Magical Marvel: The Rise of Arthur Hayes Chapter 59: Confrontation

"I’m impressed, Hayes."

The voice slithered from behind a shifting hedge wall, dripping with malice. Arthur tightened his grip on the makeshift spear, muscles coiled and ready.

"Most people don’t dodge the Killing Curse." Fake Moody erged into plain sight, his magical eye whirring frantically in its socket. "Your reflexes are... extraordinary."

Harry froze mid-stride, his face contorting with confusion. "Professor Moody? What are you doing?"

"Isn’t it obvious?" Arthur kept his eyes locked on the impostor. "He’s been manipulating the tournant from the beginning." He shifted his stance slightly, calculating distances. "Though we’re not actually speaking to Alastor Moody, are we?"

"What?" Harry’s voice cracked.

The scarred face split into an unnatural grin that didn’t belong on the real Moody’s features. "Smart little mudblood, aren’t you? Too smart for your own survival."

A jet of sickly purple light erupted from the impostor’s wand. Arthur dropped into a fluid roll, feeling the spell’s heat sizzle through his hair as it passed.

"Harry, get to the cup!" Arthur shouted, springing back to his feet. "Now!"

Dumbledore’s plan required Voldemort’s early resurrection, and Arthur had no intention of disrupting it. He only hoped Harry would survive the graveyard intact. Without Cedric present as a sacrifice, the ritual might proceed differently than in the canon tiline.

Hope was a flimsy shield, but it was all Arthur could do. He did not plan on following along to ensure Harry returned safe. That was Dumbledore’s job.

"But I can’t just—" Harry protested.

"Move along, Potter." The false Moody fired several spells in Harry’s direction, deliberately missing but herding him toward the cup. "This doesn’t concern you. My business is with Hayes."

Harry hesitated, conflict written across his face.

The impostor fired another spell that scorched the earth at Harry’s feet. "Run along now, boy."

"I’ll be fine! Get to the cup and bring back help!" Arthur shouted, creating more space between him and the imposter. "Rember what I said about the cup earlier!"

Harry’s expression shifted from confusion to determination. With a final nod toward Arthur, he sprinted toward the gleaming trophy.

Within seconds, Harry reached the pedestal. He glanced back once, his face set with grim determination. "Arthur, be careful! Help will co soon!"

His fingers closed around the cup’s handle, and in a flash of blue light, he vanished.

The impostor turned his attention fully to Arthur, a cruel smile distorting his features. "Finally alone, Hayes. I’ve been waiting for this."

"I bet you have." Arthur said indifferently. "Tell , how did it feel to teach mudbloods like DADA? Teaching the very people you hate, how to fight against Dark wizards like you?"

"Laugh while you can," the impostor snarled, his magical eye never ceasing its frantic rotation. "I’ve morized every mudblood face at Hogwarts. Co sumr, the hunt begins."

"Bold of you to assu you’ll see tomorrow," Arthur replied with casual indifference, "much less sumr."

The false Moody’s face contorted with rage. "I will live longer than you mudblood. Tonight my Lord returns!"

"Voldemort? The sa Dark Lord who was defeated by a toddler still mastering potty training?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Not exactly intimidating resu material, is it?"

"You DARE!"

The taunt hit its mark perfectly. Crouch began casting wildly, each spell more lethal than the last. "Crucio! Avada Kedavra! CRUCIO!"

Arthur’s reflexes made each dodge look effortless. He slipped between curses like water flowing around stones, each near miss fueling Crouch’s mounting frustration.

With an inarticulate scream, the impostor slashed his wand through a complex pattern, muttering words that seed to burn the air itself.

Monstrous flas erupted from his wand tip, taking the shapes of serpents and chiras that lunged hungrily toward Arthur. Fiendfyre—cursed flas that consud everything they touched.

Arthur dived behind a hedge wall, feeling the intense heat as the fiery beasts surged overhead. The plants blackened instantly where the flas licked them.

"Is running all you can do, Hayes?" Crouch taunted, directing the flaming creatures to circle around. "For soone with such a deadly reputation, you’re remarkably fond of hiding."

"Don’t waste breath on taunts," Arthur called back, his voice deliberately calm. "I’m not a child whose pride will make him charge headlong into danger."

The fire began devouring the maze itself, opening jagged holes in the once-impenetrable walls. Arthur used these new pathways to maintain his distance while keeping track of Crouch’s position.

"Why risk a direct confrontation when Dumbledore will be here shortly?" Arthur’s voice echoed from different directions. "Your plan’s already failed."

Crouch’s laughter held an edge of madness. "Potter calling for help? You’re unexpectedly naive Hayes! I modified the portkey destination. Your precious hero is witnessing my Lord’s rebirth as we speak!"

"Is that so?" Arthur remained unruffled. "But tell —why are you so eager to return to slavery?"

The impostor’s face darkened with sudden fury. "What did you say?"

"I’ve read the accounts." Arthur slipped behind a hedge as another killing curse shattered the foliage behind him. "Death Eaters crawling on their bellies, kissing the hem of his robes. Getting tortured when his tea isn’t the right temperature. Sounds like a delightful existence."

"SILENCE!" Crouch roared.

The roar was accompanied by a blast that incinerated an entire section of the maze. The hedges seed to scream as they burned, their enchantnts fighting against the destruction.

Arthur sprinted down a newly created path, his movents fluid and precise.

"It’s just slavery with extra steps," he called, projecting his voice to seem like it ca from multiple directions. "But what would I know? I’m just a mudblood who prefers freedom."

"Freedom?" Crouch spat the word like a curse. "You know nothing! My Lord offers true liberation—from weakness, from morality’s constraints!"

"Is that what Death Eater school teaches these days?" Arthur’s voice dripped with mock curiosity. "Or is it what you tell yourself during the torture sessions?"

"ENOUGH!" Crouch bellowed, stalking through the burning labyrinth. "All words, no substance—typical of your kind!"

"At least I won’t be forgotten," Arthur remarked casually from yet another position. "Unlike you."

That stopped Crouch mid-step. "What?"

"When Voldemort returns—and yes, maybe he will tonight—who gets rewarded?" Arthur kept moving, staying low. "You, the servant who died in his service? Or the wealthy cowards who claid Imperius and kept their mansions and influence?"

The Death Eater’s breathing grew ragged. "They’ll be punished..."

"With what? A strongly worded lecture?" Arthur allowed himself a mocking laugh. "Your master needs their gold, their Ministry connections. He’ll make them squirm a bit for show, then welco them right back."

"LIES!" Crouch scread, his control over the Fiendfyre faltering.

The flas briefly lost coherence, the fiery beasts wavering as if confused.

"anwhile," Arthur dropped his voice to a theatrical whisper, "you’ll be dead. Dumbledore will capture you. The Ministry will silence you. And your precious ’Lord’ won’t spare you a second thought."

"I SAID ENOUGH!"

Sothing snapped in Crouch. With an inhuman howl, he charged blindly toward Arthur’s voice, abandoning all strategy. His wand cut wild patterns in the air, sending lethal curses in every direction.

"No one will rember your na in a month," Arthur delivered the final taunt.

Crouch unleashed everything he had, a storm of deadly magic converging on the spot where Arthur’s voice had co from.

This was precisely what Arthur had been waiting for.

He hurled the acromantula leg like a javelin directly into the spell barrage. The improvised weapon splintered spectacularly, wooden fragnts flying in all directions like shrapnel. The hedge protected Arthur from the deadly shower.

Crouch wasn’t nearly so fortunate.

Razor-sharp splinters tore into his face and chest. He staggered backward, montarily blinded by his own blood.

Arthur struck with cobra-like speed.

His first blow connected with Crouch’s wand hand—a precise strike that shattered wrist bones with a sickening crack. The Death Eater’s wand clattered uselessly to the ground.

His second attack—a perfectly calculated kick—smashed through the wooden prosthetic leg. The limb exploded into fragnts under Arthur’s strength.

Crouch collapsed in an ungainly heap, howling in pain and fury. Arthur lood over him.

"You..." Crouch wheezed, blood bubbling from his split lip. His magical eye had partially dislodged from its socket, spinning frantically. "It doesn’t matter. He rises... even now."

"I know." Arthur’s voice held perfect composure. "But do I look concerned?"

Confusion flickered across Crouch’s battered face. "What—"

"If I can defeat you without magic, what chance does your Lord have when my powers return?" Arthur leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "Let tell you a secret. My magic isn’t gone. It’s just too strong for my body to channel. What do you suppose that ans, especially after seeing what my physical abilities alone can accomplish?"

Crouch stared up in stunned silence, blood draining from his face.

Arthur delivered a precise series of blows—painful but non-lethal. Enough to subdue but not enough to kill. Crouch had a part to play in the coming hours, testimony that would prove crucial even if it would be ignored.

The maze was burning around them now, the Fiendfyre consuming the hedge walls without Crouch’s control to direct it. The magical flas roared higher, forming monstrous shapes that lunged and snapped at the night sky.

Arthur hoisted the semi-conscious Death Eater over his shoulder and made for the center of the maze. The hedges seed to recognize his intent, paths opening before him as if eager to expel the danger in their midst.

The stone pedestal stood empty where the Cup had been, gleaming faintly in the flickering light of the approaching flas.

He placed one hand on the cold stone and the other firmly on Crouch’s collar.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then the familiar hook behind his navel signaled the activation of the portkey, and the world dissolved into a whirlwind of color and sound.

Behind them, the maze continued to burn.