Chapter 79: The Corrosion Of Dark Arts
Vaughn patted his shoulder. The young wizard turned, but he only saw a pair of eyes shimmering with magical light.
After a month, Vaughn had invested all his reputation points into Legilimency. Now, at LV3, it no longer required incantations.
The young wizard’s eyes glazed over as he heard a voice that seemed familiar and kind ask, “Sir, do you know where Barty Crouch lives?”
This voice… it’s my family, my best friend…
Intense thoughts surged in the young wizard’s mind, and he immediately felt a deep trust in the voice, replying cheerfully, “He has two residences: the ancestral Crouch home, and a new house he purchased in recent years in the Muggle community. Which one would you like to know about?”
“It would be best if you could tell me both.”
“No problem, I’m happy to be of service…”
The young wizard happily divulged the information he knew, then bid a warm farewell to the voice.
A few seconds later, he suddenly shivered and stared blankly at the night sky, which had already entered the early morning hours.
“Uh… why was I standing here spacing out?”
He scratched his head in confusion, his clear memories telling him he had suddenly zoned out and stood there like an idiot for about a minute.
He didn’t notice anything unusual and soon, anxious about being late for his night shift, he pushed it out of his mind.
Before entering the public toilet, he saw a young man in a dark purple robe raise his wand at a nearby crossroads.
Before long, a double-decker bus, invisible to Muggles, sped over, and from a distance, the enthusiastic greeting of the conductor could be heard: “Welcome to the Knight Bus, dear, where are you off to?”
The young man stated an address.
The young wizard overheard from afar and chuckled at the coincidence, “He lives in the same Muggle community as Chief Crouch? Hmm, that’s a Wizengamot robe, perhaps he’s visiting?”
After thinking for a moment, something triggered, and he shivered again.
Then, the young man in the dark purple robe completely faded from his memory…
…
On the outskirts of London, in a secluded Muggle neighborhood.
Barty Crouch walked out of the fireplace with a stern face. The living room was unlit, and he frowned slightly, “Sparky, where are you?”
Crackle!
With a faint sound, a house-elf wearing a tea towel, so short that it looked like it was wearing a robe, Apparated before Crouch, squeaking, “Master, Sparky is here, Sparky is looking after young master.”
As a female, her voice was sharp and gave Crouch a bit of a headache.
But he suppressed it and asked sternly, frowning, “Did you let him out?”
“No, Master.” Sparky said fearfully, her large, deep brown eyes welling up with tears. “You ordered Sparky to keep him locked up, Sparky didn’t dare, but… but young master hasn’t seen the sun in a long time, he’s covered in bugs and he’s very uncomfortable.”
“…”
After a moment of silence, Crouch sighed.
He felt utterly exhausted. For the past ten years, regret, guilt, hatred, and grief had tormented him like an incurable disease.
In recent years, with his wife’s death and his own crossing of the line by abusing his power to save his son, the increasingly complex guilt gnawed at him constantly, especially now, living in hiding.
He didn’t even dare to return to the ancestral home; too many familiar people lived nearby, and too many wizards were around. He couldn’t afford to make the slightest mistake now, or his wife’s sacrifice would be meaningless.
Only the Muggle community could allow him to slightly relax his tense nerves.
After thinking for a moment, Crouch sighed, “In two more days, after the meeting, I’ll take a day off to accompany him out to get some sun.”
Sparky wept with joy and profusely thanked her master for his kindness.
This made Crouch feel a sense of dark humor, and a bit of sadness.
His son, who should have been the apple of his eye and his heir, was now imprisoned by him, his own father, and even a house-elf was so grateful for a little fresh air.
After dismissing Sparky, the weary Crouch sat on the sofa and stared blankly for a while. For some reason, he thought of the meeting tonight.
And of Vaughn Weasley at the meeting, who seemed intent on dragging him down.
An ambitious fellow!
Crouch could hear the subtext in his words. The so-called Werewolf Affairs Committee cooperating with the Department of International Magical Cooperation was actually Vaughn Weasley’s attempt to completely break free from the Ministry of Magic, even to split it.
After all, the other party had already declared that the Werewolf Affairs Committee would not accept donations or funding, nor would it accept any constraints.
If it were finally established, it would inevitably be in sharp opposition to the Ministry of Magic, so the other party was trying to find allies within the Ministry.
He couldn’t help but think that if it were ten years ago, he would have gladly participated in such a collaboration.
Forming friendly ties with a rising power and increasing his political leverage would be very beneficial, but unfortunately, he no longer had the energy to consider such matters.
Crouch sat for a while, shook his head, and forced himself to forget those troubles.
He got up, preparing to make himself dinner in the kitchen.
However, before he could leave the living room, the doorbell rang.
Crouch wasn’t overly sensitive. To connect the fireplace to the Floo Network for his commute, he hadn’t hidden his address, so occasional guests were normal.
He instinctively glanced at the basement, which had long been sealed with Muggle cement and spells. No one could open it.
They usually entered and exited using Sparky’s Apparition.
After confirming there was no issue with the basement, Crouch pondered for a moment and asked, “Who is it outside?”
To his surprise, he heard a voice he had heard several times today, a young, immature voice: “Hello, Mr. Crouch, I am Vaughn Weasley. I apologize for the intrusion, may I have a word?”
“…”
Crouch’s brow furrowed. He refused without hesitation, “I’m sorry, Mr. Weasley, it’s very late, and I need to rest. We can discuss anything at tomorrow’s meeting.”
But Vaughn Weasley outside the door didn’t seem willing to give up.
Crouch heard him chuckle, as if discussing the weather, and said dismissively:
“Are you sure? I thought the matter of locking your son in the basement might make you willing to talk to me…”
At that moment, Barty Crouch felt blood rush to his head, his ears roared, his vision swam, and his mind was instantly blanked by the impact of those calmly spoken, yet terrifying words.
Only one thought was crystal clear: I can’t let him leave! I can’t let him tell anyone!
His hand, slick with cold sweat, gripped his wand. With a forceful wave, the door of the room sprang open under an unlocking charm spoken silently.
The moment the wind outside swept into the room, Crouch unleashed two consecutive spells.
“Expelliarmus!”
“Stupefy!”
In the wizarding world, things like wisdom and political maneuvering, which Muggles pursued, were secondary.
In the world of magic, the standard for evaluating things or judging a person was sometimes complex, and sometimes very simple—Power!
Or, Magic!
If the Wolfsbane Potion incident hadn’t been successful, and the monthly reputation points hadn’t skyrocketed, Vaughn wouldn’t be standing outside Barty Crouch’s house today.
He would have patiently waited a few more months, or even a year.
Because he knew that when he exposed Crouch’s deepest secret, the fearful Crouch would surely resist!
The door sprang open under a silent charm.
The wind that rushed in billowed Vaughn’s robes. He saw a flicker of light in the dim living room and heard Crouch’s spells.
In that wind, amidst the killing intent that assailed him, a Shield Charm materialized around Vaughn. The Disarming Charm and Stunning Spell collided with it the instant it formed.
The light from the colliding spells flashed brilliantly!
The next moment, Vaughn heard a crisp crackling sound.
He swept his wand downward, his body becoming agile, and then—
Boom—
A violent, invisible explosion instantly tore through the door. Immediately following it, a Fire Dragon suddenly expanded in front of him, ferociously lunging to bite.
Facing a wizard who had once fought on the front lines, when you hear him cast a spell, you’d best be prepared that more insidious methods might be hidden behind his incantation.
Vaughn was well-prepared. As the Fire Dragon lunged, his agile body, like a leaf, was blown far away by the shockwave of the explosion, drifting and swaying.
His dark purple robe billowed in the violent shockwave, like roaring flames. Vaughn’s expression was calm. Before his drifting form had even landed, his wand lightly tapped downwards.
Several pieces of rubble that had been blasted apart were immediately controlled by his spell, then transformed.
In an instant, they had become several thick, gleaming spears. As Vaughn swung his wand, propelled by the immense power of the Evanesco Charm, they shot into the building before him like cannonballs.
Bang!
Bang!
The roaring Fire Dragon, composed of flames, was torn apart by the terrifying kinetic energy of the spears. With each spear that penetrated, the ground trembled, and the building let out a mournful groan, tottering precariously.
At this point, Vaughn, who had landed, continued to tap his wand lightly.
Fragments of the door and walls, large clumps of soil, stones, branches… everything around him was utilized, transforming into strangely shaped animals under his wand.
At the same time, Crouch, who should have been inside the house, let out a hoarse cry from behind Vaughn:
“Soul-Leaving Curse!”
An Unforgivable Curse!
The Shield Charm, rarely unable to defend against this spell, but Vaughn, who knew its weakness, was already prepared.
He reacted swiftly, throwing the several transformed animals behind him, then quickly turning, a red light flaring at the tip of his wand.
Spray!
The Disarming Charm, as thick as an adult’s arm, its released red light illuminating the pitch-black night sky, alerting both combatants, and the animals Vaughn had transformed perfectly blocked the Imperius Curse.
Crouch, who had Apparated at some unknown moment, had a ferocious expression mixed with a hint of surprise.
Vaughn’s magical power, especially his Disarming Charm, clearly exceeded his understanding, but it wasn’t enough to make him sit and wait for death.
This experienced old wizard, having already cast Apparition the moment Vaughn turned, twisted the space around him. The red light hit the spot in front of him, and he had already vanished in a violent distortion, reappearing more than ten meters away.
However, this time, he paid the price for his lack of understanding.
The Disarming Charm that had impacted his previous location exploded like fireworks—
Countless tiny spells, like little red snakes, roamed and bounced, covering an area of more than 20 meters.
Crouch, who reappeared, almost ran headlong into two split streams of the Disarming Charm.
Such an accident left him no time to summon a Shield Charm. Under the power of the spell, he suddenly stiffened and was thrown backward. His wand spun through the air and fell into Vaughn’s hand.
Crouch tried to struggle.
But Vaughn’s wand spun rapidly a few times, and a few fallen leaves transformed into a rope, flexibly binding Crouch.
Only then had the dust and wind kicked up by the previous explosion not yet dissipated, Vaughn’s dark purple robe billowing in the turbulent air.
A few nearby Muggles had just lit their lamps, seemingly preparing to come out and see what had happened.
This was a battle that started and ended abruptly, and it was a standard wizarding battle.
It was a contest of spell proficiency, reaction time, and adaptability.
Vaughn breathed a slight sigh of relief; luckily, he excelled in all of them!
However, he didn’t have time to linger on his emotions now. He glanced at the lit Muggle houses in the distance, raised his hand slightly, and Crouch, who was bound, floated to his side.
Then, he cast a spell:
“Reparo!”
With his magic, now close to that of an adult wizard, the Mending Charm was sufficient to cover the battlefield. Soon, everything seemed to rewind.
The tilted and collapsed houses stood tall again, the destroyed doors, countless fragments flew back, reassembling…
All traces were smoothed out and restored by the power of the spells. Therefore, when the Muggles, armed with flashlights, arrived a few minutes later.
They only saw a solitary house, standing as usual under the night sky, serene and tranquil.
…
“Should we call the police?”
“What, you expect those idiots at Scotland Yard? Maybe some kids set off fireworks again. Disperse, disperse, go back to sleep.”
The Muggles outside gradually dispersed.
Vaughn lowered the curtain he had slightly lifted, waved his wand at the fireplace, and a puff of flame ignited, providing a faint illumination.
Facing the fireplace, Crouch sat rigidly on the sofa. Vaughn sat opposite him.
Gazing at his cold expression, Vaughn smiled, “We meet again, Mr. Crouch.”
Crouch’s facial muscles twitched, his eyes fixed on Vaughn, his lips tightly shut.
“I understand how you feel right now—you were sitting comfortably at home, and suddenly someone shows up, exposes your long-hidden secret, you’re furious, you’re terrified, you acted hastily but found you weren’t their match. You must be filled with frustration and fear right now…”
Saying this, Vaughn shook his head, “But as I said, why don’t you try to communicate with me?”
Crouch’s eyes, reflecting the firelight, were deepened and made mysterious by the darkness. After a moment of silence, he closed his eyes, his voice hoarse, “There’s nothing to say. Don’t think you can blackmail me with my secret!”
“Hmm? When did I say I was going to blackmail you?”
Crouch remained unmoved.
Then, he heard Vaughn opposite him chuckle, “I just want to cooperate with you, Mr. Crouch. Do you want your son back?”
Barty Crouch didn’t know if he was old, but in recent years, he often had dreams.
The dreams were not grand or fantastical, but hazy, filled with warm sunlight, like long-forgotten memories.
In those dream-like memories, his life was peaceful. His family still lived in the ancestral home, which had a large garden connected to the nearby mountain.
There was laughter in the garden every day. His son ran through the dappled mountain woods, and he and his wife sat in a flowerbed planted with forget-me-nots, smiling as they watched. Beside them, Sparky’s sharp, but no longer annoying voice.
Then he would wake up…
Many nights, he would touch his damp, cold pillow, savoring the dream. The coldness and bitterness of reality would pierce his heart even more.
He certainly regretted it, regretting that he had been obsessed with power and buried himself in work, neglecting his son’s education.
He also hated Voldemort’s seduction of his son.
But as time passed, he knew that regret, anger, and vengeance couldn’t undo what had happened. The reality was that his wife was dead, and his son had become a loyal Death Eater.
The child who once called him “Dad” with a smile, ran through the woods, and cried in his arms when he fell, had become a villain, a murderer, a madman who took pleasure in tormenting others!
Thinking this, Crouch felt as if his heart were being squeezed by an invisible hand.
He didn’t want to show his pain, didn’t want anyone to see his weakness, but the grief was too overwhelming. It had been building up in his heart for years. He had no one to confide in, and he didn’t even dare to show the slightest unusualness.
Vaughn had apparently dispelled the magic at some point.
He didn’t care. He hunched over, enduring it, and tears slid down his cheeks.
His hoarse voice trembled, “My son… died a long time ago…”
Not physically dead, but the kind, smiling child from his memories had died.
Opposite him, Vaughn watched him gently, “What if I told you I could bring him back? Perhaps you don’t know, but my skill in Memory Magic is actually quite good.”
Saying this, he snapped his fingers.
Crouch instinctively looked at Vaughn, and then he was captivated by the handsome face of the child before him, with eyes like stars. When he came to his senses again, he was standing in an unfamiliar place.
Before him was a vast, magnificent hall, at least dozens of feet high. Light from an unknown source illuminated the hall, revealing walls inlaid with countless shelves stretching to the vaulted ceiling.
Those shelves were piled high with books, and several rotating staircases moved up and down automatically. Vaughn stood on one of them, pulling out a book.
“This is…”
“Welcome, this is my Memory Archive.”
Flipping through the book in his hand, Vaughn smiled at Crouch, then waved his hand, and the book in his hand disappeared.
The next instant, Crouch felt a weight in his hand as the book landed in his embrace.
Crouch saw that the cover of the book depicted himself. Upon opening it, each page recorded scenes of Vaughn’s encounters with him: him sitting in the Wizengamot, his battle with Vaughn, and… him sitting on the sofa like a puppet, staring at Vaughn.
He realized, “This is your memory of me?”
He looked around at the countless bookshelves and countless books, “They are…”
Vaughn, who had appeared beside him at some unknown moment, looked up at the surroundings with him and said with a sigh, “Yes, the Memory Archive. As the name suggests, these books on the walls are all my memories, from when I was very young until now.”
Saying this, he looked at Crouch and asked with a smile, “Aren’t you curious why I organized it like this?”
Before the still-shocked Crouch could answer, Vaughn said, “As my skill in Memory Magic deepens, I increasingly feel that the human memory mechanism is too abstract and inefficient. Of course, it might also be that natural evolution can only achieve that level; nature is always imperfect…”
“So I created this vast archive to reorganize and plan my memories, abandoning the original mechanism and mimicking libraries and Muggle computers to classify them, create catalogs, and perform keyword searches…”
Crouch listened intently.
This was a direction he had never considered—the combination of magic and Muggle knowledge.
After listening for a while, he suddenly asked, “Do you want to use Memory Magic to reshape my son’s personality by altering his memories?”
He sighed and shook his head, “It’s useless. I know some Memory Magic too. A few years ago, I consulted Dumbledore. Little Barty… he’s already completely corrupted by Dark Arts. Cruelty and violence are deeply ingrained in his soul.”
“I tried memory modification, but it was useless. The result was always the same. Because of his evil instincts, the modified memories would always be twisted and corrupted again, unless they were completely erased, but that would cause severe damage to his mind!”
As a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Magic, Crouch had access to cutting-edge magic through many channels.
To save his son, he had considered many methods over the years, and Memory Magic was one of them, but they all proved infeasible.
He was somewhat disappointed. After seeing Vaughn’s magical strength and novel ideas, he had held a sliver of hope.
Vaughn wasn’t bothered by Crouch’s disappointment. Instead, he was more interested in what Crouch had said about having already tried Memory Magic, only for it to be distorted and corrupted by “evil.”
In Vaughn’s opinion, this was a very interesting phenomenon, and a problem he encountered in his magical research—why couldn’t memory modifications have a lasting and continuous effect?
They would eventually be discovered by the person’s own consciousness and either corrected or forgotten （forgetting is actually a fuzzy processing ）. This was a problem he had discovered during experiments on Harry a month ago.
It was as if a person’s memory still existed somewhere as an original backup, a core database. Unless a method like the Obliviation Charm was used to completely clear all data （memory）, it could not be thoroughly destroyed.
But as Crouch said, clearing memories would cause irreversible damage.
Vaughn hadn’t found the reason yet. He suspected it was related to the soul and personality. Many issues at the mental level ultimately came down to these two.
His method, however, didn’t require considering this issue.
Facing Crouch’s dejected expression from disappointment, Vaughn snapped his fingers again. The magnificent Memory Archive collapsed like a sandcastle with this snap.
Crouch watched, dumbfounded.
Mental changes were all meaningful. Everything before him indicated that Vaughn was destroying his own memories.
“You’re crazy…”
As soon as he spoke, Crouch saw Vaughn’s body suddenly transform into a hazy, humanoid mist.
As the Memory Archive collapsed, the humanoid mist also disintegrated. When everything was engulfed by darkness, the mist completely dissolved into formless mist and dissipated.
Simultaneously, new mist spread out from the depths of the boundless darkness, wriggling and combining. A brand new humanoid mist was being assembled.
At the same time, the outline of the Memory Archive was again sketched in the void of darkness. The foundation, floor, walls… the magnificent building rose from the ground at an incredibly fast speed.
Perhaps in just over ten seconds, Crouch found himself standing in the hall again, still surrounded by towering walls, which were still piled high with books.
He stared at all this in disbelief. Destruction and rebirth surpassed his understanding of Memory Magic.
He heard Vaughn, who had returned to his human form from the humanoid mist, say cheerfully:
“That’s right, Mr. Crouch, I haven’t yet figured out how to solve the problem of Dark Arts corrupting memories and minds. But what if I dressed myself in a layer of clothing, and once corruption occurs, I destroy the clothing, wouldn’t that circumvent the problem?”
“This is my developed ‘Persona Embodiment Alpha Version 0.3’!”
