A certain Hogwarts professor of runes.

Dobby shouted, "You have no master anymore. He wants to kill you. Think about it carefully!"

Shiny's slender body stiffened, her round nose, as if flattened, suddenly twitched, and she stubbornly said, "No, that's not it—"

“My master needs someone to take care of him; he’s very sick!” she cried.

Dobby shouted in a voice even louder than hers, "He didn't show any signs of illness when he attacked us!"

“Because Master had to take care of Young Master Barty, who was very ill, he felt he had done something wrong and wronged his own son…” Sparkle trembled all over, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Sparkle shouldn’t have said that. Sparkle is such a bad elf!”

She screamed and rolled in the dirt, startling several students who were coming out of the auditorium in the distance.

“Young Master?” Felix said softly, deep in thought. “Is it Barty Crouch II? Wasn’t he imprisoned in Azkaban, and as far as I know, he’s been dead for many years…”

"Sparkle!" He stopped the sprite from punishing him and said encouragingly, "Listen to me, your master is in trouble, and only you can help him," he added, "and your young master Barty, but I need to know the truth."

Shining stared wide-eyed at Felix, muttering to himself, "Master Barty is innocent. He was imprisoned in Azkaban by his master, but he couldn't forgive himself, so he chose to atone for his sins..."

Her condition was truly frightening; she was like a soulless shell, constantly repeating these words.

As he spoke, a strange light flashed in his gleaming pupils.

"What's wrong with Sparkle?" Dobby rubbed his fingers anxiously. "Mr. Hyp, Dobby did hear a cold voice, but he didn't see anyone else..."

“She was cursed…not quite an Imperius Curse, I suspect it’s a Confusion Curse,” Felix said.

Dobby was startled. "A Confusion Charm? Gilgamesh has been hit with a Confusion Charm?"

Felix pressed his wand against the sprite's chest and whispered, "Dispel the spell." He switched his perspective, and in the gray-white scene, wisps of red light rose from the sprite's body.

He put away his wand, and Dobby stared at Sparkle, asking anxiously, "Is the spell off? How is Sparkle?"

Felix breathed a sigh of relief. "Let's see."

Flash seemed to have just woken up; she blinked first, then let out a desperate scream.

"Young Master Barty, you naughty boy!"

Felix had to put his arm around Sparkle's shoulder as she shook her head frantically, kicking her legs and screaming in distress. His eyes lit up with a silvery light, and he said in a deep voice, "Sparkle, is there anything you want to say?"

Her bright eyes were wide open like giant bells, and tears streamed down her face, but she refused to say anything.

Left with no other choice, Felix released her.

He instructed, "Dobby, take Shining to rest. She's been through a lot tonight." He pointed at Shining, whose expression softened quickly, and she soon fell asleep, though her eyelids were still twitching restlessly.

Felix conjured complex magical symbols in the air and imprinted them on Sparkle's body. "Mr. Hyp?"

"She can't leave for now. I've blocked her ability to use magic-like abilities. Dobby, please take care of her for a while and try to fulfill any of her requests."

“Yes, Mr. Hyp,” Dobby replied. He slung Sparkle over his shoulder, preparing to leave, his expression hesitant. “And you, sir? Do you need Dobby to ask Sparkle about Mr. Barty Crouch’s secrets?”

“No need,” Felix said. “I’ll ask myself…” He said in a very complicated tone, “I just saw a very interesting scene.”

What did you see?

“A baby,” Felix exclaimed in admiration.

Chapter 416 Remnant Soul

Late at night, on a somewhat desolate mountain.

An old house covered in ivy stood nestled in the mountains, surrounded by the glow of incantations. Felix ignored it, glancing at the dark window on the top floor before gently pushing open the door. The house was eerily quiet inside.

He walked through a dark corridor, at the end of which was an ancient door.

As he got closer, he heard some sounds—the wheezing of a bellows, faint and labored, like the strains of a patient clinging to life. There were other voices inside, fiddling with bottles and jars, followed by the sound of liquid being poured into bottles.

"Bring me the potion!" a cold voice said.

Felix heard the sound of liquid being poured into his throat, followed by a painful groan. The person who had taken the medicine was enduring immense pain, and it took him a while to stop.

"You'd better hope your son catches that little elf, or you'll suffer..." The cold voice seemed to be talking to someone, but Felix heard no response. He tapped his forehead lightly, and through his magical vision, he saw three sources of magic.

One was somewhat normal, but the other two... were shockingly evil.

Barty Crouch, Voldemort, and a dark wizard? What's different about Voldemort's special state, and why did Dumbledore disapprove of this mission?

Felix's mind raced, his communication mirror dangling in his pocket. He raised his wand, aiming at a direction where magical energy fluctuations were more pronounced, black arcs of electricity gathering at the tip, ready to unleash their power in the blink of an eye.

"Who's outside?" the cold voice asked.

"Break!"

A black lightning bolt suddenly appeared, piercing through the wooden door. At the same time, Felix pushed open the broken wooden door and entered the room. His body shimmered with the light of various protective items, and he was wearing a trench coat made of dragon skin mixed with basilisk skin.

Inside the room, a magical barrier blocked his lightning, and Felix could see everything inside.

It was a simple room. Barty Crouch stood behind a chair, which was not surprising. On the chair was a swaddled baby, and inside the swaddle was an infant who looked like a skeleton. There was not a hair on his head or face, and his body seemed to be covered with scales. His skin was dark and red, like tender, wounded flesh.

Its arms and legs were thin and soft, and its face was a flat snake face with two narrow slits where the eyes should have been, from which a chilling red light shone.

“Mr. Voldemort, I must say, despite being prepared, I was still taken aback when I actually saw you.”

Felix said kindly, but his eyes were fixed on the corner of the chair, where a large snake, at least twelve feet long, was crawling up Barty Crouch's leg and onto his body. The snake was clever, hiding most of its body behind Crouch and hissing as it poked its head out from under Crouch's neck.

Felix's initial target was the snake.

The serpent possessed far more magical power than the weakened, infant-like Voldemort before him! He had misjudged the target based on his magical perception—no, perhaps he wasn't wrong…

Horcruxes.

A word flashed through Felix's mind.

Voldemort actually used living creatures as Horcruxes. Didn't he ever think that after the creature died, it would dissipate along with the fragments of its soul?

He gained a true understanding of Voldemort's madness.

"Take Nagini and go first," Voldemort ordered from his chair.

Just then, a black lightning bolt suddenly appeared and headed straight for Barty Crouch, or more precisely, for the snake's head on the right side of his neck.

"Zizzizi!"

After a sickening crackling sound of electricity, the black lightning was forcibly deflected, tearing a hole in the wall and letting in sparse moonlight.

Felix stared intently at Voldemort, who was breathing heavily, his chest churning like bellows. But it was already quite moving; a mere temporary body constructed from potions and magic had twice blocked his attacks at the last second.

He didn't try to stop them again; Barty Crouch had already disappeared with the snake. Someone was waiting for them outside; he wondered if Voldemort would be furious if he found out.

A pale white flame slowly rose from behind him. Felix looked at Voldemort and asked with interest, "You actually covered our retreat yourself. That's quite different from my impression of you... Are they very important to you?"

"What made you have this absurd idea?" Voldemort said slowly, the two spells he had just cast had left him overwhelmed. His baby-like body leaned against the back of the chair, looking like a talking lump of flesh.

His voice was very hoarse as he said, "If you had experienced what I have gone through, if you had felt my despair, you would realize that even a puppet, a lowly little elf, should not be given up on easily..."

“I see, you didn’t have enough manpower.” Felix nodded slightly, now understanding why Flash had survived. The flames behind him continued to expand, and with a single step, Fiery Blaze poured down like water, bursting out wildly to the left and right from his toes.

Two fiery serpents converged behind Voldemort, forming a perfect circle that encircled the chair he was sitting in. Then, flames rose upwards, and countless chain-like, pale white fire ropes crisscrossed, weaving a dense, impenetrable net.

Within this network, neither Apparition nor Door Keys can be activated easily.

“To use Fiendfire to this extent, you're quite good in my eyes,” Voldemort said softly, showing no intention of running away, seemingly wanting to talk to Felix.

Felix looked at him calmly. Having spoken with Dumbledore before, he knew he couldn't be too careful. But inevitably, a question arose in his mind: Why didn't Voldemort stop him? Was it because he couldn't?

"You're wondering why I don't fight back?" Voldemort's unsettling voice rang out again. "Don't worry, I can't do anything in my current state. My friend... a few months ago, I was wandering in the Albanian forests, possessing those little animals for long periods of time. It all annoyed me, but there was nothing I could do. Back then, I was worse than the lowest of the lowly ghosts... Only in this way could I find a trace of what it means to be a living being."

"Until Peter Pettigrew found you."

Felix said that from a magical perspective, within the visible range, there was only Voldemort as the sole source of magic. There were no Portkeys, no magical traps, only Voldemort's own weak but extremely evil magic distorting his viewpoint.

He suddenly realized that Voldemort genuinely wanted to talk to him because he had no power to resist.

“Yes, until Peter Pettigrew found me…” the hoarse, cold voice said, “a cowardly servant. I’d be better off if he were still here. What a pity.” His tone was as if he had just thrown away a usable napkin.

“Peter Pettigrew was taken away by the Ministry of Magic; he was kissed by a Dementor,” Felix stated.

“I know… he’s dead, he won’t live more than a week,” Voldemort said coldly. “I’ve done experiments and tried to prolong their lives as much as possible, but the results are often unsatisfactory.”

"When you were still at the height of your fame?" Felix said.

"Just some boring tricks. When all your servants are out there spreading your glory, you need to find something to do. Some of my servants... Bella likes to tormenting people, but I'm tired of it. I'd rather study black magic, the art of darkness, which is as fascinating as this deep, starless night..."

"Polite," Voldemort drawled. His voice wasn't as harsh as before, and perhaps because of the tone, Felix even thought of an academic conference.

Then he said slowly, “My friend, open your flames a little wider, we have plenty of time.”

Felix remained unmoved, instead lowering the fire cage even further. His control over the Fiendfire was extremely high; apart from the charred marks on the ground, everything else in the room was intact.

"Didn't you have something to say? I'm still listening, but please forgive my limited patience."

Voldemort scoffed, "I once considered you a second Dumbledore, but you don't have his patience..."

"Voldemort, you always boast about your achievements in the Dark Arts, but you can't beat Dumbledore. Do you know how people perceive your relationship? He's the only person you fear. I'm curious, if you don't learn a real lesson, will you allow such rumors to spread?"

“Dumbledore…” Voldemort murmured the name, his voice growing colder. “That old fellow has hidden himself too well. Everyone has been fooled by him. He is a master hypocrite.”

He sized up Felix, grinned, and sneered, "Perhaps all of you think of him as some old man who just talks nonsense?"

“Isn’t that right? He’s over a hundred years old.” Felix asked, picking out the key point in his words; even the enemy’s words were valuable.

Voldemort uttered a dismissive sound, but he didn't follow Felix's train of thought. "I've learned about you, thoroughly… Felix Heap, and I'm surprised to find that we have very similar backgrounds," he said softly. "We both had no choice but to live in a Muggle orphanage, equally gifted, yet subjected to prejudiced looks—"

“I’m sorry, I was very happy in the orphanage,” Felix interrupted him.

“I see, Muggle research expert… How ironic, you’re like my opposite.” Voldemort’s eyes gleamed red, his tone filled with nostalgia. “Actually, I had a chance to be your colleague back then; at your age, I might still be your professor. Unfortunately, Dumbledore rejected me without any consideration.” Voldemort said with a sigh. “He always has.”

“You must have been very naughty when you were a child, that’s why he has such a bad impression of you,” Felix said sarcastically.

Voldemort's narrowed eyes snapped open, and his skeletal face came to life, contorting violently. "Another one, another one he's brainwashed, Felix Heap. Suddenly I don't want to kill you anymore. I'd like to see how he treats you when you clash with him. From what I know, you're not an easy person to talk to..."

Felix scrutinized him intently. "Is this what it takes to become the Dark Lord? An arrogance and imagination beyond the ordinary?"

“It’s confidence and strategy,” Voldemort corrected.

“Alright,” Felix said softly, “then I need you to come back with me. You’d better tell Dumbledore this in person; you two must have a lot to say to each other.”

“There will be a day, but not today, when I will give a moving speech over his corpse,” Voldemort said.

Felix opened his arms wide, then suddenly brought them together. The pale white flames converged towards the center, condensing into a pale white longsword, which then fell sharply.

He took a few steps back, squinting to see what other tricks Voldemort had up his sleeve, but to his surprise, the pale white Fiery Blade pierced straight through Voldemort's chest. Flames splattered, clinging to Voldemort's swaddling clothes and spreading all over his body, crackling and burning fiercely.

Amidst the raging flames, Voldemort let out a chilling scream, his slit-like red eyes wide open to their limit, his blood-red gaze fixed intently on him.

"Besides Dumbledore, you are the second person to give me the feeling of death. I will remember you, Felix Heap!"