"Go straight home. Do not speak to anyone. Burn your clothes."
Even hours later, the parting words that Rodolphus offered were weighing heavy on his mind as he walked though the night. It was if the man was sending him to the grocer's, the casual way he whispered to Barty in the Aurors' kitchen just before they set off to Disapparate. He hadn't even looked Barty in the eye; Rodolphus had been distracted by the bloodstains and singed hair on his robes.
Lestrange should have known his words were a waste of breath. Barty never had much cared for following instructions; he found things turned out much the same if he did things his own way. So it only made sense to head to the quiet of the moorlands. He had been alone save a shrieking merlin, soaring through the cold night air above him, and the little house that sat alone atop an icy hill.
He felt safer and in an even greater danger all at once as he peered through her bedroom window. The lights were dim but he was sure she was still awake. She had always been a night owl. Just before he Apparated, Barty wondered if he even had the strength for the little bit of magic. With a rush of air and a loud pop, Barty was inside and alone. He felt unusually sick, like when he had first learned to Apparate. In the next room, he heard bathwater sloshing about. The air was warm and almost moist, lit by candles and a dying fire in the corner, an exotic scent like cardamom or vanilla reaching up his nose.
"God, Barty, what is it?"
He almost flinched when she said his name. Glancing over his shoulder, he found her standing in the doorway of the bathroom. She was still dripping wet, wrapped hastily in a snowy towel, her hair curly from the steam. For a tense moment neither of them said a word and she looked cross.
"Alecto," he whispered through dry lips. Her face softened, and for a moment panic shown in her eyes. Quickly, Alecto darted across the room and retrieved a dressing robe, slipping it over her towel. He hadn't moved since entering her house; he was afraid of getting blood on her things. Barty said nothing as she rushed up to him, her eyes searching him like hands.
"You're filthy," she remarked, "What happened?" As she spoke, Alecto reached out to investigate his sleeve, and when she drew her hand back there was crimson staining her fingertips. And she had only just taken a bath…
"Not mine," were all Barty could muster. He felt almost drunk, as if there was a haze around his brain preventing him from functioning. His stomach turned. For a moment, in her room with the high ceiling and hardwood floors, the only sound was the snap of firewood.
"What hap-" she began to repeat herself, but Barty found his tongue again. His hands fell to his sides, as if there was no fight left in him.
"Aurors," was the only word he could put out. Alecto's eyes grew wide and she swung her head around, as if she thought he had been followed.
"Frank Longbottom and his wife," Barty continued, "We found them. Went to their house. Interrogated them," he stammered. It was the wrong phrase to use but Barty found himself unwilling to tell Alecto what he had done to them, or what he had allowed the others. The more he thought upon it, the harder it was to drown out Alice Longbottom's screams.
"Are they dead?" Alecto shuddered, her voice barely a whisper. There was fear in her eyes, fear he hadn't seen since Halloween night. Barty shook his head silently. In the next moment, her eyes flickered around the room and her body grew stiff, and then she set into a panic.
"You have done," she muttered, "A very stupid thing." Alecto went to her nightstand and retrieved her wand, pointing it past him and to the door.
"Muffliato," she hissed, stowing her wand in the pocket of her robe. She then came at him, and he flinched as her hands reached him, until her realized she was tearing off his cloak. She tossed it aside and he watched as the black wool pooled upon the polished wood floor. The next thing he was aware of was Alecto's nimble hands working off his shirt, and he put his hands up in protest.
"Hey!" he said a little louder than he had meant to, and she pushed his hands away, not even looking up at him.
"It's got blood on it," Alecto replied plainly. The smell, coppery and sweet, caught in his nose as she pulled the fabric over his head. She discarded his undershirt as well, and then went straight away to her wardrobe. As she rifled through the drawers, she babbled about him being caught. It wasn't long until her rant trailed off into sobs. Barty cursed, lumbered over to her, and enclosed her in his arms. She cried, and he could feel her knuckles balled up against his belly.
"I lost Evan. I'm not losing you."
With a sob, she asked him if the Aurors could have followed him. Alecto sniffled, and he held her tight for a moment, desperately wanting to tell her what he had done, and terrified of how she would react.
"They're not in any state," he whispered, "to tell anyone we were there tonight."
"What did you do?" Alecto asked, her voice forced. Barty released her and nodded towards her bed; she dropped down onto it, one leg dangling off the side. Barty looked at her for a long while before he spoke.
"Rodolphus and Bella, and Rab, too…we though they knew. Where the Dark Lord is."
"He's dead!" Alecto interjected, startling him.
"He can't be."
"Barty, the house…it blew up! We found his robes, we found his wand…"
"But not his body," Barty whispered, "Not his blood. Just the two Potters. Tell me, Alecto, if you think he couldn't have escaped."
"It…it was powerful magic, Barty. You know, if something like that backfires-"
"You doubt him?" he asked, locking his eyes onto hers.
"I- I don't know, Barty, I don't know what to think. He would have…he would have contacted us somehow. You're right, if anyone could have gotten out of that house, it would be him, but…"
Alecto was near tears again, and he rested his hand on her knee, standing over her. He was cold, being naked to the waist and all; goose pimples rose across his arms and chest. Silence was over them like a veil, the only sound in the vast dark room was the faint buzzing of her muffling spell.
"So what did you get from the Aurors?" she asked quietly.
"Nothing," he replied with a growl, "Absolutely nothing. They think that brat, that little half-breed, defeated the Dark Lord."
Alecto cocked her head back and opened her mouth as if she would speak, but shook her head after a moment. She stuck out her hand, offering him the shirt. He laughed when he noticed the letters on it.
"I, uh, ended up with it when I left the Riddle house," Alecto muttered, "your stupid Portugal shirt."
A smile found itself across his lips, and it felt wrong. Barty took the ancient shirt from her and pulled it on, noting that it smelled very faintly of her perfume. It tickled him, deep down, to think she had kept it, and maybe even worn it. He dropped down onto her bed and it was only then Barty realized how exhausted he was. It was like his whole body was on fire, his hands shaking, his mind racing.
It would be a long night.