Barty Crouch's Death

The memory stopped on Little Barty Crouch's hideous face, abruptly ending as though it had surfaced from underwater, the scene gradually fading into the distance and blurring.

After leaving the Pensieve, Eli looked at Dumbledore. "That was a memory from back then?"

Dumbledore scooped the memory out of the basin with one hand. It became a silver ribbon of light, which he put back into the glass bottle.

He nodded. "Yes. Hard to imagine, isn't it? Old Barty's son was actually a Death Eater?"

Eli looked at the Pensieve. Its tranquil surface seemed to still reflect Little Barty Crouch's face, which bore some resemblance to his father's.

"Yes, such a... scrupulous man," Eli sighed. As for Barty Crouch, although he might not have been some glorious and righteous figure, he had certainly been decisive and ruthless. As the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he had also been utterly intolerant of evil.

His son was like his exact opposite, throwing himself fanatically into the ranks of darkness. Even when facing his own father in the end, he had shown no remorse.

It was hard to imagine how much pressure Barty Crouch had endured when he said, "You are not my son."

He had not only lost the position of Minister of Magic that had been within reach, but also his own son.

Dumbledore turned and paced away, seemingly deep in thought. "Voldemort's resurrection plan has already begun. What else could he be planning?"

Dumbledore continued muttering under his breath. Eli did not know whether the old man always looked like this when he was thinking.

Eli watched Dumbledore. The old man really was exhausting himself to maintain the stability of the Wizarding World.

"Moody—the fake Moody. Did he ever come looking for you?" Dumbledore suddenly stopped and asked