.
In the billowing cloud, Crouch barely managed a wandless Blast Curse, throwing Harry back with a shockwave.
In the chaos, Crouch snapped his fingers.
At that moment—
"Impedimenta!"
Harry, even while staggering, sealed the space around them with magic.
The air turned thick, viscous like jelly.
He flicked his wand—
and a gust of wind dispelled the smoke.
Crouch was still there—
still on the ground—
clutching a house-elf's hand.
"Professor, I must say, this is quite unexpected," Harry said dryly, flicking the spent smoke bomb into his hand.
"You lot usually despise Muggles and their 'trivial toys,' right?"
Crouch gnashed his teeth.
Still so quick to react?
One or two seconds—
just a little slower and he would have escaped.
"Surprised how fast I reacted?" Harry said, reading his expression.
"Professor, I'm wounded. I thought you knew me better."
Crouch said nothing.
The house-elf cowered pitifully at his side, clutching his hand, its weak magic struggling uselessly.
"Any other tricks, Professor?" Harry asked.
Still silence.
"Accio Contraband!"
Harry cast a modified Summoning Charm—Molly Weasley's favorite spell for disarming George and Fred's contraptions.
Crouch's robe flared open.
All sorts of items flew out—
A bag enchanted with Extension Charms tore apart mid-air, spilling its contents:
Mandrake roots, Snargaluff pods, Devil's Snare seeds—
several vials of potions, healing and poisonous—
a Firebolt Arrow—
a few hand grenades—
One vial caught Harry's attention.
Layered in protective spells, filled with fine milky-white dust.
Harry summoned it into his hand.
It was freezing cold and eerily familiar.
White Frost.
"You've already found the Wild Hunt," Harry said, voice low.
Crouch tilted his head toward the house-elf:
"Guess."
He refused to meet Harry's gaze.
No one dared look directly at a master of Legilimency.
Harry flicked his wand again—
one grenade reshaped into a giant hand, gripping Crouch's face, forcing eye contact.
"Answer my question."
Their eyes locked.
Legilimens.
Harry didn't wait for a reply—he dived straight into Crouch's mind.
Crouch's mind was guarded—
a false world where Voldemort was a handsome young Headmaster and Minister, and Crouch a beloved Defense Professor.
Harry pushed harder.
He saw the real memories—
A childhood of neglect.
A mother's overindulgence, a father's coldness.
Academic brilliance seeking a father's approval.
Twelve "Outstanding" NEWTs—
but no praise, only scorn.
Then Voldemort's gentleness, the acceptance among the Death Eaters.
For the first time, a feeling of family.
Then imprisonment.
Despair.
Hatred for the parents who locked him away.
But—
From three years ago onward, massive chunks of memory were simply gone.
Blank voids, including the last half-year.
Crouch remembered appearing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, planning to feed Aragog's colony—
but nothing about how he got there, where he had been hiding, or any plans involving Horcruxes.
Harry released him.
Crouch slumped, gasping for air, then began to laugh hoarsely.
Harry turned the giant hand onto the house-elf.
Legilimens.
It was easier—
the elf lacked Occlumency.
Clear memories—
but its nights had been wiped clean ever since term started.
Every night.
The elf remembered nothing about how Crouch arrived.
"Don't waste your time, Potter," Crouch sneered, twisted and wild.
"You'll never find out."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
Sometimes blankness was a clue too.
Footsteps approached behind him.
Harry turned—
it was Dumbledore and Hagrid.
"Harry, have you caught him?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry stepped aside, revealing Crouch sprawled on the ground.
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Powerstones?
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