The Quidditch pitch has become a mess.

The stands are shattered, suspended in the air in an eerie, weightless state.

Magical plants with teeth and claws, or lifeless, are all over the audience.

Crouch's laughter grew more and more maniac, and his mental state became more and more excited, which affected the spells he cast, and became more and more powerful.

There was a burst of laughter.

Avemer did not reply, and fled in the Quidditch pitch, occasionally sowing a handful of seeds to fight back.

But this offensive, in front of Crouch at this moment, is of no avail.

It's like he's soaked in a potion.

Each spell makes perfect use of the magic in his body, and it is also extremely accurate, causing Neville great trouble.

Except for the first one.

Neville never got close again.

But he is not impatient at all, and a good hunter needs to be patient enough, especially when dealing with such powerful prey.

Patience.

He has always been very patient.

After dodging another Mind Drill, Neville stopped sowing the seed, but pulled a potion out of his pocket, stuffed it into his mouth, and swallowed it in one gulp.

Inside the body, there is no change in the breath.

At the other end of the court, Crouch, who had always kept his distance from Neville, paused and raised his left hand to cover his head.

The world before me becomes illusory.

The phantom of Voldemort came out and came out at his feet, one by one, and stepped on Mr. and Mrs. Crouch.

The lady stared at him with love and pity.

Mr. hates iron and does not make steel.

The two beams of gaze stabbed fiercely.

No.

Wrong.

Crouch pinched himself hard, now was not the time to think about it, he looked away and looked at the magical plants around him.

With his exhaustive eyesight, he finally found a small plant under the rhizome of a fanged geranium.

The green plant, the length of the little finger and the thickness of the quill, with a few bell-like dark red flowers with their openings facing downward, and the dark purple bulbous fruits that grew alone and were embedded in the pentagonal flesh petals, all burst fullly, and a faint mist surged between the swallows.

This fog blends perfectly with the frost and snow blowing up in the stadium.

"Crazy Eggplant!" Crouch gritted his teeth and spat out the plant's name through the cracks.

As the double "O" winner of herbology and potions, he recognized it at a glance.

It's dangerous.

However, unlike plants such as dragon claw vine, devil's web, or biting kale, or geranium, it does not have strong individual life characteristics, nor does it actively attack others, but will release a magical mist as it grows, and the smoker will fall into a huge and crazy fantasy, but this fantasy will not be fatal, or a simple fantasy, will not be fatal.

Quite a few wizards are fond of this plant.

Some older wizards are crazy because they take too many madmen.

The Ministry of Magic once wanted to list this plant as a contraband, but there were too many potions that needed it, including many healing ointments and potions, and the proposal ultimately fell through.

Neville stood still, looking at Crouch calmly, "I don't know when you learned it at Hogwarts. ”

"But it's fourth-grade content."

"When Professor Sprout was taught, he was very careful, and together with Madam Pomfrey, he did a good post-class examination for each student, for fear that some student would get something bad that he shouldn't have."

"Looks like you need to brush it up again?"

In the last sentence, he was more or less happy.

Isn't the hunter's embarrassment for ten minutes just to prepare for the moment when the prey falls into the trap?

Crouch gritted his teeth.

The words are clearly audible.

What does this sentence mean?

Mock yourself!

"The little tricks I learned from Hogwarts won't work against me at all." The words he had just uttered seemed to be still maneuvering around the Quidditch pitch.

Neville lunged at him.

Crouch stared straight ahead, but his vision was completely overrun by hallucinations, and he couldn't see clearly.

Only of his own volition, Snape's potions were much more real than the illusions of magical plants during his time at Hogwarts, and he had been immersed in the environment during his time at Hogwarts.

He was barely able to hold on to his ego.

Struggling to distinguish footsteps.

Neville didn't even give him a chance, and with a wave of his wand, several dead plants morphed, turned into rough animals, and scrambled to their feet.

Crouch raised his index finger.

"Longbottom!"

He uttered the incantation, and the magic poured out, centering on his body, rolling up a great storm.

The snort was extremely violent.

The magical plants around him poured inexorably at him, then shredded in the raging winds.

Neville was not afraid.

He raised his wand, and the armor spell was cast to protect his body, and he continued to unleash his mana, maintaining the spell.

Bang dang dang –

He stepped into the wind, a knife-like wind crashing against the armor spell, and Neville struggled with every step, resisting the sheer force with every step.

The deeper you go, the stronger the spell becomes, and the more fierce the wind becomes.

After just a few walks, the armor spell was torn.

The magic was barely able to hold the spell anymore, but his will was still holding on.

When Crouch can be seen dimly.

The armor spell has been completely shredded.

The wind cut through him, his robes shattered, and his pale skin was stained blood.

Crouch closed his eyes, regardless of everything, outputting his magic and maintaining the spell.

The hallucinogenic effect of the ashwagandha is limited.

As long as you survive the fifteen minutes when the illusion is at its strongest, you still have a chance to continue fighting.

Neville didn't give him that chance.

Reach out.

The wind swept up, cutting hideous wounds on the back of his hand and arm.

There was a loud bang, and the armor spell shattered completely.

Neville used his body to resist the power of the spell, and with each blink, dozens of wounds appeared on his body.

The incantation is pronounced.

"Except for your weapons!"

Bang.

Crouch was knocked into the air, and this time he didn't have time to recite the armor spell and tossed it high.

The wind died down in an instant, and only the mist slowly drifted away.

The index finger he had clutched tightly in his hand detached from his hand and fell at Neville's feet.

Neville stepped on it, took a deep breath, pulled out a bottle of healing potion, and took it before walking towards Crouch.

His eyes were still tightly closed.

Hallucinations do not appear selectively because of whether they are open or not.

In the dark field of vision.

His real father, Voldemort, floated proudly in the air, dressed in a white robe.

At his feet.

Mr. Crouch and Mrs. Crouch still looked at themselves with the same eyes that had just come out of their hallucinations.

"Longbottom, you know what?" Crouch spoke, softly, but more like talking to himself.

"I should have taken my father's last name as my own."

"Instead of being Crouch, it shouldn't be called Barty like that hateful man."

Neville didn't speak, he was still getting closer.

Crouch continued: "Longbottom, why are you so obsessed with avenging your father?" ”

"Did he ever love you?"

"You were only a year old when they were tortured by me."

"How old are you now?"

He paused, his sluggish mind thinking, "You're in sixth grade, just like Potter, and you're sixteen. ”

"For fifteen years, your father did not love you."

"They won't celebrate you on your birthday, and they won't celebrate you when you get your grades."

"Why, why?"

He tried to open his eyes.

But the hallucinations continued, he couldn't see Neville clearly, and even Voldemort's figure disappeared, leaving only Mr. Crouch and Mrs. Crouch.

The two of them stood up straight and dressed formally.

When I was a child, I imagined that my parents would see me off on the Hogwarts Express.

Neville didn't answer him.

He finally walked up to Crouch, raised his wand with trembling hands, and aimed it at the man on the ground.

Cherry wood, unicorn hair.

A magic wand that can only be held by a man with strong self-control and a superior mind, and a pure and good heart.

But at this moment, it is ready to stop resisting those negative emotions.

Even if next, it will cooperate with its master and release that spell-

Neville's hands trembled, and his mouth trembled.

He took a deep breath.

The sound of "splashing" is brewing in the mouth, ready to go, but I can't pronounce it.

Fighting inwardly.

He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and waved his wand.

It wasn't the Mind Curse that was released.

The dead, shredded plants on the ground twisted into a high wooden platform in the shape of a street lamp, and a few vines flew up into ropes that hoisted Crouch like a sandbag.

Neville dropped his wand and the steel sword in his other hand.

He slammed his fist into Crouch's stomach and roared in a heart-rending rage: "Drill the heart and cut the bones!" ”

Another punch was struck.

"Drill the heart and cut the bones!"

Loud and sound, punch and punch.

The empty Quidditch pitch echoed Neville's angry, crying roar.

Crouch's stomach was quickly broken.

Neville's fist was shattered by broken, piercing bones bulging out of flesh, but he didn't stop.

"Drill the heart and cut the bones!"

"Drill the heart and cut the bones!"

He was only one year old at the time, and it stands to reason that he should not remember what happened at that time.

He really couldn't remember.

But now, a flood of memories poured out and washed over his brain.

At that time, the scenes appeared in front of my eyes.

Crouch was still crying and wailing at first, Neville's fist smashing his ribs, tearing his stomach, and ruffling his stomach.

Gradually, there was no sound.

Wizards are not afraid of such non-magical damage, but wizards are just ordinary people when they lose their magic.

His breath was weak, and his magic barely kept him alive.

But it also made him suffer a little longer.

"Drill the heart and cut the bones!"

Neville threw the last punch, he didn't know how many punches he had, the flesh on his fist was almost finished, and the bones were almost exposed.

Click-

Crouch broke his spine and fell off half of his body.

(End of chapter)