Fortunate Son

Chapter Two

January-April 1980

"My Lord," said the hooded man, kneeling.

"You may rise, Rosier, and please take your mask off. There will be no one else here, and I want to see your face as I speak."

Evan Rosier obediently did this, but still he couldn't risk a direct look at his master; it could have been interpreted as impudence. Only now he had a chance to study the surroundings. They were on a deserted hillside; the only tree in sight was an ancient-looking oak nearby. In the bleak daylight everything looked grey. It was snowing again. Evan had been kneeling in snow, and he shivered as the snow melted in his bare hands and inside his boots. The winter had been unusually cold that year, and Evan found himself wondering if this, too, was caused by his master. He wouldn't be surprised.

"I've been studying his mind."

He didn't need to ask whom the Dark Lord meant. They were here to talk about Bartemius Crouch's son; that was why there were no others present. Barty Crouch was Rosier's own little secret, and although he was constantly striving to live a humble, disciplined life, he was secretly proud to be able to present this precious gift to his master.

"Yes, my Lord?"

A totally unexpected Cruciatus curse threw him painfully back. He fell in snow, screaming against his will, not even wearing the mask any more to hid his agony from his master's merciless gaze.

"I'm disappointed in you, Rosier," said his master coldly after he had finally lifted the curse.

Rosier tried to get up, half recognising from the red threads on snow that he had bitten his lip. There was a taste of blood in his mouth. He couldn't understand what was going on, and that made him scared.

Voldemort came nearer. Evan felt his gloved hand touch his chin, forcing his face up to finally face his master. Almost affectionately the Dark Lord cleaned the bloodied spit on Rosier's cheek. He had to lower his gaze.

"You've kept this secret from me for two whole years. Doing this, you've put our cause in grave danger. I thought better of you. Do you have anything to say in your defence?"

Evan felt his heart bouncing up to his throat. "He was so very young, Master! I learned about his interest in the Dark Arts by accident. He was in trouble, and I chose to help him. I hadn't even met you then, my Lord! Only later, when I already knew your ways, the boy came back to me, and he asked my advice. I taught him, but only because I thought he could become useful to you later, Master!"

"And you did that for completely unselfish reasons, you say? Teaching Dark Arts to Crouch's son was so extremely stupid, I wonder about your loyalty. If he had reported you to his father, you would have been instantly caught and questioned. And you know too much, Rosier. You know so much that I'm starting to wonder if I should kill you right now, and save myself from your further stupidity."

"I wouldn't ever let them catch me alive!" shouted Evan anxiously, covering his head as if that would protect him from the Killing Curse. "Please, Master, let me live! I'm your most faithful supporter, and I will always be! I will never tell your secrets!"

"Hm, we'll see about that."

Voldemort lowered his wand, and Evan couldn't help a relieved sigh. His master seemed to ponder the idea, and Evan didn't dare to disturb the process. He was shivering with cold now. Slowly, he got to his feet, and the Dark Lord let him do it. As Voldemort spoke again, there was a new tone in his voice, almost like he'd been amused.

"How old did you say the boy is?"

"He's sixteen, my Lord. Almost seventeen."

"And he's at Hogwarts...?"

"Sixth year, Master. Gryffindor sixth year."

"Ah, foolish Gryffindors. That's the odd part, indeed. We don't have many Gryffindors on our side. They're too keen on stubbornly supporting their headmaster's opinions. A foolish pack, indeed, and not usually of any use. Why would this one be different?"

"My Lord, foolish they may be, but they are not a pack. Gryffindor is the House of individualists, and this boy has an individual war going on. His war is against his father. He has not perhaps realised it yet, but that's the truth."

Voldemort looked at him thoughtfully for a long time. Then he started to laugh his cold laugh. "Evan, sometimes you impress even me. What a cunning Slytherin you've become! Yes, I will use him to destroy his father. I saw the boy's love for the Dark Arts in his mind. I only need to ask, and he'll come to me. He has felt the touch of Dark Magic already, he doesn't want to turn back now. And if he wanted... well, I wouldn't hesitate to destroy the son together with the father. Yes, that can be done."

Rosier felt safer now, safer and relieved. The Dark Lord wasn't going to kill him after all, and he was interested in his gift.

"But not yet. He's too young, and currently under surveillance by both his father and Dumbledore. I'm not going to bring him to me until he's ready to stay with me forever."

"But..." started Rosier a little too eagerly. "But Master, I served you already at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore never suspected anything. The old fool is too keen to believe that everyone around him loves him."

"Dumbledore is a fool, but he's a hawk-eyed fool. He sees more than you know, Rosier. He just acts eccentrically to fool his opponents. Don't underestimate him. Or the boy's father. That's why we must proceed slowly. I'm not going to call him yet. I forbid you to have any contact with Barty Crouch until I say otherwise."

"But..."

"Patience, Rosier. You will not contact him. People must not find out what's going on. When it's time, I'll pick up him like a ripe fruit."

"But how are you so sure he'll join us, if we seem to forget about him?"

"He has tasted the Dark Arts. He'll come."

* * * * *

For the first time in his life, Barty was reluctant to return to Hogwarts. He had too much to think about, and needed more solitary time to sort it all out. Not even the school was as it had been before. When he was finally sitting in the Gryffindor table of the Great Hall, he felt the atmosphere had changed.

People were afraid.

He first heard about Erica Fenwick, a sixth year Hufflepuff. Everybody seemed to know about her family tragedy, casting anxious looks towards the Hufflepuff table. Her father had been killed in a Death Eater attack just after Christmas, the students whispered to each other, looking pale and uneasy.

But Erica wasn't the only one affected by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Oswin Vance's uncle was missing, and Mary-Ann Collins's Muggle parents had barely survived the burning of their home. The teachers were eating the welcoming dinner in complete silence; even Dumbledore looked unusually grave.

"Did you hear what happened in Bedford..." started someone.

"My parents were afraid to let me come back after the Christmas holidays. There are more and more attacks every day, and they are not sure if the Ministry can handle this at all..."

"Those are not just attacks. This is a war. At least that's what my father said."

"What if they attack Hogsmeade? Or Hogwarts..."

"They will never attack Hogwarts."

"I don't like it. I don't like it at all. So much death..."

"Those bastards."

The atmosphere made Barty oddly nervous, and he decided to leave the dinner early. Dumbledore had tried to speak some encouraging words, and cheer people up by promising there would be Hogsmeade weekends anyway with himself personally guaranteeing the safety of the students. The headmaster's words didn't make Barty feel any better, though. At the moment he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

He couldn't forget the dreamlike meeting with Lord Voldemort. He was now totally sure his experience at the Blacks' hadn't been just his imagination. It had been too real. And there was more... He hadn't noticed it at once, but when he took a bath in that evening he found an odd sort of a burn mark on his inner forearm. It was shaped like a skull and serpent, the feared Dark Mark, and it hurt a little as he touched it. The burn had vanished in a couple of days, not even leaving a scar, but afterwards Barty was even more certain he had been visited and touched by the Dark Lord.

Was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named indeed the competent teacher Evan had been talking about? Barty didn't like this thought nagging at his mind, because it could mean only one thing. Evan Rosier was a Death Eater after all.

And that would mean he had to check his opinions on either Evan, or You-Know-Who's supporters in general.

It was all so very confusing. He wasn't sure what was the best thing to do, but one thing was certain: it wasn't wise to tell anyone about it. After all, he himself had been the one who had begged Evan to teach him the Dark magic in the first place.

He desperately needed something to help him to sort his thoughts.

"Bill, let's go flying."

Bill, who had followed him shortly afterwards, was reluctant to the idea. He was a Prefect after all, and Prefects didn't sneak out of the castle at night just for fun. Or that's what he always said, but eventually he always found himself agreeing to Barty's pleading.

"I don't want to break into broom closet this time, Barty."

"You can fly with me. My broom will bear two."

They flew high above the Hogwarts castle, wind blowing in their hair. The night sky was clear, and the stars twinkled back to Barty as he laughed. It was happiness as he knew it.

* * * * *

The next few weeks passed surprisingly quickly. The teachers were so keen to give loads of homework to the students that Barty had hardly time to think about Evan or You-Know-Who. He knew he needed the distraction, because he really wasn't ready to face the subject yet. But when the wizarding world was at war, it wasn't possible to avoid those things forever.

"Barty, your father's in the Prophet!"

Holly Plumpton, a fellow Gryffindor sixth year, waved the newspaper happily in the air at the breakfast table. Everyone knew she had a secret crush on Barty. They didn't realise Barty knew it too, although after the disastrous Yule Ball last December he couldn't help avoiding the fact that the girl whom he cared about was going out with another guy, and Holly Plumpton was in love with him.

Barty took the offered newspaper reluctantly, more to stop the annoying scene than anything else. Those days his father appeared quite often in Daily Prophet, shining like a star, giving speeches, shaking hands, and proclaiming the ultimate victory in the war against the Dark wizards. In newspapers his father appeared as a hero, the saviour of the Wizarding world, which was what he probably more than anything wanted to be. But Barty, who had once thought his father was his greatest hero, found it unsettling to see others hero-worshipping his father so openly.

The headline made him freeze.

Killing Curse -Our weapon of victory?

Ministry allows Aurors use the Unforgivables against Death Eaters.

Below was a black-and-white photograph of his father, speaking in front of an intently-listening audience. Barty knew the look in his father's eyes. That's what his father always looked like when they were discussing important matters, like tolerance, and respect towards elders, and those evil Dark wizards who used evil Dark Arts in order to destroy the wizarding world.

Barty even knew what his father's voice must have sounded like when he was giving that speech. It was the same voice that had been nagging in Barty's head for so long now. It criticised his friendship with Evan; it warned him about playing with Dark magic; it had shouted in his head when he tested the Killing Curse on a fly. Barty knew the voice was called a conscience, but why on earth did his conscience have to sound like his father? He had almost started listening to it. Until this.

The more Barty stared at the headline of the Daily Prophet, the more deceived he felt. All those nightmares that had made his sleep so restless felt suddenly his father's fault. He had believed his father when he had told him that the Dark magic was inherently evil. That had made the subject maybe even more intriguing, but the fear and guilt were always there, eating Barty alive. He had believed his father's idealism; that the world was divided in good and evil (although Barty had started to fear he was one of the bad guys). Most of all, he had believed in his father.

So why did his father suddenly value the Dark Curses against which he had been fighting? Why did he teach Barty those curses were evil, if he didn't hesitate to use them as his aid?

His father hardly had any nightmares.

A female voice addressed Barty, and as he lowered the newspaper he found himself facing Professor McGonagall, Head of his House. She looked even grimmer than usual.

"We've just received an urgent owl from your father. He says he's coming to meet you today at two o'clock."

A cold sense of foreboding filled Barty. "What has happened? Has something happened to..." He couldn't end the sentence. When he had returned to Hogwarts a few weeks earlier his mother hadn't actually been feeling very well. That was in fact often the case those days. It would be horrible, truly horrible, if something happened to her. That couldn't be the matter, could it?

"He didn't say anything else in the letter," interrupted Professor McGonagall. "I'll get you when your father arrives. Until then, you may attend all your normal classes."

"Why didn't he owl me directly?" shouted Barty, frustrated, but McGonagall was already on her way to the Transfiguration classroom.

* * * * *

At exactly two o'clock Professor McGonagall knocked onto the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom door. Despite the topical issue, the Dark Curses and why they were illegal, Barty found it hard to concentrate. His thoughts constantly returned to his parents. When McGonagall finally appeared, Barty jumped up at once, grasping his books, parchment and quill hastily, and all but ran out of the classroom behind the Professor.

"Where are we going?"

"Your father is waiting for you in the Gryffindor common room."

"Is he..."

"Wait until we get there."

The walk to the Gryffindor tower felt longer than usual, but finally they reached the hidden entrance. In addition to the usual portrait, there was now also a strict-looking wizard guarding the place. He nodded briefly to Barty, who recognised the man as one of his father's bodyguards. He stepped into the room behind Professor McGonagall, and saw his father standing in front of the fireplace. But he was accompanied by yet another wizard whom Barty didn't know.

"Hello, son," his father said simply, turning away from the decorated wall panels he seemed to have been studying. A thought occurred to Barty that it was probably the first time for his father to be in the Gryffindor common room. He tried to find a sign of some emotion in his father's expression, something that would warn him of what news he'll receive, but he couldn't read his father.

"Hello, dad," he said weakly. "Has something happened?"

"Bartemius, I'd like to introduce..."

"Is mother all right?" Barty burst out, a sense of foreboding suddenly making him feel almost ill.

Nonplussed, his father looked at him. "Your mother? No, there's nothing wrong with Sophia. Why?"

He should've felt relieved, but instead he felt just embarrassed. What had made him worry about his mother like a wimp in front of father? Of course there was nothing wrong with his mother.

"It's nothing, dad."

"Good. Well, Bartemius, let me now explain why I am here, all right?"

He nodded. Why did father always make him feel like he wasn't quite in the same league? Already he felt stupid and childish, and they had barely started their conversation. It felt as if they were talking a different language sometimes.

"Son, may I introduce Roland Warden -" The brown-haired wizard who was sitting in the corner nodded briefly. "He'll be your bodyguard from now on."

"What!" Barty could hardly believe his ears.

Mr Crouch coughed. "Didn't you read the morning paper?"

"I did." The fury and confusion the article had caused in him was returning. But he was never going to show those feelings to his father. Never.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm not happy to legalise those curses, but that's our only chance to win this war. Unfortunately, some people fail to understand my point. The enemy will hate me even more than before. I'm not afraid for my own safety, but I would never forgive myself if they hurt you."

"Father..."

"You'll need to be protected, especially from now on. We're at war, Bartemius. Don't look like that. It's necessary for your own safety, at least for a while."

Barty hated the idea of having a bodyguard with all his heart. He didn't need anyone to baby-sit him, and moreover, he didn't want his father spying on him. He knew he had to contact Evan in the near future; there were too many unanswered questions, and he needed to know the truth. But if the truth was what he suspected, it wouldn't do if his father knew about their friendship.

"But I'm at Hogwarts, father. I'm perfectly safe here without a bodyguard."

His father clearly didn't think so. Barty knew his father didn't trust Dumbledore's ability to defend Hogwarts if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked there with full force, and Mr Crouch even told this to Professor McGonagall, whose frown deepened considerably. But even though McGonagall perhaps believed in the headmaster, Crouch was used to getting his way, and soon he left the room accompanied by McGonagall to discuss the details with Dumbledore.

Barty was left in the common room together with an unfamiliar man who was supposed to become his bodyguard. He decided to stay, for his class would end in ten minutes anyway. The silent man had started to somewhat interest him.

"He didn't ask my opinion. At all!"

"Never mind that. I'll try to stay out of your way as much as possible. I can work in very subtle ways. We Aurors are famous for that."

"You are an Auror?"

"I used to be. But I quit recently."

"Ah, I see... What's your name?"

"I'm Roland Warden."

"Barty Crouch. Nice to meet you." They shook hands awkwardly.

"You know, I think this is a rather stupid idea. Are you going to follow me everywhere. To classes? What about bathroom?"

"Don't worry, you'll have your freedom. I just want to make sure that none of those Dark wizards can harm you. You must understand, Bartemius, that your father cares about you. That's why he hired me."

"Gosh, I know. I just... feel stupid if you are following me all the time."

"I'll try not to cause you more inconvenience than is necessary," promised Warden, smiling slightly.

* * * * *

Warden kept his promise. During the following weeks, Barty hardly saw the ex-Auror. Of course, Barty was surrounded by the walls of Hogwarts castle and all its protections all the time. There were no bigger threats for him than an angry Fire Crab at their Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Dumbledore let Mr Warden stay, probably more because he thought Warden didn't any harm by being there than because of his real concern for Barty's safety. Warden was seen studying the magical protections of the castle, and occasionally talking with the teachers, but most of his time he seemed to spend in his room in the teachers' quarters.

From time to time, Warden appeared in the Gryffindor common room (he seemed to know the password), and tried to start a conversation with Barty. Those conversations felt almost like interrogations to Barty, and he found himself hesitant to answer some questions. Soon he learned that the best way to avoid the unwanted questioning was to change to subject to Mr Warden himself. On these occasions, he learned that Mr Warden was Muggle-born, and that his mother and sister knew about the wizarding world, but he had never told them about his work as a Dark wizard catcher. They didn't even know about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Barty found it amazing that there were people who didn't know about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He hadn't paid much attention to the existence of Muggle world before.

Warden spoke a lot about what was it like to be an Auror. He was clearly proud of his previous job, and Barty had to admit that Warden's stories made the battle against the Dark Arts sound almost cool. He spoke so enthusiastically that Barty finally had to ask: "Why did you quit, then?"

Warden became silent, his expression suddenly severe. "Er, well, I guess you have to know. I disagree with your father on some issues. One of those issues is the recent authorisation of the Unforgivable Curses. It's more like an order to use them, really. They will use those curses freely now, and I'm against it. I'm afraid they will be used too often. Even Death Eaters should be heard in front of the Wizengamot before their judgement. If they are dead or insane, they can't defend themselves, and they've got no chance to explain why they did what they did. Moreover, I'm positive that every time a person uses an Unforgivable, something inside him dies. Will we Aurors end as monsters, then?"

It was a disturbing subject. Barty stared at the middle-aged man sitting in the armchair, looking quite relaxed in spite of the grim subject. He wished he had never started the topic.

"So my father fired you, then?"

"Not exactly. I quit myself. He was very understanding, and offered me this other job."

Barty couldn't help a mischievous grin. "And you're guarding me because you don't want to kill or torture Dark wizards. What do you do, then, if one of them tries to kill me?"

"I have many effective ways to stop them attacking."

"But you can't block the Killing Curse, can you?"

"No, I can't. No one can."

It's true, Barty thought. It's the most powerful of all curses. And that's why I'd like to master it. I want to show myself that I can do it.

* * * * *

Barty finally sent an owl to Evan Rosier in February.

It had been a strange month. Every morning, the Great Hall became dead silent as the owl post arrived. Any letter could mean bad news, and it wasn't unusual that someone paled or burst in tears in the breakfast table after reading hopeless news of their family members now dead or missing. If it hadn't been war before, it certainly was now. Many students carried a black ribbon as a sign of their family loss; almost none of them were Slytherins, which increased the already palpable hate or fear towards that particular House. The Slytherins were an even more isolated group than before, and not even the Hufflepuffs spoke to them anymore if they could avoid it. The aged Head of their House, Professor Copperkettle, had health problems the Slytherins believed to have been caused by the malignant attitude against their House. Barty saw Regulus Black at advanced Potions class each week, but Regulus looked as withdrawn as ever, and he couldn't find anything to say to him.

Yes, it had been a strange month, but Barty felt oddly indifferent to what was going on in the outside world. He stopped reading Daily Prophet altogether. He wasn't scared of the Death Eater attacks; if the Dark Lord had wanted to kill him he'd had his chance in New Year's Eve. For some reason he didn't feel anything when he heard news of killings and disappearances. Mainly, he tried not to think about those things. But if he did, he was always thinking of Evan, wondering if Evan had been there as well.

Those recurring thoughts made him finally take a quill, and write a short letter to his old Slytherin friend. In two weeks, their first Hogsmeade weekend was to take place. Barty knew the owl post might be intercepted, so he just suggested a place and time for a meeting. They would meet in a local pub and inn called the Hog's Head, at 5pm on the day of their Hogsmeade visit. He signed himself plainly 'B'; Evan would know from who it was.

He needed Bill to guard the entrance to the Owlery so that Warden wouldn't take them unawares. Reluctantly, Bill agreed to help, although he was seemingly suspicious about the letter. Barty didn't let him know who was the addressee, but Bill knew him all too well, claiming to be certain that the letter was meant for 'that sly devil Rosier'. Barty let him be. His heart pounding, because he really didn't want to meet Warden just then, he climbed the stairs to the top of West Tower. The Owlery was full of screeches and fluttering of wings. It wasn't wise to use his own owl, so he chose one of those proud-looking eagle owls that were popular among the Slytherins. Let the interceptors think 'B' is a Slytherin student, Barty thought, and couldn't help a wicked grin. B as in Black. Like Regulus Black.

"He wouldn't have guts to do this," Barty said aloud. Owls around him hooted in agreement.

* * * * *

The morning of their Hogsmeade visit arrived foggy and grey. There had been no answer to Barty's letter to the date. Anyway, he decided go to the Hog's Head on the appointed time. But when he descended the steps of the boys' dormitory, ready to leave to Hogsmeade village, he instantly noticed the slender figure of Mr Warden sitting peacefully in one of the armchairs in the Gryffindor common room.

"Oh no," Barty said. "Don't say this means you're going to follow me."

Corner of Warden's mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile. "Well spotted. That's why I'm here - to offer you protection."

"I don't need protection. Dumbledore has already put more than enough protection spells around Hogsmeade. And there are always Aurors patrolling around."

Mr Warden's expression showed clearly the bodyguard didn't value Dumbledore's defences highly. "I won't disturb you, Crouch. But you do need to know that I will be there. Just in case."

"Merlin's bollocks, it's just a Hogsmeade weekend."

However, Warden was resolute in his decision. Barty found it hard to concentrate on the discussion around him as he finally walked towards the village together with Bill and a couple of other Gryffindors. Instead, he tried to plan a way to enter the Hog's Head so that Mr Warden wouldn't notice. He had plenty of time to find a solution, but there was now another worry, too. What if Evan couldn't risk entering the village that was under so many protections? If he was what Barty thought, he wouldn't like all those Aurors patrolling the streets. He hadn't thought about that when he'd sent the letter to his friend.

He just wanted to know the truth. Why was everything so difficult?

Finally, Barty had a plan. He was sitting on a corner table of the Three Broomsticks with Bill and others, sipping Butterbeer, and comparing their purchases. He had come to think of using the Invisibility Cloak his father had given to him. Last Halloween, he'd been fooling around with it; it had been really fun. Later, his father had asked him to be more careful with it. But now it was time to take the cloak out of the closet again. Invisibility Cloaks can be used for many purposes, Barty knew. Those cloaks were specially developed for Aurors' spying needs. Thank God, Mr Warden doesn't seem to own one, Barty thought as he watched from the corner of his eye the ex-Auror leaning on the wall near the door.

Barty still had a plenty of time before his appointed meeting with Evan. It should be possible to return to the castle with his friends, and then sneak back to the village under the Invisibility Cloak in time. It was his best chance. He couldn't help grinning. He was going to fool the ex-Auror, and he was going to see Evan after all. If Evan managed to come.

* * * * *

It felt unnerving to walk under the Invisibility Cloak at first. He felt very vulnerable as he sneaked out of the Gryffindor common room. The room was almost empty, but Mr Warden still sat in the armchair as if he'd only waited for Barty to do something mischievous. Barty moved very slowly, step by step, so that the currents of air wouldn't expose him. Finally, he was out of the room, and Warden hadn't yet run to stop him. A victory! The corridors were easier, although his heart missed a beat as a ghost slid right through him. When there was no one in sight, he carefully opened the main door, and then he was outside.

Barty was at the Hog's Head five minutes before the appointed time. All the day it had been slightly raining, but now the rain was getting heavier, and by the time he approached his destination he was already soaking wet. He disrobed his Invisibility Cloak outside, and cast a simple spell to dry his hair and robes, and to shrink the Invisibility Cloak so that it fitted in his pocket. Then he was ready to enter the inn.

He had peeked in the Hog's Head only once before, and the room was as crowded as then. No one seemed to notice him as he entered, but nevertheless he pulled his hood to shade his face. Evan was nowhere to be seen. Barty ordered a pint from the barman, because it seemed the right thing to do, and because he was curious to taste real beer. He found a free chair in one table and sat down to wait for Evan. No one paid any attention to him.

It was quarter past five. Evan hadn't arrived.

Half past five, and no sign of Evan. Barty was becoming a bit restless. Had Evan even received his owl? Or had he decided not to come?

Quarter to six Barty asked the barman about Evan. No one had seen a wizard like him around. Barty decided to leave after he'd finished the pint.

At six o'clock, he decided to order another pint. All that trouble he had coming all the way to the Hog's Head, he might as well enjoy his visit. And he'd found out he kind of liked the taste of ale.

The Hog's Head turned out to be an interesting place. Barty had received some suspicious looks at first, but after he ordered the second pint a couple of wizards started a conversation with him. One of them told Barty about his dangerous adventures among the merpeople, another wanted to play a round of wizard chess with him. No one seemed to recognise him as Barty Crouch's son, and if they realised he was a Hogwarts student, the fact didn't seem to bother anyone. After a while, Barty actually had a good time. And as it often happened to Barty when he was having fun, he suddenly realised in a shock that the time had really flown -it was half past seven now, and it was already dark outside.

Barty swore silently - it was a too big risk for him to stay for any longer. Excusing himself, he stood up to leave. The return trip wasn't going to be nice - it was still raining, and the nasty north wind was blowing harder than before. He wished he had a Portkey or even a broom, but now he had to walk all the way. And he hadn't even managed to see Evan.

Outside the pub, Barty had just put on his Invisibility Cloak for the return trip, when a sight of a familiar person made him freeze. What on earth did Albus Dumbledore do at the Hog's Head? For it was certainly the headmaster who'd just walked beside him, vanishing inside the inn. Barty quickly hid himself behind the corner before he remembered he was invisible. The curiosity took the better of him, and he sneaked back to the inn after Dumbledore.

The headmaster wasn't in the pub, which meant he had most probably gone upstairs, where the inn's guest rooms were situated. It was a bit trickier to find him there, for all the doors were shut, but when Barty had decided to do something, he wasn't going to give up so easily. One by one, he used a simple opening spell on the guest room doors, peeking inside as silently as he could. Only the second to last door turned out to be the one he was looking for. He could see Dumbledore sitting in a cosy armchair near the fireplace, his back turned to Barty. Most interesting, he was accompanied by a woman. Did the old headmaster have an affair? Barty wasn't sure if he really wanted to know, but the two of them were in a middle of a conversation, and he chose to eavesdrop a bit.

"...adore your teaching methods so much. It would be an honour for me to be able to teach at Hogwarts."

She was a lively witch in her forties, dressed in bright green fancy robes and shawls, wearing a pair of enormous glasses and a hat with an ostrich feather. Barty was almost sure the lady was trying to kiss the headmaster. She was constantly leaning towards him, speaking in a soft voice, her long hair tickling Dumbledore's nose.

"We've talked about the job conditions. But please tell me when I can actually start."

"Erm, I've only started interviewing the applicants..."

The witch straightened up. "Ah, I feel you don't appreciate my Divination skills. I must say you won't get anyone with a better reputation than I. I'm related to Cassandra Trelawney, as I told you in my application letter. The Divination gift is very strong in my family."

Barty could understand what the witch was talking about. His grandmother on his mother's side has had the Seer gift. Barty was almost sure his own mother had inherited the gift; she seemed to know things beforehand, although she had never admitted it to Barty. What came to Barty himself, he hadn't unfortunately inherited the talent, which he had disappointingly found out in Divination.

"...thought all was clear when I came here. I see I was mistaken. This horrible weather is clouding my Inner Eye!" The witch sounded disappointed and angry. She had to be one of those applicants for Professor Moonstone's job, Barty knew now. Well, she couldn't be much weirder than Priscilla Moonstone who decided to leave her job and ran away with someone named Lovegood - right in the middle of the school year.

Dumbledore sighed. "I want to be honest, Miss Trelawney. I don't think you have it in you. And I don't want to take more of your precious time. I'm sorry." The headmaster rose from the chair, ready to leave.

Barty was going to retreat from the door to let the headmaster through, but the witch had suddenly become horribly white. Next moment, she fell back, and only Dumbledore's quick move (Barty didn't knew the old man could move so quickly) saved her from falling down onto the hard floor. Barty was looking at the scene helplessly, for a moment wondering if he should reveal himself and run to help Dumbledore, but then the witch started to speak slowly in an odd harsh voice. Relieved, Barty realised that it wasn't a disease attack at all, but just a prediction that wanted to come out. His own grandmother had had those all the time. Curious, Barty leaned forward to listen.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."

Barty was astonished. The witch had some real Seer blood after all.

"...born to those who have thrice defied him..."

The witch was talking about the Dark Lord! It was a prediction! Barty's heart was bounding. He knew the importance of real predictions. And he wanted to hear every word of this one.

"...born as the seventh month dies..."

It was a warning! Was he meant to hear it? Barty believed in destiny. He leaned even more forward to hear better, but suddenly...

"Barty Crouch," said a low, almost menacing voice behind him.

Shocked, he turned around, desperately trying to pull the fallen hood of the Invisibility Cloak back to cover his head, but the damage was already done. He was seen. Worse, he was seen by Mr Warden, the bodyguard he'd never wanted in the first place. Warden had managed to find him in the end.

"Would you explain what you are doing, boy? Sneaking into people's rooms in an Invisibility Cloak? Come away this moment! Careless brat, I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Mr Warden, usually so calm, was now simply furious. Barty retreated reluctantly from the door. Fortunately Dumbledore was too busy with the Seer witch to notice the commotion in the corridor.

"Don't you have brains at all? Wandering in Hogsmeade after dark! You're easy prey for the Death Eaters, boy!"

Barty shrugged, desperately trying to memorise the prophecy he'd just heard. They walked out of the inn together, Mr Warden gripping his arm tightly, still shouting like a Howler. Most of the pub customers stared at them as they passed, shouting amused comments behind them:

"Were you out too late, boy?"

"Shall we have a fight here? More beer!"

"Look, he's dragging him out!"

It was quite a scene for the pub customers' entertainment.

Outside, Mr Warden turned to question Barty more.

"So, what were you doing upstairs? Peeping into people's bedrooms?"

"Nothing." Barty was sulking.

It was definitely not nothing, he knew. It was a real prophecy, and Barty was destined to hear it. But that was something he wasn't going to tell to Mr Warden.

If only he would have heard the whole thing!

They were walking along the darkened streets of Hogsmeade. Mr Warden clearly wanted to get them out of there as soon as possible. If they'd walked more quickly they'd be running. The bodyguard was still tense, but the anger had vanished now.

"I'm sorry," he apologised to Barty. "I shouldn't have shouted to you. But when I realised you had disappeared I somehow feared for the worst. You know, your father has some really bad enemies. I searched the whole castle, and when I couldn't find you there I proceeded to Hogsmeade. And here I finally found you - at the Hog's Head, from all the places! Doing something I don't want to even know about! Completely unaware that some people have been very worried because of you."

"I wasn't in danger at all."

"You can't know it. Wandering alone after dark won't do, especially in your case. Don't you realise we live in the middle of a Dark wizard threat?"

Barty wasn't listening. He tried to memorise the prediction as they walked towards the castle.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."

Left, right, left, right. The prophecy became a mantra he repeated over and over again in the rhythm of his steps.

"...born to those who have thrice defied him..."

He closed Mr Warden's annoying voice out his world. Currently, the only thing that mattered was the prophecy. He needed to memorise it. He was meant to memorise it.

"...born as the seventh month dies..."

When they reached the Hogwarts castle Barty knew the lines effortlessly by heart.

* * * * *

"Welcome home, dear son." Did mother hug him more tightly than usual? Everyone was getting so emotional these days, thought Barty. As if he was an Auror returning home from his duty, not a Hogwarts student visiting home on Easter holidays.

"Mum, I'm all right."

"I can see it, Bartemius. You must have grown yet another inch."

Mother, instead, had grown weaker. Barty didn't dare to ask her anything, but he noticed that she was clearly in pain. The pain came in cramps, making her pale and silently gasping all of a sudden. Something was clearly wrong with mother, but no one ever told him anything. Was it something serious? Had she visited a healer? Couldn't they do anything to that pain? Someone had to be able to do something; his father sure had enough money to find a good healer, hadn't he?

The idea of the Easter holidays at home had felt slightly better than staying at the castle with that nosy ex-Auror Warden. If Barty had known the bodyguard would follow him home he would have perhaps reconsidered. At least he still had his private territory. The only thing he needed to do was to keep Mr Warden away from his room so that Warden wouldn't notice the spells he'd used to seal the room with.

Evan hadn't answered any of his letters, not even the last one where he tried to explain as clearly as possible that he had something important to tell him. The prophecy. Barty couldn't believe that Evan wouldn't want to be friends with him anymore. Did he keep distance to protect him? Or what if something bad had happened to him? It felt almost impossible now to contact Evan, and make him understand that Barty knew something, something big, to which he needed Evan's advice.

No, he was on his own now. The decision that had to be made would be only his to make.

In the evening an unexpected owl knocked its beak in a demanding way on Barty's bedroom window. It was carrying a half-written Transfiguration essay he had forgotten to take with him when he left for the holidays. Bill had kindly remembered to post it after him.

Barty stared at the post owl, which had to be one from the school Owlery. No one would miss the bird for a couple of days.

Suddenly he knew what to do. He took a piece of parchment from the drawer, and grabbed the quill and ink that were waiting on the table. His hands were trembling, but it was from excitement. He wrote the words hastily, for if he hesitated the letter would most likely never be sent. The letter didn't become long. It didn't need to be. Everything that was really important was said there:

Please contact me. I have some important information for you.

B. Crouch, Jr.

He tied the letter onto the owl's leg with clumsy hands. A peek from the window told him that no one was in sight, not even that annoying Warden. He was really going to do it.

There was no need for an envelope. It would have been too risky, and owls were intelligent animals after all.

"Fly well," he whispered to the owl, gently stroking its brown feathers. "Take this letter to the Dark Lord."

The owl squealed slightly.

"Yes, you know who he is. ...Lord Voldemort. You'll find him. Just take this to him. Now."

The echo of the forbidden name stayed in Barty's room long after the owl had finally flown away.