Chapter 318. Imperius Curse
After restoring Sirius Black's colour, they hurriedly left Hogwarts.
Lupin said they needed to go to Croatia tomorrow to bring back some local specialities, so there was no more time to linger.
After bidding the two of them farewell, Adrian Wesson walked in the direction of Dumbledore.
Aside from Karkaroff and Bagman, the remaining three judges were still deep in discussion.
"I still think Fleur's score is a bit— oh, Professor Wesson, what brings you here?"
Madame Maxime was the first to notice Wesson approaching. She broke off her argument with Dumbledore and turned to him.
"I'm here to see Professor Dumbledore," Wesson said calmly. "Professor Dumbledore, I have some news I believe I ought to report to you at once."
Dumbledore blinked, just a fraction.
"Do excuse me for a moment, you two," he said to Madame Maxime and Crouch, then stepped aside with Wesson.
Madame Maxime and Crouch showed no curiosity about this — it was, most likely, Hogwarts' internal business.
"I should imagine it's important," Dumbledore said, his voice gentle but faintly alert. "What have you discovered?"
"Barty Crouch," Wesson said under his breath. "He's under the Imperius Curse."
"Bad news," Dumbledore said evenly. "Perhaps I might pose a reasonable question — how do you know?"
Wesson had expected Dumbledore to be more surprised, but the old Headmaster was far calmer than he had imagined.
"I sensed a fluctuation of Dark magic. I'm… sensitive to that sort of magic," Wesson said, glancing towards Bartemius Crouch not far away. "I'm certain Mr Crouch is under the Imperius Curse. This isn't a malicious joke."
Dumbledore's eyes deepened.
"Very helpful, Wesson," he said, narrowing his eyes. "I'll have a proper talk with Mr Bartemius Crouch."
"Perhaps I can be of some assistance," Wesson said with a slight smile.
Dumbledore nodded, then walked towards Bartemius Crouch.
Half an hour later, the sky was fully dark.
Inside the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.
"Was there something that needed to be said here of all places?" Bartemius Crouch sat in a chair, expressionless, looking at Dumbledore. "If this is about the scheduling of the Triwizard Tournament, I'm afraid I cannot disclose anything."
"Certainly not, Bartemius," Dumbledore said with a mild shake of his head. "The Triwizard Tournament is a sacred competition. I should think cheating could scarcely be called above-board."
"Then what is it?" Crouch frowned. "I have another meeting this evening. I'm sorry, but I can't spend too much time here."
Dumbledore did not answer at once. He studied the taut lines of Crouch's face and said gently, "Bartemius, you seem rather tense lately."
Crouch sighed, following Dumbledore's lead. "That's because there are too many troublesome matters."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore said. "Have you noticed anything amiss with your body?"
"My body?"
Crouch froze. "What do you mean?"
He had indeed been rather tired of late, but his health was fairly sound.
At that moment a cup of tea was held out to him by Wesson.
"Tea, sir."
"Oh, thank you."
Crouch accepted it on reflex, then took a sip.
"—!"
The change came at once.
The teacup slipped from Crouch's hand and shattered on the floor.
His pupils shrank abruptly. Clutching his own throat in a death grip, he toppled hard from the chair.
"Uh… ah…"
Crouch mumbled something indistinctly, his face turning ashen as he convulsed and struggled on the floor.
Watching this, Dumbledore stood up involuntarily and shot Wesson a curious look. "Is this the 'special remedy' you mentioned? It looks like some sort of poison."
"Easy, Professor Dumbledore. Everything is proceeding exactly as I anticipated," Wesson said lightly. "Look — it's working."
No sooner had he spoken than thin threads of black vapour began to seep from Crouch's body, gradually dissipating into the air.
"Imperius Curse, without a doubt," Wesson said with satisfaction, nodding. "But the hold isn't very deep. My potion can handle it. If we'd waited a few days, I'm afraid I'd have been powerless."
"How dreadful."
Frowning, Dumbledore watched the inky vapour.
He waved his wand, turning a quill on the desk into a crystal phial.
Under his direction, the black vapour slowly streamed into the phial, finally coalescing inside into a twisting mass of black mist.
After about three minutes, the phial was full, and the black vapour ceased issuing from Crouch.
But he still did not wake.
Wesson flicked his wand and conjured a basin of ice water, which he splashed across Crouch's face.
It worked.
Crouch's eyes flew open. He coughed violently, gulping down great breaths of air, his hands trembling uncontrollably as though roused from a nightmare.
"This… this is?" he asked weakly, his gaze darting between Dumbledore and Wesson. "What happened?"
Dumbledore crouched and gently helped Crouch back onto his chair. "Do you recall what just occurred, Bartemius?"
Crouch's eyes began to focus, his expression somewhat dazed. "I drank the tea, and then I collapsed… wait! What did you do to me?"
"Nothing bad," Wesson said. "How do you feel now?"
A sudden shiver ran through Crouch.
After a moment, as if waking from a dream, he said, "Something left my body."
"That's it!" Wesson said happily. "Congratulations, Mr Crouch — you're no longer under the Imperius Curse."
"The Imperius Curse?"
At the words, Crouch's eyes went wide. "You're saying I was under the Imperius Curse before?"
"Without question," Wesson said, patting him on the shoulder. "I imagine you noticed it — perhaps your head felt foggy, or you found yourself doing things you ordinarily wouldn't… I suppose I'm right, am I not?"
Crouch fell into thought.
As the moments passed, his expression grew uglier.
He was no fool.
Since the Imperius Curse does not overwrite memories, he quickly recalled certain irregularities.
Years spent around Dark wizards had made him intimately familiar with the curse's effects.
Without doubt, Wesson was not lying to him.
Dumbledore came out from behind his desk and stood at Crouch's back, resting a light hand on his shoulder. "Bartemius, can you remember who cast the Imperius Curse on you?"
"It must be those Dark wizards," Crouch said drily. "I have many enemies."
Wesson very much wanted to tell him to suspect his own son a bit more.
But it was clearly not the right time or place to say so.
He was, after all, merely a Hogwarts professor of Care of Magical Creatures.
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