https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-670-The-Technique-of-Transformation/13685888/
Chapter 669: Arrest
"Boom!" The wooden door burst open violently. Filch limped into the room, scanning frantically for his feather quill and parchment.
Standing at the entrance, Wade reached out and steadied the door frame, preventing the wooden door from slamming shut. He glanced around Filch’s office. He’d been here before—narrow, dim, and cramped as ever, yet surprisingly tidy, with no visible cobwebs in the corners. Wade’s gaze was casual at first, but then his eyes narrowed slightly.
On the side of an open drawer, something dirty and jagged—like a bent knife—was wedged in. It had been crushed, its outer shell severely deformed. Wade knew exactly what it was: a leg from a Cleaning Crab.
At that moment, the wooden door beside him closed softly, then clicked shut with finality.
And now, two faint footprints rested on the floor beside Wade.
Filch, finally locating what he needed, slammed the parchment onto the table. He turned to Wade with a malicious smirk.
"Let me think... What punishment should I give you? How about scrubbing the corridor with no magic? Or cleaning the restroom? I’m sure that’ll teach you a lesson..."
"Wade interrupted, his voice sharp. "What happened to your Cleaning Crab?"
Filch shot a glance at the open drawer, then strode over with a heavy step. He yanked it open with a loud clang, then slammed it shut—this time, the crab’s leg disappeared entirely.
Filch hunched forward, his face twisted in disgust. "That so-called 'state-of-the-art' cleaning magic puppet? Fraud! I spent so many Galleons on it—costs more than my old broom—and it couldn’t even handle Peeves’ gum! Lasted less than a week!"
He lumbered back, dragging his chair across the floor with a screech, then began jotting down punishment notes. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
"Oh, and this magic puppet was your invention, wasn’t it, Wade? Useless thing. My old methods still work best—cleaning agents, steel brushes, and students weeping while scrubbing toilets. Nothing beats that."
Wade’s temple twitched. A vein pulsed beneath his skin. His anger boiled inside, but he smiled—calm, cold.
No words. Just a sudden, sharp flick of his wand.
At the same instant, Filch—still writing—twisted his body. From under the desk, a wand shot out.
"Stupefy!"
"Stupefy!"
Their voices overlapped perfectly. The spells collided midair, exploding outward and shattering the entire wall of disciplinary records. Parchment fragments flew like snow.
The chandelier above trembled. Most of the candle flames snuffed out. In the swaying shadows, both men stepped back half a pace, eyes wide with identical shock.
Filch hadn’t expected Wade—just a student—to suddenly attack an administrator.
Wade hadn’t expected the man in front of him to be prepared, ready to strike.
"Quite surprising," Filch said, his wand still pointed at Wade, teeth bared in a grin. "I thought you were a good student."
Wade held his wand steady, his lips curling into a sneer. "Since when did Mr. Filch learn magic?"
The man before him was still thin and hunched, eyes bloodshot, robes stained and frayed—exactly as he always looked. But above his head, the name shimmered clearly: Barty Crouch.
Undoubtedly, this was the very same Little Barty Crouch who had vanished through a Portkey right before Wade’s eyes.
"Oh?" Barty Crouch chuckled, unimpressed. "So you do know. This homegrown Muggle-born is just a pitiful imitation. When did this become common knowledge?"
He didn’t know the truth—didn’t know Wade had already uncovered his identity. He mocked, "Being publicly humiliated by such an incompetent fool, even given the power to punish wizards? How amusing. This is Hogwarts under Dumbledore’s rule—always letting clowns get away with arrogance."
As he spoke, his leg shifted subtly, seeking any moment of weakness in the boy before him.
Though Wade hadn’t shown himself to be a bookish alchemist during the two Triwizard Tournaments, Barty Crouch now realized—this child was far more dangerous than he looked. Not a single flaw in his posture, not a single opening.
Jealousy flared.
Back then, he had been brilliant—excellent, even. But compared to Wade Gray? He was merely good. Ordinary.
He thought again of the last time he’d seen “Harry Potter”—that devastating Fire Spell, so intense it burned like the sun.
Had he been wrong? Was the boy not some disguised wizard… but actually Harry Potter?
Could it be that the legendary “Savior” wasn’t just Dumbledore’s myth? That he truly was this powerful?
Had the new generation of young wizards evolved to such heights?
Wade didn’t give him time to dwell.
In a flash, his wand trembled—silent, precise.
Barty Crouch snapped to attention. He rolled sideways just in time. A Shield Charm flared into existence, deflecting the red light.
The chain on the wall shot forward like a venomous serpent, lashing at Wade. The cabinet above the desk flew up—slammed by the chain, shattered into splinters.
Amid the flying parchment, Barty Crouch stood again, grinning with malice, wand raised.
"Souls—"
"Boom!"
A crimson bolt struck Barty Crouch from the side. The impostor flew backward, crashing into the iron rack by the wall, then tumbled to the floor with a clatter.
"Imperius Curse? You monster actually used it!" Sirius Black dropped the Disguise Charm, his voice venomous. He kicked the unconscious Barty Crouch twice, then waved his wand—thick ropes shot out, binding him tightly.
"Filth," Sirius spat. "When you wake up, you’ll be sharing a cell with a Dementor. I hope you enjoy the embrace."
He still couldn’t forget the agony the Dementor had inflicted on him. But the thought of his enemy imprisoned in Azkaban filled him with grim satisfaction.
Wade had already picked up the wand Barty Crouch used, slipping it into his pocket. Then he murmured, "Patronus Charm."
A silver-white eagle erupted from his wand, circled once, then vanished.
"Did you notify Dumbledore?" Sirius asked.
"Yeah," Wade nodded. "Let’s look around. The real Filch must still be in this room."
Barty Crouch was a master actor—but to perfectly impersonate someone, you needed reference material. He’d had to study the real Filch’s letters, habits, mannerisms.
Wade pulled open drawers and cabinets one by one. Then, in a cluttered corner box behind the wall, he found him—motionless, trapped.
Barty Crouch hadn’t made the space large enough. Filch had been confined there for days—suffering.
When Wade pulled him out, the old man was barely able to stand, his body caked in filth, reeking of foul stench. Wade cast several Scourgify spells, but the man still smelled terrible.
Even in pain, when he saw Wade standing above him, he grinned—missing several teeth.
"I knew you’d figure it out."
As the real Filch was laid onto the bed, he smirked. "I told him I didn’t tell you about the Cleaning Crab. Not a word about your intelligence."
Wade looked into the old man’s eyes—full of trust—and felt a pang of guilt.
Before he’d suspected the killer was connected to Filch, he hadn’t noticed any change in the administrator. In truth, like most students, he’d often ignored Filch entirely.
But here, in that box, Filch had seen Wade as his only hope.
He pushed down the strange feeling in his chest and smiled. "That’s strange. He must’ve thought the Cleaning Crab was a store-bought product. Did he try the Dementor’s Kiss on you?"
"Of course he tried!" Filch gasped, his voice weak but excited. "But I’ve been at Hogwarts for decades. I knew what to expect. Dementor’s Kiss? Imperius Curse? I can resist them."
He spat, trembling with emotion. "Every time he cast a spell, I’d force myself to remember how I outsmarted Harry Potter. And other students. As long as he never asked about you specifically, I could hide that memory."
"Brilliant," Wade said, genuinely impressed. "Even powerful wizards couldn’t do that."
"Haha... lucky he didn’t take me seriously," Filch chuckled weakly. Then he remembered something. "Oh—my crab..."
"Boom!"
The door exploded open again.
Dumbledore stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the room. His stern expression finally softened.
"Are you all alright?" he asked, stepping inside. "Wade, Sirius Black, Aragog?"
"We’re fine," Sirius grinned. "The fake Filch might need a few minutes to wake up."
"Mr. Filch is weak," Wade said. "He’ll probably need to stay in the Infirmary for a while."
Dumbledore nodded. "Minerva, take Mr. Filch to the Infirmary."
"Of course," Professor McGonagall entered, lifting both Filch and the bed with a silent spell. She looked at Wade, concern in her eyes. "Gray, I think you might need to go too..."
"He stays, Minerva," Dumbledore said. "I’ll take him for testing afterward."
"Alright..." McGonagall hesitated, then left with Filch.
Only then did Snape and Moody enter.
The Potions Professor locked eyes with Sirius Black for a tense second—then bent down to examine the impostor.
"Strange..." Moody muttered. "This man... something’s off."
(End of Chapter)
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