Douglas's voice echoed through the cavernous grotto, laying bare the tragedy of two generations of the Crouch family.
Old Crouch trembled violently, his graying hair whipping in the sea breeze pouring through the entrance. He swayed, nearly falling.
He looked at his son, who lay collapsed nearby yet still glared at him, then turned to look at his former colleagues and schoolmates who had died fighting the Dark Lord.
Put him on trial?
Of course he wanted to.
In his own name, Barty Crouch, he wanted to demand why this unworthy son had abandoned the family's honor to follow a madman.
Then he would use the Ministry of Magic's harshest laws to expose all his crimes and make him pay.
But he could not.
"I... have no right."
Old Crouch's voice was hoarse.
"Professor Holmes, I once sent him to Azkaban for the sake of my career. Then, because of my wife's pleas, I broke the law and smuggled him out."
"I controlled him with the Imperius Curse and imprisoned him for thirteen years, making him live like a soulless puppet."
"I... I stopped being that impartial Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement long ago. I'm only a... failed father, a criminal who knowingly broke the law."
His voice grew quieter and quieter, finally fading into a sigh.
"What right do I have to stand here and judge him?"
"Right?"
At his words, a faint, amused smile appeared on Douglas's face.
"Mr. Crouch, it seems you still haven't understood what I mean."
"Having you judge him has nothing to do with justice, nor is it about letting you relive the old days."
"You're right. You really have no right. It was precisely your failed parenting and your hunger for power that produced this monster."
The merciless words left