1975

Chapter XV: Where Many Paths and Errands Meet

Alison awoke from an uneasy dream.

"Mordred?" she whispered. Very softly, as in the darkness of the Black Castle's dungeon, dreams had an uncomfortable feel of reality. "Mordred, where are you?"

In reply, she felt a hand on her shoulder. "I'm right here," Mordred said a second later. "Wherever that is. Severus is still asleep. Neither of you have been sleeping well, though."

"Have you slept?"

"Someone has to watch." He paused, and drew a breath. "Alison, who was Lucullus?"

"Lucullus?"

"You said that name in your sleep."

Alison shivered. "This place won't forget." She leaned a bit into the dark, and finding his body, settled against him.

"What won't it forget?" he asked, putting his arm around her. She had never let him so close to her before, but he didn't feel at all awkward or even excited. It felt very natural. And warm.

"Something horrible," she said. "Is Mug still asleep?"

"Like a baby."

"It's high time he woke up," said Alison.

"You'd risk waking a giant? No, don't!" he added as Alison shifted to move. "We'll wake up Severus first."

"That's risky in itself," she said.

"I'll do it, if I can find him." He crawled a few feet into the dark before bumping into Severus.

"Rise and shine," he hissed in Severus's ear.

"Who'll be killed?" said Severus hollowly.

"Get up! What the hell are you talking about?"

"What did I say?" asked Severus, now fully awake, and pushing Mordred away.

"There were things talking through you when you were asleep," said Alison.

Severus yawned. "That's not unusual in a place where Muggles have been so long. They can't become ghosts, but they leave their memories behind. I have no fear of Muggles' memories."

"I'd like to know what they remember," said Mordred.

"Have Alison ask Mug. He's best mates with her."

"No!" said Mordred, reaching for Alison. "Don't!"

* * * * * * * *

The hit wizards did not seem satisfied with Rolly's explanation that they had strolled upstairs to fetch some things he'd left behind at Christmas.

"What sort of things?" asked one of the wizards, looking around the dusty Malfoy attic. "A bottled demon or two?"

"I wish," groaned Evan. He was lying on his face, his arms twisted behind him by a wizard with a very strong grip. Rolly was standing with his back against the wall trying to talk their ways out of the current situation as smoothly as one could with a wand to one's head, while Florence, held closely by Arthur Weasley, had forsaken all struggle, and closed her eyes.

"The half-Malfoy could have been dangerous," one of the witches said. "Lucius Malfoy sends them to this house and you let them wander about?"

"Lucius Malfoy did not send me here," Rolly protested. "And if you spend your time bothering with us, Malfoy will only be ever so much the happier."

"We'll send them to the Ministry and continue with our search," said Weasley.

"Exactly," said the witch. "Crouch will want to speak to this lot, if I'm not mistaken."

"No, you're not mistaken," came a voice from the door of the room. Several of the hit wizards jumped at that voice. There were a few smiles, and several more blank expressions, as Barty Crouch strode into the room, followed by Robert McKinnon and Persephone Fletcher, clutching a quill and notebook.

"Jewkes, I doubt it's necessary to grind Mr. Rosier's face into the ground," said Crouch abruptly.

Jewkes immediately lessened his hold on Evan, who had been slowly asphyxiating.

Crouch surveyed the scene for a second. "I wish to speak with Miss Jorkins, Weasley. In private." He turned and left the room.

"Why Florence Jorkins?" Persephone Fletcher asked quietly as they walked ahead of Weasley and Florence.

"I can bring a certain amount of charm to bear on women that I generally cannot on men," said Crouch drily.

"Right," said Persephone. And in the future I'll be careful to watch for that.

They stopped at a small room off the hallway. Coming into the room, Florence planted her hands on her hips and turned defiantly to Crouch. Arthur Weasley barely suppressed a laugh. Crouch raised an eyebrow.

"You don't have to poke around for the truth!" said Florence. "I'll tell you exactly we're here. We're looking for my father."

"You may be," said Crouch, with a patronizing smile. "But I am not entirely unfamiliar with you, Miss Jorkins."

"No, you've been blackmailing Alison Howard for a while now."

"Every inch your father's daughter," he said calmly. "Except that Walter Jorkins hated the Dark Arts."

This was not a front on which Florence had expected to be attacked. She stood speechless for a number of seconds, staring at Crouch.

"What do you care about my father?" she finally snapped.

"My Aurors are searching Britain for him. And unless you have further information, your wandering is useless."

"Your opinion is useless! I can drive about Britain without your permission, Mr. Crouch!"

"For your own safety, I am putting you under the protection of Magical Law Enforcement. You're in my custody now."

"That's not legal!"

"It is."

He gave her a shrewd look. "Alison Howard sent you off on this wild goose chase?"

"No, she didn't. I..."

"Everything you say now can be tested later under a truth potion."

"She was in favour of us going to search for my father," Florence admitted.

"I thought so. In that case, I'll accept her judgment."

"You'll let us go?" asked Florence in disbelief.

"No," said Crouch. "I'll take you with me. Persephone, if you'll get a portkey for six to Ettencross."

"Yes, Mr. Crouch," said Persephone quickly.

Portkeys were notoriously difficult to make. In her position in the Spirit Division, Persephone had become reasonably adept at the process, but it took a good deal out of her. She suspected Crouch could do it without a second thought, but she was her personal assistant and one supposed that this was the sort of thing one had personal assistants for.

She picked up a paperweight and tapped it with her wand, forcing all her will into the object. A minute later, the paperweight trembled slightly, and then lay still in her hand.

"Excellent," said Crouch. "Weasley, fetch McKinnon and the boys."

* * * * * * * *

When Julian had begun to cry, Frank had found it pitiable. Now he found it annoying.

"Could you wipe your face and we'll go upstairs to my study? They'll be searching the whole building," he said crossly. "I'm sure Viridian would be delighted to see you in this condition."

Julian sat up abruptly. "You have a study?"

"Yes, if you'd be so kind as to come with me, you'll be one of only four people to be in on the secret. Though," he added thoughtfully. "I have a feeling Dumbledore knows."

There was something approaching a smile on Julian's lips. "All right."

She followed him up several flights of stairs to the landing where Frank and Edmund's study was concealed. He glanced about for any onlookers and then opened a door where no door appeared to be.

"In here," he said, ushering her in.

Julian stared at the desk, the comfortable chairs, the overcrowded bookshelves. "How?"

"It's impossible to study in the common room or the library with people coming up to you all the time."

"Impossible if you're Frank Longbottom," said Julian.

"Exactly," he said. "Now no one was using this storage room, so I did a concealment charm. Take a chair?"

Julian primly sat down in a stiff-backed chair, her feet planted directly in front of her. Frank didn't sit.

"Where is Alison Howard?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Julian, her face falling. "I really don't know."

"Better to tell me than Viridian."

"If I knew, it might be," she snapped. "But don't pretend you care anything for me. You promised down there . . . well, I don't know what you were promising, but you followed it up by going to hand me in."

"I had to. And if you continue to place yourself against authority, I can't do anything for you, no matter how pitiable you are."

"I understand that. You're going to be an Auror. Decency never has been a quality of Magical Law Enforcement."

"I suppose you are the judge of that," said Frank softly. "Are you doing this to spite him?"

"What?"

"Are you immersing yourself in the Dark Arts because your father was the Head of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"Of course not!" protested Julian. "I haven't done anything of the sort. You have my ribbon, Frank!"

He put his hand to his chest. "I do have your ribbon. Right here. But there are other failings than black magic. Injustice for one."

Julian stared at him.

"You're unjust," said Frank. "You're a perfectly nice girl, except for that. And you're being unjust to me now."

"You're always right, aren't you?"

Frank shook his head. "Stop it. It's not always someone else's fault. Not mine. Not Viridian's. Not your father's. Now, do you know where they are?"

"They didn't tell me. Believe me."

"Dumbledore will want to talk to you."

"Yes?"

"Wipe your face and run along to him."

Julian sat still.

"Your only fifteen," he said, his smile fixed. "I really do expect better things of you one day."

"What sort of things do you expect of me?" asked Julian.

There was a short pause as Frank inclined his head towards her, as if to take a better look at the girl sitting before him. And then for the first time Julian had ever seen, a faint but unmistakable blush appeared on his face.

"You'd better go to Dumbledore," he said.

* * * * * * * * *

"Hello Avery!" called Sirius Black. "Still here?"

Kenneth Avery looked up from the desk where he was reading the Daily Prophet. "I'm reading, Black," he said, tightening his hand about his wand. He had slipped into the empty classroom to escape his housemates' inquiries and speculations.

Typical of Black to follow him.

"Reading about Walter Jorkins's disappearance? Do you find that inspiring, Avery, something you'd like to do someday."

"I wish you'd disappear."

"I plan to," said Black, pulling a piece of parchment from his robes pocket. "I hope our lives stay happily apart for at least the next fifty years."

"I'm delighted," said Kenneth.

Black seemed hell-bent on provoking some emotional reaction from him. "But I thought with all your friends gone now was as good a time as any to say good-bye."

"Thank you for the consideration," mouthed Kenneth.

"I brought you a parting gift," said Black with a smirk. "Here, Kenneth, catch!"

The parchment landed on the desk in front of Kenneth. He flinched, but it didn't explode, or spray green liquid, or behave in the manner of many of Black's interesting practical jokes.

"Are you going to read it?" asked Black after a second.

"Perhaps," said Kenneth, studying it.

"I'll read it then," said Black, snatching it up again.

"Dear Carolyn, Thank you for your letter. But we'll skip to the part that concerns you. I seem to have become the most outrageous flirt overnight."

"What is this, Black?" demanded Kenneth.

"She writes: It really is flattering to have Kenneth Avery paying so much attention to me."

"Stop it, this isn't funny!" cried Kenneth, starting up from his seat. But he froze where he stood, listening to the rest of the letter.

"But Kenneth is Kenneth. Dependable, sweet, but oh so very Kennethy. I shouldn't get his hopes up. I need to make it clear to him that I'm just not interested in romance at the moment. That's mostly true, anyway. Yearning after Frank Longbottom doesn't count."

"Julian Tierney dropped this," said Black nastily. "A letter to an American cousin."

"You made that up!"

"Take it," said Black. "Check it for charmwork, forgery."

Kenneth had discovered over the last while that Julian Tierney was pretty, that it was pleasant to sit and talk with her, and that he'd do most anything for her. But he wasn't in love, so he had no reason to feel stung by such an innocuous girlish letter.

He could feel his heart constricting. He didn't reach for the parchment Sirius Black was proffering. Instead, he gripped the Daily Prophet harder, tearing it in the process.

"What a rotten thing to do," he said to Black, trying not to choke on his words, and resisting the urge to jinx his triumphant face.

"Do you think so? How sweet and Kennethy of you." Black stopped at the sound of voices.

"In here," a boy was saying. The voice was familiar.

A second later, Black had dived into the storage closet. Kenneth followed after him, or rather on to him, and pulled the door shut behind them.

Catherine Black and Edmund Avery entered the room.

Through the crack in the closet door, Kenneth could see the grin on his brother's face.

"No Lestrange, Howard, or Snape here," said Catherine.

"But we're here." Edmund closed the door behind them.

"We are," said Catherine with a slight smirk. "I do miss Frank. Where is he?" She turned back towards the door.

"Cathy, I have something to say to you."

Catherine stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "Yes?"

Edmund cleared his throat to speak, then stepped forward, and took Catherine's hands in his.

"If I were to speak with your parents?" he began.

"Yes," said Catherine quickly. "Yes."

"Thank you," he said, and taking her into his arms, kissed her.

Kenneth felt Sirius shift beneath him.

"They'll give their permission," Catherine said. "They have to."

"No they don't. But my chances are good, I think. I'm an Avery after all. I've got a spotless pureblood pedigree, right?"

"I think they'll agree if you ask right away. Don't wait till you become infamous. And if they don't agree, we'll sort things out ourselves."

"I love you, Cathy."

"I'm glad you do, since Frank isn't available."

"Hah! Frank couldn't kiss you half as well as I do."

Kenneth heard a gagging sound from Sirius as Edmund kissed Catherine again. He elbowed Sirius sharply in the stomach. There was no way he could ever face his brother again if Edmund were to open the door now.

It was beginning to dawn on him that no matter how hard he tried to escape Sirius Black, fate would push them back together. His brother was proposing to marry Sirius's sister. A head-ache was rapidly setting in.

"We should move on," Edmund said after what seemed to Kenneth an eternity of kissing, which he watched in horrified fascination. "No need to arouse suspicion."

"Uh-huh," said Catherine. "It'd be a scandal. They'd think I'd been leaking Gryffindor Quidditch plans."

Yes. They just might."

Catherine rearranged her hair, tugged Edmund's perpetually errant collar into place, and then the two left the room.

True to form, Sirius Black began talking before it was safe to do so.

"Get off me, Avery!" he bellowed.

"Sorry. Owww! Let me open the door." Kenneth groaned as Sirius's fist met his jaw.

Kenneth eventually opening the door, Sirius took to pounding him into the floor. Kenneth tried to fight back for a while, but eventually deciding that going completely limp was his best course of action. He had never been a good fighter, with his wand or his fist.

Hitting someone who doesn't hit back is an unnerving experience and Sirius gave it up quickly enough.

"Your brother is not going to touch my sister!"

"He seems to be doing that already." Kenneth scrambled out of Sirius' reach.

"Go and tell Julian Tierney all about it," Sirius shouted after him.

"I will!" Kenneth shouted back, slamming the door behind him.

There was no point in letting Black know he was equally as angry at Edmund for falling in love with Catherine Black. One had to take one's victories where one found them. Sirius Black annoyed was objectively a good thing.

* * * * * * *

The rain on the windowpanes beat down with a musical regularity. Narcissa, reading her book, had fallen into harmony with it, the words losing most of their meaning, and the sound and rhythms taking over. The fire was burning and there was nothing she had to do. It would have been a perfect afternoon if she weren't a prisoner, and Lucius Malfoy weren't sharing the sofa with her. At least, he was absorbed in his own book.

"Narcissa," he said after a while. "Are you very close to your nephew?"

"I grew up with him," said Narcissa, turning a page of her book.

"That tells me nothing."

"I love him," she said shortly.

"With any luck, he'll be back with you tomorrow."

"Where is he?"

"I haven't lied to you. I don't know, and it would be more than my life's worth to go North myself."

"Lovely," she said. "Is this meant to pass as pleasant small-talk?"

"I wonder what your brother has told you about me," mused Malfoy.

"Nothing more than the truth, I'm sure," said Narcissa sweetly.

"That I would harm the children of one our best families? Even if I were a Death Eater, I don't see why I should deserve such slander. Your blood is certainly pure."

"It is," Narcissa agreed.

"Pure blood, though, counts for less and less these days," continued Malfoy.

"The Crouch name will never lose its weight."

"Really? The old Houses are falling and the children of Muggles are taking their places."

"It won't happen, Malfoy. There's a place for us. And for them."

"They won't stay in that place, though, will they? Your mother was a Scamander. That was a family any wizard would be proud to ally himself with. And then your mother's brother married a half-blood. We are dwindling."

"Are we?" said Narcissa, with a faint smile. "I refuse to dwindle, Malfoy. One need not be a Death Eater to have proper wizarding pride."

"One would hope it was so," said Malfoy. "But... your brother, Narcissa. Would it offend you to hear me call him a blood traitor?"

"It would, Malfoy."

"What else is he? He's married a woman as well-bred as himself, and he'll see that his son marries quite as well. But meanwhile, he stands by while his personal assistant is romanced by that mudblood Auror of his. This can't go on."

"You'd stop it with death?"

"You are determined to think the worst of me."

"It's not difficult to do," retorted Narcissa. "Outside the old Houses, most wizards have mixed blood. Even in the old Houses. . ."

"We pretend to have pure blood," Malfoy finished her sentence "A pardonable offense to cover up the odd half-blood in our family trees. That is not the point."

"What is the point?"

"The point is that we must halt things where they are. We cannot undo the past. You and I may pity the wizard with a mudblood grandparent."

"I don't," said Narcissa.

"They aren't your social equals!"

"No, they aren't, but neither are plenty of purebloods."

"That is true," said Malfoy smirking. "Your breeding is as exquisite as your looks."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow.

"But as I was saying, the fact that a wizard's blood is besmirched does not make him worthless."

"I thought you said..."

"No, it's most unfortunate, but the average witch or wizard with their share of Muggle blood is saved by his or her better share of wizarding blood. Yet, we would be mad to encourage further tainting of our blood, further undermining of our world. You know what the Muggles are like." His usually pale face was flushed.

"None of this has any bearing on the fact that somewhere out there these Muggle haters are killing my nephew," said Narcissa icily.

"It doesn't. Any wizard who would kill your nephew is no better than a Muggle."

"What are you doing about it then?"

"I beg your pardon."

"Your sweet talk is most impressive, but if you want my respect, help us!"

"I am helping you, you silly girl," said Malfoy, apparently stung. "You'd be dead now if I hadn't bought your life from them. They wanted Crouch's own blood when they set that portkey. You were no use to them."

"Who are they?"

"Death Eaters, Narcissa. Servants of the Dark Lord. But acting on their own without his command."

"How do you know this?"

"I know a good many things," said Malfoy impatiently. "Some day we can chat about my sources of information. But they plan to kill your nephew and use your brother's own blood against him."

"You have signaled your disapproval, I trust?"

"I have not. They're powerful people. To move openly against them would be suicide."

"You're afraid," said Narcissa, as if this were some miracle.

"Yes," said Malfoy, settling back against the cushions.

* * * * * *

Lying still in the shadows of the room, Barty could hear the voices in the next room perfectly.

"The Crouch boy hasn't eaten a thing," Hopkirk reported.

"And would you if you were going to be killed, Hopkirk?" asked Kelly quietly.

"Kelly," said Jigger. "I trust your resolve is not failing."

"It is not," said Kelly. "This needs to be done and it will be done. Not the boy's fault that he dies, not mine that I kill."

"That's all very well," said Jigger impatiently. "Hopkirk, how much did Malfoy pay you for the girl?"

"A hundred galleons," Hopkirk replied. "I don't think you're entitled to more than a third, Jigger. I was the one who persuaded that giant friend of Malfoy's to move the rock for us. I did that luring charm and I...."

"Keep the money!" cried Jigger. "Do I look as though I need money? But I'd rather Malfoy had never heard of this."

"Lucius Malfoy can hardly object to our service of our Lord," Kelly objected.

"You don't know, Malfoy, do you, Kelly? He's living on borrowed reputation. His father was one of the first to recognize our Lord, but he's done very little himself for the cause."

Someone closed a door and the voices failed.

It did make sense that he was going to die. Barty had always been able to envision his death. He had even picked out a place in the family crypt at Ettencross, and morbidly imagined his mother weeping uncontrollably in his father's steady arms as his casket was placed in the tomb. His mortality was somehow a much surer thing than his parents'.

Death was really an old friend and in the dark he could already imagine its soft embrace.

His body, though, refused to resign itself to its fate. He was sick to his stomach, and violently shaking.

* * * * * * *

"Wait here while I find my wife," Crouch ordered Persephone, and leaving her in the large gallery, he made his way to Alysoun's room.

She was kneeling by her dressing room table, stuffing a satchel with various odds-and-ends.

"Alysoun," he began.

She shoved the satchel at him. "Take this. Just let me get my boots."

He did take the satchel from her, but he also pulled her to him. Her face was blotched, her hair wispy and disarrayed.

"I'm coming with you," she sobbed, struggling to get free of him. "Moody said you're going North."

"Alysoun," he said, holding her firmly to his chest. "Don't make me lose my son and my wife."

She stopped struggling, burying her face in his neck. "He's my son," she choked. "What if he's dying when you find him? I can't leave my son to die alone."

"Alysoun, get a handle on yourself. He won't die. He's a useful hostage."

"I'm coming."

"You're not, love."

"Barty, I won't relapse. I'm as right as rain."

"Alysoun, there have to be sacrifices," he said slowly.

"I know that! So please let me go."

"This isn't a sacrifice, though. It's a waste, and if you fall ill, it'll be a drain on me. You'd give your life for him, but you can't."

"I can't stay here."

"Make this sacrifice for me."

She looked at him dully. "If you won't let me come, I'll search for him myself."

He suddenly laughed. "I'll be giving Winky orders to secure you then." He let go of her, and turned towards the door.

She grabbed at his sleeve. "Barty, you can't imprison me here!"

"Are you going to complain to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement?"

She didn't answer, but the look on her face was of fury. He returned it with a triumphant smile, and went out of the room feeling as though he had just murdered her.

"Persephone!" he called, striding into the hall.

She couldn't hear him from here, he reminded himself. Though the large gallery was just down the hall, it was soundproof, a reasonable precaution in a house that had seen the conspiracies Ettencross had.

He paused at the closed door, which he had left open. It was another feature of the large gallery that there was a spy-hole beside the door. He tapped the wood twice with his wand, and a small hole opened up. Looking through, he made out the figures of Persephone Fletcher and Robert McKinnon.

This was all to the good. It wasn't time to leave yet, so he decided not to disturb the two. Instead, he sat down in a rickety old antique of a chair, preserved only by magic, and tried to think what Voldemort might want with his son.

"Crouch, you wanted to see me?"

The dark-haired young man at the door of the sitting room was smiling, but it was smile that would have unnerved any onlooker. If the bloody welt upon his right cheek had not already done so.

Barty Crouch looked up with barely suppressed irritation. "You're late, Riddle," he began. Then, "Your face..."

"It was worth it. Very much so." Riddle touched a long delicate finger to his bloodied cheek and then examined it. "Are you afraid of blood?"

"It's not likely to win over potential allies," said Barty, tearing his eyes from the welt. "Where have you been, Riddle?"

"Sweden," said Riddle shortly.

"You were mentioned in the Wizengamot."

"Malfoy told me."

"Are you going to refute Bragge's claims?" demanded Barty.

"You think they need refutation?"

"They'd be better refuted, Riddle. Things are being said."

"What have you said?" Riddle asked calmly.

"Nothing!"

"I see."

There was a long silence from Riddle. Barty stared at the embroidered carpet, cursing the Malfoy taste in decoration. So many snakes.... Then Riddle strode forward, and seized Barty's chin, tilting it towards him.

"I am not a politician, Bartemius Crouch. I have a more important goal."

For a second, Barty stopped breathing, transfixed by the hungry gleam in Riddle's eyes. At last, he wrenched his chin from Riddle's fingers.

"Your name is no longer one with which I care to have mine associated," Barty said steadily.

There was a sharp hiss from Riddle.

"I am the heir of an old and powerful family," Barty continued quietly. "As such, I have duties beyond those of a nameless half-blood."

"I will remember that," said Riddle . "And so you will succeed by making yourself my enemy."

"Not your enemy, Riddle. Your stranger."

Riddle smiled. Perhaps it was a smile. "Mine is a sad fate. Barty Crouch's unpresentable cast-off. Make the picture complete, Crouch. Tell me you've a girl."

"Why can't you marry?" retorted Barty. " Why can't you have a real life instead of chasing these shadows?"

"I had pegged you as a man of intelligence. Is Nicolas Flamel's stone a shadow?"

"It's unreachable, Riddle. I know this."

"Of course you do. Any wizard worth his wand has turned his mind to the Philosopher's Stone. I agree that it is at the moment unreachable."

"You cannot make another," said Barty.

"Not in a million years," agreed Riddle. "Chance, if you will call it that, intervened for Flamel. But I do not hunt chances. I hunt certainty. If eternal life can be reached by chance, it can be reached with certainty."

"Shadows," murmured Barty.

"Shadows indeed. The real world, of course, is composed of reports in triplicate and Ministry memos. Events happen because a committee somewhere makes a recommendation to a certain effect. People fall in love and marry as a matter of social status."

Barty bit his lip. He did not take mockery well.

"She's very pretty," continued Riddle. "She'll look lovely on your arm at Ministry functions. She'll bear you the heir you so desperately want, because you are so certain you will die." Riddle's voice was filled with loathing. "She'll make you a family man, the politician ever witch mindlessly adores. I congratulate you on your new choice. So much more fitting for a man of your prospects."

"Is there any particular reason, Riddle, why marriage so enrages you?" asked Barty coolly.

"Sleep with her. Love her. Marry Her. But do not disorder your loyalties."

"You think I've transferred my loyalties from you to her?" said Barty, forcing a laugh. "How touchingly jealous of you."

And then those long cold fingers again, as Riddle took hold of his chin once more with his right hand, and lightly brushed Barty's cheek with the other.

"I am always jealous. But you read me wrong, Crouch. You haven't given her your loyalties. She's given you hers. You've set yourself up as one who will submit to no one. But you will submit to me, Crouch."

Barty broke free, and scrambled to his feet. "You don't know me, Riddle," he said white-faced. "Good night!" He turned and ran out of the room, stumbling on the lintel.

Riddle was laughing behind him. A high-pitched laugh that did not suit him.

In the hall of Ettencross, he could still almost hear it.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Persephone!"

Standing in the quiet of the gallery, Persephone had a nasty shock at the sudden voice. She jumped, and was relieved to see it was only Robert McKinnon.

"Haven't seen you for a while," he said. "Coming with us?"

"I don't know. Mr. Crouch hasn't said."

"I hope you do come. We might need some of your Magical Creatures experience."

Persephone sighed. "Do you know what's up, Rob?"

"No," he said. "But there's a giant involved...."

"There aren't any giants left in Britain," said Persephone automatically.

"Want to bet?"

"No. Forgive me, but I'm not feeling terribly excited over the prospect of chasing down dark wizards and giants."

"You're frightened?"

"I am," she said. "Aren't you? Ever?"

"Only when I'm alone at night. That's when we're in danger, Persephone, not when we're together like this. Alastor Moody is here." He said this as if that settled everything.

"All right," said Persephone grimly. "Just remember I'll be the person cowering behind you."

"Crouch won't let anything happen to you."

No, Robert, that's wrong. You're the one who's supposed to promise not to let anything happen to me. But she said nothing.

He seemed to sense a shift in her mood.

"Persephone," he began. "I'll tell you this now. I love you."

"Do you?" she asked calmly. "I suppose Mr. Crouch has told you my own feelings?"

Robert wisely avoided answering the question, sensing that the truth would rob the moment of any romance while a lie would be so obvious as to plant deception where trust should be growing.

"Will you marry me, Persephone?" he asked, going down on one knee.

"Yes."

She let herself to be kissed afterward.

And then she felt sorry for her coolness. "I love you," she said reassuringly, kissing his neck.

"Thank you," he said, stroking her cheek. "That's highly complimentary of you. Now we'll see if you can survive my parents' welcome into the family. They've been on my case to marry for ages."

"We'll hook them up with my Aunt Liz," said Persephone happily. "Robert, take warning. Elizabeth Longbottom, my father's sister, is a woman with nerves of dragon hide, the perseverance of a niffler, and the mercy of a lethifold. Do not let her corner you about wedding invitations."

"Thanks for the heads-up, Perse." He paused. "My parents know all about the wizarding world, but we'll have to tell my extend family we're marrying privately. We could hold a little Muggle reception for family and friends." He definitely looked nervous now.

"Lovely idea," said Persephone quickly. "I can't wait to meet your family. I know Marlene, of course. She was two years ahead of me in Gryffindor." I don't mind that you're Muggleborn and I'm a pure blood. Really, Robert. I mean, I have Mundungus Fletcher as a cousin....

He smiled. "Thanks, love."

Smiling as if I've granted him a great concession.

* * * * * * * * *

"So, any ideas as to why wizards don't ever come here?" Alison asked as they ate a lunch of cold pigeon pie from one of Mug's sacks. They hoped it was pigeon pie, at least. Severus had suggested hippogriff as an alternative.

"Would you want come here?" asked Mordred, looking about the ruined courtyard. The place had an oppressive atmosphere. It was cloudy, and Alison could have sworn the weather was localized for the benefit of the castle.

"Mug still asleep?" asked Alison.

"Can't you hear the snores?" Severus answered.

"Just like a giant," said Mordred. "Only understands simple directions like "Go to the Black Castle." Not the slightest idea that falling asleep might not be the best...." His words faded at the sound of voices.

"The giant Mug," said a cold voice. "Is Malfoy here?"

The three of them froze.

Mordred suddenly staggered to his feet. "We have to hide," he hissed at Alison and Severus.

"It's too late," Severus said softly.

Two hooded figures emerged from the doorway. They stopped abruptly at the sight of the three.

"Not Malfoy then," said the taller figure. "And not anything for you to fear, MacNair." He stepped forward. "Names."

"Mordred Lestrange, Severus Snape, and..." Mordred paused. "Florence Jorkins."

"Do not lie, Lestrange. Lord Voldemort always knows."

"My name is Alison Howard, my Lord," said Alison, kneeling.

"Is Malfoy here with you?" asked Voldemort.

"No, my Lord. He sent us here."

"Why is he hiding? Should I summon him, Macnair?"

"Yes, my Lord. Malfoy must explain this."

Voldemort nodded. "In time." He turned back to Alison. "Why did Malfoy send you here?"

"He wanted us to rescue Bartemius Crouch Jr." said Alison steadily, her eyes fixed on the hem of Voldemort's robe.

"Where is Crouch then?" There was almost a note of alarm in that cold, calm voice.

"I do not know, my Lord," said Alison.

"What do you know?"

In a monotone, Alison related everything Lucius had said to her.

"You are a Mudblood," said Voldemort, once she had finished.

"Yes," she said, forcing the word out.

"According to Malfoy, you show promise in the pursuit of hidden knowledge. You have performed a blood sacrifice."

"Yes, my Lord."

She betrayed no fear, kneeling there, her head bowed, her thick dark hair veiling her face from sight.

Voldemort said nothing further to her. Instead he turned to Macnair. "Malfoy has made himself another mess. This is becoming much too common."

"Indeed," ventured Macnair.

"Give me your arm."

Macnair pulled back his right sleeve and held out his forearm.

Voldemort pressed a long finger to the arm. "Jigger," he said.

He turned then to Mordred and Severus.

"This is a moment of opportunity. What do you want? Fame? Power? Eternal life?"

Mordred glanced at the keeling Alison.

"Love, Lestrange?"

There was silence, broken at last by Voldemort's cold laughter.

"So, you have no ambitions. I see."

There was a soft pop beside them, and another man appeared, also cloaked and hooded.

"Jigger," said Voldemort. "Where is young Crouch?"

"In my care, my Lord. Hopkirk and Kelly have him."

"All went well?"

"Yes, my Lord. He was easily entranced to the portkey."

"Who told Malfoy?"

Jigger was taken aback by this for a second only. "Kelly. Young Crouch wasn't the only prisoner. The girl Narcissa was taken too. We had no use for her. She has no Crouch blood in her veins. They handed her over to Malfoy."

"Out of the goodness of their hearts?"

"Out of the goodness of Kelly's heart. Hopkirk for a great deal of money. Malfoy seems to have taken a fancy to the girl."

Voldemort laughed. "Do you find Kelly reliable, Jigger?"

"No, my Lord."

"After tonight's work, you may take care of him."

"Thank you."

"Now bring Malfoy here. The girl too."

"I will, my Lord."

Jigger disapparated.

Voldemort turned back to Mordred and Severus. "Those who work behind my back are suitably rewarded. The loyal stay in my favour."

Severus opened his mouth to say something, than thought better of it.

"You hate Lucius Malfoy, Howard?" Voldemort continued.

Alison said nothing.

"Do you?"

"I do," she said resignedly.

"You will need that hate. Show me your wand."

Alison pulled it quickly from her robes pocket and presented it to him.

He bent forward, and ran a finger along it. "Yew," he said approvingly. "The word is Crucio."

Mordred's jaw dropped.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Kenneth!"

"Julian!"

There were grins on their faces as they hailed one another in the corridor.

"Where have you been?" began Kenneth.

"In trouble," said Julian. "You?"

"Does Sirius Black trying to smash one's face in count as trouble?"

"Poor Kenneth," said Julian. Kenneth involuntarily flinched, remembering the letter.

"We've been left ourselves, haven't we?" he said.

"Ourselves and everyone who wants to interrogate us," Julian replied.

"Is that why you've been crying?"

Julian nodded. "Frank Longbottom. He was practicing at being an Auror on me. I wish I could just crawl into a hole and disappear."

"I know a place you can hide. . . ." began Kenneth.

"Do you?"

"Edmund made me swear never to tell, but. . . ."

"You're a Slytherin."

Kenneth nodded. "They know about it, of course, but it's all right to get away from everything. . . ."

"Lead on."

* * * * * * * * * *

"Narcissa," said Lucius Malfoy. "Are you any happier than you were earlier?"

"Captivity doesn't allow happiness," Narcissa responded curtly.

"Bartemius Crouch wouldn't allow it," said Malfoy. "But I've done a good deal for you and hope for some eventual appreciation."

"Hope springs eternal."

"You're very endearing," Malfoy said, leaning back on the cushions, and closing his eyes. "I envy the wizard to whom Crouch marries you."

Narcissa blushed. "I'm too young...."

Malfoy opened his eyes. "You're fifteen. It's a good time to begin considering your choices, before they're made for you."

Narcissa privately agreed, but said nothing.

"I'll offer you my hand now," Malfoy continued. "Think of me later."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is It? I'm in no way your inferior Narcissa. Most would call it a good match."

"Not my brother," said Narcissa curtly. She was frightened by this conversation, but it was gratifying to be courted, whatever the circumstances.

"My offer stands."

There was a tap at the door.

"Who the hell?" began Malfoy, wrenched out of his languorous pose.

"Death Eaters?" whispered Narcissa.

"Aurors?" Malfoy replied. "Wait."

He returned in a few seconds. "You were right."

Following him was Richard Jigger.

"Narcissa, Mr. Richard Jigger, Lord High Mayor of Hogsmeade," began Malfoy. "Jigger, Miss Narcissa Crouch."

"A pleasure," said Jigger to Narcissa, his eyes unamused on Malfoy. "You've been summoned, Malfoy."

"Now?" asked Malfoy, his pale face becoming paler still.

"Of course. You and Miss Crouch."

"He mentioned Narcissa?"

"Yes, Malfoy," said Jigger impatiently. "I have the portkey here." He drew out a small rock from his pocket. "Your fingers."

Narcissa looked to Malfoy for guidance.

"Narcissa, stay silent unless spoken to, and stay close to me."

"Malfoy!" protested Jigger.

"Narcissa, do you understand?"

"Yes."

She put her finger to the portkey. Malfoy bit his lip, then put his left arm about his waist and his right hand over hers on the portkey, bracing for the jerk of sudden travel.

If their destination had been less dire, Narcissa would have enjoyed the journey: The rushing feeling tamed by Malfoy's firm hold. As it was, she was sick with fear.

She collapsed onto the ground in Lucius Malfoy's arms, and before she had a moment to catch her breath, he had wrenched her up again, and she was keeling in a ruined castle yard under a grey and cloudy sky before the most dreaded wizard in Europe.

"Lucius!" he greeted Malfoy. "I've missed your company. Tell me what you've been doing while I was away."

"I have been your faithful servant, my Lord," said Malfoy warily, not loosening his grip on Narcissa, who had decided the best place to look was down.

"You needed the girl for my service?"

"My Lord, do you need the girl?"

"No," said Voldemort. "You're welcome to her, I assure you. But my dear friend, what are these Hogwarts students doing here?"

"I did not send them to find you," Malfoy said rapidly. "I did not know you were here."

"That makes it better? I fail to follow you, Lucius."

"I was unaware this was your affair, my Lord. I thought it an unapproved scheme of Jigger's."

"The sad part is you're entirely sincere," said Voldemort lazily. He turned from Malfoy. "Howard?"

Malfoy gasped.

"Yes, my Lord?" answered Alison.

"Show me."

Alison stepped forward, her face drawn. She slowly pulled the wand from her robes and pointed it at Malfoy.

He blinked and let go of Narcissa.

His grey eyes betrayed no fear, only confusion.

The words weren't coming from Alison. All her hatred for Malfoy was being swallowed up in a wave of panic.

"Crucio," she heard Severus mutter behind her.

More usefully from Mordred. "He would have let Rolly die."

"Crucio!" she said the words faintly, but Malfoy still doubled over, and then as she focused on what she was doing, he began to scream. There was no time to think about what was happening. She had to hate and she could hate. Love could be turned to hate. The memory of Rolly's pale face was driving the pleasure at the pain on Malfoy's.

"Enough," said Voldemort.

She stopped, almost reluctant.

"A good beginning," said Voldemort. "You judged her well, Lucius."

"Thank you, my Lord, "groaned Malfoy, pulling himself up from the ground and shooting Alison a threatening look.

"Since you're here, Lucius, you might be of some help. Watch the Entrance. Take the girl with you."

"As you wish."

Pulling Narcissa with him, Malfoy went out of the courtyard.

"Do you trust him, my Lord?" Macnair asked anxiously.

"Like my own son," said Voldemort. "He sulks and schemes, but he is always mine."