Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

On the jury table, Crouch looked gaunter and grayer than ever before. A nerve was twitching in his temple.

“On behalf of the Wizengamot High Court, I adjudge Sirius Black to be permanently imprisoned in Azkaban Wizarding Prison for various crimes,” said Crouch solemnly. “Does anyone have any objection?”

There was quiet, only Mr. Crouch’s voice echoed through the silent dungeon. Dumbledore seemed to want to say something, but at the end said nothing.

The Ministry of Magic did not judge Sirius, which was unfair and not in accordance with the procedures.

However, Sirius was in a really bad state at that time. After he thought he had killed Peter Pettigrew, he went into a state of insanity. He wanted to atone for Harry’s parents and voluntarily admitted many unwarranted crimes.

Evan was thinking that if he went to the holding cell now, he might see Sirius.

“Next …” Crouch looked around, as though there were suddenly a lot of dragons. “Bring them in!”

The door in the corner opened again, and six Dementors walked in, flanking a group of four people.

Unlike the previous silence, many people in the crowd turned to look up at Mr. Crouch, and a few of them whispered to one another.

The Dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms that now stood on the dungeon floor. There was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Crouch; a thinner and more nervous-looking man, whose eyes were darting around the crowd; a woman with thick, shining dark hair and heavily hooded eyes, who was sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne.

She was Bellatrix in her youth, she looked beautiful, but from time to time she revealed a hint of madness.

She looked at the wizards on the jury table with no fear at all. The slight smile on the corner of her mouth clearly revealed ridicule and contempt.

And then there was a boy of seventeen or eighteen, who, unlike the other three, looked completely petrified. He was shivering, his straw-colored hair all over his face, his freckled skin milk-white. It was Barty Crouch Jr.

He looked like a student who had just graduated from Hogwarts. If he had not known that he was the most cunning and purest Death Eater, Evan would have thought that he was a teenager like his brother next door, and unfortunately he was involved in the trial.

Evan looked at Barty Crouch Jr. hoping to see something, but there was nothing.

No wonder he could get Voldemort’s trust. This acting skill and shrewdness alone were not available to ordinary people.

He probably thought his father would be lenient to him, as long as he acted as innocently as possible. But Barty Jr. was about to be disappointed, and Evan noticed that Mr. Crouch did not even look at him.

Crouch was now expected to hate his son. At the end of the war, when he was about to become Minister of Magic, this situation suddenly appeared. He estimated he should get rid of the relationship with Barty Jr. as soon as possible.

In this respect, Crouch’s cold blood and cruelty were beyond imagination.

It had to be said that this family was really terrible…

This was the typical Slytherin, the typical family of pure blood wizards, who could give up everything for power.

But they plotted behind the scenes, such as secretly saving their son from Azkaban.

After seeing Barty Jr., the wispy little witch beside Crouch began to rock backward and forward in her seat, whimpering into her handkerchief. She looked very sad and grieved, writing all expressions on her face.

Crouch stood up and looked down upon the four in front of him, and there was pure hatred in his face.

“You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law and the Wizengamot High Court, so that we may pass judgment on you,” he said clearly, but his body couldn’t help shaking, “for a crime so heinous …”

“Father,” said the boy with the straw-colored hair. “Father… please…”

“… that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court,” said Crouch, speaking more loudly, drowning out his son’s voice. “We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror… Frank Longbottom… and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named …”

“Father, I didn’t!” shrieked the boy in chains below. “I didn’t, I swear it, Father, I’m innocent, I just happened to be there, don’t send me back to the Dementors…”

“You are further accused,” bellowed Mr. Crouch, coldly, “of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom’s wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. I now ask the jury…”

“Mother!” screamed the boy below, and the wispy little witch beside Crouch began to sob, rocking backward and forward. “Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn’t do it, it wasn’t me!”

His mother sobbed even more. She kept wiping her tears with the handkerchief, but she didn’t speak.

“I now ask the jury,” shouted Mr. Crouch, “to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!”

In unison, the witches and wizards along the right-hand side of the dungeon raised their hands. The crowd around the walls began to clap as it had for Bagman, their faces full of savage triumph.

Barty Crouch Jr. gave out screams, echoing in the courtroom.

“No! Mother, no! I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it, I didn’t know! Don’t send me there, don’t let him!”

The Dementors were gliding back into the room, and the boy’s three companions rose quietly from their seats.

Bellatrix looked up at Crouch and called, “The Dark Lord will rise again. Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us especially! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him! “

But Barty Crouch Jr. was trying to fight off the Dementors, even though their cold, draining power had started to affect him.

The crowd was jeering, some of them on their feet.

“I’m your son!” he screamed up at Crouch, “YOUR SON!”

“You are no son of mine!” bellowed Mr. Crouch, his eyes bulging suddenly, his face ferocious.

For the first time, he focused on Barty Crouch Jr. and shouted, “I have no son!”

The wispy witch beside him gave a great gasp and slumped in her seat. She had fainted. Crouch appeared to not have noticed.

“Take them away!” He roared at the Dementors, spit flying from his mouth. “Take them away, and may they rot in there!”

“Father! Father, I wasn’t involved! No! No! Father, please!” Barty Jr. struggled.

But it didn’t work. He was mercilessly dragged down by the Dementors.

Evan stood up, dragged Harry and ran. He wanted to see the scene before they were sent to Azkaban.

No doubt, Sirius was also there.

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