Just a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor

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December 26, suburbs of London.

It's only 0:30 in the morning, and Christmas is over, but Christmas carols are still ringing everywhere in this suburban town.

Three or four young men and women with Christmas hats on their heads, holding a few unlit fireworks in their hands, walked along the snowy road with laughter and laughter.

The neon lights hanging on the pine and cypress trees on the roadside are constantly flashing light of various colors, and some passers-by have noticed the old and young who are walking into the town along the road.

The old man was a lame old man. He had an inconvenient wooden leg, and he limped on the snow.

But looking at his appearance, normal people can't produce a little pity and sympathy.

His long gray hair was scattered behind him, and there were several inconspicuous scars on his face. His face was vicissitudes of life, and his back was slightly hunched, but under his solemn expression, he exuded a terrifying aura.

Walking alongside him was a young man who looked to be in his early twenties.

Compared with the lame old man, this young man looks much more handsome and pleasing to the eye, but both of them are dressed in the same weird clothes, it is a dark robe, like a robe that was popular in the Middle Ages.

"If you accept my proposal and change into normal clothes before coming out, maybe we won't be stared at so much."

Sherlock grumbled, not without reminding Moody, but the retired Auror nicknamed "Mad-Eye" was too stubborn in some ways.

Moody didn't pay any attention to the gazes around him, he said gruffly.

"Muggle clothes are so inconvenient, there's not even a suitable place to hide my wand. Besides, I've been wearing it at dances for this trip."

"Professor Sinista is your dance partner tonight? She didn't complain about your outfit?"

"Do you think those of us who are older would care about that? But she's always worried that my wooden prosthesis will step on her feet when she's dancing, huh, she doesn't even know that when I was young, at the Ministry of Magic They're a sought-after dance partner at the dance party."

"I don't care if she cares about your dress, but she definitely cares about what you said just now about her age."

"Shut up! I'll only say in private that mentioning her age in front of a lady is not a gentleman's act!"

The two chatted while walking, and soon came to the edge of the town.

There are not many houses here, and there are not many wheat fields, but the trees are very lush.

Even after they left the town, they didn't stop and kept walking towards the depths of the woods.

"Is the Crouch family's manor here?" Sherlock couldn't help asking curiously.

Moody shook his head.

"Pure-blooded family manors are generally built in inaccessible places, in order to prevent being disturbed by Muggles. The Crouchs, as a wizarding family with a long history, will of course not build their own manor near a Muggle town. "

"This is just Barty Crouch's own residence. In order to deal with magical things in London, he specially prepared a house when he was the boss, and he has been living here since then, the ancestral home of the Crouch family. No one lives there.”

Moody certainly has enough say in the knowledge of the former head of the Magic Law Enforcement Department.

Sherlock frowned after learning this information.

"Where is the Crouch's ancestral home? Does anyone know?"

"No one knows about this. Old Barty has never mentioned it himself, and there is no record of this in the ministry." Moody's expression was solemn, "Because of the history of the witch hunt, some pure-blood families have a lot of respect for their own family. The manor has a high level of confidentiality, and only communicates with the outside world through the fireplace, and untrusted wizards do not know where the ancestral homes of these families are."

Hearing his words, Sherlock's heart sank slightly, his face was a little unsightly, and he always had a bad premonition in his heart.

With Moody leading the way, they quickly passed through the woods and came to a clearing where a small two-story building stood.

The snowflakes piled up thickly around, much thicker than those on the town streets.

Obviously, the snow before the snow fell at Christmas, the snow here has not been cleaned, so this snow will appear.

The same is true of the two-story building. It has no Christmas atmosphere at all. The roof and window edges are covered with snow, which looks like an abandoned wild house.

After Sherlock and Moody approached here, they silently drew out their wands.

"Has there been news from Kingsley that it has been a long time since Crouch went to the Ministry of Magic?" Sherlock asked in a deep voice.

Moody's magical fake eye stared at the building in front of him and kept spinning.

"On December 23rd, he promoted the third son of the Weasleys in the ministry, made him assistant to the director, and assigned most of the duties to him. Since then he has been No. According to the Weasley kid, he has a very bad cold and needs to rest."

"It's been three days," Sherlock said softly. "He hasn't shown up for three days, so it's hard not to wonder what state he's still in."

At this point, they had already walked to the small two-story building. The area of ​​the house was not large. Sherlock directly deployed his control magic, and he could read the situation inside without entering the door.

"There's no one in there."

Moody's fake eye was also turning all the time. He didn't hesitate, and waved his wand to open the door of Crouch's house.

The door was not locked, and no protective measures were taken, so it was simply pushed open.

The scene inside the house was also revealed in front of them at this time.

The living room was a mess, all kinds of furniture were violently overturned to the ground, and the pillows were filled with stuffing all over the room. Obviously, there had been a fierce conflict here.

Moody limped in. Instead of studying other things, he squatted on the ground and lightly wiped the floating dust on the floor with his fingers.

"No one has come for at least three months."

Sherlock also walked through the messy furniture. He walked to the fireplace with a clear purpose, bent down, and picked up a gray ring from an inconspicuous corner.

"Do you know this?" he asked Moody, holding up the ring.

Moody came closer and stared at the strange bird with two heads carved on the ring.

"This is the family crest of the Crouch family. It should be the family ring that Old Barty often wears on his hand."

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