Compared to before, even with Voldemort gripping his throat, Barty Crouch Jr. felt his mind growing clearer instead.
The agony of suffocation overwhelmed the potion-induced hallucinations, allowing him to see more clearly... to see Voldemort's eyes.
It was real!
With utter terror, he realized something—Voldemort's gaze truly was cold!
Incomparably cold!
That loathsome look, which had only ever appeared in the eyes of his father, Barty Crouch Sr.—why was it now in Voldemort's eyes?
Could everything Voldemort had told him be just like what Barty Crouch Sr. said...
Nothing but lies, treating him as nothing more than a tool?
Barty Crouch Jr. did not want to think any further. The pain and hatred gradually faded, and everything around him seemed to come into focus.
He thought he was about to die, about to fulfill his old vow and offer his life to the master he revered most.
He was not sure whether he was crying. He only knew that his face was already soaked.
This was clearly what he had always dreamed of—a chance to prove how needed he was. So why did he feel sad now?
The suffocating sensation grew stronger. Barty Crouch Jr. felt his vision darkening, and the scene before him changed again. The potion was probably taking effect once more.
An extremely distant memory surfaced in his mind.
He had been ten years old, practicing Transfiguration alone in the study.
He had practiced for an entire afternoon, swinging his wand more times than he could count, until his arm was so sore he could barely lift it. Yet his results had been terrible.
His best attempt had only made the teacup tremble slightly and sprout two thin hairs, which vanished in an instant as the cup returned to normal.
Unable to bear it any longer,