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Chapter Text

For as long as Barty could remember, his mother had always been frail.

Throughout his childhood, she rarely left the house unless necessary, always claiming to be feeling unwell. In her soft red velvet antique chair, she would sit with a book in her lap and a cup of tea. She loved books written by both wizards and muggles, and as a child, never refused to read to him a passage from whatever she was currently reading. He would crawl into her lap and listen to her soft voice, hearing her steady heartbeat and the sound of the summer breeze by the window.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard were a staple in every wizarding household, so naturally as he grew up, he knew the stories. However, he could never understand why muggle books were written so dully. Stupid tales of fairy princesses cursed by spiteful witches and no-named heroes who would save them made absolutely no sense. Why she kept them, was something he never got to ask.

As he got older, he began to visit her library less and less, scornful of how many muggle books she kept in the room. She never cared much for other muggle pastimes and rarely ever spoke of them, but she held a certain fondness for their books that neither he nor his bastard of a father understood.

Barty never understood what was exactly wrong with his mother, only that she was often tired and weary of the world. Elowen Crouch existed in a world unto her own. Loving mother, adoring wife, and a soul that never seemed to be able to retain a strong grip on this world.

“You’re the reason she’s dead,” Barty Sr. hissed at him in a rare moment of acknowledgement. Mostly the man liked to pretend he didn’t exist and would ignore him for days unless he felt the imperious curse weakening. “She nearly died for you once! And now because of you she’s dead! Having an ungrateful, embarrassing son such as you killed her!”

He couldn’t respond; the curse prevented him from doing so, but the anger boiled under the strong magic. Even though he preferred the yelling from his father rather than the days of silence. Or perhaps it was weeks. He had lost track of time a long time ago.

Such a pathetic existence, his life had become.

But he would bide his time. Bide his time until an opportunity arose. All he had to do was be patient.

“Young Master Barty’s father didn’t mean such words,” Winky shushed him, petting his hair in a rare moment when he didn’t have to wear the stupid cloak. Not that it mattered much; he still couldn’t leave his room unless “permitted” to. Winky, disgustingly pitiful, thought that she was comforting. “Master Crouch is a good man. A good father. Master Crouch loves his son, yes he does!”

If he were able to, he would have snorted and given the stupid house-elf a scathing look. Whatever love his father held for him was buried long ago. In the grave where his mother was currently residing in thousands of miles away. Winky was loyal, a trait most families found good in house-elves, but just as easily corruptible. She had known him since he was an infant, and still thought of him as the sweet, good boy he had once been.

She snapped her fingers and vanished, leaving him momentarily alone without his cloak on. If his father were to walk in, he’d be furious. Yet just as quickly as she had left, she returned with a worn red book with golden edgings. She looked terribly pleased with herself, beaming from ear to ear.

“Winky has something to cheer Master Barty up! Winky knows she has found something that will make Master Barty happy!” Winky held the book up to his face, allowing him to read the cover. The book of fairy tales his mother read to him as a child. She kept the stupid thing after all these years. His blackened heart clenched painfully at the sight of it.

She opened a page up, only to then hear his bastard of a father calling for her. She quickly set the book down, making sure that the magic binds she had placed on him were still in tact before draping the invisibility cloak down over him. An annoying pitiful creature, he thought to himself as she disappeared. All the elves were, really. Pitiful, loyal to a fault creatures whose only existence was to serve their superiors.

His eyes found the page she had left opened. A page with no words, just a picture of a fairy princess with long trailing silvery-blonde hair and a sweet smiling face towards the man she was embracing. With the curse his father placed on him, he was unable to move. Unable to do anything but look and stare off into nothing. Or in this case, the picture.

He sat there staring at it, until Winky returned and began to dote on him. Underneath the imperious curse, he felt his anger bubble. The imperious curse, undoubtedly, had to be one of the strongest curses out there; hence why it was so unforgivable. Difficult even for some of the strongest wizards to break through. Under the curse, he just sat and let Winky feed him, taking care of him as though he were some helpless child.

Lord Voldemort would be disgusted.

“You just sit there Master Barty and Winky will take care of you!” Winky cooed, petting his head, completely unaware of how much he wanted to strangle her. She brought the book into her lap, and delight lit her eyes as they found the image. “Ooh, Mistress Crouch loves this story! Master Barty, may I read it to you?”

He couldn’t respond, all he could do was stare blankly back at her. She giggled like a school girl as she leafed the pages back to the beginning of the story. She spoke in that squeaky, shrill voice that grated his ears with each passing syllable.

“Master Barty is such a good boy,” despite him having to wear the cloak, she still always knew where his head would be. Curled up next to him all prim and proper as any house-elf should be. Her voice dripped with adoration. “Master Barty is such a good boy. All these years and you’ve been so good for Master Crouch.”

Well of course he’d been “good.” Not that he was given much choice.

“Mistress Crouch will agree!” it was sickening how she continued to speak of his mother as though she were still alive. “Good boys deserve treats for being so good! Master Barty is a good boy! Been such a good boy for Winky and his father!”

So, she continued to prattle on about make-believe fairy princesses and other nonsensical things. In his trance like state of calm, it was impossible to do anything to tune her out. Still, her words shifted around like pieces on a chess board. A reward for good behavior, however forced it was, was an opportunity.

He knew full well that opportunity never knocked twice.

~

Years of waiting paid off. He prided himself on being a patient man and knew that being too hasty would earn him a one-way ticket to Azkaban.

But Merlin’s pants, he had forgotten how annoyingly aggravating school children could be.

That wasn’t to say they were unintelligent, by the contrary, Hermione Granger had to be the smartest witch in his class. Only a fool would fail to recognize her talent and despite her unworthy blood status, it would be unwise to deem her nonthreatening.

Still, it wasn’t hard to get everyone’s admiration. After the initial shock of seeing Moody’s scarred face, it had quickly been replaced with admiration and childish trust. Children, he mused to himself with dark glee, were much easier to manipulate than some adults. If there was one thing he prided himself on, was his ability to observe and adapt. Studying Moody for a month had paid off, and not even “the great” Albus Dumbledore himself noticed.

The plan so far was working just as it should. The students trusted him, those who knew Moody suspected nothing, and if everything worked just as he had planned, the Dark Lord would be revived by the end of the tournament and the Potter boy would be as dead as his parents. All he had to do was be patient.

A flash of silver caught his attention suddenly, pulling him away from his thoughts to where Potter and his friends were sitting at the Gryffindor table. In that moment, he saw her.

It was as though he walked into one of those fairy tales and stumbled upon a fairy princess. A beautiful fairy who entranced every man in sight without even having to try. She smiled at the trio, and a thousand shivers crawled through his skin. Everything about her from her deep sapphire eyes to the way she walked was a portrait of pure perfection.

It was only after she sat down at the Ravenclaw table that it dawned on him. A veela, she had to be at least part veela. It wouldn’t be too hard to find out if she was, but he had to know her name first. He had to know the name of the pretty haired maiden who had come to Hogwarts.

Fleur Isabelle Delacour, he found out later that night as he looked through his list of students from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, was indeed a quarter veela. Beautiful, and from her transcript, a gifted witch who was quite skillful in charms. “Not just a pretty face,” he muttered to himself, the fake eye attached to his face taking in every movement in her photo. “An enigma wrapped in a little blonde riddle.”

He had met her parents once before, a long time ago, months before being convicted of torturing the Longbottom’s. Louis Delacour, who worked for the French Ministry and an old acquaintance of his father. They’d been briefly introduced, very much aware of his father’s desire for Monsieur Delacour to offer him a job overseas. Apolline Delacour he remembered as being inhumanly beautiful, with a smile that could brighten the darkest of rooms. How fitting it would be that he would become acquainted with their eldest daughter.

“Fleur,” he drawled out slowly, savoring how the name sounded on his tongue. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

That night he dreamed of a fairy princess. With long silvery-blonde hair that fell to her waist, she hid behind the trees, teasing him with her deep blue eyes. Every move she made, was a dance with expertise footing and graceful twists. Her mantle glittered in the moonlight, as a thousand sparkling diamonds that only enhanced how ethereal she appeared. Every step he made to get closer to her, she danced away like a ribbon on the wind.

He chuckled darkly to himself and raised his wand towards her retreating figure.

~

She was haughty, of course. She turned her nose up towards things she didn’t approve of (which was everything at Hogwarts), and made her opinions perfectly clear to everyone around her. She entranced the boys around her as she walked, making a great show of tossing her hair and looking like the goddess she was. She ensnared the hearts of almost every boy in the school and ignited a flame of envy in the girls. She held herself with grace and dignity, never batting an eye to the comments of the jealous girls. Her footsteps light, but her pace fast when she pranced down the hall

He ignored it at first. The way the adolescent boys would drool over her like dogs earned an eye roll from him. He would tap his fingers against his desk, or his wooden leg, in an annoyance he couldn’t quite place but would feel every time one of them looked at her.

Jealousy, he later recognized, and tried to bury it down. Jealousy would ruin the plan. He had little time for stupid boys and an inhumanly perfect girl.

But oh, how he wanted to run his hands through her silky hair. How he wanted to mark that milky pale skin until it bloomed crimson.

It was annoying at first, dreaming of her almost every night. He would wake in the morning with his member throbbing until he took care of it. Hot, sticky, and unsatisfying. The little minx had no problem assaulting him with her beauty every time he saw her and remained completely naïve to how she plagued his dreams.

Walking down the corridor in the direction of his classroom, his gaze suddenly fell on her. Her satin blue Beauxbatons uniform flared around her flatteringly as she spoke in such a dulcet tone towards a seventh year Durmstrang boy. A horrifying sense of bloodlust crawled throughout his body at the very sight of her smiling towards the boy. It howled at him; demanding him to punish her for even daring to speak to another man. It called for him to rip the boy apart until he was nothing while she watched, and he would make her realize her folly of daring to ignore him in favor of an unworthy Durmstrang half-wit.

In his dreams, he would chase her through the darkened forest. Through the heavy mist, she would run silently with her feet bare, and her silvery hair flying behind her. Her pale skin stuck out against the dark trees, and her silver-gray dress gleamed in the moonlight. They would play their little game for hours until he would cast a spell that finally knocked her down. Against her shivering frame, he would lay down before her and shove her dress up her body, despoiling her as she cried so prettily against him.

He felt more and more unsatisfied with each passing day. So close, but unable to possess her.

Barty gave up trying to ignore it. When he called upon her in class, she eyed him with indifference. She saw him as a paranoid, washed up auror who had a habit of following students around instead of the faithful servant of Lord Voldemort. She rarely spared him a glance when he spoke, mainly speaking with those she deemed worthy of her presence.

He watched her, Moody’s eye especially useful in seeing through the brick wall that obscured the other eye from seeing inside. She sat with Cedric Diggory, smiling and running her hands through her silvery blonde hair so that it caught the light of the sun. He growled lowly in his throat as he saw the camera man gazing at her, the well-known emotion stirring something so ferociously dark, his hands curled at the thought of clawing the man’s eyes out just for even thinking of touching his little veela.

~

His desire deepened as the first challenge went on. He knew from his experiences with her in class that not only was she too beautiful for this world, but she was also very clever. The boys didn’t even think of trying to charm their dragons. They used confusion, brute force and broomsticks to get their golden egg, but not her.

She stepped out into the arena, face stark white, but her shoulders squared back with determination. The dragon hissed, fire and smoke rising from its nostrils, but she did not falter. He watched attentively, hands tightening on his knees as her silvery hair danced in the wind. The dragon stared at her, utterly entranced.

He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was speaking towards the dragon lowly, wand gripped tight in her right hand. She smiled at the beast, advancing towards it with decisive footsteps and her wand moving in a complex pattern.

A sleep charm, he noted impressively, and from the murmurs from the crowd, they were impressed to. The dragon curled in on itself, claws flexing as though it were a cat and let out a loud yawn. It collapsed its giant head on its front legs, eyes closed in deep sleep. The crowd dared not breathe, taking in her every movement as she got closer and closer towards the egg. She was almost there until…

The dragon let out a great snore, a jet of fire steaming from its nostrils and towards her. He nearly leapt to his feet as the flames crawled up on her satin blue skirt. She did not scream, but her eyes widened in horror as she quickly doused the flames away with a quick motion of her wand. Yet he couldn’t ignore the quick glimpse of pale skin that showed when she moved, nor the way her now wet skirt clung to her body.

She retrieved the egg; the crowed cheered. She smiled and tossed her head back, as her headmistress made her way towards her. He managed to hide his lecherous smile with a quick swig from his flask, though it was not necessary the way the crowd was distracted.

“Just as much as a fairy princess as I am,” he remembered uttering those words to Potter not too long ago, tongue flickering momentarily.

~

He felt partially tempted to kill Davies at the Yule Ball.

His princess looked absolutely radiant in her robes of silver-gray satin, much like the fairy princess that plagued his dreams every night. She danced with more grace than any of the girls there, a good many of them staring at her with burning envy. Roger Davies gazed upon her as though he were worshiping a goddess.

Davies held her carefully, twirling her around on the dance floor as the other three champions and their dates moved around them. Barty resisted the urge to growl, the kind of growl that began in one throat and ended in another as the Ravenclaw sixth year laid his hands on her waist. Davies had no right to touch what was his.

He followed them into the gardens, the two of them completely unaware, as they snogged on one of the benches. She didn’t allow Davies to touch her hair, slapping his hands away as he tried, but she allowed them to settle on her waist. Never further, and if his hands wandered a little lower, she slapped them away once more.

They pulled a part momentarily for air, and he felt himself harden at the sight of her flushed skin and swollen pink lips.

~

There was no denying Fleur would do anything for her family. The youngest Delacour, Gabrielle, still at the bottom of the lake was proof of that. Madame Maxine for all her strength, had difficulty holding the girl back. Hysterical tears streaming down her face, she began to claw her way out of her headmistress’ arms. Her classmates attempting to help, but one look from her and the back off.

On a quarter-veela, he wasn’t sure if she would be able to transform into a fully enraged veela. With the few feathers that floated gingerly downwards on the dock, he reckoned she could if provoked even further.

The moment her sister, the Weasley boy, and Potter crawl up the dock, the tears resumed to fall down her face. The sisters embraced tightly, only releasing when Fleur reached down to kiss both boys on the cheek.

His jealousy flared, but he kept it concealed. Potter and Weasley were not a threat, he reminded himself. If he killed Potter, well, that would put a halt in the plan and possibly have him killed.

~

The Dark Lord would let him have her, he was sure of it. After all, there was no other Death Eater as loyal as him, save for perhaps Bellatrix Lestrange. If his bastard of a father hadn’t of kept him under the imperious curse, he would have spent his time looking for and serving his lord. He never complained; he even forgave Wormtail, the coward, for hiding.

If he stole her away, it had to be discreet. People would talk if a veela girl suddenly disappeared and no doubt they would scour the ends of the earth for her. She was strong, too, she would not go down without a fight. No, it had to be clever. Clever enough to fool everyone.

He would volunteer to hide the cup in the center of the maze, turning it into the portkey that would set the second war into motion. There were things in the maze that would raise the hairs on anyone’s neck. A sphinx, boggarts, blast-ended skrewts…an erkling. He couldn’t stop the grin from forming on his face. There had been much debate on allowing an erkling, something so dangerous, into the maze, but it had been allowed after discussing the numerous of jinxes that could be used against it.

Finding a way of “removing” her body would be simple. Something of hers could be left where the erkling was put and by then, there would be nothing left of her to recover. He’d leave her wand as an indication that she had been there and was unable to defend herself.

Finding some place to keep her unconscious form safe, was an entirely different problem all together. His childhood home would no longer be safe. If he was caught, it would be all over and he’d never have his princess. Yet there was someone he could rely on. Someone who would take his orders without question.

He found her near the kitchens, a bottle of butterbeer in her hands and a look of absolute sorrow etched permanently on her face. She curled up against the stone wall, tipping her head back to get the remains of the drink and gave a great depressed sigh once she realized it was all gone.

“Elf,” he said gruffly, standing before her form. She wasn’t quite drunk yet, but she did stagger a bit as she attempted to stand before him. “Follow me elf, one of you left a dirty sock in my room and I will not accept this type of behavior to go unpunished.”

From what he knew from Potter and his friends’ conversations, Winky was an absolute wreck. Non-stop drinking and refusing to do any work, it was a miracle she was still alive at all. Yet she wouldn’t refuse the order of a Hogwarts’s professor, clearly evident seeing as she followed him with her head bowed, sniffling loudly from the crying she’d probably been doing earlier.

She followed him to his office, her head still bowed as she closed the door behind her. “Winky,” he said to her in a much quieter manner. “Winky, is this how my father chose to treat his most loyal servant? To work for some crackpot old professor?”

Now, she stared up at him with confusion. “Master Moody,” she began quietly, a wobbly tremble in her voice. “Your father did not put Winky up here! Winky cannot speak ill of her new master!”

She gripped her head, seized by some unknown force. “Winky is a bad house-elf,” she lamented, close to sobbing uncontrollably now. “Winky couldn’t take care of Master Crouch! Winky has let Master Crouch down! Winky deserves punishment! Is Master Moody here to punish Winky?”

The effects of the potion were beginning to wear off. They didn’t have very long; he’d need to take more of it, but she had to see his true form. “Winky,” his voice beginning to take its normal tone. “Winky, look at me.”

She lifted her head from her hands, watching with wide eyes as Alastor Moody slowly morphed into a face she knew well. Her eyes filled with more tears, lower lip trembling with the promise of a full-on wail. She flung herself towards him, little arms wrapping around his legs. “Master Barty!” she cried, her tears staining his pant leg. “Master Barty, it is you! Master Barty has returned to Winky! Oh, Master Barty, something terrible has happened to Master Crouch! Winky is so sorry! Winky couldn’t stop it from happening!”

“Shush!” he scolded her severely. She cowered under his tone, but still gazed up at him adoringly. “Winky, no one can know I am here. You must keep your mouth shut. If you were to reveal me to everyone, you would be dishonoring the Crouch family name even further! Do you want that?”

Absolutely horrified, she wrung her hands in her tea towel dress. “No, Master Barty. Winky does not want that. Winky only wants to serve and protect the Crouch family.”

“Then you need to do exactly as I say,” he said sharply, and she stood to full attention. “I am going to get us out of here, but I need your help. If you succeed, I will reinstate you as the Crouch family house-elf.”

If possible, her eyes widened even further due to sheer joy. “Winky only wants to serve Master Barty! Winky will do what Master Barty asks!”

He smiled darkly. “Then you must follow my instructions very, very carefully.”

He had waited long enough. Fairy princesses, after all, were won by men whose hard work and dedication entitled them to keep their rewards.

~

It was convenient that his princess happened to be the one who entered the maze last.

It also happened to be convenient that no one could see through the maze. The cover of nightfall helped, but with the hedges over twenty feet high, there was no one around to know what he was about to do. The plan, complicated as it was, should still be simple enough to pull off. If Winky remembered to do her part, then all would go according to plan.

The tracking spell he placed on Potter was working very well. So far, the boy had yet to run into anything too dangerous, and with Barty pulling the strings, he wouldn’t come across the truly terrifying things in this maze. Krum didn’t know where Potter was yet, so he had time before he had to save the chosen one from the Bulgarian thickhead.

Giddy with anticipation, he almost did a dance at the mere thought of obtaining her. She was close; he could feel it. He knew where the boys were, their footsteps loud and impatient as they trampled through the maze. Her footsteps were light, with the grace that only a fairy could have, and he felt himself harden as a spike of desire rushed through his body.

He took his wand out at the sound of her footsteps, inching closer and closer to where he was waiting to strike. She rounded the corner, not expecting to run into him and certainly not anticipating the stunning spell that hit her directly in the face.

Her body rolled a few times, but there was no doubt that she was unconscious. A long cut appeared on her perfect face, trickling blood, yet that could be taken care of later. Even when unconscious, she was still beautiful. He gingerly removed her wand, tucking it away while he observed her still form.

He could take her, it probably wouldn’t take him long. A prince from one of his mother’s muggle tales came across a slumbering princess and “gathered the first fruits of love”, from her unconscious form. No, he wouldn’t do that. When he was going to take her, he wanted to see her face as it morphed into pleasure. He would show her the folly of dismissing him for an entire year; opting to allure the stupid boys around her like the spoiled little princess she was. All he had to do was be patient for a little while longer.

He settled on appreciating her sleeping body. His hands, shaking, finally were able to run through her silky moon gold hair. It felt even better than he imagined, soft and smooth without a single split end. Her parted lips, waiting for him to kiss her, but he wouldn’t do it in this guise. How disturbing it would be for their first kiss to be in this dishonorable form. He wrinkled his nose, shuddering at the thought.

Despite her silver jacket to keep her warm from the chilly late June evening, it didn’t stop him from finding her soft womanly curves. Under her silver vest, his sharp eyes noticed her soft pale skin peeking out, waiting for him to touch it. His trembling fingers brushed over the material of her shirt, palm sliding up the warm supple skin of her belly towards the metal underlining of her brassiere. She didn’t even flinch, so out of this world that she did not even protest to his ministrations.

He forced himself to pull back, practically biting his knuckles to restrain the violent urge to rip her trousers off and take her right there on the maze floor. However, he wasn’t an animal. He was a pureblood wizard who would take her in a more appropriate setting. With his lord’s blessing, of course.

Casting sleeping enchantments, while difficult for some, were not terribly complicated for a wizard of his caliber. Stunning her had made her unconscious, but this would ensure that she would cause no problems for Winky until he revoked the enchantment. He stood up, flourishing his wand in a quick pattern. Now, his princess would sleep until he deemed it safe for her to wake up.

With another swift flourish, her body morphed into something no one would question. A golden pocket watch sat where her body had once been, completely out of place in the darkness of the maze. He smiled ruthlessly, picking it up and letting the chain slip through his fingers. His part of the plan was complete.

“Winky!” he called into the darkness. He didn’t have a lot of time; Potter was getting closer to Krum. “Winky, it’s time! I order you to come here!”

There was, the small off chance that she would not be able to comply with his summons. She no longer worked for him, his father foolishly firing her. She had always been undoubtedly loyal when it came to the Crouch family name. He knew if there was anyone who would follow his orders without question, it was Winky.

She appeared with a popping sound, eyes wide with adoration. She was not tipsy, nor did she have a bottle of butterbeer in her hands. With the promise of being reinstated, she was completely sober. “Master Barty! Winky has come to help!” she kept her voice hushed, without him having to remind her to be quiet. “What will Master Barty have Winky do?”

“Take this,” he handed her the pocket watch, her eyes following its swinging motions as he placed it in her hands. “Now you know what to do next. Do you remember what you’re supposed to do?”

She beamed, clutching the golden pocket watch to her chest. “Winky will keep Master Barty’s new friend safe! I find a place far from Hogwarts to keep her all tucked away, nice and sound.”

“You’ll need this,” he took from one of his coat’s pockets his father’s wand, holding it in front of her face. “I am entrusting this wand to you temporarily, Winky. Do not let me down.”

Winky gazed at him with uncertainty. “But Master Barty, that is Master Crouch’s wand. Why does Master Barty have Master Crouch’s wand?”

He cursed to himself internally. He didn’t have time for this! Potter was getting closer and closer to Krum, and he’d be damned if anything prevented the plan from working out. “Winky,” he said sharply, but as she cowered, he softened his tone. “Winky, I had to take care of Father. He was not a good man, Winky. He did terrible things to so many people. Including you.”

“Master Barty, you couldn’t have-”

“Winky,” he said more severely, and she stopped in mid-sentence. He knelt down, wand still hovering over her face as absolute sadness burned in her large brown eyes. “Father did Winky an unkindness by sending her away. I was a bad boy for trying to run away from you at the Quidditch match, but I am here trying to make everything better. Winky, you do not deserve to be forced to work in an ungrateful place such as this. Father treated you so terribly. Treated me so terribly.”

She scrunched her eyes shut. “Winky…cannot say anything bad about Master Crouch.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he could feel the trace on Potter move towards Krum, getting closer by the second. “Yet you, Winky, I am so grateful you were there to take care of me for all these years. I should have shown you how grateful I was then. But let me make it up to you now. I owe you my livelihood, Winky.”

She still looked like she wanted to cry, but she took the wand into her nimble fingers. “Master Barty is such a good boy,” her voice wobbled, lower lip trembling, yet she kept herself in control. “Master Barty may have done some naughty things, but he is a good boy. Winky is proud to serve Master Barty!”

With the wand in her long fingers, she bowed her head. “Winky will take care of Master Barty’s friend, yes Winky will. Master Barty’s new friend will be so glad to see you once you are back!”

He smiled wickedly, though it went over Winky’s head as she snapped her fingers, wand and his princess in her capable hands. She disappeared out of the maze, leaving no indication that she was ever there in the first place.

Now, he had to go make sure Potter didn’t accidentally die by Krum’s hands.

~

Polyjuice potion, while not necessarily painful when returning to one’s natural form, was still unbelievably uncomfortable. The only thing that actually hurt was the magical eyeball that popped out of his face, rolling onto the floor and swiveling in every direction

The leg fell away with a loud clunk and if he were not being held at the mercy of two wizards and a witch, he would have let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t a particularly vain man, but he enjoyed his own appearance far more than the ugly, scarred appearance of Moody.

Barty’s world blurred as he opened his eyes, the motions of all the people there swimming around in a disoriented mess. Through the haze, he could make out Dumbledore and Potter, the latter looking so pale while the former stared down at him with a frosty blue glare. From the doorway, he recognized a stern-faced woman fixing him with horrified expression. His old transfiguration professor, McGonagall, though now she was considerably older than when he last saw her.

“Crouch,” he knew Snape’s voice well without even having to look at the traitorous bastard. “Barty Crouch!”

Dumbledore turned to face them, eyes searching. “Severus, where is Winky?”

“The house-elves haven’t seen her since earlier this evening,” Severus replied dryly, dark eyes revealing nothing as they swiveled to face him. “Perhaps, Crouch here knows what has happened to her.”

Snape passed the bottle of Veritaserum to Dumbledore, but before Dumbledore could even pour even one drop into his mouth, Barty let out a long, cruel laugh. “No need for that, Dumbledore,” he sneered the name, McGonagall’s eyes flickering with rage at his tone. He smiled maniacally. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I’ve got nothing to hide; ask me anything.”

“Albus,” McGonagall gestured towards him, disgust clear in her eyes. “Can we trust anything he says? It might be unwise to not use the Veritaserum.”

“If he is willing to offer information willingly, then I will listen,” the glare hadn’t softened in the slightest. If he lied once, Dumbledore wouldn’t hesitate to drop the elixir down his throat. “However, it would be a foolish mistake to lie to me any further, Crouch.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Professor,” he couldn’t help but grin. “The Dark Lord has risen, so my plan has worked exactly how I intended,” he glanced towards Potter. “Well, almost. The boy was supposed to die.”

“I would suggest you start from the beginning,” Dumbledore said so lowly, he almost didn’t hear him. “How did you escape from Azkaban?”

Bound tightly to the chair he had been stunned into, he began retelling how he was smuggled out of Azkaban by his parents and forced to spend years under the imperious curse his father cast. Then going over the events of the Quidditch World Cup and how he stole Potter’s wand to cast the dark mark in the sky, alerting his master that he was, indeed, alive. Dumbledore, as he recounted how he disarmed Moody and locked him in the trunk, darkened with each piece of new information given.

“You killed your father,” said Dumbledore softly. “What did you do with the body?”

He told them what he did with the body, how he knew his father would be near the castle and how he stunned Krum in order to leave no witnesses. The silence in the room was deafening, and if Winky were here, he was sure she’d be wailing like a banshee by now.

“I offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the maze before dinner,” he whispered, the ever-present smile not once leaving his face. “Turned it into a Portkey. My master’s plan worked. He is returned to power and I will be honored by him beyond the dreams of wizards!”

Potter took a step back, brow furrowing in disbelief. He could only imagine what was going on in the boy’s head; the betrayal of someone he thought he could trust had to have hurt. The feelings of the Potter boy were not his concern. He had played his part perfectly and now there was no need to keep up the charade.

“And what of Ms. Delacour?” Dumbledore asked suddenly, staring shrewdly at him. “One of the wizards patrolling the maze found her wand laying on the ground right in front of an erkling. The erkling has claimed to not have eaten a girl recently, and although the ministry has dismissed these claims, I am not so easily convinced.”

He wanted to laugh in the old codger’s face at the sheer arrogance he promoted. Not so easily convinced? Took him the whole school year to finally figure out that he was in fact not the real Alastor Moody. He snorted derisively, ignoring the glares from both McGonagall and Severus.

“I stunned the Delacour girl in the maze, but the erkling could have appeared any time after that,” he paid mind to choose his words carefully. Even if Dumbledore already suspected him, he could do nothing if there was no immediate evidence to back his suspicions up. “If an erkling did get her, then she’s probably nothing more than tasty meat for the erkling to enjoy.”

Technically, it was not a lie; he had no idea where Winky had escaped to. He grinned at the spark of anger that crossed Potter’s eyes, making them burn like green fire. The boy stepped forward, fists clenched and jaw set, but Dumbledore simply placed a hand on the boy. “Minerva, could I ask you to stand guard here while I take Harry upstairs?”

“Of course,” was McGonagall’s reply, pulling out her wand. Her face pale, and she appeared to be on the verge of getting sick, but her hand remained steady.

Dumbledore gave Severus orders to go fetch Fudge before taking a limping Harry out of the office. Severus, still looking as though he’d been sucking on lemons the whole time, whisked himself away. Barty brought his gaze up towards his former professor, giving her a grin.

“Professor McGonagall,” he greeted her as though they were old friends. “Still teaching transfiguration? That Granger girl is smart, you must be very proud of her. Shame about her parentage, though.”

She pursed her lips tightly, keeping whatever anger she had in check. Her wand poked into the skin of his neck, his pulse dancing against the pointed end. “That’s enough out of you,” she warned stiffly, her green eyes severe. “No more talking or I will seal that mouth of yours shut.”

There was a brief moment of stillness in the room. He flexed his bound hands, the leather straps digging into his skin. The dark mark on his inner left arm stared up at his old professor mockingly, and she stared down at it with absolute loathing. He hated the woman. Just like Dumbledore, she was arrogant. Disrespectful when addressing his master as “You Know Who”, as though she had any right to speak of him. She remained, much to his annoyance, a formidable opponent that only those seeking a death wish would challenge her hastily.

She was not, however, immune to surprise attacks.

He didn’t even see a new person entire the room until the stunning spell hit McGonagall square in the back. Her eyes widened, not even realizing she’d been hit so suddenly as she collapsed on the floor in front of his chair, wand scattering out her hand and rolling under a table.

“Master Barty! Winky has come to save Master Barty!” Winky stood before him, brown eyes glittering with pride at her achievement of taking out a skilled witch. She hopped up and down eagerly, dancing as she stepped over the unconscious form of McGonagall. “Winky will free Master Barty from these ropes!”

She snapped her fingers and the leather straps fell away with ease. He stood up, flexing his now reddening wrists with ease. “My wand, Winky,” he ordered her brusquely. “I am going to need a wand now, Winky. Father had mine locked in the family vault after I was sent to Azkaban, remember?”

“Oh, yes, Winky remembers Master Barty,” she bowed her head solemnly, offering him the wand. He took it and twiddled it between his fingers. Not the same as his old one, but it would have to do for now.

The mark on his left-hand arm burned, stinging so suddenly he hissed. “Winky,” he said through clenched teeth. “Winky, you must get me out of here. We stay here any longer, we’ll both be in trouble. You don’t want to return to the kitchens, do you?”

Her already pale face turned dramatically pallid. “Of course not Master Barty! Winky should have apparated us out the minute she arrived!” she looked upset with herself. “Master Barty hold onto Winky now; Winky will get us out of here!”

~

The place where they apparated to was somewhere he had not been to in many years. The house had once been a place he and his parents used to spend their spring holidays before he started Hogwarts. For several years the Crouch family would spend the Easter and summer holidays here before returning to their manor a few miles outside of Glasgow.

The little manor had been built in the early 1500s on the far outskirts of Salisbury by a prominent wizarding family in the Tudor era. Two stories high, built with gray stone and gothic in almost every detail. He remembered as a child staring out the stone mullion windows to see the oak trees, thinking that they had found their own secluded little world. The days he would spend running around in the secret passages in the house, scaring anyone he came across. The manor had seen better days, a sore reminder of how much time had passed since he had seen most of the world. If his father had his way, he would have spent the rest of his life inside a house that had stopped feeling like home a long time ago.

Upstairs in one of the bedrooms, the most beautiful maiden in all the world lay tucked away. He had wanted to immediately go see his princess, but the burning mark on his wrist instructed him otherwise.

He immediately apparated away, giving Winky instructions to watch the house and begin setting up barriers that would block anyone from seeing or trying to enter the house without his permission.

He’d half expected his lord to be still using the Riddle house as his base of operations but found himself mildly surprised to find himself standing in front of the Malfoy’s home. A handsome manor house that grew out of the darkness of the dark hedges that prevented prying eyes from looking in. He could see in the expanse area of the house various trees and other types of plants. A wrought iron gate, grand and as old as the house itself, opened before him as if to say “Welcome”.

Ignoring the shrill call of an albino peacock, he made his way up the path to the front of the house, anticipation and excitement swirling together to become one emotion. His lord had summoned him to reward him, he was sure of it.

Or perhaps, a little voice that sounded annoyingly like his father, he had summoned him to make an example of what happens to those whose plans don’t go quite accordingly.

That couldn’t be the reason, though, he thought as he pushed the doors open. When Potter fell through the Portkey, the events that followed were out of his control. He wouldn’t have been able to join his fellow death eaters at the cemetery at the risk of blowing his cover.

However, he had become reckless towards the end. In his excitement for Lord Voldemort’s return, he had neglected to take more of the Polyjuice potion. In his recklessness, he had taken Potter out of Dumbledore’s presence, something the real Moody would not have done. If Lord Voldemort were to punish him on that, then he deserved whatever punishment the dark lord had planned for him.

Voices came up from the drawing room, hushed and sharp sounding. He stepped into the room, taking in the dark purple walls and the large ornate crystal chandelier. It had been a while since he’d seen it, but it didn’t hold his attention for very long.

The sight of Lord Voldemort had him on his knees before his master in an instant. His master, sitting in an ornate arm chair, with Nagini curling her long body around him. Reddened eyes met his and what appeared to be a smile where lips should have been. Lord Voldemort addressed him, voice high compared to the hushed murmurs of the other Death Eaters.

“Bartemius,” Lord Voldemort called for him, with no hint of malice in his voice. “How nice of you to finally join us.”

“My lord,” for a moment, he could not believe what he was seeing. Lord Voldemort sitting there before him, looking as though he had never left at all. He swallowed hard, uncharacteristically stumbling over his own words. “My lord, please forgive me for my tardiness. It was my fault that my cover was blown once Potter returned to the arena. Had I not been apprehended, I would have returned as soon as I could.”

He felt the eyes of the other Death Eaters on him, impassive, but eager to know their master’s intentions for him. From out the corner of his eye he could see Lucius Malfoy, the bloody coward, smiling smugly towards him. The smile didn’t quite reach his cold gray eyes, and the way he gripped his wife’s arm was the only indication he needed to know that Lucius Malfoy was afraid.

Finally, Lord Voldemort broke the silence with a hissing laugh. “Now here is a loyal servant who has not failed me. Even when under the Imperious Curse did his loyalty never waver! Here is an eager servant who was willing to risk everything to bring me back. All of you could learn a lesson in loyalty from our friend Bartemius.”

He still kept his head bowed, but he could still see Lucius’ jaw clench tightly in anger. The other Death Eaters murmured in agreement, with varying answers of “Yes my lord”, and “Please forgive us, Master.”

“My lord,” he said after a pregnant pause, lifting his head to meet his master’s eyes. “I must confess I was not able to destroy the Potter boy for you. Nor was I able to capture him for you. I offer my apologies in my failure to serve you.”

There was a steady hiss among the others, expressing disdain and contempt at the very mention of Harry Potter’s name. Lord Voldemort stood with a hand raised in the air. The chattering stopped at once, all eyes watching the dark lord as he moved towards him. A hand gripped his face gently and he tried not to shiver as long cold fingers grasped his chin.

“Bartemius, your dedication is admirable. However, I must be the one to kill the boy. If you had killed him, it would have been a great disservice to me,” he didn’t flinch as those cold fingers tightened for a brief second, even though a part of him flared in humiliation at the very thought of displeasing his master. The fingers relaxed, and the cold look in Lord Voldemort’s face vanished. “The boy is mine to kill. I will only warn you of this once.”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

Lord Voldemort released his grip on his face, turning to address the small crowd of Death Eaters that had gathered. “My friends, let it be a lesson to you all. The boy is mine alone for me to kill. If any one of you manage to kill him, I will be,” he let the suspense hang in the air, the other members fidgeting nervously as Lord Voldemort smiled cruelly. “Disappointed.”

There was not one single person, aside from himself, who shuddered at that word. With a flourish of his robes, Lord Voldemort turned back to him. “Our friend Bartemius has done a great task, one that will not be forgotten so easily. For I am a lord who rewards those who have helped me. Am I not right, Wormtail?”

From the opposite corner of the room, huddling away, Wormtail bowed. “Y…yes, oh merciful lord. You are most generous.”

He almost sneered at how pathetic his fellow Death Eater sounded but refrained from doing so in the presence of his lord. The others murmured amongst themselves, gazing upon him with wonder. He didn’t even have to be secretly pleased the way other gazes burned with jealousy. They deserved to be jealous of him, he, who fooled Albus Dumbledore and was the reason Lord Voldemort returned to this world. Lips curling back, he smiled predatorily at those who stared at him with such resentment.

“Bartemius has served me well, and for his services, he shall be rewarded,” Lord Voldemort said with an air of finality that no one would ever dare oppose. “Bartemius, rise, and come forth.”

Slowly, he stood, and walked respectfully to the side of his lord. He stopped in front of him with his own beating heart thrumming against his chest so loudly he was sure his master could hear it. Lord Voldemort gazed upon him quizzically, and slowly, a strange sort of smile stretched out across his pale features.

“Tell me, Bartemius,” Lord Voldemort began. “Was Potter the only one you set your sights on during the tournament? Or is there perhaps something you are withholding from me?”

“Forgive me, my lord,” he said slowly, ignoring the other Death Eaters as they inched closer to hear. He wet his lips quickly. “There was a girl who caught my attentions. She was a competitor in the tournament, a Beauxbatons student by the name of Fleur Delacour.”

“The veela girl,” Lucius sniffed, as if the very mention of her name sounded disgusting. He felt a hot wave of rage directed towards Lucius for even daring to mention his princess. “From what I have heard, she disappeared sometime earlier this evening. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that would you, Barty?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business,” sneered Barty, baring his teeth threateningly. “You disloyal coward!”

“You would insult me in my own home?” Lucius took in a deep breath, gray eyes blazing with anger. “How dare y-”

“Lucius!” Narcissa cut him off, glancing quickly towards their master. She bowed to Lord Voldemort remorsefully. Lucius begrudgingly followed her lead.

Lord Voldemort, however, stared at all three of them in what could only be amusement. “Is it true, Bartemius?” he inquired serenely. “You had something to do with the half-breed girl’s disappearance?”

He knew his lord’s opinion on half-breeds; he didn’t make it a secret that he believed those with mixed blood were inferior in comparison to those whose blood was pure. “I took her from the tournament,” he answered without a hint of remorse. Which he, of course, did not feel. “My lord, I must confess that I have felt desire for her for some time now. She is a vain creature, thinking herself better than those who are far superior. I knew that if I did not take her during the third task, then another opportunity might not present itself.”

There was a chance his lord would be displeased, and if so, then he would regrettably comply with his master’s wishes. He expected his lord to show disgust, but instead Lord Voldemort tilted his head back to laugh. A long, cruel laugh that made the hairs on his arms rise out of nervousness. “My lord?” he asked softly. “My lord?”

“Bartemius,” Voldemort said, hand reaching up to stroke Nagini under her chin. “I admit, I would have never expected you to fall for the charms of a woman. Much less a veela.”

“My lord-”

But Voldemort stopped him before he could say anything further. “You have been suppressed for so long, Bartemius. For thirteen years you were kept prisoner in your own home. No power, no sense of control over your surroundings. I understand it completely. You desired her, so you took initiative to possess her. Even though making sure Potter ended up in the graveyard was your first priority, you did not let your own desires distract from that plan. Very few of my followers are able to do that. I applaud you, Bartemius.”

He thought he might swell up with pride then and there, and he took great pleasure from the way many of the other Death Eater’s glowered at him once more. “My lord,” he bowed his head at the compliment. “My lord, if you permit me, I would like to make her mine.”

Lord Voldemort’s fixated gaze on him never wavered. There was, once more, a silence so long one could hear a pin drop. Lord Voldemort said nothing, but his cold bloodshot red eyes revealed everything. He was thinking, long and hard, over his request. He had to have been expecting it with all the talk of the veela girl, and with all of Barty’s work having paid off, there was no real reason to deny him such a prize, was there?

“You have served me well this past year,” Lord Voldemort leaned back in his chair, the thoughtful look replaced by something that looked akin to a smirk. “Very well, Bartemius, you have my…blessing to keep the girl as your own.”

Lewd laughter came from many of the men in the crowd, each one of them ignoring the glare Lucius sent them and the look of distaste that crossed over Narcissa’s sharp features. He only bowed his head in reverence to the dark lord, not helping the thrill that burned in his veins.

He kneeled down before Lord Voldemort, bowing so low his face was practically on the floor. “Thank you, My lord,” he said reverently, giddy with the blessing he’d received. “Thank you for your generosity. I hope to serve you well in the future.”

“I am generous indeed,” was Lord Voldemort’s reply. “I only hope you can remember to not be so reckless next time. You were fortunate to have returned to us this time, however, to be reckless with a plan like that again, fortune may not favor you a second time.”

Admonished, Barty kept his head bowed. “I apologize to you again, my lord. My recklessness was my own undoing and I alone am responsible. I will learn from this mistake and I will not let you down again.”

Lord Voldemort’s eyes gleamed. “See to it that you do, Bartemius.”

He bowed his head once more before rising and stepping back amongst the other Death Eaters. As much as he desired to rush back to his hideout and awaken his beautiful princess, he would not show disrespect to the dark lord by rushing off immediately.

He could wait just a little bit more.