Peter Pettigrew's screams woke Barty Crouch Jr. from his half-conscious slumber.
Having spent so many years in Azkaban, Barty Crouch Jr. had been reduced to a skeleton wrapped in skin. With no hope or happiness left, he was practically no different from a dead man.
When they had been transferred to different cells earlier, Barty Crouch Jr. had known what was happening.
But he had no desire to pay that man any attention, nor did he want to say a single word to him. In his heart, only the great Dark Lord Voldemort was his true master and father!
Barty Crouch Jr. had long grown accustomed to the screams of Azkaban's prisoners. Just as he was about to close his eyes and return to sleep to regain his strength, he suddenly noticed a magical paper crane circling through his cell.
Hmm?
His mind, dulled and rusted by long imprisonment, began to turn rapidly.
He snatched the magical paper crane and clenched it tightly, his face clouded with uncertain thoughts.
I'm already locked in Azkaban. Who would leave me a letter?
Could it be that man?
Hmph, we severed all ties long ago. It couldn't be him!
Could it be Mother?
Thinking of his mother's gentle, doting face, a trace of guilt appeared unnaturally on Barty Crouch Jr.'s withered, gaunt face.
Though he had been drawn to his master Voldemort's great cause and was willing to go mad for it, he was no fool!
He could imagine how heartbroken and grief-stricken his mother must have been after his imprisonment, probably washing her face with tears every day!
He had let his mother down, but for his master Voldemort...
Right, Master Voldemort. He definitely wasn't dead. He definitely hadn't failed!
Could this note have been sent to me by Master Voldemort?!
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