Fortunate Son

Chapter One

December 1979

Barty watched as if hypnotised as the delicate needle of the machine touched the rotating black disc. It was like magic, only it wasn't. It was a Muggle record player, Bill had explained to him, and the black disc was called a PL record -or was it LP?

When they heard the first raw chords, already familiar and always so intoxicating, they both jumped onto Bill's bed, and started to shout the words in chaotic unison.

'I am an antichrist

I am an anarchist

Don't know what I want

But I know how to get it

I wanna destroy the passer by

'Cause I wanna be anarchy...'

It was like this every time. This music always filled Barty with unknown form of energy. As he jumped onto the bed with Bill he was about to stumble in his robes. He saw Bill playing an imagined guitar, spitting out the lyrics, which made Barty laugh uncontrollably. His hair was in his eyes and his mouth, and his back was wet with sweat, but it was so fun, it was always fun, and he knew he just loved this Muggle song.

Finally they both collapsed onto the bed, short of breath, and too exhausted to continue their private punk performance any longer. But before the song had reached its end the door was slammed open, and Bill's mother stormed in. Barty was quick to turn off the music player. Sadly, he watched the needle retreat.

"What do you think you are doing, young man!" yelled Mrs Weasley to her son who was now furiously blushing. "Now you've woken the twins again! What was that horrible noise about?"

There was frustration in Bill's eyes.

"Mother, would you please perform a silencing charm around my room. We'd like to have some fun for once."

"A silencing charm indeed!" shouted Molly Weasley. "So that I wouldn't hear what you are doing here while you should be doing your homework?"

"Mum, I'm sixteen! I can take care of my homework for Merlin's sake! And we have our Christmas holidays now, anyway!"

Mrs Weasley didn't seem to hear the protests of her son, for she had already turned to speak to Barty, her formerly angry voice already turned a lot more amiable.

"And what about you, Bartemius? Have you enjoyed your stay here?"

"Yes, Mrs Weasley." He really meant it.

"It's kind for your parents to let you stay here on the holidays."

"Yes, they are very kind. Father has currently been rather busy, and Mum's been a bit tired, so I'm happy I could stay with you for a while."

"And stay you can, dear! You have always been such a nice boy, Bartemius. You are like an another son to me."

"You have too many already," muttered Bill quietly. His mother was pregnant again, and Bill was sure there was no chance of a little sister this time either.

"The New Year's Eve is in three days," said Molly Weasley who had completely forgotten her previous fury by now. "Well, what would you boys like to do?"

"Er," said Barty."Actually, my parents wish I'd spend the New Year's Eve with them. But they said I can floo back early in New Year's Day, and we could go skating then, or anything."

"Oh, but that sounds quite nice, Bartemius. Of course you'll stay with your family. But you are welcome to come skating with us later. That's a good idea, with a winter like this."

Bill's eyes seemed to be emitting angry sparks to Barty's direction, but poor Bill was once again neglected, and as long as his mother was in the room he didn't dare to say anything to his friend.

But when Mrs Weasley finally left the boys alone, Bill wasn't able to control himself any longer. He attacked Barty with a forceful push that made Barty lose his balance, ending him rather painfully on his back on the floor.

"Hey, what was that for?" shouted Barty, secretly wondering if Mrs Weasley would hear the ruckus, and pay another visit to her eldest son's bedroom. Of course he knew why Bill was so annoyed, but it was always fun to play innocent for a while.

"You lied to my mother! You lied about the New Year's Eve!"

"What could I have done, Bill? I couldn't possibly have told her the truth, could I?"

Bill glared at him silently, then said, "Are you serious, Barty? Are you really going to go there?"

"I'm invited."

"And you are going to leave your best friend behind on New Year's Eve?"

"You're my friend, not my lover."

"And Regulus Black is?"

"Sod off!" Barty, now sitting on the floor, managed to hit Bill with a pillow.

For two sixteen year old boys, these two were enjoying pillow fights a bit too much, but maybe that was one of the lesser known Gryffindor traits.

After a while there were feathers all over the floor, and in Barty's hair, for one of the pillows had been torn open. Both of the boys were breathing heavily in the aftermath of the fight.

"Listen to your friend's advice for once," panted Bill. "Don't go there."

"Fine. I take it you're jealous."

"It's not that! I just... Heck, what good has ever come by hanging around with a bunch of Slytherins! I'm sure they only want to use you because of your father."

It was something Bill should have avoided saying.

It was always about his father. Oh, you're Bartemius Crouch's son? You must be so proud of your father. He'll become a Minister of Magic one day. And what about your own career plans, boy? Something within the Ministry perhaps? Don't irritate your father, Barty. Father is busy now. Behave. Remember your position. Why weren't you sorted in Slytherin like your father? Blah, blah, blah...

Why did so many people think he was a worthy person only because of his father? It wasn't true! There were definitely others who appreciated him just because of what he was. There was Evan Rosier, for instance. They had had some very interesting conversations back when Evan was still at Hogwarts. It didn't matter that Evan was three years older than him. Barty could be very intellectual when he chose to, and when the particular subject was interesting enough. The nature of the Dark Arts had definitely been such a subject, and Barty knew also Evan had enjoyed their intellectual debates pretty much.

"Why can't I have Slytherin friends? My own father was a Slytherin. I am an abomination to my family. The first Crouch in seven generations to be sorted in Gryffindor. They say I'm too reckless."

"You are," said Bill, but he was smiling now.

"And I'm curious to go," added Barty. "You don't have many good opportunities to get to know the Black family better."

"Thankfully."

"They appreciate our Dark legacy, but it doesn't necessarily mean they are some kind of... You-Know-Who supporters."

"Barty, how can I get you back into your senses," sighed Bill. "It's not safe. Not nowadays. Your father wouldn't ever let you go there."

"My father is like the majority nowadays; he sees the world black-and-white. For him, there's the good side and the evil side, and nothing between them. These traditional pureblood families, who still appreciate the ancient magic, are automatically seen evil these days. You think that way, too, I can see it in your eyes. I can't blame you, everybody is frightened nowadays. But you know I disagree. I don't say that we should approve the attacks and violence, but the truth is most of us have forgotten that the Dark magic isn't inherently evil. It's only older, and more powerful. And yes, it can also be used for evil deeds," added Barty hastily as he saw Bill frowning. "But so can a bread knife as well."

Bill found himself in the loss of words. He always lost these debates with Barty. Although he knew in his heart there was a serious wrongness in Barty's words, he couldn't formulate his argument for a suitable defence, which he knew too well to even try. Instead, he decided to throw yet another pillow to his friend's direction.

"Don't play with serious things, Barty."

"I'm not playing with anything." Barty was sulking now. "I'm always misunderstood."

"Stop being theatrical."

"I am not."

"You are."

"I am not."

Bill gave up, and took a book instead, pretending to read. Barty was theatrical and childish, as always. But they had been friends as long as they'd shared a room at Hogwarts, and despite the occasionally maddening personality of his best friend, he still liked him.

He felt Barty bending over him, and felt his breath as Barty turned to whisper in his ear:

"So, will you help me? Please, Bill, just this time. Just let me go there. You don't probably even have to lie to anyone; my parents think I'm at your house. They are too occupied with the Ministry ball to be concerned of my whereabouts, anyway. Please, Bill, please."

"Yeah. I guess... I guess I'll help you, Barty. 'Cause I know you'd go anyway. But I don't like your idea; I don't like it at all. So could you think this over one more time..."

"Enough. I know what I'm doing, honestly. I'm just visiting another school friend. What's so dangerous in that?"

"He's not a friend to you," muttered Bill, but Barty chose to pay no attention.

* * * * *

Three days later, Barty was dressing up for the evening. The advantage of being a son of a famous politician was that he was already accustomed to formal evening parties. He had chosen to wear his dark green dress robes, embroidered with delicate ornamental pattern on sleeves. Underneath, he wore simple black clothes: a silk shirt and loose trousers by a currently fashionable Gladrags model. Finally he pushed his straw-coloured hair slightly off his forehead with a handy hairdressing spell. He gave a little smile to his mirror image before he left the room. The occasional freckles made him look a bit boyish, but otherwise he was pretty much contented with his appearance.

It felt like the whole Weasley family had packed in the rather small kitchen as Barty finally arrived. They had decorated the house for the New Year, and the WWN was on, filling the kitchen with merry music. It was already dark outside, but Barty could see from the window that the Weasleys had put some lanterns to light the garden. They looked beautiful against the thin layer of snow that had fallen some days before.

"Oh, look who's coming!" shouted Mrs Weasley merrily. "You look marvellous, darling. I didn't realise you had your dress robes with you."

"Funny clothes," gave Bill's brother Charlie his firm opinion, grinning widely.

One of the toddlers was twitching the hem of his robes. On the corner of his eye Barty saw Bill staring at him with an odd expression, mixture of anger and... could it be concern?

"I'm a little worried, Bartemius," Mrs Weasley interrupted his musings. "I hesitate to let you travel via Floo Network on your own. At times like this..."

"Everything is all right, Molly," said Arthur Weasley, Bill's father, soothingly. He winked to Barty, and continued to speak with him.

"Currently, the Ministry Aurors have the Floo Network totally under their surveillance. Nothing like the tragedy of last June can occur again, I'm sure of it."

Barty knew what they were talking about. Last June, the supporters of You-Know-Who had managed to set magical traps in the Floo Network, capturing and killing several important Ministry workers and their family members, and many ordinary Muggle-born witches and wizards as well before Aurors managed to end the invasion. These kinds of unpredictable attacks were becoming more and more common, and they were terrifying everyone, including Barty. Although Barty had started to think lately that he didn't perhaps fear the supporters of You-Know-Who as much as many other wizards did. If he was killed, how could his worrying help him? If he was captured, his father would pay the ransom. And if his father refused to pay, maybe the kidnappers would let him go, if he told them that he's tried some Dark magic himself, and it wasn't really so bad after all. No, his current suspicion towards the Floo Network was caused more by his fear that the Aurors would report his father that he'd visited the Blacks than by the fear of any Dark wizards.

Thankfully, his hosts had also come to think of it.

"I'm not using Floo Network," Barty said. "I have a Portkey for this occasion. My father thought it was the best way, " he added hastily, and was rewarded by an furious glance from Bill's direction. He warily showed the Portkey in his hand, a paper weight in the form of a sitting dragon. "It's activating quite soon," he continued.

"It's the official Ministry ball, isn't it?" asked Mr Weasley. "I wish Molly and I could have gone this year, but while the children are so small -it's quite impossible. Maybe in a few years... Well, remember to have fun, Bartemius."

"And give our regards to your family," added Mrs Weasley hurriedly.

"I will," lied Barty. He had put his cloak on now, for he knew he had to walk a little. Not long afterwards he felt the slight tickling inside his hand that held the paper weight. "It's time," he said. The excitement suddenly grew inside him.

"Bye, Barty!" they all shouted in unison, but the last thing Barty heard was Bill's quiet, "Take care."

* * * * *

Barty ended in the dark corner of some kind of square. Somewhere behind him there was a group of Muggles who were singing a song, sounding silly and drunk. Fortunately, they hadn't noticed him arriving. And if they had, they wouldn't have believed their eyes anyway; a young man in strange clothes appearing from nowhere. It would have been even better if he had arrived by broom. Muggle naivety never ceased to amuse Barty.

The house had to be nearby. Barty took the invitation card out of his pocket, and checked the address to be sure.

The Family of Black invites Bartemius Crouch Jr. to their traditional New Year's Eve party

Place: 12 Grimmauld Place, London

Dress: formal

You are warmly welcome to celebrate the beginning of the New Year with us.

'Toujours pur'

He walked towards the houses behind the square, and as he re-read the invitation card a new house suddenly materialised from nowhere just in front of him. It looked smaller than he had expected, but the door knocker was shaped as a serpent, and Barty instantly felt this was the house he was looking for. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It was opened by a house-elf who promptly took Barty's cloak, and levitated it into the wardrobe. An elderly lady was already approaching him from behind, and Barty guessed this had to be one of his hosts.

"Welcome," said the plump witch who was completely dressed in black, wearing velvet robes with some black lace decorations. She seemed to be almost too old to be Regulus's mother, but the curve of her mouth and the shining dark eyes, just like Regulus's, told Barty that those two nevertheless had to be related. The woman kissed him gently on both cheeks as a welcoming gesture, then finally retreated as if to study her newest guest more closely.

"It's nice to meet you at last, Bartemius," she said, her voice sounding a bit hoarse, as if she was a habitual smoker. "Regulus has told so much about you. I'm Victoria Black, Regulus's mother, as you may have already guessed."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs Black," said Barty automatically, wondering if Regulus had really been speaking about him to his parents, and what kinds of things he had chosen to tell. They weren't exactly what could have been called friends; Bill was right about that. But Mrs Black was smiling encouragingly to Barty, and led him further inside.

"I hope you'll have a good time tonight, Bartemius. You may not know many of the guests, but I'm sure everyone here wants to know your better. And there's Regulus, of course. Regulus, over here!"

They had been walking along the dimly lit entrance hall, the walls of which were covered by old portraits who bowed slightly as Mrs Black walked past them. There were some wizards and witches standing around the hall in small groups, talking in low voices, each of them holding a champagne glass. Barty didn't recognise any of them. He noticed a magnificent candelabrum, and an inviting staircase that led upstairs, but to his slight disappointment, the house of the Blacks didn't seem so different from the usual wealthy pureblood homes he'd previously visited.

In the end of the hall he finally saw Regulus whom Mrs Black was currently gesturing to join them.

"Regulus, your friend has arrived!"

Barty and Regulus glanced each other. Both of them muttered a short hello, sharing an indifferent, not hostile look, which was the best they could in those circumstances. As it became obvious that neither of them could find anything else to say, Mrs Black seemed to decide it was her duty to lead the conversation.

"How have your holidays been so far, Bartemius?"

"Fine, thanks. I spent Yule with my parents, and now I've been visiting a friend."

"Is your friend someone from Hogwarts? Someone Regulus also knows?"

"Um, he's a Gryffindor... his name is Bill Weasley," he added as he saw Regulus giving a questioning look to him.

"Ah yes, I almost forgot you were a Gryffindor." Mrs Black's hoarse voice felt suddenly a bit colder. "I don't remember any other Crouch to be sorted in Gryffindor. Quite unusual. Have you ever thought if the Sorting Hat made a mistake with you? You don't feel like a Gryffindor to me."

If there was a mistake there's not much we can do any more, can we? thought Barty, but he knew it would have been a discourteous answer.

"I'm sorry," said Mrs Black tensely after an oppressing silence. "It's been a bit hard for me lately. My own son, the elder brother of Regulus, was sorted in Gryffindor, and it has been truly hellish since then. The boy was a real trouble until he ran away in the same age as you are now. I would have needed support, but what can you do -my husband died unexpectedly just a year before it happened. So you must understand if I don't appreciate your house a lot. The Gryffindor house destroyed my son."

"Um... I'm sorry," said Barty shakily. What else could he possibly answer to that? He could remember Regulus's brother, who was a couple of years older than him. He hadn't guessed Sirius had had so much trouble at home. He had always appeared so carefree and cheery at Hogwarts.

"Mother's been really depressed lately," added Regulus, staring at Barty as if he had been the one to personally blame about the misfortune of the Black family.

"But of course it's not your fault that you've been sorted in Gryffindor," decided Mrs Black at last, false cheeriness in her voice. "You just have to cope with it. At least you come from a respectable family."

"Er, thanks," said Barty, who was sure that his father in turn would never use an adjective like respectable while speaking about the Blacks. He was surprised that the Crouches were appreciated so much even in the Black household. It must be because of the blood, Barty decided. His family was listed in the pureblood family genealogies as one of the three purest wizarding families in Britain. They never proclaimed their ancestry, though, and Barty had never actually thought that his blood would matter that much. But obviously it mattered, at least here, and now Barty could understand a little better why the Blacks had invited him in the first place.

The awkward silence was cut by Mrs Black's forced suggestion.

"Why don't you show Barty around the house, Regulus? I'm sure he's curious to see all the rooms. But don't go to the basement, dear," she added in a lower voice, but nevertheless so that Barty couldn't avoid hearing it.

"What's in the basement?" he asked Regulus after they'd left Mrs Black behind, and started their tour.

"The skeletons of our enemies," Regulus answered, and Barty decided he had to be joking albeit his expression was as grave as ever.

Regulus showed Barty upstairs. Barty was a bit startled to see that the Blacks had beheaded their previous house-elves, and put the shrunken heads on plaques on the wall. Winky, the house-elf who served his family, was important to him, and although she could be a real distress at times, he'd grown attached to her. Beheading your own house-elves felt bad, but Barty didn't comment about that.

There was a drawing room so large that Barty was sure some kind of expanding charm was needed to fit the room in the house. This was where most of the guests were situated. Barty tried to look for Evan Rosier, but he couldn't find him in the crowd. Rosiers and Blacks did usually get along pretty well, so maybe Evan would be there later, thought Barty as they continued their tour. On their way Barty was introduced to a plump middle-aged man called Braiden Hill, who seemed eager to talk about current politics, and to an ancient-looking grey witch, who was Regulus's grandmother on his father's side.

Regulus showed his bedroom on the third floor. Some used robes lay on the floor together with a pair of brown trousers, but otherwise the room didn't have any personal feeling. There were no posters on the walls, no books, no little stuff on the table. It looked like a room in an inn.

"What do you usually do here?" Barty had to ask.

"I'm not here a lot, actually. I'm mostly at Hogwarts, you know. And when I'm not..."

Regulus stopped in the middle of the sentence. Barty's curiosity had been increasing; he would have very much liked to know what Regulus did whenever he wasn't at Hogwarts, but something in the boy's expression told him that asking further would be futile.

"What is your favourite Quidditch team?" Barty randomly asked.

"...don't know."

"You don't know?" Barty loved Quidditch. He wasn't in the school team, but he definitely enjoyed watching the game, and cheering for his team. "I'm a big Montrose Magpies fan myself," he claimed proudly, but Regulus just shook his head in a way that made Barty almost sad.

There were a lot of bedrooms, some of them furnished as guest rooms. Barty was more interested to see the library, but as they got there Regulus hurried him to continue. Barty managed to catch some very interesting book titles, though. Those made him think of Evan Rosier again. As they stood in front of the attic door which, Regulus told him, was also off-limits, Barty decided it didn't hurt to ask.

"Do you know if Evan Rosier is here tonight?"

"Rosier? Why, surely. If he's already come, I bet we'll find him in the drawing room."

Regulus seemed happy to leave Barty, so they both descended swiftly to the first floor where the drawing room was situated.

Evan was there. Barty saw him at once among the crowd, speaking loudly with another wizard. Evan had grown himself a moustache and a stylish beard, which made him look much older than nineteen. He recognised Barty instantly.

"Hey, isn't it Bartemius Junior!"

Evan rushed through the crowd to shake Barty's hand, then he laughed, and gave Barty a massive hug. Evan wasn't a big man, but he was strong, and Barty had to struggle to get free. He was grinning widely now. Evan was still laughing.

"It's great to see you here, Barty! We must talk, don't you think? It's been such a long time... and how's Hogwarts nowadays? Are you in your seventh year? What, sixth? Well, don't worry, you'll make it one day. Hey, let me introduce you my friend, Rabastan Lestrange. Rabastan, this is Bartemius..."

But before Evan managed to end his sentence there was a loud pop in the room, and simultaneously three people Apparated in the middle of the crowd, knocking over a table, and nearly crushing a couple of witches who had been standing by the fallen table. Someone actually screamed. Everybody froze. A Death Eater attack, was Barty's first, panicky thought. But not here. It can't be possible... He saw a wizard and two witches standing there, staring at the crowd. One of the witches was pointing a wand at them... No, it can't be... And then Barty realised who those people were, and the relieved laughter around him told him that everyone else had realised the same thing as well. It was not a Death Eater attack. It was just Lucius Malfoy accompanied by two witches. And suddenly Barty was sure those two witches were the most magnificent women he had ever seen.

There was the blond witch whose eyes sparkled like diamonds as she laughed at the commotion around her. She was dressed in a light blue evening dress that looked splendid against her pale skin. She was approximately in her twenties, but Barty couldn't recognise her. Her hand, though, was firmly holding the arm of Lucius Malfoy with a proud expression of ownership.

"I thought your Fidelius charm was meant to prevent direct Apparation, Victoria!" shouted a middle-aged witch from across the room.

"It usually does, Miriam dear, but as Bellatrix here is our Secret-Keeper, that doesn't block her, you know. And it seems she has decided not to come alone tonight. Hello, darlings!"

"Hello, Aunt Victoria!" waved the blond witch happily.

"We're only dropping by," announced Lucius Malfoy, smiling slightly. "They are waiting us at the Ministry ball later tonight."

And then there was the dark witch. She stood completely straight, wearing a black and silver evening gown and long white gloves. Her long black hair framed her face, making her skin appear ivory-white. She didn't smile as she eyed the crowd, changing her wand from hand to hand as if she was a bit bored. But there was something majestic in her presence in that room, thought Barty. He was suddenly very curious to learn to know this woman better.

Barty soon noticed that he wasn't the only one to think so. The thin man beside him, whom Evan had introduced as Lestrange, stared at the witch audaciously. The dark-haired woman's eyes fixed on Barty for a moment, and he felt a strange tension growing inside him. The she turned to look at the man beside Barty who instantly lowered his gaze, and continued to speak with Evan Rosier.

"Bellatrix loves impressive entries, don't you think?"

"Who are they?" Barty asked. "The women accompanied by Mr Malfoy, I mean."

"Oh," said Evan as if it was a bit strange that Barty didn't know them. "They are the Black sisters. Cousins of your friend Regulus, if I remember right. Narcissa is the blond one, and Bellatrix is the other."

"Pureblood beauties," muttered Lestrange dreamily. The way the man said it, and the hungry look in his eyes, made Barty instantly loathe the man. It was so... labelling. Yes, that was it. Women as objects. Barty didn't like to think that way, but he was often surprised how this seemed to be quite a common way for men to think.

Still, he couldn't avoid looking at Bellatrix Black again as she glided past them in a dignified way, giving a little nod to their direction before she stopped to change words with her aunt.

"Barty," he heard Evan saying in a quiet voice. "Barty, I'd like to talk with you tonight. Privately, I mean."

"All right, anytime."

"But not now, I'm afraid. There's something I have to do that cannot wait. Later. Okay?"

"Okay," said Barty, a bit confused because of the nervous look in Evan's eyes. Anyway, he was pleased that Evan had asked. There were things he wanted to discuss about with Evan, and now he would have a chance.

"I'll find you later," said Evan, and disappeared into the crowd.

Soon afterwards, the food magically appeared on the tables, and Barty had a good time tasting all the specialities. He took a glass of champagne that was handed to him, but he refused when a house-elf wanted to refill the glass. Barty wasn't used to alcohol. He drank only wine on family dinners, and sometimes butterbeer in Hogsmeade, but that didn't really count.

The midnight was getting closer, but Evan didn't return. The crowd was getting cramped and noisier. Barty had been wandering around the house, but he didn't dare to touch any interesting-looking objects while there were others around. A couple of wizards and witches tried to start a discussion with him, but all they wanted to know was about his father, and Barty found the topic disquieting. It was clear that Regulus was avoiding him, but he didn't care. If only Evan would come back soon, he thought as people started to chatter something about the fireworks.

Barty wondered how such a noisy crowd of wizards could go watching the fireworks outside in a Muggle-inhabited area without breaking the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy, but it soon become clear that it was going to be done in a magical way. As the grandfather clock started to strike its twelve strokes, everybody counted along. At the strike of twelve, the lights were dimmed, the ceiling of the drawing-room vanished, and it was replaced by a dark night sky, filled with countless sparkling fireworks.

"Happy New Year!" people shouted around him, and Barty found himself shouting along them. Others were singing. Suddenly someone turned him gently around, and before Barty had time to protest she had pushed her lips against his mouth, and they were kissing.

It was so different from kissing Maria Sinistra in the Yule ball of his fifth year. Back then Barty had thought he knew how it was done, but now he realised he hadn't actually known anything. He let the woman feed on his mouth, he let her hands caress his cheeks and chin, he let her tongue invade his mouth. The woman's long hair descended on him like a curtain, and the realisation that it was Bellatrix Black who was kissing him made him even more excited.

They retreated just before the lights were put on again.

"Welcome to the eighties," said Bellatrix and smiled mischievously.

Barty was still thinking of a proper answer when he heard someone calling his name. He wouldn't have guessed that he'd ever be disappointed when he'd eventually find Evan Rosier, but that was almost the case at the moment.

"Hello, Bellatrix," Evan grinned. "Robbing the cradle?"

"Go to hell, Rosier," answered the witch, but she was still smiling. Her use of strong language startled Barty a little, but Evan was already leading him away from the drawing room. Barty hadn't got time to say what he'd wanted to say, and Bellatrix had already disappeared in the crowd.

* * * * *

They were sitting in a small study Regulus hadn't shown Barty during their brief sightseeing tour around the house. Barty wondered what other secrets the house was still hiding. Evan sat comfortably in an armchair, and Barty leant against the desk, waiting for Evan to speak.

"I'm happy to see you here tonight, Barty."

"It's great too see you, too, Evan. Although it was a bit of a surprise for me that I was invited."

"Not for me. Do you know why?"

A shake of head.

"That's because it was I who asked Mrs Black to invite you." There was something odd in the way Evan was grinning. It made Barty feel as if he had missed the joke somehow.

"What... and she agreed? Why? Why did you do it?"

"Well, I wanted to see you, in the first place. And... let's just say that I wanted to introduce you to someone."

"Like to Bellatrix Black?"

Evan just laughed. "I see she's an obsession for you already."

Barty hated the superior tone in Evan's voice, and Evan must have sensed that for he changed the subject.

"Do you remember our discussions, Barty?"

The question made Barty smile warily. Now this was something he wanted to discuss. He nodded, trying not to look too interested.

"Have you continued... studying?"

He nodded a little more vigourously this time. "I've read all the books you gave me, Evan."

"And... what about those books, are they..."

"...in a perfectly safe place, of course. I'm not stupid. My father..."

"...wouldn't forgive you if he found those books. These kind of things aren't to be taken light-heartedly... why the hell are you grinning, Barty?"

Barty couldn't hold it any more. He wasn't sure if it was wise to tell, but he really wanted to tell someone, and judged by the nature of the books Evan had brought to him the older Slytherin was most probably trustworthy.

"I tried some of those spells on my own. At home."

Evan looked surprised, but there was something else in his expression as well. Something that Barty had almost longed to see there -the pride of a mentor.

"You did?"

"I used the technique you showed me, Evan. The one that helps to focus my magic to increase the spell effect. It worked, Evan, it worked! The fly dropped from the ceiling stone dead!"

Barty saw his friend become tenser, and for a while he wondered if he had spoken too much.

"But... your father... he didn't find out, did he?"

"I'm not in Azkaban, am I?" answered Barty lightly. But seeing the unexpected worry in Evan's eyes he decided to give a proper explanation. "I've sealed my room by a strange variant of Imperturbable Charm. It was a time-consuming spell, but it was worth of it. This way the Dark Magic detectors of our House don't react to anything that occurs in my room -or at least they haven't yet. Luckily we have so few Dark detectors aimed inside. My father is prepared for the outside threat, and that suits me perfectly -I can do what I want in my own room. It's not his business anyway."

"Barty, it's particularly his business, and you know that. For God's sake, you must be careful!"

"Eh, so they put me in Azkaban for killing flies. Scary."

"Haven't you ever done anything else, my dear carefree friend?"

"Well..."

"Barty, you can tell me."

"I know, Evan. It's just..."

It was just so difficult to think of it again. Barty remembered the chill, the empty, hollow feeling in his heart, and the crushing power that filled the emptiness. He had panicked, terrified by the thought that something inside him had been irreversibly destroyed. The dark spell had felt almost uncontrollable. It had been like trying to control a hurricane. For a while he had been afraid that it would demolish the house. Finally he had managed to focus the spell properly, and keep it steady for long enough time. The new kind of energy had filled his exhausted body. It was just that...

"Something went wrong, Evan," he said, shivering at the thought of it. "I tried to build an energy channel, to increase my magic as you had taught me, and I almost made it, but then something went wrong. I felt my magic inside me, dark and powerful. But I made the spell too powerful, Evan... It sucked all the life energy... all the trees in our garden... destroyed. Bare and without leaves. Dead."

Evan just stared at him for a long time, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke his voice was severe.

"Barty, what I say is very important. Nothing went wrong. It's an awfully complicated Dark spell, and I'm fascinated to hear that you've managed to cast it properly, but you must understand this: nothing went wrong. It's the nature of that spell. You take the life energy, you cause death. That's the deal. The Dark Arts are all about life and death, and the balance between them. I hope you do understand this, Bartemius Crouch!"

Barty was startled by Evan's sharp voice, but he also found himself oddly frustrated. He had been afraid then, it was true. But of course he knew that these curses were dangerous, even lethal. Did Evan think he was still a child? He was not a child. An underage wizard, perhaps, but a smart one.

"What about the trees?" Barty heard Evan asking. "You father must have seen the dead trees. He's not stupid, he must have recognised the traces of a Dark spell."

Barty couldn't help it; he started to laugh hoarsely.

"Oh, yes he did. And he thinks it was a Death Eater attack in our garden. Dad thinks the Death Eaters killed our trees!"

There was something in the way Evan looked back at him that made Barty suddenly very alert. They had never talked about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers before, which was in fact quite odd, for the whole wizarding world was currently talking about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Or at least the world was whispering about the Dark wizards and Death Eater attacks. Barty knew that the Death Eaters were a bunch of evil terrorists that used Dark magic to achieve their ends, whatever those were. Even if Evan and he happened to be practising experimental Dark magic they had nothing in common with those criminals. But was it really so?

When Barty thought of himself the answer was simple. He just happened to be interested in the Dark Arts. He had used to think it was an innocent hobby, an intellectual challenge perhaps, or an advanced training of his magical abilities. It was illegal all right, but that was probably just because of the current situation in the wizarding world. That he had a potential to kill didn't make him automatically a murderer. Admittedly, it did make him feel more powerful.

But what exactly were Evan's motives to practice the Dark Arts? There had been something in Evan's expression when he mentioned the Death Eaters... as if he knew something about them. Barty wondered if he was becoming paranoid like his father, and hated himself for it. But the thought didn't leave his mind. What did he know about the Death Eaters anyway?

Barty had became so absorbed in his thoughts that he missed Evan's next comment.

"What did you say?"

"I said that what you've been doing is extremely dangerous. I don't know why I gave you those books in the first place. You could have seriously harmed yourself with that spell. I'm afraid I've overestimated you after all. You're not ready for that sort of thing, Barty!"

"I am, Evan. I just need a little more training."

"Oh my God, I've created a monster."

Barty sighed deeply. First his father, then Bill, and now also Evan Rosier. Everybody was always disappointed in him, however hard he tried. He turned away in a sulk, knowing that he looked pathetic but not caring.

"Barty, promise me something. Promise that you never ever practice the Dark Arts again..."

Furious, Barty turned around, ready to dispute, but Evan hadn't finished yet.

"...without a competent teacher."

Evan looked almost encouraging again. Had he came to the conclusion not to hinder Barty's path after all?

"Does that mean you are still going to teach me in the future?" asked Barty, feeling a slight smile returning to his face.

"I said a competent teacher."

"But you are competent, Evan!"

"No, I'm not," Evan answered grimly. "But there's someone who is."

And thus speaking he left the room, leaving Barty in odd, happy sort of confusion. He wasn't sure what Evan had meant with his last comment, but one thing he was sure of: he couldn't wait to see.

Not long afterwards, Bellatrix Black found him there.

"Oh, hello. How's the party so far?"

Barty, who was still trying to understand the whole meaning of the previous discussion, was a bit startled by sudden arrival of Bellatrix.

"Dear boy, what did that evil Rosier say to you? You look positively stunned."

"It's nothing," muttered Barty uneasily, but he felt Bellatrix's sharp gaze study him intently. He feared that more questions would follow, but Bellatrix seemed to decide to drop it for now. Instead, she sat down in the armchair Evan had occupied a moment before, and smiled encouragingly to Barty.

"I'm Bellatrix Black."

"Barty Crouch. The younger one. Nice to meet you."

"I know who you are, darling. How is it like to have such a famous father, anyway?"

"It depends... I don't know."

Bellatrix laughed. "A diplomat's son."

Barty realised that the presence of Bellatrix Black made him really nervous, and he wasn't used to the feeling. She looked beautiful, but almost in a frightening way; she wasn't like the girls Barty knew. No, of course she wasn't; she was a woman, although there was something un-womanly and aggressive in her. For a moment she had felt almost threatening, and Barty found himself thinking What do I know about the Death Eaters anyway? But he quickly pushed that ridiculous thought back where it came from.

Bellatrix probably sensed his nervousness. "Would you like to drink with me?" And without waiting an answer she conjured a tray on which there was a crystal decanter filled with greenish liquid, and two glasses.

"What is it?" asked Barty whose experience with alcoholic drinks was limited to the table wine.

"Absinthe."

"I don't usually drink," said Barty.

"Would you like to taste it?"

"Maybe."

Bellatrix took a glass, poured some liqueur in it, and handed it to Barty. It smelt like anise, and something else. He took a sip, but the strong taste of alcohol and the bitterness of the liquid made him cough almost instantly. Bellatrix laughed, and then offered some sugar and ice for his drink. The liquid turned milky greenish-white, and Barty stared at it suspiciously before he tasted it again. It was better now. He took another sip, and gave a smile to Bellatrix, who was busy filling her own glass.

Barty's recent conversation with Evan Rosier had clearly made Bellatrix curious, but as her inquiries about the subject of the conversation produced only vague answers in Barty she left the subject again. After a while they found themselves discussing about all aspects of life in general, and wizarding life in particular.

"I'm so happy I was born a pureblood witch," proclaimed Bellatrix suddenly. "Especially these days when our heritage is at stake."

"Heritage at stake... what are you talking about?" asked Barty, finding it was becoming more difficult to compose a proper sentence. Maybe it had something to do with the liqueur.

"Our heritage... our wizarding heritage. Do you know what our world used to be like? We were magnificent; we believed in ourselves. We didn't fear the Muggles. They would have feared us, but they never knew who we really were... for them, we were the shadows in the night. The wizarding world used to be the most closely guarded secret on earth."

"And it isn't any more?"

Bellatrix shook her head sadly, but there was a fierce glow in her eyes that made her look even more sensual in Barty's opinion. "No. And that's because of how we handle the Mudbloods."

Bellatrix's harsh use of language made Barty wince, but she hadn't stopped yet.

"If you think of our International Statute of Secrecy, isn't it absurd that the families of the Mudblood children are told about the wizarding world? Soon they will tell their neighbours and friends, and before long someone will believe them! What happens to our secrecy then? If they really want to include those Mudbloods in our society, it would be best if they separated them from their families as soon as they show their first signs of magic."

Barty poured still another glass of absinthe. Bellatrix's speech, as much as he could follow it with his drunken brain, was making him oddly nervous. He was also feeling a bit dizzy. For some obscure reason, the situation started to greatly amuse him.

"I'm drunk, Bellatrix," he giggled. "I don't understand what you are talking about. I don't understand you at all!" As a whim he tried to turn and kiss Bellatrix, but she had already stood up, albeit smiling as if his drunkenness had amused her as well.

"All right, I'll make you understand, Bartemius Crouch. In Muggle Studies they teach you that the Muggles are funny and harmless. I'm sorry to tell you this, but the truth is crueller than that. If the Muggles found out that the wizarding world exists, they'd cease to be harmless before you could say fellytone. Have you heard about the World Wars? No? No surprise there; they didn't teach those in History of Magic. But I can tell you that there was not one, but two World Wars, and they were started by Muggles. If they found out about us, they wouldn't let us live our lives in peace, no such chance. They would want to conquer us, to subdue us. You know how the Muggles feared all things magical in the Middle Ages, when they still believed in magic. Hard times may well be ahead, Barty. It may well become a Muggle World War Three, but this time it may be against of the wizarding world. But they won't win it."

Barty didn't know what to say. The odd feeling inside him was growing, and he also felt increasingly uncoordinated. He didn't want to admit it, but Bellatrix's words frightened him. They had this ominous tone of upcoming doom, something unavoidable. He wanted to kiss those red lips, but Barty wasn't sure if that was because of desire, or because he wanted to shut that mouth so that it wouldn't speak those horrible things any more.

This time Bellatrix let him do it, although he almost lost his balance as he turned to face her. The world around him was spinning, and in the middle of whirlpool were those smiling red lips. They meet with his mouth, ravishing him, and it was even better than before. Then the whirlpool swallowed him, and he remembered no more.

* * * * *

Barty was sleeping, but the dream was changing. He could have even thought he had been awakened, if only he could have opened his eyes. Now it felt as if his eyes were forced to remain closed, neither could he move his muscles. And someone was there, near him in the room. He could feel him. He could feel him in his mind.

All of his thoughts, all his memories and feelings lay there to be read by that unknown might, and Barty could do nothing to hinder it. He was read like an open book, studied like a potentially useful tool in a hand of a sculptor.

"Who are you?" shouted Barty inside his mind where he was trapped together with that mighty being. "What do you want from me?"

"I am Lord Voldemort," hissed the voice in his head, and Barty desperately tried to open his eyes or even move, but in vain.

Unbendingly, the force continued studying Barty's mind. It saw him as a little boy, tightly holding the hand of his father as they rushed forward in crowded Diagon Alley. It heard the words of the Sorting Hat on his first day at Hogwarts. It saw his embarrassing crush on Maria Sinistra; it found out his secret fascination in the Dark Arts, and laughed as it saw the dead trees. Barty let himself be studied, partly because he couldn't to anything to block it, and partly because a growing part of his mind was amazed at the sheer mightiness of the power encompassing him. And he was afraid, for now he knew it was You-Know-Who who possessed such amazing power.

"Yes, it's me," whispered the voice inside him, reading his thoughts. "You asked me to tell what I want from you. But that is not the important question. The important question is: What do you want? Someone to guide you? Someone to love you? Be wary of what you ask, for your prayers may be answered."

And then it was gone. Barty slept again, deep, dreamless sleep.

He woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. It was day outside. It took a little while before he remembered that he was at the Blacks', and it took another moment before the memory of his interrupted dream returned. He jumped up from the bed and glanced around the room, half expecting to see the Dark Lord sitting in a corner. But there was of course no one else in the room. He just had a terrible headache. Was it a memory then, or a dream? He remembered having read that sometimes absinthe made people see things. But it had felt so real! He shivered. It had been real. He just knew it. Which meant that...

His dress robes were crumpled and his hair was messy, but he didn't want to take a risk and perform underage magic in a house where he shouldn't have been. Thus he only combed his hair with a comb he found near the mirror, grimacing at the image. He went downstairs feeling extremely unreal, and somewhat nauseous.

"Good morning, Barty. I was wondering if you were going to sleep till tomorrow."

It was Evan Rosier. He sat in the otherwise deserted drawing room, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a copy of Daily Prophet in another. The Dark Mark seen in Bedford -three Muggle-borns killed read the headline.

Barty hesitated for a moment until he decided against telling about his nocturnal experience. It could have been just a dream, anyway. And if it wasn't... well, the matter wasn't just between Evan and him anymore.

"Did you sleep well?" asked Evan, putting the newspaper down.

"I guess I'm having a hangover," managed Barty to say before he threw up on the drawing room carpet.

* * * * *

Bill Weasley had started to become worried around midday, and when Barty didn't show up at two o'clock he almost went and told his father where his friend had gone. Thus, when he saw from his bedroom window two persons Apparating together in their garden, he was instantly relieved, even if the other person was that Slytherin scumbag Evan Rosier.

Rosier had Disapparated before Bill got outside. Barty seemed pale and tired, but as he saw Bill he gave him a victorious smile.

"Well, was it worth it?"

Barty seemed to hesitate a little, but only a little. "It was... interesting. And it was worth it. Yes, definitely worth it."

Bill didn't like the glow in his friend's eyes, but he didn't say anything.