The Butcher of Hogsmeade

The fireplace in Hogsmeade Post Office is no more special than those elsewhere; it's just cleaner because it's maintained by dedicated staff.

According to the Prewitt brothers, the Floo network once flourished due to its ease of use. However, with the escalating tensions in recent years, most wizarding families have voluntarily shut off their fireplaces, as no one wants Death Eaters sneaking into their homes through the fireplace at night. As a result, the Department of Magical Transportation has strengthened its monitoring and restrictions on the Floo network, and now only a few key transportation nodes still use the network, such as the Leaky Cauldron and the Owl Post Office in Hogsmeade.

While the Prewitt brothers were explaining things to Shen Hou, Barty Crouch Jr. listened quietly until the brothers finished speaking. Then, as if casually, he asked, "Why isn't it because the Ministry of Magic has increased surveillance that wizarding families are reluctant to use fireplaces? It's said that this was suggested by the Division of Magical Law Enforcement."

The three looked at each other, then Fabian burst into laughter, taking the young man's words as a joke: "Aha, don't let old Barty hear this, your father looks terrifying when he's angry."

"Perhaps it's because he's my father that I know a little about his true thoughts? It's not easy for outsiders to hear his complaints." The young man twitched the corners of his mouth, and the change in his tone and expression suggested that he really was just joking.

As a result, the smiles on the faces of those present became more frequent and they felt more relaxed.

"To be honest, you're nothing like old Barty—not in appearance, but I've never seen old Barty joke around with anyone," Fabian said.

"Want to hear the truth? I've never met him either. He probably doesn't even think I'm like him." The young man said this with a smile on his face, but no one noticed the growing chill in his eyes.

This conversation took place while awaiting a response from the Auror's office and ended with the two smugglers being successfully handed over and escorted through the fireplace to the Ministry of Magic to await trial.

Soon, the Pwitt brothers and Shen Hou left the post office, and the building returned to silence, with only the occasional hooting of an owl and the sound of flapping wings.

Barty Crouch Jr. looked around, knowing exactly what his colleagues on duty were doing. According to the rules, one person had to stay at the front desk, so he'd be stuck in that chair until he left; and since it was owl feeding time, the other colleague would be staying in the owl enclosure for at least ten minutes.

This means he has at least a few minutes of "safe" time.

Floo Powder was thrown into the fireplace, and the green flames reignited, but not towards the Ministry of Magic; instead, they led to a fireplace that was neither registered nor monitored. Barty didn't step into the flames; he merely peeked inside and, through the flickering light, saw the brightly lit side on the other side.

It was a magnificently decorated hall with an oval table in front of the fireplace, around which sat several people, their figures indistinct.

"My child, I hope you have good news to bring me." The voice coming from the far end of the long table was strange. Every breath he took when speaking each word was extremely sharp, sounding like the hissing of a snake flicking its tongue in every sentence.

"Master, I've seen that Chinese man. The rumors are wrong; he's not a Muggle or a Squib, but a wizard."

Even though he couldn't see anyone's face through the flames, Barty still accurately located the direction from which the voice came, his tone and expression respectful; for that voice belonged to the most feared Dark Lord in the magical world, a being whose name almost no one dared to call out directly.

That's Voldemort!

"Perhaps only Mr. Antonin Dolokhov will be happy about this news, at least he didn't die at the hands of a Muggle, but no one can ask him how he feels; among us, is there really anyone who is relieved about this? Go on." Voldemort's strange voice spoke to himself, the topic going off on tangents, but then returning to the beginning, as if he was already used to others having to follow his train of thought.

"I was observing them. They were both very cautious. The two Aurors, the Pwitt brothers, always made a conscious effort to keep the murderer away from the others. From the moment we entered the post office, at least one of the brothers would stand between me and the Chinese man. It was obvious that they weren't law enforcement colleagues investigating the case, but rather in a protector-protected relationship," the young man said.

"Whose orders do you think the Prewitt brothers were following?" the strange voice asked. "The Minister of Magic, or Dumbledore?"

Without hesitation, Barty replied, "Perhaps both."

"Are you trying to tell me that the Ministry of Magic and Dumbledore have joined forces? This is very different from the Ministry of Magic I know."

"Perhaps they share a common goal in this matter," Barty Jr. insisted. "The Minister for Magic and his senior directors are vying for power, while Dumbledore... he might just want to protect that Chinese man and wouldn't mind using the Ministry of Magic's power struggles."

Voldemort let out a sharp, cold laugh: "I've always known how ruthless and cold-blooded Dumbledore's heart is hidden beneath his dignified exterior; he's certainly capable of doing something like this."

"I will find out where they are in Hogsmeade. Unless Dumbledore breaks the school's rules and lets him hide in the castle, he won't escape my sight, not even if he hides in the Forbidden Forest like a savage," Barty declared confidently and eagerly.

Voldemort's voice trailed off for a moment, as if he were deep in thought, and no one around dared to speak, not even daring to breathe. When he spoke again, his first words sent a chill down the spines of many present.

"I heard that someone in your group has started a betting operation based on this?"

No one responded, but Voldemort didn't care; he particularly enjoyed the eerily quiet atmosphere.

"Who placed the bets?" The shadow at the far end of the long table stirred for the first time, its icy gaze sweeping over everyone in the room like the most ferocious predator. "Barty Crouch used that Chinese man to humiliate me, to humiliate every Death Eater, and some of you have absolutely no shame. Do you think I should now join Dumbledore on stage for a farcical duel that everyone's been waiting for, while you applaud and cheer, and if you're feeling particularly pleased, throw Galleons onto the stage as a reward for the best performer?"

Even the sound of breathing disappeared in the hall.

"Who's going to tip me?" The hissing sounds of inhaling and exhaling were like a venomous snake coiling around everyone's neck.

"Master, actually I...we..."

"Ah, Malfoy, are you one of them?"

At Voldemort's words, a man with long, light blond hair sitting at the table almost knelt down on the spot.

"Please forgive us...please forgive us...we were too...too..."

"You've really disappointed me, Malfoy. You see, the Carrolls and Averys were much braver than you when they placed the bets."

These words shattered the last shred of hope in many people's hearts, and five or six figures slid off their chairs and knelt on the ground beside the oval table.

"Since you all like stage plays, then go and perform on stage yourselves!" Voldemort sneered, uttering his last words of the day.