1975

Chapter Thirteen - Where Three Roads Meet

Professor Vindictus Viridian did not go completely unprepared down to the Gryffindor Crypt. He had after all almost been an Auror. Yet, he wasn't expecting anything worse than vituperative language from Frank Longbottom. The object was to catch him unawares, not to fight a pitched battle. Viridian had muffled his footsteps and breathing, and it was with his wand at the ready to detect any wards or charms that he went down into the depths of the school.

Dumbledore, he knew, would have to expel Longbottom. Hogwarts students could get away with an alarming number of illicit activities, but seducing a fifteen year old girl would warrant no reprieve. (Naturally, Viridian had assumed the worst about Frank Longbottom.)

He paused at the great iron door that opened into the Crypt. While the Crypt itself dated back to the thirteenth century, and the door to the sixteenth, some foolhardy soul had in 1847 engraved the words, Fortune Favours the Bold, upon the door in ornate and absurd lettering.

Fortune did not favour the bold, Viridian reflected. He had been bold. Fortune favoured the traitors.

He raised his wand. "Alohamora!" Then "Lumos!"

The light showed no one. The Crypt was a large place. There was plenty of room to hide. He strode forward.

He stepped across the threshold into a madly spinning darkness, and his conscious mind falling blindly into a void, his lifeless body fell to the ground.

He lay still there, despite Evan Rosier poking him to make sure he was completely unconscious.

"Nice spellwork, Severus," Evan said appreciatively.

"He doesn't look as though he's having too fun of a time, does he?" said Rolly, peering into Viridian's face.

"It feels like one is falling and spinning simultaneously," said Severus. "Or so I have read."

Alison carefully cut off a few locks of hair, and then they dragged Viridian's body across the floor, and pulling up the flagstones, they deposited him in an empty grave. (It had been constructed by a past headmaster of Hogwarts to house his own remains, but his fellow Gryffindor ghosts had protested on his joining their glorious ranks after a life of petty politicking, and he had had to be reinterred elsewhere.)

"Will he be all right?" asked Julian as they replaced the flagstones.

"Right as rain," said Florence. "Or would be, if we hadn't messed with his reputation."

Alison added the hair to the cauldron, and began to stir.

"How does it taste?" asked Rolly curiously.

"Lemony. With a faint hint of cinnamon," said Evan, who was finishing transfiguring Severus's robes to resemble Viridian's. (Stripping Viridian naked had not appealed to any of the Slytherins.)

"I won't give you the pleasure of hearing what it really tastes like," said Severus. "Alison, give me the cup."

Having stirred in the hairs, Alison ladled some potion into the cup, and handed it to Severus who, without any fuss, gulped it down.

They had all read that Polyjuice Potion was horrible to take, so despite Severus's complete self-control, they winced as the potion began to set in. Julian looked away for a second, but curiosity forced her to turn back to the spectacle of transformation. Severus's hair lightened to dark brown and fell down over his shoulders, his nose lost its hook but not its size, his eyes lightened, and there he was, Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"Well?" he asked.

"Not so good. You haven't mastered the Viridian smirk yet," said Evan.

"Smile nicely!" ordered Alison suddenly. "No, that's not a nice smile, Severus. Less tooth. There! Viridian doesn't always have to look like he's eaten a mouthful of Mooncalf dung. Pay up, Flo!"

"Let's stop fooling around and get to work on that smirk," said Mordred.

* * * * * * * * * *

Narcissa was at her desk five minutes before the next morning's Defence Against the Dark Arts class, practicing signatures with Lydia Stebbins. After much effort, Narcissa had reduced her surname to a barely recognizable 'C' followed by a long squiggle.

"I shouldn't even know this was meant to read 'Crouch'," complained Lydia.

"You'd know by the letter's seal," said Narcissa. "But I don't think I'll sign like this. It's not very Crouchian. Clear, bold, and upright may be the ticket. Like my brother's signature with a little more grace. At least for now. I shan't always be signing 'Crouch'."

"I hate that about marriage," said Lydia. "I like my surname."

"It's not a matter of liking," said Narcissa. "It's a matter of affiliation. When you marry, your loyalties won't be to the Stebbins family."

"My what?" said Lydialaughingly. "You are such a Crouch, Narcissa!"

"Not for the rest of my life!"

"I hadn't noticed you'd been damaged by being a Crouch," said Lydia.

"Certainly not," said Narcissa quickly. "Now, where's Viridian? He's never this late."

"Maybe Dumbledore will take his class."

But that hope was dashed by the familiar voice at the door. "Good morning. I trust your essays are ready to be handed in."

"Damn it!" said Ludo. "I knew I'd forgotten something."

"That language will cost Slytherintwo points, I'm afraid. All of you, put your essays on the desk, except for Mr. Bagman who will be serving detention with Mr. Filch Friday evening."

"At least he didn't throw me off the Quidditchteam," muttered Ludo to Tristan.

The essays having been collected, the students took their seats for Viridian's lecture.

"When I was an employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," began Viridian. "I had a particularly memorable encounter with dark wizards, an experience that led me to give up that post and become a professor."

"Here we go again," mouthed Lydiato Ludo.

Viridian's stories of his days in Magical Law Enforcement were strangely contradictory. On the one hand, he was the hero of every story, triumphing over evil. On the other, he never lost a chance to denigrate his job as dull, senseless, and a pleasure to leave.

There was one story, however, the key to all these contradictions, that Viridian had never told. Severus was going to tell it now. Rolly had offered up the story in the first place, told to him by his cousin, Lucius Malfoy. Later, Julian had confirmed and added details, told her by her mother.

"One of the clerks in the Department was an ambitious young man," began Severus, his eyes on Narcissa. "He had just been transferred from International Co-operation with the highest recommendation and indeed soon turned to be an asset to Magical Law Enforcement. Or so it appeared on the face of things. I was his supervisor, in fact, and he did brilliant work. But it came to my attention that all was not right with him. I was informed that the company he kept was very suspect. To put it plainly, these friends of his were the forerunners of the Death Eaters."

There was a sharp intake of breath from the students.

"Under the circumstances, immediate expulsion from the Ministry seemed reasonable. I brought the matter to the attention of the Department authorities, but their response was typically bureaucratic. They acknowledged that these people were a suspect lot, but was there any proof of dark activities?"

"Was there?" asked Tristan.

"No, Mr. Wimple, there never is. Not then, not now. I made it my business to find them their evidence, and I did find it. I had myself invited to one of these evenings, observed and recorded everything, and then prepared to present what I had found."

Severus paused as Viridian always did before a story's climax.

"Did you, sir?" asked Tristan.

"No," said Severus slowly. "Getting wind of what I was up to, the young man broke into my desk, and turned in my records as evidence against myself. I quit the Ministry in disgust over the complete lack of consequences for him. Dark wizards, ladies and gentlemen, are everywhere. In the best of families, in the most respected circles, even in the highest ranks of government. My task is to make you aware of that. To put you on your guard so that bureaucratic blindness does not set in. They are ruthless, and nothing, even wards on one's drawers, will stand in their way."

"What happened to the clerk?" asked Lydia.

"The clerk? He eventually became the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said Severus lightly. "I believe we should return to our lesson."

Narcissa Crouch, however, had jumped up from her seat. Her usually pale cheeks were suffused with crimson.

"Quit with disgust?" she said. "You?More likely sacked as a Death Eater!" And she strode out of the room in search of Frank Longbottom.

Frank was in Arithmancy, pretending to work out a problem while reading a long letter he had received from his father at breakfast. Professor Vector was weirdly predictable in the order in which she called students up to the blackboard, and Frank was certain that she would call on Edmund to demonstrate the problem at hand.

He was surprised as anyone when the door swung open, and Narcissa Crouch strode into the classroom.

"Miss Crouch?" began Professor Vector doubtfully.

"Professor, may I speak with Longbottom?" There was some tittering from the class. Narcissa's flame for Frank had not gone unnoticed among the older students.

"You can wait until after class, Miss Crouch," said Vector.

"No I can't," said Narcissa. "Frank, I need you." She turned and left the room.

"I think I must go," said Frank to Vector. "I'll be back as quickly as possible."

No one but Frank Longbottom could have walked out of class without any objections from the professor. Edmund, at the board, stared after him in envy.

Frank, however, closing the door of the classroom, looked worried. "Narcissa?" he asked.

"He did it!" she said, her voiceboth exultant and choked up. "He said horrible things about my brother. Frank, he did it!"

"In front of witnesses?" he asked.

"In front of every Slytherin fourth year.Barty'll believe this! But what he said..."

"What did he say?"

"He practically accused my brother of being a Death Eater," said Narcissa. "A dark wizard, anyway."

Frank rubbed his hands together. "Narcissa, I think you should go immediately to the Headmaster to complain, thenwrite to your brother. I'll work on riling up the other students... And adding some more touches."

"More touches?"

"You'll see. Go!"

He re-opened the door of the classroom. "Professor Vector, I need to borrow Avery."

* * * * * * * * * * *

"That's peculiar," said Barty on hearing of Viridian's attacks on his father.

"In front of the whole class!" said Mark Stebbins, forgetting in the excitement of the moment that he and Barty Crouch were enemies. "What do you think your father will do?"

"Send him to Azkaban?" asked Kitty O'Hare, wide-eyed.

"Of course not," said Stebbins. "He didn't do anything illegal."

"No," said Barty. "For some reason, libel is not an offense under the penal code. But it's peculiar."

"Why? Viridian's always nasty," said Kitty.

"No, it's certainly not out of character for him to hate my father," said Barty. "But incredibly imprudent," he added under his breath.

He joined his classmates wholeheartedly in devising richly deserved fates for Viridian. This was his first chance to be slightly popular at Hogwarts, and he wasn't going to miss it.

But, Viridian having disappeared after his grand scene, the Defence Against the Dark Arts class with the second year Slytherins had been cancelled, leaving Barty free to follow up a hunch.

It was peculiar, Viridian suddenly badmouthing his father after years of carefully kept silence, then storming away for the rest of the day. Barty would bet his life that one of Viridian's numerous enemies had something to do with it. Perhaps someone had finally goaded him into insanity. More likely, certain students been messing with his breakfast tea. There were potions that destroyed inhibitions, causing their victims to babble their secret thoughts.

The proper place to begin any search was with someone who knew all the Hogwarts gossip. And the only first-rate gossiper in the school Barty was on speaking terms with was Moaning Myrtle. Myrtle had one night in Barty's first year tried to expand her haunting grounds to the Slytherin common room, since in her former life, she had been a Slytherin. Barty had calmly talked her out of it, gravely warning her that the Ministry of Magic would be very upset. But he had listened to Myrtle's tale of woe as courteously as possible, filing her away as a useful contact. Now was the time to visit Myrtle.

Or perhaps it wasn't. Standing before the door of the girls' bathroom, it seemed ridiculous to be pumping a self-pitying ghost for...

His father's voice sounded in his head. If you ever feel that you'd rather not go ahead, keep going. Someone is trying to hide something from you. With all his will, Barty pushed open the door and entered.

The room smelt like over-boiled cabbage.

"Miss Rogers?" asked Barty. He had learnt Myrtle's surname in that first conversation, and had correctly surmised this would win her heart.

"Oh, it's just Barty Crouch," said Myrtle gliding through the door of a stall. "What do you want?"

"Only a few moments of your time," said Barty. "Who did you think it'd be?"

"I was hoping it'd be Lestrange. He's been avoiding me. They always avoid me."

"I'm not avoiding you," said Barty.

"You're not good-looking," said Myrtle bluntly. "You've too many freckles."

Barty resisted the urge to tell Myrtle what glasses, a blotchy face, and translucence did for her looks, and pulled himself up to sit precariously on the edge of one of the sinks.

"But Lestrange is good looking?" he asked casually.

"Rather," said Myrtle. "His hair's dark. I've always liked dark hair."

"Is he in here much?"

"Not so often as he used to be. When they were beginning on that potion. And he's always with that Howard girl. She thinks he owns him."

"She does," said Barty promptly.

Myrtle glared at him.

"They say she's using a love potion," Barty added conciliatorily.

"She should be expelled!"

"She might be," said Barty, looking about the room. "This potion was her idea, wasn't it?"

"Was that the love potion?" asked Myrtle. "All this time, I've been letting her stir up a love potion?"

"I don't know," said Barty truthfully. "I'd have to see the potion."

"There's some traces of it on the back of one of the toilets," said Myrtle. "They thought they'd cleaned it all up, but I'll show you..."

Getting on his knees, Barty examined the place Myrtle was pointing to. A very small splash of something slimy was certainly there. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped it up.

"Will you make sure she's expelled, Crouch?" Myrtle asked eagerly, as he stood up again.

"I'll make sure this is dealt with," said Barty. "Thank you, Miss Rogers."

"You're welcome," said Myrtle almost wistfully. "It's a pity you don't take after your father."

For the first time in his life, Barty thanked God for his blond hair.

* * * * * * * * *

Dear Father,

By the time this letter reaches you, Professor Viridian's interesting remarks to Narcissa's class will have been made known to you in full. I'm sure Viridian feels exactly that way, but I have good reason to believe he didn't actually say them.. You see, I have found traces of Polyjuice in an out-of-order washroom that the ghost of Myrtle Rogers confirms was used by several fifth year Slytherins to brew a potion. The accused are Alison Howard and Mordred Lestrange. The others are probably involved as well. They have been at odds with Viridian, and it would seem that they impersonated him in revenge. I don't know what they did with Viridian meanwhile. I shall try to find out. I...

"Crouch!" Barty's composition was interrupted by Megan Diggory. "I need to speak to you."

Barty folded the parchment, and sticking it in his pocket, walked to Megan at the door of the common room.

"I have some bad news for you," began Megan hurriedly. "Your mother is very ill and you've been asked to return home. They're getting a carriage ready to take you to Hogsmeade in half an hour and you can floo there back to your house."

"Where's Narcissa?" asked Barty.

"In Dumbledore's office right now."

"Ok."

"Are you all right?" asked Megan.

"No, of course not," said Barty. "But I'm going to pack my things."

"Why don't you have one of your friends help you?"

"Which friends?" asked Barty.

Megan was stumped.

"Do you need any help, Crouch?" came a voice from behind him.

"Yes, he does, Lestrange" said Megan gratefully. "Can you get him packed?"

"Certainly," said Mordred.

"Thank you," said Barty stiffly. He had been avoiding Lestrange recently, knowing full well what his father thought of him, but he couldn't refuse his help. After all, he wasn't in a state to pack his things. He would end up leaving with nothing but his cloak.

"I'm sorry about your mother," said Mordred, as they entered Barty's dormitory. "And which bed is yours?"

"The one that's made," said Barty.

"Oh, of course," said Mordred, trying not to laugh.

They silently packed one of Barty's trunks.

"Thank you," said Barty when it was done.

"I'm always at your service," said Mordred simply. "Shall I carry this up?"

"No, I can do that at least by myself!" said Barty, taking the trunk.

Mordred insisted, however, on seeing Barty to the door, and he gave Narcissa a hand up into the carriage.

"You shouldn't be so chummy with Lestrange," Narcissa said crossly, as soon as the door closed.

"Not my fault," said Barty. "He insisted on helping."

There was a long silence.

"So," said Barty. "What was it like when your mother died?"

Narcissa looked at him. "Your mother isn't dead," she said. "She's just ill..."

"But, what was it like?"

"I don't remember," she said. "I remember when my father died. Though mostly how much I hated you."

"Hated me?"

"You were such a lively little five-year-old, so happy to move into Ettencross. You were excited about everything, and I wanted to curl up in a corner and cry for a few months. And I had to share the nursery with you. You were always stealing my dolls and torturing them!"

"I..."

"I found Lucretia and Charlotte hanging by their hair from a bookshelf, and you crying, don't you remember? And you told us you were sad because they were dying painfully. Your parents thought you were completely disturbed."

"But I did feel sorry for them!" protested Barty.

"Funny way of showing it," said Narcissa, glad to have distracted Barty.

They reminisced the entire way to Hogsmeade, losing themselves in the happier past.

The witch at the post office scowled at them, as she lit the fire for them. They weren't supposed to look cheerful. Did they even care about their mother or sister-in-law?

"Ettencross," said Barty, and stepped into the flames.

Watching the grates flash by, he always tried to see into the rooms he was passing. But he never could. And trying made him all the queasier. He was in a bad state when he tumbled out of the Crouch floo fireplace.

He was greeted by an enthusiastic hug from Winky, the family house-elf.

"Master Barty, I is so glad you is finally home. And Miss Narcissa too," Winky added as Narcissa came out of the fireplace.

"How is my mother?" demanded Barty.

"Mistress is very ill," said Winky. "You issupposed to be coming with me to your father."

They quietly followed her through the house to the door of Barty's parents' room. Winky motioned for them to stand still, then went into the room.

A few seconds later, Barty Sr. came out.

"Come in," he said gently.

Barty didn't know how he had expected his mother to look. Delirious, perhaps? Not so normal.

"Hello, Barty, Narcissa," she said warmly, but she did not lift her head from its pillow.

"How are you doing?" Narcissa blurted out.

"Poorly, Narcissa," said Alysoun. "But I'm feeling better right now. I think you and Barty should have lunch right now.

"Are you feeling better?" Barty Sr. asked skeptically, after the children had left the room.

"Of course I am," said Alysoun. "One can't vomit that much and not feel somewhat better."

"You'd best sleep," said Barty.

"I can't sleep," said Alysoun. "What are you going to do about Viridian?" She had heard all the details from him before the children came in.

"Let the other governors know I expect them to demand his resignation."

"But will the press try smearing you?"

Barty looked at his wife wonderingly. She was dangerously ill and still worrying over his career. But then, to tell the truth, he had married her because she was interested in his career.

"They may try," he said. "But I can keep that sort of thing out of the papers easily enough."

"Any more skeletons in the closet, Barty?"

"Plenty," said Barty.

"But any you regret?"

"No," said Barty promptly. "Now sleep." He kissed her forehead.

She lay alone a long time, staring at the ceiling. Barty might not have any regrets, but she had many.

One of the greatest was her treatment of Kate Tierney. Kate had been her best friend at Hogwarts. The two girls had met on the train and it had been joked that they were never longer apart after that than the moments between the Sorting Hat saying, "Kettleburn, Alysoun, Gryffindor," and "Tierney, Katherine, Gryffindor."

They had drifted apart somewhat after Hogwarts. Kate was interning for a notary and Alysoun was busy being a recovering invalid. So Alysoun had no idea how Ignatius Kelly had entered Kate's life.The first she heard of the affair was Kate's frantic announcement that she was pregnant, and what in heaven's name should she do? She'd be let go for sure. A respectable notary's office was no place for a visibly pregnant unmarried witch.

In the end, it had all worked out. Kelly had agreed to support her and the child, and she had gone into hiding in Muggle London. Alysoun was the only friend with Kate to welcome Julian Tierney into the world.

"Julian?" the Muggle nurse asked. "Julian's a boy's name."

"It's a girl's name too," Kate said, wrapped in adoration of her baby. "It was once one of the most popular girls' names in England. I'm naming her for Julian of Norwich, a mystic of yours. She was a young woman when she lay in her bed dying and a vision came to her. She was told that all shall be well, and all things shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

"Oh," said the nurse.

Alysoun had been made Julian's godmother. And then she married Barty Crouch.

She needn't have told Barty of Julian's paternity. She could have kept Kate's secret. But how could she have guessed what he would do with the information? She had only after all been married to him a month when she told him. Julian was sixteen months old. Barty seemed to love her as much as Alysoun did.

He anonymously leaked the story to the press.

"And why should Kelly be shielded?" he asked coolly, confronted with his betrayal.

"But Kate. And Julian," Alysoun protested.

"They needn't be harmed. I've arranged for Kate to go to Australia. She can start over there. As for Julian, I think it would be best if the poor little thing was given a real family. I've already offered Kate to take her."

And so, Ignatius Kelly, who had lately grown to dislike Barty, was hounded out office. With Kelly gone, Barty's career had prospered.

Yet even though her lover had completely abandoned their daughter, accusing Kate of having exposed him, Kate Tierney stubbornly refused to give Julian to Barty and Alysoun. She returned to Dublinand proceeded to make her living as best as she could, supporting herself and her daughter. The last Alysoun had heard of her she was working as a waitress.

Two lives had been ruined, sacrificed for Barty's career. But, as he would have pointed out, they needn't have been ruined. If Kate had done as wished, everything would have turned out satisfactorily. People were only really ruined when they didn't comply with his will.

Alysoun, of course, had always complied

* * * * * * *

It had been a day like something out of his stories, Rolly reflected to himself, as he threw himself into an armchair in the Slytherin common room. They had impersonated Viridian successfully. And then, Florencehad memory charmed him, and sent him on his way. Wild rumour already had Viridian sacked. Returning to the real world of essays and revision was going to be near impossible.

The only cloud on the clear horizon was the number of people who continued to get their jabs in at Florence. That morning, he had several times employed talents otherwise devoted to writing snappy dialogue in delivering demolishing comebacks.

"Writing?" came Florence's voice from behind his chair.

"Mmmm..."

"Have you forgiven me?" Florenceasked.

Rolly turned around. "I've rushed in to defend your honour, haven't I?"

Florence smiled uneasily. "I don't think there really is such a thing as honour," she said.

"There'd better be," said Rolly shortly. "It's all I've got. Aren't you going to sit down?"

Florence settled into the armchair beside him. "I have something for you," she said, handing him an envelope.

Rolly opened it. "Dear Mr Scriveyn... What is this?"

"Keep reading," said Florence.

"We are pleased to accept your ballad for publication in next month's issue of Witch Weekly. Enclosed is a galleon's payment. We would be happy to see further work from you in the future.

Yours sincerely,

Rosamunde Briar, Literary Editor"

"What do you think?" asked Florence.

"I hope Lucius doesn't find out. Florence, you're a genius!"

"No, you're the literary genius now," said Florencewith a smile.

"And now that I'm rich and famous and you're my literary agent," said Rolly, turning the coin over in his hand, "Let's spend our fortune on sugar quills next Hogsmeade weekend."

"Dissolute lives you artistic types live," said Florence.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The fire was burning cheerily on Barty's grate, when his father finally sent him to bed. He pulled a blanket from his bed and sat down in front of it.

His mother was dying and there was nothing that could be done about it. If there was, his father would have done it. Trying to imagine living alone with his father, he couldn't. He had always seen his parents as inseparable. Heaven knew he had tried often enough to separate them a little.

Playing them off against each other had never worked. They instinctively backed each other up. They had the uncanny habit of communicating their thoughts by glancing at each other. They had never disagreed on anything before him. And while Barty thought of his father as the strict disciplinarian, his mother had never pleaded for him.

No, it was irrational. His mother couldn't die.

He sat at the fire a long time, and finally drifted off to sleep.

He was awoken by a hand on his shoulder. "Wake up, Barty," his father was saying. "Wake up, and go to bed. Your mother's past the crisis point. She's going to get better."

He began to cry. His father awkwardly sat down beside him and held him to his chest.

"She's sleeping now," he said after a while. "She'll want to see you in the morning, so you'd best get to bed now."

"I don't feel like sleeping," said Barty Jr.

"In the thirteen years I've known you, you've never felt like sleeping," said his father, "Into your night shirt. Now."

"Are you going to bed?" Barty Jr. asked.

"No, I am going to the Ministry to attend to some important business. Expect me home tomorrow morning and behave. No early morning sorties into the hills. It's not safe outside our bounds."

"All right," said Barty Jr. "I'll behave perfectly."

"I expect nothing less," said his father.

"Father," he said suddenly, as Barty Sr. was about to close the door. "Professor Viridian?"

"Will be dealt with," said Barty Sr. "This isn't the first time I've had to deal with his accusations. As he kindly reminded Narcissa. Good night." He closed the door.

Barty Jr. waited two minutes before rushing to his wardrobe. He stuck his hand into his robes' pocket. The unfinished letter was still there, badly crumpled. He smoothed it out and re-read it. Then he went and laid back on the bed.

He was tempted not to tell Viridian of the Slytherin fifth years' ruse. His father had ruined Viridian for something he had never done. Why shouldn't he now? Viridian merited it.

Making a resolution to keep a close eye on the fifth years from this point on, he crumpled the parchment into a ball and threw it into the fire.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Until that Friday morning, Alison Howard hadn't received one letter that year. She had told her parents that Hogwarts preferred that parents not write their children too often, and there was no one in the wizarding world outside Hogwarts to write her.

"Alison," said Rolly suddenly, looking up from his mail. "This is for you." He looked at her fearfully, a look she understood when she saw the letter's seal.

My dear Miss Howard,

This Saturday is, I understand, Hogsmeade weekend. In view of this fact, may I expect your company that afternoon? The Hascombe Parlour at the Three Broomsticks. Alone, if you please. You can let yourself in.

Your servant,

Lucius Malfoy

Alison handed the letter to Mordred without remark and left the Slytherin table.

"The bastard!" said Mordred, after he and Severus had finished reading the letter.

"Alone?" said Severus.

"I don't think so!"

Severus paused. "She did begin this with Malfoy."

"What?"

"You can't stand in her way because you're besotted with her. She's played Malfoy well enough so far."

"Well, she's not going alone, Severus. Malfoy will have to get used to dealing with the both of us."

"Oh, I'm not invited?" said Severus.

"I thought you didn't propose to come," said Mordred.

"I don't propose to barge in on LuciusMalfoy, spoiling a situation Alison has well under control. But I will be nearby, in case I'm needed."

"Oh I see." Mordred paused. "A hint, Severus. Don't be so annoyingly subtle."

Further down the table, Julian was slumped over her Transfiguration textbook, her breakfast untouched. There was a vacant look in her eyes.

"Brighten up," Frank Longbottomsaid, sitting down beside her. "Viridian's well and done for."

"I'm hoping that'll be so," said Julian.

"There's no way he can talk himself out of this mess. And to make matters worse, one of the Gryffindors found an interesting manuscript of his lying around the Great Hall yesterday evening. "How to Get Revenge OnPeople By Cursing Them," or something. Funny it should turn up right now. I hear the contents are rather vindictive."

Julian smiled slightly.

"So, we'll need a new Defence Againstthe Dark Arts teacher. And a new prefect. I don't have any say in the first matter, but in the second..."

"Yes?" said Julian, trying to keep as uninterested as possible.

"I'm wavering actually. Could you handle the job?"

"Next year, I could," she said pleadingly. "But Viridian's upset everything right now."

"I don't think you handle pressure well," he said.

Her blood was freezing in her veins. She forced herself to answer calmly. "You might be right."

"I think I am. I've the mind to withdraw my recommendation of you, and suggest Melania Frost instead. What do you think?"

"If you're asking me about it, you plan to do it," said Julian woodenly.

"I'd still rather have you at my back any day than anyone else in this infernal House but Edmund Avery," he said. "But prefects are leaders. And I think now that you'll never lead."

"You think I'm a follower?"

"No, you'll stand fast and refuse to budge."

"Fair words."

"Foul deeds. I know." He looked unhappy. "If it makes you feel any better, I owe you something in return for this backstabbing. Keep it in mind."

"I won't forget this so easily," said Julian.

"I wouldn't have you forget me easily," he said gallantly, and standing up, left the table.

Julian returned to the absorbing pastime of observing nothing. She had known this would happen. She had become too much involved with the others. To her great surprise, she was no longer an outsider.

There seemed to be a good deal of negative consequences to that change.

* * * * * * * * *

Early Saturday morning, while the sun was still only hinting at rising, Alysoun Crouch went outside for the first time since she had fallen ill.

"Avarice," she said, looking about the grounds, "must be my deadly sin. Sometimes, I think I like this place more than I like you."

Her husband laughed a little.

"No, I'm serious. I do plan to spend the next few thousand years buried in this ground. It's very important that I like it here. The only thing it lacks is a local community of giants. Are you sure there aren't giants in these hills anymore? It'd just seem right to see a giant poke his head up above that ridge."

"And come down into the valley, massacre the family, and burn down the house? As happened in 1647?"

"That's a slight drawback," admitted Alysoun.

"There were a few giants in the hills when I was a child," Barty said. "But I guarantee you can ramble through them for months now with a never a sign of one. Or so my Aurors tell me."

Inside, their son was fumbling through the torturous process of dressing, torturous on account of the far too bossy full-length mirror in his room. Years before, his parents had finally tired of sending him back to his room to change when they disapproved of his clothing choices. So, his father had charmed the mirror to dictate what he found acceptable.

"That tunic doesn't suit your complexion," said the mirror decisively. "You'll need to brown up a bit before you can wear that again. Try a lighter blue. It'll bring out the colour of your eyes."

He did as he was ordered, then brushed his hair.

"Very nice," said the mirror, once he had finished. "You can go out now."

He ran to Narcissa's room and banged on the door. "Get up, and come outside. You're not going to waste the day in bed, are you?" he shouted.

"Only another half hour," said Narcissa sleepily.

"Not another minute! I want to climb up to the crossroads today."

"But that's out of bounds," objected Narcissa.

"Father's going down to Londonfor the day, and Mother'llbe taking her rest inside. Come on, Cissa!"

"Oh, all right. Go and have breakfast. I'll be down in a bit."

Winky already had breakfast ready for him. The Crouches tended to be early risers. There had never been a time when the house's inhabitants hadn't had several schemes afoot, and lying late in bed, one can't pursue schemes very well.

Barty's parents came in a few minutes later.

"Can I uncharm my mirror?" Barty asked, slathering marmalade onto his toast.

"Whatever for?" asked his father, sitting down at the table.

"I know how to dress myself now."

Alysoun and Barty Sr. laughed.

"I would hope so," Alysoun said. "But it's always useful to have a second opinion."

"It compliments me on my hair."

"Well, you do have nice hair," said Alysoun self-consciously.

"I wish you'd remove the charm. It's spooky."

"I don't see any reason to do that," said Barty Sr. genially.

His son knew better than to insist. However, trudging up the ridge later that morning, he refused to drop the subject with Narcissa.

"Why can't I order my own room as I please?" he demanded.

"Because you could never order it so well as your parents," said Narcissa. "Quit whinging. If you haven't noticed, my brother is one of the most controlling people you are ever likely to meet. You just have to teach yourself to enjoy his arrangements."

"Cissa!"

"Well, it's true. What's so wrong with your mirror, anyway?"

"Nothing really. But I don't like it! It's like looking at one's reflection and seeing someone else..." He stopped as they finally came to the top of the ridge, to the Giants' Crossroads.

Three roads met here, the work of the giants. One running up to Scotland, eventually to Hogwarts, it was said, the other towards the South, and the third towards the coast. Little was left of the roads, but a gigantic boulder stood where they had met, carved in strange runes.

Out of the valley, the land around them was windswept and bleak. The Cheviots spread out about them. Catching their breath, Narcissa and Barty fell into the grass.

"Why would anyone live in the South when they could live in Northumberland?" said Barty.

"So, they can leave it all to us," suggested Narcissa, looking down at the grey stone Crouch house, and the gardens and park about it.

They lay there in the grass a while, then Narcissa pulled herself up. "That boulder's been moved," she said.

"Nonsense," said Barty. "No one could move that boulder. Even with magic. They've tried enough..." He trailed off, seeing the bare earth. "You're right."

They jumped up and ran towards the boulder. But just as they were about to reach it, Barty felt a jerk at his navel, and realized that wandering out of bounds had at last taken its toll. He and Narcissa had been lured into a portkey.

* * * * * * *

Crouch had been expecting it for a while, so when Persephone Fletcher frantically announced to him as he entered his office that Walter Jorkins had disappeared, he barely reacted to the news, instead noting with disapproval that Alastor Moody was waiting for him, seated in his chair.

"I told him to wait outside," began Persephone.

"Morning, Alastor," said Crouch. "And how did your business in Indiago?"

"Complete dead end," growled Moody. "And I come back to find you up to your Slytherin tricks."

Persephone was looking apprehensively between the two men.

"So, Barty," continued Moody, "Did you use Cruciatus or Imperius to get Jorkins's co-operation?"

"Are you under the illusion that Walter Jorkins needed any inducement to martyr himself?" replied Crouch calmly.

"I'm under no illusions at all. It'll be a fine day for you when they find Jorkins's body."

"It'll be a tragedy," said Crouch. "A proof one should put one's trust in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"He has a wife and two girls still in Hogwarts," said Moody.

"And I would have kept him safe, if he'd have had it."

"If I hadn't been in India, I'd have kept Walter safe whether he'd have had it or not. Is it even worth asking why you didn't tell me or Augustus Rookwood: his friends?"

"It wasn't my affair," said Crouch coolly.

"I'll be speaking with Dumbledore," said Moody. "And Pritchard."

"Do," said Crouch. "If Pritchard thinks he can afford to go wobbly on us, I'll be very surprised. And a little more censure from Albus Dumbledore can't hurt."

"Probably not," Moody agreed. He looked at Crouch intently. "When do you want my resignation, by the way?"

"Once hell freezes over. You're essential and you damn well know it."

"Well then, remember me when you're Minister," said Moody. He turned to Persephone. "Following him to the top, Fletcher?"

"I hope she will," said Crouch before Persephone could stammer out a confused answer. "She's all I could ask for."

"Planning to marry her to Robert McKinnon, so I hear."

"Do you have any objections?"

"No."

"Good. So now, Persephone, if you actually want to marry Robert, all will be happiness and joy in the Department," said Crouch drily.

"She'll want what you want," said Moody harshly. "I can see the look in her eyes." He turned to Persephone, his gash of a mouth drawn up into a lop-sided smile. "My apologies, Fletcher. I won't think any the less of you for being under Barty'sspell. It's a rare person who can resist him. And, now I think I'll be off hunting for poor Walter."

"Take any support you need," said Crouch.

"Why yes. A heroic rescue would suit you just as well, wouldn't it?" saidMoody. "Have a lovely day, both of you." He left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Persephone stood stock still.

"So now that you've seen AlastorMoody at his bluntest," said Crouch, "do you have any questions?"

"Jorkins wasn't guarded because..."

"He didn't want to be guarded. And since it wasn't in the interests of the public..."

"Why?" demanded Persephone. "Why wasn't his life in the interests of the public?"

"Voldemort is not being taken seriously," began Crouch angrily. "People like Walter Jorkins think he's one problem and I'm another. We will never defend ourselves properly until the populace is afraid. But so far every death has left us looking incompetent, unable to defend Britain. Walter Jorkins chose to martyr himself, and if his decision aids us, I refuse to be held guilty for allowing it on that account!" He was almost shouting, his eyes bulging.

"Will you be Minister for Magic?" asked Persephone softly.

"I will be if all goes well," he said. "And I do think you could make a very capable Minister's aide."

"I didn't want to be!" wailed Persephone. "I've never been ambitious. I was happy sorting out ghosts' identity crisises."

"And I need you," said Crouch unwaveringly.

"What did Moody mean, 'Marry her off to Robert McKinnon?' "

"I ordered McKinnon to take you out to dinner. The silly fellow never would have worked up the nerve otherwise. I should think you'd be grateful. Or have I misread your feelings?"

"No."

"Do you want to marry him?"

She knew she was ceding her life, her soul really, to Crouch. She knew it was wrong, and she knew she could never go back after this. But she also knew that he had the power to make or break her, to end her romance or let her live happily ever after.

"If he proposes," she answered her face appropriately blushing.

"I think he will," said Crouch.

* * * * * * *

As directed, Alison let herself into the HascombeParlour of the Three Broomsticks. LuciusMalfoy was sitting in a chair, reading a book.

"Hello, Miss Howard," he said, putting the down. "Ran all the way here, or are your cheeks always so pretty these days?"

"May I sit down, Malfoy? Or are chairs reserved for better company than I am?"

"Take a seat," he said. "Let's not allow a few unpleasant details cloud our current relationship," She took the chair at Malfoy's side. "Though I'm not sure the details are unpleasant. A pretty girl on my left and a glass of wine on my right."

"The details are unpleasant for me. You on my right and nothing to drink."

Malfoy laughed. "I'll get you a glass." He stood up. "So far," he said, as he poured her wine, "This arrangement of ours has been to your benefit. I'm calling in my loan now, so to speak."

"With plenty of interest?" asked Alison taking the glass from him.

"A fair amount. But I wonder if you won't actually enjoy this..." He took out his wand and trailed it through the air several times. Cloudy lines began to appear.

Alison studied the emerging picture intently. "Scotlandand the North of England," she said after a second.

"Yes," Malfoy said. "Somewhere in here," he waved his wand over a vast amount of country. "A certain Bartemius Crouch Jr. is being held captive."

"Barty Crouch is at home!" protested Alison.

"Not now. Nor is Narcissa Crouch, but I'llbe taking care of her. The boy's out of my reach. I don't know where he is, and unless I'm much mistaken, he's in danger."

"You want me to find him?"

"Find him, rescue him, and deliver him safely back to his father," said Malfoy.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin. I'm a Londoner. And Muggleborn."

"I'll give you a guide, of course," said Malfoy. "One who knows the country very well indeed. And I expect you'll take Snape and Lestrange." He paused. "Who are, if I'm not mistaken, listening at the door. Come in, gentlemen!"

There was a short pause, then the door opened to let in Mordred Lestrange and Severus Snape.