1975

Chapter III - Gryffindor vs. Slytherin

As the Gryffindor players filed out of the dressing room, Gilderoy Lockhart decided to give a team-mate a little encouragement.

"Good luck, James! I needn't tell you I'll be catching the Snitch as quickly as possible, so all you have to worry about is keeping the Quaffle from Slytherin."

"And scoring, Gilderoy."

"That would be a bonus. But I don't want you to think the pressure's on you, if you're not up to it."

"Thank you," said James Potter.

* * * * * * * * *

Arvind Patil and Edmund Avery shook hands warmly. The rest of the players glared at each other. The sole exception was Gilderoy Lockhart whose smiles went everywhere.

He looked up at the sky, letting the wind whip his long golden hair about. "I think it's going to rain," he commented.

"LOCKHART! THE GAME'S STARTED!" yelled one of the Gryffindors.

Lockhart pretended not to hear. He continued his upward gaze, and then shot up, as though he had spotted the Snitch. Alison Howard was shadowing him in a matter of seconds, and just as quickly realized he was feinting. She retunred to leisurely looking for the Snitch.

Seekers inevitably watched large portions of the game out of the corner of their eyes; it was a perk of the position. This also made the Seeker by far the most annoying member of the team, he or she usually having many things to say afterwards about the other players' performances.

Alison noticed that the Slytherin Chasers were growing entirely too careless making their passes. How many times did they need to be intercepted before they would learn?

"Potter has the Quaffle! To Patil. He's taking the shot. Score! TEN POINTS FOR GRYFFINDOR!"

"Time to break this up," muttered Bagman, as he flew by Alison.

Before Potter had a chance to do anything with the Quaffle, Bagman hadsmashed his shoulder with a Bludger. With a cry of pain from Potter, the Quaffle flew out of Potter's hands and into the hands of Slytherin chaser, Megan Diggory.

Her shot on the Gryffindor hoops rebounded, but as Diggory made to try again, Bagman aimed another Bludger at Tullia Macnair, the Gryffindor Keeper. Macnair ducked and Diggory drove the Quaffle through the hoops.

"TEN-TEN!" roared the commentator.

Before the cheering died down from the Slytherin fans, Alison noticed the Snitch. For the first time in her life, she made no movement. Lockhart had not seen it. She tried hard not to look agitated.

Lockhart flew over to her. "Rather boring, isn't it? Even the best of us can't control when the Snitch shows up," he said.

"No. Your Keeper's doing a marvellous job."

"Yes. I gave her a few tips before the game. She was very grateful, after that disaster against Ravenclaw last year."

Tullia Macnair looked up and wondered why Howard and Lockhart were sitting still on their broomsticks apparently having a chat. She saw the Snitch.

"Lockhart. THE SNITCH!" she shouted, missing the Quaffle going in to the hoops.

"TWENTY SLYTHERIN - TEN GRYFFINDOR"

Lockhart swung around, saw the Snitch, and went after it. In a second, Alison was at his side. She reached over and pulled his long hair. "OWWWW!" he said, and stopped his broom.

Arvind Patil was flying fast towards the hoops when he began to hear Lockhart's voice calling, "Time out! I'm injured for heaven's sake. Time out!" He didn't look up but passed the Quaffle to Catherine Black. About to take the shot, she collided with Lockhart and went crashing down to earth.

"Time out!"

"What happened?" asked Patil, angrily.

Catherine Black prodded her arm delicately. Her teeth were gritted. "It's OK. It hurts, but it's O.K."

"Should I do a soothing charm?" asked Lockhart, his injury forgotten.

"I will," said Macnair quickly, taking out her wand. "Relevo Inuriam."

They mounted their brooms again.

"Gilderoy, catch the Snitch!" Patil ordered. "Don't let Howard or any other Slyth distract you."

"No, of course not," he grinned.

* * * * * * *

"Glad you didn't make the bet with me, Hardisty?" said Frank Longbottom.

"I thought Slytherin played clean," complained Laura Hardisty, the Gryffindor prefect.

"They haven't broken many rules," said Bell. "For instance, there's no rule against charging the Seeker, and then drawing back at the last moment."

"She's not even trying to catch the Snitch!"

The game was in part being played as usual. The Gryffindor players, disconcerted by their Seeker's antics, were playing a little worse than usual and the score stood 60 Slytherin to 30 Gryffindor.

Above the main game, however, Alison Howard was keeping Lockhart busy. Having discovered he flinched easily in the face of an oncoming broom, she had taken to turning her broom on him, and then shooting up before they collided. He had quite forgotten about the Snitch under the circumstances.

"Miss Howard," said Lockhart angrily. "Don't you think," he flinched at another feint, "that this demeans the noble game of Quidditch?"

"LOCK-HART! LOCK-HART!" The Slytherin fans were jeering.

"Get the Snitch, you idiot!" screamed Patil from below.

"I'm working on it," Lockhart yelled back. "Howard, this is your last warning."

She feinted towards him again.

To Alison's amazement, he plucked up his courage and went after her this time. She couldn't have asked for better. She headed straight for the Slytherin hoops.

"Black takes the shot! And rebound off Lockhart! The crowd is going wild!"

They certainly were. Evan and Ken were standing on their seats belting out a set of hastily amended lyrics to "Aileen Aroon". The song was quickly picked up by the other Slytherins.

Will you talk or will you play, Gild'roy Lockhart?
And will you talk or will you play, Gild'roy Lockhart?
Will you talk or will you play,
Will you talk or will you play,
Will you, will you, will you,
Will you talk or play?
O will you talk or will you play, Gild'roy Lockhart?

If Lockhart could not in the heat of battle hear them, the Gryffindor fans could and reacted vigorously. Alysoun Crouch, mostly in the interests of embarrassing her son and young sister-in-law, ventured a furtive "Go Gryffindor!"

"Mum!" said Barty, glaring at her.

"You married into Slytherin," said Narcissa smiling.

"Married into Slytherin indeed!" said Alysoun. "How long do you think they're going to stretch this game out?"

"They could go on for a week," said Barty excitedly. "There's no way Lockhart's going to catch that Snitch.

"A week!" said Narcissa. "But my robes."

"A whole week without classes," said Barty dreamily.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will intervene before it gets that far," said Alysoun.

"Of course he won't. No one ever intervenes in Quidditch, you know that, Mum."

"Barty, dear, have you ever wondered why Hogwarts Quidditch games are over so quickly?"

"They put a spell on the Snitch so that it'll appear quickly," said Narcissa.

Barty looked very shocked. "How dare they?"

"So you see they are not opposed to intervening in the interests of your education. I expect Albus Dumbledore will have a talk with the Seekers soon enough.

* * * * * *

In the hospital wing, Rodolphus Lestrange and Rolly Wilkes sat glumly on a bed reading Kenneth Avery's owl updates.

"Score's 90-50 Slytherin, Hanrahan!" Rolly called across the room to the injured Gryffindor seeker, who began to respond but broke into a hacking cough.

"Should I give them your love?" Rolly asked, putting quill to parchment.

No answer.

Thank you for the updates and keep up with them. We are dying of envy here, and the hacky cough (as you call it) will not go away. In fact, Hanrahan is beginning to come down with it, news that will give you great pleasure. Your last report made us laugh so much that catastrophic coughing set in and Rodolphus nearly died. Sorry to hear that it's finally raining, but not too sorry, because all sorrow should be reserved for your marooned classmates, Roland Wilkes and Rodolphus Lestrange.

* * * * * * * *

On the Quidditch pitch, the rain came down in sheets. Lockhart had gone from glamorous to bedraggled and the score was 130-110 Slytherin.

"TIME OUT!"

"What were you Chasers thinking?" demanded Bagman. "You've let by fifteen shots in four minutes. FOUR MINUTES! No wonder Margaret can't keep them out."

"We're getting tired, Ludo." Megan Diggory pushed the wet hair out of her eyes.

"And cold," said Winston Ayleward. "Are you sure we need to keep on with this?"

"Why don't we call it a day?" asked Diggory. "We'll come out with 280 points in all."

Bagman was livid with rage. "You'd pass up a chance to win the House Cup. Oh, I can't wait till I get back to the Slytherin common room and explain this one. 'They were cold.' It'd be pretty hot for us, I'll tell you."

"I'm with Ludo," said Tristan Wimple, the other Beater. "310 points before we catch the Snitch and we'll be heroes the rest of the year."

"Exactly," said Ludo. Megan Diggory groaned.

Edmund Avery looked about his team "Of course we push on. If there's another complaint, Monday practice will be rescheduled to six in the morning."

That motivated the malcontents and play was resumed.

"Someone's reminded Lockhart to go after the Snitch again," said Severus, observing Lockhart with amusement.

"Well, you know," said Ken. "I feel..."

"Sorry for him," chimed in Severus and Evan.

"Though I agree," continued Evan. "He's pitiful."

"I don't believe in pity," said Severus.

There was a pause in the conversation.

"Are we supposed to react to that statement?" asked Evan nonchalantly.

"Why not?" asked Kenneth earnestly. Not having Evan's laid-back attitude, he took all deviations from orthodox thought very seriously.

"You are who you make yourself," said Severus slowly. "Why should someone else waste their emotions on something you made?"

"Not everyone makes themselves," said Julian, who had pricked up her ears at the rare sound of an intellectual conversation.

"No. Gilderoy here is obviously the innocent product of an unabated campaign since birth to swell his head," Severus said "Julian, I don't mean no pity for the orphans and widows and the sick. That's not pity. It's sympathy. Pity is when you ruin your own peace by feeling for those you find completely repulsive."

"Pity reminds us that we're all fellow humans," said Julian stubbornly. "How will people change in your pitiless world?"

"By deciding to change. And then doing it. Why do they deserve others' emotions? What have they done to be entitled to those?"

"If you were messed up, wouldn't you want me to show pity?" Julian demanded

"No."

"Anyway, Gilderoy doesn't need any pity," Melania cut in quickly. "He's quite happy as he is."

"Good for him," said Severus.

Kenneth pulled Evan aside. "What is wrong with Severus?"

"He's gone gloomy, hasn't he?"

"Gloomy is not the word for it. The Death Eater thing."

"Shush."

"I know it isn't just a club, and everything," Kenneth continued. "But, really, it is a club. Or was. We were having fun, and now it's all serious and creepy. And so is Severus."

"I don't know about that."

"Evan, don't pretend you think everything's normal. Severus is beginning to scare me. And so is Rodolphus. And Florence. And Alison. They're far too intense. No one should be that intense. About anything. Except loving your country." Kenneth was very patriotic.

Evan shrugged his shoulders. "It's a stage, Ken. They're having fun being dramatic."

"I'm not. I almost wish I was out of this. Only that's not even up to me, since you hold meetings in the dormitory."

"Ken, you're not scared?"

"Very scared. That whatever-it-was last night. That could have gone wrong. We could have had pieces of us all over the floor. And then I'd survive and be taken to Azkaban."

"You're getting too intense, Ken," said Evan smiling.

"Azkaban, Evan. Az-ka-ban."

"What about it?"

"We could be sent there, you know. I've been reading up in the library on the criminal code and the Dark Arts. We're underage, of course, but it's a possibility. There was a case in 1957. It wouldn't be a life sentence, but..." Kenneth trailed off.

"Would you stop going on about the legal code? I hope no one's noticed your field of study."

"If they did, Evan, you know what would happen."

"I'd break your nose," said Evan lightly.

"No, you wouldn't. The Aurors would get you before you could find me."

"I'd break the Aurors' noses then. But how on earth do you dream up these brilliant futures, Ken? All bloody ambushes and Dementors. I plan on living to the venerable age of 160 as a highly respected genius of some description. In Kent."

"Kent?" asked Kenneth, temporarily distracted.

"Yes, afternoons you'll come over to play chess and warn me about 'them Dementors.' If you're paranoid now, I'm afraid to think what you'll be like then. Ken, we're not doing anything horrendous. We haven't kidnapped Sirius Black and boiled him for a love potion."

Kenneth flinched. "Damn! I'll never be able to get that image out of my head. Do you think it would work?"

"Essence of Black? No. Gilderoy Lockhart, perhaps. Now, there's an attractor." Lockhart was rarely without girls fawning over him. "Kenneth, are you all right?"

"I think I am. But I'm not tough, like you all are. I can only take so much."

"All we're doing," said Evan, "is preparing to live in a dangerous world. One day you'll be glad you know this stuff."

"I am glad," said Kenneth, but his tone was not convincing.

* * * * * * * *

"Can we go to Hogsmeade now?" asked Narcissa, "To buy the robes?"

Lockhart suddenly dived through the air, his arm reaching down below him, trying to catch the Snitch. Alison was with him, straining her eyes for the glimmer of gold. With a loud clunk, Lockhart crashed into the crowd, while Alison swerved up at the last minute.

"A FAILED WRONSKI FEINT!" shouted the announcer. The booing, which had never been low, rose to record levels.

"He tried to do a Wronski feint," said Barty, suffocating with laughter. "There's only two people in the league can do that properly!"

Narcissa laughed a little, then began badgering to leave again.

"We can't leave in the middle of a game," said Barty furiously.

"You can stay here then. Your mother and I would be only too happy to shop for dress robes alone."

"Narcissa, we can stay a little longer," said Alysoun. "If you want, you and Barty can stay the night with me at Hogsmeade."

"What about my brother?" asked Narcissa.

"He'll be fine. Winky will take good care of him. I'm sure he'll be very jealous when he hears what an interesting game this was." Alysoun privately wondered if he'd notice she wasn't at home.

Fourteen years before, she would have laughed at the suggestion she would one day think like that. She would have grouped it with the well-meaning jokes she received from her old Gryffindor friends. "Heard you're marrying a Slytherin. Make sure he doesn't stab you in the back some night."

Fourteen years before, things had been very different. Barty had been obsessed with his work even then. In fact, Cornelius Fudge - Alysoun doubted the veracity of the story - liked to tell people that the day before the wedding he had found Barty Crouch packing up the work he planned to get out of his way on his honeymoon.

But that hadn't been the whole of it. If Barty was intense about his work, he was also intense about his wife, and in turn, Bartemius Jr.

Then Voldemort came.

It was the year Barty and Narcissa's father died. Narcissa was only seven, and having lost her mother two years previously, had come to live with her brother's family.

And it was, as such nights might be expected to be, a dark night, when two people were killed and a green skull sent up into the air to mark their passing. Barty had just been made head of Magical Law Enforcement.

He told Alysoun all about it the next evening, when he was finally able to go home.

"Not in front of the children," Alysoun had said. Barty Jr. and Narcissa were standing there with big wide eyes.

"Will you catch him, Daddy?" asked five-year old Barty.

"Yes, and put him in jail," he assured his son.

"By yourself?"

A light flickered in Barty's grey eyes. "The Aurors will help me. A little bit."

"Oh!" said Barty Jr. "You have to tell us a bedtime story. Mummy said so.

After he had put his son and his little sister to bed, Barty Crouch went down to his wife. "I'm sorry."

"You've had a hard day," said Alysoun. "But then, all your days are hard. You deserve to retire by... yesterday, actually."

"Do you know it was a very great blow to my pride to admit to my son that I wasn't the Ministry's hero-in-residence?

"I don't remember you admitting that, Barty. You left him thinking you spend your day chasing down criminals. With a few Auror sidekicks."

"I almost could have today. You can't imagine how sick it was."

"Do you have any idea who's behind it?"

"None at all. Of course, the Bennets did support integration with the Muggle world. Absolute idiots, but they didn't deserve that. I know you're against the Kiss, but Alysoun, if you had seen it..."

"Barty, you'll be all right," she said kissing his forehead. "Remember what you told the children. You'll track him down and put him in jail."

But he hadn't. The number of deaths grew. It became clear that this was not ordinary murder, but terrorism, that it was not the work of one man, but a huge network of dark wizards. They were working for one who called himself "Lord Voldemort."

"Lord Voldemort!" snorted Gilbert Wimple, when he first heard the name. "Well, gentlemen, whatever else we're up against, we're certainly dealing with a raving loony."

As time passed, however, even Wimple stopped laughing. Voldemort had become "You Know Who" or more sinisterly, "He Who Must Not Be Named." They caught his agents from time to time, but they never could tell much of their master. They had never even seen his face.

Who he was, few could say, or, at least, correctly, say. There were many popular accounts of his origins from which to choose. Crouch, who knew everything that could be known about Voldemort, had learned that he was a wizard by the name of Thomas Riddle. He at once suggested that the fact be widely published, but the Minister had insisted that everything be kept under wraps, so that the public wouldn't be frightened. So, of course, people assumed the worst.

Barty Crouch completely buried himself in his work.