A Night With A Stranger

A Night with A Stranger

Feeling bored, she drummed her fingers against the table. Going alone in Albania was a very bad idea. 'I guess a scowling, plump, thirty-something blond witch is no longer considered fair game.' She grimaced at the thought. 'Not to mention, forgetful.' She was fully aware of what people were saying behind her back.

"Poor old Bertha, always forgetting things. Her memory's like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction," they would whisper whenever she was within hearing distance.

She sighed. She couldn't understand it either. She wasn't a forgetful person, but recently, she kept forgetting things and her memory lapses seemed to be getting worse. Her brows furrowed into a frown. For starters, she couldn't remember what exactly happened before Barty Crouch told her to take a much desired vacation. All she remembered was entering and leaving the Crouch residence.

Her frown deepened. Every time she tried to remember, her head would pound terribly. Realizing too late what a fool she had been for jumping at Barty Crouch's offer of an all-expenses paid vacation, she crumpled the glossy tourist brochure in disgust. "Not one good-looking wizard in sight. Hell, I should have gone to Bermuda Island," she grumbled in irritation. "Even the Mummies in Egypt seem much more exciting." She frowned. 'I knew there was something fishy with Crouch's sudden offer. Why would he pay for my vacation? He must be onto something. When I get home I'll-'

"Is this seat taken?"

The voice jolted her out of her reverie. Bertha looked up, surprise evident on her face. He was not exactly pretty-boy handsome, but he looked okay. Decently dressed, she estimated him to be not more than thirty years of age. He was not tall either, probably an inch shorter than her. His lean body and boyish face made her heart skip. Even his short brown hair was neatly trimmed. To Bertha, the man standing in front of her was the sort of man a woman could take home to meet her parents.

"I'm sorry," he began saying, looking very apologetic. "I've been standing in line for twenty minutes and there are still no vacant tables." He motioned across the crowded restaurant. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind sharing a table with a complete stranger?"

Lonely for company, she instantly made up her mind. "I don't mind," she said rather quickly.

"Thank you," he smiled at her.

'He has such a nice smile.' Her face turned crimson. 'How pathetic am I?' she thought. 'I'm thirty-six years old and blushing like a sixteen year old dimwit at the first man who simply wanted to share a table with me.'

He placed the small bag he was carrying on the floor, then took the seat across from hers just as a waiter arrived to get his order. Still smiling, he studied the menu, then glanced at her. "Was the shish kebab any good?"

The question startled her for she was staring at his warm brown eyes, a dreamy look on her face. "What? Oh, yes, it tastes gorgeous. I mean rather ... not bad," she said lamely, blushing furiously. Even if the grilled meat tasted like sawdust and had the consistency of rubber, she still would say the food was delicious. 'Bloody hell. I'm blabbing like a stupid idiot,' she berated herself inwardly. 'For Merlin's sake, my specialty is Charms. I should charm myself to be irresistible to men.' She sighed. No wonder she was still single. She cringed at the thought of being an old spinster. Now even a Muggle's company sounded much desirable compared to having no company at all. Worse, he was younger than her.

"I'll have the Rosto me salcë kosi," he told the waiter.

The waiter jotted down his order and left quietly.

After the waiter left, he focused his attention back to Bertha. "Are you travelling all by yourself?" He looked genuinely interested.

Her heart started leaping crazily. "Yes," she admitted, in a painfully small voice. She noticed him eyeing her hands, apparently he was searching for any signs of a wedding band. 'Would it really be possible that he might be interested in me?' She immediately dismissed the thought, but nevertheless, her gaze wandered at his hand and checked if he was wearing any. 'No wedding band. Thank Merlin, he's not married,' she said to herself, thoroughly relieved. She was not that desperate. Married men are taboo. Period. Breathing a sigh of relief, she tried to focus on what he was saying.

"My name's Peter by the way," he introduced himself. "Peter Grimshaw"

"My name's Bertha...Bertha Jorkins," she replied, still feeling shy.

"Nice to meet you, Bertha." He shook her hand.

His touch sent a delicious tingle down her spine.

"Are you a native here?" she asked curiously. He didn't seem like it but she didn't have anything to say, so she blurted out the first thing that entered her mind.

"Good god, no," he said, shaking his head. "I'm just staying with a cousin of mine, but I'm really based in London." He raked his hand through his brown hair. "55 Euston Road, to be exact."

"Really?" Bertha was incredulous. "I live at 89 Euston Road."

"We're practically neighbors, what a coincidence," he remarked, smiling at her. "So tell me, Bertha, did you like your stay here in Albania?"

She didn't know what to say. 'I couldn't very well say I was practically bored to tears.' "I haven't been around much," she admitted. "I only checked out a few antique shops and spent a whole day in the National Museum of History."

He nodded. "It's not very safe for a woman to travel alone," he commented quietly. "Especially at night. If you don't mind, I can accompany-" He stopped talking when a perky waitress stopped in front of them.

"Would you like some more water?" the waitress asked in heavy-accented English. At Bertha's quick nod, she started refilling Bertha's half-filled glass with ice cold water. When she was about to pour water on Peter's empty glass, he shook his head.

"No, thank you," Peter said quickly. He smiled graciously at the waitress, who gave him an inviting smile before leaving. He took out a small bottle of Evian water from his bag. Uncapping the bottle, he remarked, "I'm used to drinking bottled mineral water." He took a swig before turning to face her. "As I was saying, it's not right for you to travel all by yourself. I'd love to show you around."

Bertha flushed. She couldn't very well tell him that she was a witch and she could easily hex any man who would dare get in her way.

"I'd like that," Bertha said softly, smiling openly at him.

The conversation was again interrupted by the waiter's arrival. The waiter placed a steaming plate of meat in front of Peter, bid them a pleasurable evening, then left unobtrusively.

"Do you like to go to the beach?" he asked between bites. When she nodded, he continued talking. "Albania has many beautiful beaches. And there's also a lot of places to go hiking. If you like, you can come with us."

"Us?"

"I made some friends here and we're going on a hiking trip next week."

"Then I'd love to go," she said quite enthusiastically.

When he placed his right hand on the table, she happened to notice that he seemed to be missing one finger. She blinked.

"It was an accident," he said suddenly, startling her.

"Excuse me?" Her face had turned pale. She felt bad for staring at his hand.

"I worked as an electrical engineer in a textile company. The machine suffered a setback, and my hand got caught while I was fixing it," he explained. He didn't seem uncomfortable talking about the incident.

"I'm sorry," she whispered softly.

"Don't be," he told her gently. "I'm not." Then he chuckled all of a sudden.

She stared at him, not knowing what was so funny. 'Great, one minute he sounded like a great guy, and now, he's gone completely nutters. It must be my amazing effect on men,' she thought dryly.

"I feel like I've known you for years," he told her, never taking his eyes off her. "I don't even feel embarrassed over this." He waved his right hand. "It really used to bother me a lot," he continued.

Bertha was touched at what he said. Could it be possible that he might be the one? She didn't know what to say.

"How about you, what do you do?" he asked curiously.

"I'm a government employee," she answered slowly. The wrong answer could drive away Mr. Perfect in an instant. "My department specializes in..." she paused, "International Relations," she finished with a nervous smile.

"How interesting," he commented. His eyes sparkled with warmth.

His slight praise filled her with warmth. Her face glowed and her eyes sparkled.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked out of the blue.

She gaped at him, flabbergasted. "Dance? I...I haven't done any dancing of any sort for quite some time now," she admitted, sounding extremely embarrassed.

"It's not that hard," he flashed her a brilliant smile. He gently took her suddenly clammy hand and lead her to the very crowded dance floor. "Now, put your arms around me, like this. Here let me." She nearly jumped when he took hold of her hand and placed it firmly on his shoulder. With her body pressed close to his, they started to move in rhythm to the music.

"There, that isn't so bad, is it?" he remarked with a grin.

"No," she answered almost breathlessly. She pressed her head against his shoulder. She couldn't begin to describe how she felt being held close by this wonderful, strange man. 'I feel like I've known him forever,' she sighed dreamily. An odd sensation went through her as she realized she was falling for a Muggle.

An hour must have passed before Peter decided the hour was late and he offered to drive Bertha back to the hotel she was staying in. He drove a rented black car. They had already covered some distance when he pulled to a stop. "Bertha, do you mind if we drop in at my cousin's house?" he asked, turning to look at her. "I forgot to bring his file with me and I need to fax it to him tonight."

She nodded slowly. "Where are you staying?"

"Not far," he answered casually. "Just a couple of blocks from here."

Within ten minutes, they reached a quiet neighborhood. Peter pulled to a stop and parked the car in a curb. He climbed out of the car, started walking towards the house, then stopped and went back to lean against the passenger window. "I was wondering, would you like to come up?"

Bertha was caught with indecision. She barely knew him and yet, she found herself totally unable to resist him. "O-okay..." she whispered, giving him a shy smile. He opened the passenger door as she quickly slid out of the car.

Her smile faltered the minute she entered the dimly lit house. A chill ran up her spine. She shivered. A sense of foreboding settled on her. She wanted to say that perhaps she should wait inside the car.

"I'll get the file in my room," he told her. "Be back in a minute." When he was half-way up the stairs, he called out, "Make yourself comfortable."

Several minutes had passed, Bertha stood up, feeling extremely uncomfortable. "It's mighty cold in here," she remarked while rubbing her upper arms. "Peter?" she called out, a bit hesitant. She didn't want to sit on the couch any longer. Leaving the dark living room, she stood hesitantly at the bottom of the stairs. When he didn't answer her call, she began to panic. "Peter?" she called out again. Before going upstairs, she tried calling him once more. "Peter, where are you?" Pressing her lips together, she decided to check upstairs. Her heart thudded nervously at each step she took.

"I'm right here."

Bertha whirled around and saw Peter casually leaning against the wall. His face was hidden in the shadows. She took a hesitant step towards him. At that moment, light emanated from an open window and it clearly showed the outline of his face. She let out a frightened shriek. "Where's Peter?" she demanded. Standing in front of her was a short, plump, balding man. And he seemed vaguely familiar.

"You're looking at him," he answered.

"What?" she said in confusion. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

He laughed harshly.

His laugh triggered something in her memory. She remembered his missing finger. An explosion...Twelve Muggles killed in broad daylight... A finger was found.... "You're not a Muggle!" she exclaimed in shock. "But how?" Then it dawned on her. "The mineral water... it must have been Polyjuice Potion!"

"That's right," he said with dark amusement. "I placed a spell on the bottle so it would look like ordinary mineral water."

Bertha's eyes widened as she slowly recognized him. "Peter ...Peter Pettigrew?" she sounded shocked. "You're...you...you are supposed to be dead!" Her hands shook. "Sirius Black killed you...how...why is it-"

"Possible that I'm alive?" He cut in. When she nodded, he smiled nastily. "For thirteen years nobody knew I was alive," he said angrily. "Then that stupid werewolf had to put his nose where he wasn't supposed to!"

She started backing away. He was raving like a lunatic. "What do you want from me?" Her eyes widened with fright when she saw his bloodshot eyes. She stumbled and landed on something hard. The real Peter Grimshaw was lying on the floor, dead with his eyes still open. She screamed.

"Scream all you want," Pettigrew said in a sneering tone. "I used the silencing spell. Nobody can hear your screams."

Bertha turned to run. Pettigrew caught her by her long blond hair just as she reached the stairs. He tackled her to the ground, coming to a rest on top of her. He shoved her violently against the wall before she caught her breath, and she cowered wide-eyed and dazed before him. She instinctively squirmed toward the corner, kicking her legs as best she could beneath the heavy body bearing down on her. When she finally caught her wind, she inhaled the sharp stench of blood and sweat.

"What do I want from you?" he asked derisively. "It's my master who wants something from you."

Bertha kicked him hard on the groin. Peter grunted and rolled on the floor. With shaking hands, she made a grab at her handbag which was thrown a few feet away. She yanked her bag open and whipped out her wand, but it was already too late.

"Accio wand!" Pettigrew shouted harshly.

Her wand flew out of her grasp. With a wave of his wand, he slammed Bertha against the wall with such force that it choked the very breath out of her helpless body. Painstakingly, she cracked one eye open. She watched Pettigrew walked towards a worn-out armchair, then began turning the chair facing her.

Her jaw dropped upon seeing what was in the chair.

It had the shape of a human child in a crouching position, but it was so grotesque-looking that it couldn't possibly be passed for a human being. It was a hairless, scaly-looking, dark reddish-black monstrosity, with thin arms and a flat, snake-like face and gleaming red eyes. Bertha's screams were stuck in her throat, her eyes bulging with fright.

"You're not real," she whimpered. "H-H-Harry P-P-Potter... destroyed you!"

The creature that was Voldemort laughed menacingly. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but not even Harry Potter can destroy me that easily." He beckoned Pettigrew to push the chair closer to her. "Bertha Jorkins, I heard you have excellent memory for gossip. Tell me what you know about the Ministry's plans," he said in a deceptively calm voice.

"I...will...not...tell...you...anything!" Bertha yelled, wincing in pain. "You'll have to kill me first." Her words sounded brave, but she was quaking visibly.

"We shall see about that," Voldemort said coldly, his eyes glinting maliciously.

She was totally unprepared for what happened next. Her right hand was wrenched out of its socket. A gut-wrenching scream filled the living room. There was a sickening crunch, then everything went black.

When she regained consciousness, the first thing she saw were the leering faces of You-Know-Who and Pettigrew.

"I see, you're already awake," Voldemort murmured with satisfaction. "Now let me see if you respond better to pain." He raised his wand. "Crucio!"

Bertha let out a piercing scream. The pain was so bad, it felt like every nerve of her body was on fire. It was pure agony. Helpless against the Cruciatus Curse, her bleeding body lay on the floor, twitching and shaking uncontrollably.

His eyes gleamed with cold cruelty. "Now Bertha, be a good girl and tell me everything you know."

"A...a competition...the Triwizard Competition will be held in Hogwarts... this year," she said, defeated. When she saw him raise his wand again, she hurriedly added, "The other schools involved are... Durmstrang... and Beaxbatons." She paused, breathing heavily, as her body twitched uncontrollably. "Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch will be there to act as the competition's judges." Her body shook again as she was overcome with another spasm. Gasping for breath, she tried speaking with difficulty; her voice dulled with pain. "There's been gossip of sorts ...that...old Mad-eye Moody will take on the Defense against Dark Arts post at Hogwarts this coming school year." She looked at Voldemort with eyes glazed with agony. "That's all I know..."

Voldemort's eyes flashed furiously. "What do you know about Barty Crouch?"

"He ... his son's dead...his wife's dead, too," Bertha replied slowly.

"How did his son died?" Voldemort pinned her with his intense stare. She tried to look away, feeling revolted at his grotesque appearance.

"After Crouch Jr. was placed in Azkaban..." she trailed off. She seemed to have trouble remembering. "The poor boy didn't last, he died shortly..."

Voldemort's gaze sharpened. "Did anyone visit him in his cell?"

Bertha closed her eyes, trying hard to remember. "I heard someone visited him before he died...but, I can't remember who..."

"And Barty Crouch's wife," he hissed, Voldemort's red-eyes were now glowing, "What was the cause of her death?"

"I don't know..." she answered truthfully. "I don't know...they said..." she broke off. The pounding in her started to increase. "My head hurts...I can't remember anything..."

Voldemort was quiet for awhile, silently digesting this information. He raised his head sharply, staring at her with his creepy, glowing red eyes. Slowly, he raised his wand and murmured something; making odd hissing noises.

Screaming, Bertha fell back on the floor, holding her head; it felt like it was about to explode. Then she blacked out and slumped on the floor.

"Master?" Pettigrew asked hesitantly. "What-"

Voldemort fixed his cold stare at him and he instantly fell silent. "A powerful wizard had placed a very strong Memory Charm on her."

"That means..."

"Yes, Wormtail. She knows something she shouldn't. We'll soon learn what it is." He raised his wand and hissed the spell. She opened her eyes, a blank expression in her face. Standing up, she faced Voldemort rigidly like a person in trance. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Barty Crouch Jr. has escaped from Azkaban. Apparently, his mother used Polyjuice Potion to take his place there, where she dies within a year. Barty Crouch kept his son imprisoned inside their home, with only a house-elf for company. Crouch did this to stop Crouch Jr. from finding You-Know-Who. (At this, Voldemort's eyes glowed.) Nobody has been alerted of Crouch Junior's presence for he is using an Invisibility Cloak most of the time."

"How did you come upon this knowledge?" Voldemort asked sharply.

"I visited Barty Crouch to give him some in-depth report," Bertha answered in a monotone. "I heard a voice talking with the house elf. But I couldn't find anyone there. So that means, he's using an Invisibility Cloak. And so I knew that it was Barty Crouch Jr. And then I confronted Crouch about this, he started denying it, saying I was raving mad. Then he suddenly whirled around with a wand in his hand and said-"

"Enough," said Voldemort, his face arranged into a horrible nasty smile. "Very well, you have served your purpose." He flicked his wand at her and broke the spell.

Bertha groaned. Her temples felt like she had been run over by a truck and she hurt all over. She opened her eyes and saw a red haze. Blood was interfering with her vision, she realized with alarm. She could barely remember what happened. Panting and sweating, she tried moving onto her side when she suddenly froze. She let out a choked scream after she caught sight of her ripped arm lying a few feet away. Shocked at the horrifying sight of her torn and bloodied arm, she felt like throwing up. Then she caught sight of the two, looming menacingly towards her and that instant, indescribable terror combined with helplessness overwhelmed her. "Somebody please help me!" she cried out hoarsely. Her throat was so extremely raw that her cry only came out as feeble croak. Frantic with panic, she tried to crawl away as fast as she could. Then, she heard a cold, sinister voice calmly said, "Avada Kedavra."

As the flash of green sliced through her, Bertha knew it was the end. Her lifeless body slumped back on the floor with her neck turned at an odd angle like a broken doll, shock reflected on her glassy eyes.

"You've done well, Wormtail."

"Thank you, my lord."

The End