Talk Of The Devil

"I'll buy you a bear too, Dudley," promised Vernon. "Now shut up!" Remarkably they did.

"Mr. Crouch, this is my wife Petunia."

"Pleased to meet you," simpered Petunia.

"And this is my son, Dudley, and my nephew, Harry," Vernon said.

"Hello, Dudley, Harry," said Crouch with a kind smile. Dudley ran behind his mother. Harry sat still, looking up at Crouch.

"Dudley's a little shy," said Petunia. "Come out, Dudley. Say, "Hello Mr. Crouch." Dudley clung more fiercely to her leg. "Yesterday, he just couldn't stop talking. And he's only three."

"Hello," said Harry suddenly. Vernon frowned.

"Well, your nephew seems to have regained the use of his tongue," said Crouch cheerily.

"Um... yes," said Vernon. "May I take your coat?"

"Thankyou."

Any worries Barty had originally had of being overdressed were dispelled. To his amusement, Vernon was wearing a tuxedo, and Petunia, a cocktail dress.

"Dinner will be ready in a moment," said Petunia. "And I think it's time Dudley and Harry went to bed." Dudley began to cry again.

The screams continued from upstairs, while Vernon tried to make pleasant conversation in spite of them.

"Do you have any children, Mr. Crouch?" asked Petunia.

"No," said Barty rather quickly. Then, he decided to tell the truth. It's easier to keep the truth in mind. "My son died about a year ago."

"I'm sorry," said Petunia, and she meant it. She pictured herself with Dudley and her heart went out to Crouch. "It must still be very hard for you and your wife."

"My wife died three months ago." Three months minus five days, to be precice.

Vernon was motioning to Petunia to change the conversation.

"It's all right," said Crouch. "It doesn't bother me now." He thought he had decided to stick to the truth. Apparently not. "My wife, Alysoun, would have loved to be here tonight." This was complete flattery. He could imagine Alysoun, afterwards at home, telling him what she had thought of the Dursleys, and poking fun at the way he had "grovelled" before them.

Petunia gave him a teary smile.

"Is your nephew staying with you?" said Crouch, changing the topic.

"Yes, his parents are dead," said Vernon.

"Killed in a car crash," added Petunia quickly. For a horrid moment, she fancied that Crouch had raised his eyebrow. "You're doing an amazing job bringing them both up," said Crouch.

"Oh, Petunia's a heroine," said Vernon. "When they died, I had no idea what we'd do. But she manages everything perfectly."

"Well, your son's got someone to play with all the time," said Crouch.

"Dudley plays with all the neighbourhood children," said Petunia proudly. "He goes to pre-playschool every Wednesday morning."

It was extremely irritating how this woman kept on trying to wrench the conversation over to her son. Fudge wanted to hear about Harry Potter, not the miraculous Dudley Dursley. "Does Harry go too?" said Crouch mercilessly wrenching the conversation back.

"Yes," said Petunia. "But he's not quite as social as Dudley."

"He didn't seem too shy when I came in," said Crouch.

"It's an off-and-on thing," said Vernon. "He's very unstable in some regards."

"He must miss his parents," said Crouch sympathetically.

"He doesn't remember them," said Petunia. "Which is probably a good thing. They were a bit strange."

"Hippies," put in Vernon.

Crouch seemed to choke. "Hippies?'

"His mother got in with the wrong crowd," continued Vernon. "Drugs, alcohol, rock and roll. Petunia's parents really couldn't do anything about it." He stopped for a second, feeling uncomfortable under Crouch's sharp gaze.

"We tried to get Lily to come back to us," said Petunia plaintively. "But she was too set in her ways. Once they go wrong, what can you do?"

"That's the perennial question, isn't it?" said Crouch.

"Of course, my parents had spoiled her way too much. She had got used to having her own way all the time. You know the type."

"There's one in every family," said Vernon, anxious to impress on Crouch that Petunia was not to blame for Lily's deficiencies.

"Yes. My son was somewhat like that. He was in trouble with the law before he died." It was painful to say it, but he knew that the revelation would make Vernon and Petunia more comfortable to talk about Harry. He was no longer the impeccable business visitor, but a fellow sufferer. "I know what you feel like."

Petunia took this as a signal to launch into a litany of the sufferings Lily had caused. "Harry's father had these absolutely horrible friends. There was this one creep in particular with a motorcycle and long hair, who came by here one day when Lily and her husband were visiting. I'm always deathly afraid he'll take a notion to come around here one of these days. "

"I told him then that if he ever came back again I would call the police," said Vernon. "And that seems to keep them away. How they pick up friends like that, I don't know."

"Neither do I," said Crouch feelingly.

"We're going to have our hands full bringing up Harry," said Petunia. "Keep him from going after that trash."

"If we can," said Vernon pessimistically.

"Dudley's just not calming down," said Petunia apologetically.

"Oh, that's fine," said Crouch. "Just bring them both down. I don't mind. I love children."

Five minutes later, Barty was holding Harry Potter, the Harry Potter, the boy that lived. His hands trembled. It was silly, but he couldn't help it. Who knew what this boy had done and would do? Harry was telling him something about a bear.

"Do you like bears, Harry?"

"I like bears," said Dudley importantly.

"I like bears too," said Harry. "Uncle Vernon buy me bear," he told Crouch breathlessly. Vernon smiled expansively at Crouch.

"Harry, I don't think Mr. Crouch wants you on his lap," said Petunia.

"It's fine," said Barty. "They're both very sweet." Petunia pursed her lips. "I don't get much chance to play with little children at the Ministry. I suppose, though, you'll want to talk about the contract," he said to Vernon.

"It seems a shame to pull you away from the children," said Vernon.

For the next two and a half hours, Barty went all up and down the possible terms of a non-existent available contract with the Defense Ministry. It was amiable, and it was horrible, especially after Vernon got onto his fourth drink.

At last, he was out of the house, out in the air of Privet Drive. He walked down the street a little. There was probably no place so "normal" in the whole of England. What a place for Harry Potter!

It wasn't his decision, but he couldn't help feeling that Harry shouldn't be here. After a whole evening with the Dursleys, he did not greatly fear that they would physically abuse Harry. He did fear, however, that they were already starting to ignore him, that Harry would grow up completely unloved.

"Who am I to talk?" he said savagely.

As soon as he arrived home, he wrote up a report of the visit. Then, he went down to his son's room.

Winky was singing to Barty Jr. He peered through the door, and saw that his son was tossing and turning in his bed. There is probably nothing more horrendous than the sound of a house-elf singing, but it did seem to be beginning to calm him.

Deep down somewhere, Barty realized again, he loved him, loved him terribly. What idiots children were. Why are they so quick to assume that their parents don't care for them? Perhaps since they hadn't seen themselves as babies. Otherwise, they would never doubt. Until the moment he died, every time he would see Barty Jr. asleep, he would love him again. And each time Barty Jr. would wake, his son would die again.