"Well...the newcomer, 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 Department 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 remembering something, and glanced up at the somewhat empty office.
It was already two and a half hours past quitting time at the Ministry of Magic, and typically, he'd be the only one there.
But, a few days ago, someone even more of a workaholic than him had popped up in this office... What was the newcomer's name 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 medium-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 came.
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 Tournament, as he was currently the head of the International Magic Cooperation Department. 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 Tournament.
Though these tasks were in cooperation with the Department of Magical Games 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 parchment 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 home for two consecutive days—
Indeed, the reason Barty Crouch noticed a more dedicated workaholic than himself was that Percy hadn't gone home last night.
But, was his memory for names really that terrible? Percy had corrected him about his name over ten times 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 me, even entrusting me with work that seems meant for him. Isn't that trust, a sign of grooming the next successor?!
Answer me!
Percy's hands clenched slightly at his sides, taking a deep breath, he replied seriously, "Mr. Crouch, please go ahead—"
"Help me draft a letter, the recipient is Maoshan Magic Technology Institute in the East..."
"Da-da—"
"..."
"Come 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 something, 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 home last night, and his owl message wasn't returned, causing his mother some worry—"
Arthur sighed, glancing at Percy, who was slightly hunched, as if his back was bent, and said without much amusement, "But today, his brother Bill returned from Egypt, and he's not staying long. Molly—that's my wife, wants me to bring Percy back for dinner..."
"Dad!"
Percy cut off Arthur, quickly turning toward Barty, "Director, tonight I can—"
"...No, you should just go home tonight, Wes... uh, yes, go home, please."
Barty remained silent for a moment, eventually sighing, raising a hand to interrupt Percy's attempt to demonstrate his resolve that "not returning home 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 remembered, 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 meaning 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 become a Death Eater. Then, he might still have a perfect family, and he might even have become 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 home, go home, alright?"
"...Oh."
Yelled at, Percy seemed 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 moment, finally unable to resist asking, "Wei...Weasley, who is that?"
Percy seemed 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 me."
Arthur quickly followed, he sighed, seeing Barty Senior's appearance made him suddenly feel something—
...
...
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 documents, so he could remember 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 home, stepped into the green flames, and as soon as he did, the dark Ministry of Magic before him disappeared, replaced by a warm, flame-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 lunchtime!" As the house-elf finished speaking, Barty Senior's gaze shifted to the dining table, and he gently flicked his Magic Wand—
The next moment, 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 moment, 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 somewhat 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 somewhat 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 moment, with neither Barty Senior nor Winky noticing, the corner of Barty Crouch Jr.'s mouth suddenly curled up slightly.