Chapter 309: A Huge Dilemma

After Dumbledore finished speaking, he quietly observed Moody (Hoffa). Hoffa nodded, his expression calm as he replied, "I see. I understand."

Dumbledore lowered his head, his blue eyes scrutinizing Hoffa from behind his half-moon spectacles. That penetrating gaze made Hoffa feel uneasy, prompting him to feign displeasure. "What is it, Albus?"

"Last year, you argued with me for half a day over hiring Remus, saying I wasn't following proper protocols. But this year, you're surprisingly agreeable. I expected you to question my arrangements just like before."

What?! Do you think I want to teach? A stomach full of schemes!

Hoffa silently cursed Dumbledore's cunning, though he maintained an indifferent expression. "Times have changed. Students are becoming less capable with each passing generation. Honestly, Albus, I've been dissatisfied with your soft teaching methods for a while. Your proposal this year aligns with my thoughts—it's high time to be tougher on those greenhouse flowers."

The scrutiny in Dumbledore's eyes faded. He smiled and shook his head. "I thought you had changed, becoming easygoing. But it seems you're still as hot-tempered as ever."

"I simply speak my mind," Hoffa replied, maintaining a serious expression.

"Got it, old friend. Go get ready," Dumbledore said warmly, patting Hoffa's arm. "And stop wearing that stern face; you'll scare the students."

With that, Dumbledore turned and left through the passage behind the Great Hall.

Once Dumbledore's figure vanished from the hall, Hoffa's calm demeanor immediately shifted.

Teaching the three Unforgivable Curses? Isn't this a joke? He had never used those curses before! He disliked mental control, abhorred the Cruciatus Curse's pain, and found the Killing Curse inefficient.

The biggest problem? He didn't have a wand. Though he had Moody's wand, it was useless to him. While Hoffa could perform basic wandless magic—like the Lumos, Shield, and Aguamenti charms—using wandless magic in class would undoubtedly arouse suspicion.

He couldn't rely on himself alone. Fortunately, he had Barty. As a seasoned Death Eater, Barty would undoubtedly be skilled in the Unforgivable Curses.

However, Barty's current state...

Quickening his pace, Hoffa climbed the spiral staircase to the third-floor Defense Against the Dark Arts office.

Filch had already placed his trunk beside the office desk. Locking the door, Hoffa dragged the trunk into his private quarters.

The quarters were a long, narrow room with wooden-paneled walls, mismatched old chairs, and a simple wooden bed. Last year, the room had belonged to Remus Lupin. Though Lupin had left, Hoffa could still detect the lingering scent of a werewolf in the air.

On the desk lay a class schedule. Hoffa picked it up and glanced at it. Great, the first class was in three days—giving him only three days to master the Unforgivable Curses.

Wasting no time, he opened the trunk and climbed in.

The sight inside startled him. The trunk's interior was pitch black, but with his night vision, Hoffa saw Barty crouched beside Moody's leg, clutching the lone wooden leg. Barty stroked it obsessively, rubbing his face against it.

"Shiny... Shiny... Mother... Mother..."

Barty mumbled incoherently, alternating between calling for "Shiny" and "Mother." His fingers dug so deeply into Moody's leg that blood seeped through his grip, pooling on the floor.

Moody, restrained and unable to speak, looked on the verge of madness. He shook his chains violently, trying to dislodge the deranged Barty clinging to his leg.

Hearing the trunk open, Moody struggled even harder. Barty, however, clung tighter and, without hesitation, bit down on Moody's leg.

This is insane! Hoffa thought, striding over to Barty and calling his name. "Barty? Barty Crouch?"

No response. Barty's eyes rolled back, his mouth firmly latched onto Moody's leg. Left with no choice, Hoffa pried his jaw open and pulled his face away.

"Shiny... I want Shiny..."

Barty remained unresponsive, mistaking Moody for his beloved house-elf, "Shiny."

"What's wrong with you?!" Hoffa slapped Barty's face repeatedly, but the latter neither reacted to the pain nor cared who was hitting him. He continued mumbling about "Shiny."

What now?

Hoffa's head throbbed. Old Joey hadn't lied—those with weak minds turned into lunatics when exposed to the cold winds of the Underworld.

Hoffa could abandon Barty, leaving him to his fate like Voldemort would.

But Hoffa needed him to wake up, at least long enough to teach him the Unforgivable Curses.

"Shiny... Shiny... You traitor...!" Barty murmured, licking Hoffa's wooden leg with fervor.

Shiny?

Hoffa rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Barty seemed to have an extraordinary attachment to his house-elf, Shiny.

At this moment, Shiny was likely working in the Hogwarts kitchen. Could summoning the elf truly heal Barty?

He wasn't sure. But with no other options, he decided to try.

After securing Barty inside the trunk, Hoffa left the Defense Against the Dark Arts office and ventured into Hogwarts' dark corridors.

The castle at night had the solemn air of a tomb. The stairs resembled dimly lit cinema aisles, each step echoing with responsive glances from nearby portraits. Hoffa's footsteps reverberated against the overhead glass panes, and the faint glow of moonlit mist spread across the transparent rooftop.

As he descended toward the Entrance Hall, nostalgia swept over him. He had almost forgotten the joy of night wandering—the thrill of skirting the rules.

Fifty years ago, during Sylby's invasion of Hogwarts, Ravenclaw's common room was devastated, forcing the students to temporarily reside near Hufflepuff's quarters. It was then Hoffa discovered the kitchen's location. Though decades had passed, nothing in the castle had changed.

Guided by memory, Hoffa reached a broad stone corridor adorned with oil paintings of food under flickering torchlight.

In the dim hallway, voices reached his ears.

"Cedric, are you really busy next week?" a girl asked plaintively.

"I have a lot going on, Selena. Plus, I already have plans," Cedric replied earnestly.

"Hmph," the girl retorted sourly. "Is it that Ravenclaw Seeker?"

"We're not what you think," Cedric explained, clearly uncomfortable.

Hoffa deliberately increased the volume of his footsteps. His wooden leg clacked loudly against the stone floor.

"Who's there?" Cedric called out.

Hoffa emerged at the end of the corridor, glimpsing a girl's figure disappearing into a painting. Cedric, tall and handsome in his black-and-yellow robes, stood by the painting, a prefect's badge gleaming on his chest.

"Professor Moody?" Cedric exclaimed.

"Quite the ladies' man, Diggory," Hoffa said, limping toward him.

"What brings you here, sir?" Cedric asked awkwardly. "It's past curfew."

"Missed the feast. Didn't eat much. I'm headed to the kitchen for some food," Hoffa replied casually.

"Oh, I see."

Relieved, Cedric patted his chest. "Leave it to me, sir. I'll fetch the food for you."

"I'll come along," Hoffa said, standing beside him.

"Alright, this way." Cedric led the way, shadows stretching long under the torchlight.

As they walked, Hoffa glanced at him. "Diggory?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"On the train, who were you looking for?"

"Who? What are you talking about?" Cedric seemed puzzled.

"The young man with gray hair."

Cedric thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I haven't seen anyone like that."

"Golden eyes?"

"Definitely not. Professor, are you feeling alright?"

"Never mind."

Hoffa concluded Cedric must've been under the Imperius Curse. "Were you with friends on the train?"

At this, Cedric blushed slightly and fell silent. Instead of answering, he stopped in front of a fruit bowl painting. With his finger, he tickled the green pear.

The pear squirmed and giggled before transforming into a large, green doorknob. Cedric turned it, holding the door open with a slight bow, like a proper gentleman.

The Hogwarts kitchen was a high-ceilinged room as large as the Great Hall above. Its stone walls were lined with gleaming copper pots and pans, and at the far end, a massive brick fireplace dominated the space.

"Professor, here's the kitchen. It's full of house-elves—will that be alright?"

"No problem. I'll handle it alone. Thank you, Diggory," Hoffa said curtly.

"It's my honor to assist you," Cedric said as he slowly retreated and disappeared from sight.

Watching Diggory's back vanish into the Hufflepuff portrait, Hoffa stood still, pondering for a moment, before bending down and slipping into the kitchen.

Inside the kitchen, a group of house-elves simultaneously turned their heads, their large, curious eyes fixed on the newcomer. Most wore identical old tea towels and had large ears and even larger eyes. Some carried trays, others held teapots, and a few wielded cleaning cloths.

"Do you have a house-elf here named Shiny?" Hoffa asked, standing before the cluster of elves.

The house-elves exchanged glances, and just as the group—each looking nearly identical—was about to respond, a distinctly different house-elf pushed through the crowd.

This one wore a tea-cozy hat adorned with a collection of colorful badges, a horseshoe-patterned tie over its bare chest, and what appeared to be a pair of children's soccer shorts. Its mismatched socks added to its eccentric look.

"Sir, what do you want with Shiny?" the unique house-elf asked.

The other elves scattered like they were avoiding a plague, leaving the strange elf alone.

Hoffa squinted and recognized him. Dobby—the free-spirited house-elf and Harry Potter's devoted fan.

This gave Hoffa pause. If any other elf were to guide him, it wouldn't be an issue. But this one? Absolutely not.

Harry was a trouble magnet, and this guy was just as problematic. The connection between these two troublemakers was far too deep. Hoffa couldn't risk exposing his identity or purpose before them.

"You... you were the Malfoys' house-elf, weren't you?" Hoffa asked slowly.

"Yes, I was—no!" Dobby flinched and violently shook his head, causing loud slapping sounds.

"Dobby is a free elf! Free and different from all other house-elves!" he declared seriously. "Why are you looking for Shiny, sir?"

Ignoring Dobby's question, Hoffa drawled, "But Lucius Malfoy doesn't seem to think so."

"What did Master Lucius say? What did he say?" Dobby demanded, his ears perking up.

"He said you're a traitor, an unfaithful servant. He said that even though you don't want to be a servant, you're basically Harry Potter's servant."

"How dare he!" Dobby screeched. "Dobby and Harry Potter are friends! Lucius... Lucius is a vile wizard—"

Before he could finish, his throat seemed to be seized by an invisible hand, choking off his words. Gasping, Dobby stumbled to the side, grabbed a frying pan, and began hitting himself on the head. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby! How dare you speak ill of your master!"

Watching Dobby's self-punishment, Hoffa shrugged apologetically and turned to a seemingly normal house-elf among the onlookers. "Have you seen a house-elf named Shiny?"

"The crybaby? You mean her?" the normal elf asked.

"Uh, yes."

"Follow me, sir," the elf said without questioning his intentions. "She was crying just a moment ago. Don't be alarmed."

The normal house-elf led Hoffa across four long wooden tables and into the deeper part of the kitchen, pointing toward a corner fireplace. "There she is."

Shiny sat on a stool by the fire, staring blankly. Unlike Dobby or the other elves, she wore a neatly tailored dress and a matching blue hat with ear holes, allowing her large ears to stick out. Hoffa guessed the outfit must have been given to her when Barty Crouch Sr. dismissed her.

"Shiny."

Hoffa crouched down beside her.

Shiny glanced at him, her lips trembling, and then burst into tears. Huge tears rolled from her brown eyes and soaked her chest.

"There you have it," the normal elf said. "If you ask me, someone like her—thrown out by her master—couldn't possibly handle servant duties. If you need help, come to me instead."

"Thank you," Hoffa said, patting the elf on the head. "But that won't be necessary."

"As you wish."

The normal house-elf bowed and retreated.

Hoffa focused on the weeping Shiny, who cried as though the world had ended, wailing between sobs, "I know you! I know you! You're the devil who sent my young master to prison! You ruined me and my master's family. What do you want now?"

"Don't worry. I'll take you to your master," Hoffa said, leaning close to her ear.

"Too late... too late... it's all too late!" Shiny sobbed uncontrollably. "Master doesn't want me anymore!"

"Your young master," Hoffa said softly.

Shiny's cries faltered as she looked at Hoffa in confusion.

"Your young master is with me. He needs you now more than ever."

The crying ceased abruptly.

Ten minutes later, Hoffa led Shiny back to the third-floor Defense Against the Dark Arts office and entered the trunk inside.

As soon as they entered, Shiny initially showed curiosity about the two identical Moodys inside. But upon seeing the pitiful figure on the floor, twitching and drooling, she forgot everything else.

"Young master! What's wrong with you?" she cried, rushing to Barty Jr. Her thin legs moved like lightning as she held his chest. "Young master, speak to me! Who hurt you?"

"Shiny... Shiny..." Barty Jr. growled, his expression twisted as he grabbed her ears. He yanked them in his delirium, but Shiny didn't resist. Instead, she pulled his head to her chest, gently holding his chin. "It's okay, master. It's okay. Shiny is here."

The chaotic Barty Jr. surprisingly calmed down. His tense body relaxed as he sniffed, and he sank into a deep sleep, even snoring.

Shiny then stood and stormed toward Hoffa, furious. "What did you do to him?"

"Me?" Hoffa tilted his head as the Polyjuice Potion wore off. His body grew taller, transforming from the fearsome Auror into his usual youthful, bald self.

"I didn't do anything. Your master is just unlucky."

"You! You're the one from the World Cup!" Shiny exclaimed, recognizing him.

"Yes, it's me," Hoffa said with narrowed eyes. "What exactly is your relationship with Barty Jr.?"

"Just a normal servant-master relationship."

"Normal? That seems far too intimate for that," Hoffa said skeptically.

"I raised him, of course it's different," Shiny said, stroking Barty Jr.'s face with a look of admiration, as if he were a rare masterpiece.

"You raised him?" Hoffa's eyes widened. "What about his parents? What about Barty Sr.?"

"The old master was too busy with work, and the mistress was sick and bedridden. They couldn't care for the young master," Shiny explained, wiping her tears.

"You didn't teach him anything... inappropriate, did you?" Hoffa asked sharply.

"No!" Shiny looked confused.

"Did you ever teach him about values or anything like that?" Hoffa pressed.

"Oh, you mean that?" Shiny said, her large eyes lighting up. "When he was little, I often taught him life lessons. He was such a good boy, though he'd sometimes be moody when the old master ignored him. I'd tell him, 'If you're unhappy, serve others. Serving others will make you happy.'"

Hoffa stared at her innocent eyes, feeling a chill down his spine.

"So, you raised him like a house-elf?" he asked, horrified.

"What's wrong with that? That's how Shiny's ancestors taught Shiny, and how their ancestors taught them, and—"

"Stop!" Hoffa interrupted, breaking into a cold sweat.

For a moment, an overwhelming sense of futility washed over him. Even with his powerful skills and divine strength, he couldn't change someone's deeply ingrained beliefs. Looking at the pitiful Barty Jr. in Shiny's arms, Hoffa realized the man appeared human on the outside but had likely internalized a house-elf's mindset.

Barty Jr. served others to find his sense of self-worth. Yet, as a human and a wizard, his dignity wouldn't allow him to fully embrace servitude. This inner conflict drove him to reject a weak Voldemort and push himself toward grand schemes—while remaining fundamentally lost and broken due to his upbringing.

"Sir, can you tell me what happened?" Shiny asked quietly, her attitude noticeably warmer after realizing Hoffa wasn't Moody.

Hoffa sat down and briefly explained Barty Jr.'s mental breakdown to Shiny.

After hearing everything, Shiny sighed deeply, rubbing her bald head as she thought hard about a solution.

"How long do you think it'll take for him to recover?" Hoffa asked.

"At least a week," Shiny said worriedly. "This happened when he first got back from Azkaban. It took me a full week of care to nurse him back to sanity."

Clenching her fists, she added, "I'll come every night to make sure no one hurts the young master."

"A week... I'm doomed," Hoffa muttered, instantly discarding any sympathy for Barty Jr.

He only had three days left—three days before he had to demonstrate the three Unforgivable Curses before Harry Potter. And he still had no idea what to do.

What now?

(End of Chapter)

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