A/N: In case you're wondering, Colburn is an OC.

The Changing of Seasons

It was the type of warm autumn day that bespoke of color and change, of the imminent presence of the sweeping winds of winter that would soon tear the rainbow of leaves away from their branches and leave nothing but cold limbs painting black streaks against the colorless sky. The fact that such a day had landed on a Saturday only increased its appeal, lulling crowds of students onto the grounds with its lure of dewy grass tickling their feet, warm, gentle winds caressing their face and the lake's smooth embrace protecting them from the sun's rays.

A group of three girls daintily dipped their feet into the even, cold glass that was the lake, while further away two young boys lazily threw stones and twigs at the Whomping Willow and another group of three amused themselves by attempting to hoist themselves up among the branches of a soaring tree.

By the trunk of a shorter, squatter tree, a plain-looking girl sat alone with a textbook on her lap and a few scattered sheets of scrawled on parchment at her feet. Barty Crouch was also alone and, taking note of the girl, strode purposefully towards her before placing himself next to her in a sitting position and regarding her with the detached air of someone who was observing a mildly intriguing insect. The girl, for her part, did not appreciate being observed like a particularly odd sort of specimen, but only showed her disapproval through the slight crease that appeared on her forehead as she continued reading.

Oblivious to her uncomfortable annoyance, Crouch continued examining the rare, incomprehensible specimen before his eyes, until the crease on her forehead deepened and she finally spoke in a forced polite tone, "Is there anything I can do for you, Crouch?"

He replied in the objective sort of tone one might use when quoting from an encyclopedia or other authoritative source. "You don't have any friends anymore."

A slight tinge appeared to her pale face, but she continued resolutely staring at the pages in front of her. "If you're only here to insult me, I have N.E.W.T.s to be studying for."

"It's not an insult, Colburn. It's just interesting that as soon as that newspaper article appeared in the Daily Prophet, all of your friends suddenly disappeared."

The tinge to Colburn's face deepened and her next words came from behind nearly-gritted teeth. "Has it occurred to you that maybe I'm alone because I'm studying?"

"No, that's not why," he replied matter-of-factly. "I'm a Ravenclaw, not a Hufflepuff, so I do happen to have some skills of observation. Your friends abandoned you a while ago, right after that article was published. See, this is similar to why I don't have any friends. Because they wouldn't be true friends. They would only be friends with me because Father works for the Ministry. I imagine you don't have that problem, since I've never even heard of your father, but the point still stands that your friends weren't true friends, since they stopped associating with you so easily," he finished with a rather pedagogical tone.

She finally tore her eyes away from her textbook and gave the boy sitting next to her a look that was a combination of annoyance and confusion at his behavior. "What is your point?"

Evidently unaware of the normal structure of a conversation, in which people reply to each other's responses, Crouch continued in his detached manner, "What's it like being related to Death Eaters?"

At this Colburn's face gained a full flush and she angrily slammed her open textbook shut. "You know, it would be nice to have one day where nobody mentioned that blasted newspaper article which decided that screaming to the world that my brothers were arrested for being Death Eaters was a valid news item."

"Well of course it's a news item. People want to read about that sort of thing. So what's it like? Having two brothers who are Death Eaters?" Her immediate response was an exasperated exhaling, lips pursed from annoyance, and a glare dripping with venom, but Crouch obliviously continued in a nonchalant sort of tone, "Father talks about the Death Eaters like they're monsters, animals. It never really occurred to me that they might have families. I mean, you're a relatively nice person. When we had that Arithmancy project together you never hexed me or anything. And you're related to them!" He gave her an enthusiastic look, suggesting she had just been promoted from a "mildly intriguing" specimen to a "quite intriguing" specimen. "I bet Father was wrong. He's wrong about a lot of things. He thinks he knows everything, when he doesn't."

"For your information, you probably already know quite a few Death Eaters," she acridly replied, before deciding that pretending to read her textbook again would be a good idea.

"Wow, really?"

"There's a good number of Slytherins who are interested in that sort of thing, so, yes."

"Wow. See, I knew Father was wrong. He's always wrong. I know a lot of Slytherins and none of them are monsters. Doesn't it seem like it'd be interesting to be a Death Eater? Get to wear a mask, nobody knows who you are. You'd be completely judged on who you are, not on whoever you're related to. What's it like being a Death Eater?"

She spat out each of her next words, "Despite popular opinion, which seems to repeatedly confuse me for my brothers, I am not a Death Eater."

"Oh. Well, did your brothers ever talk about what it was like to be a Death Eater?"

The confused yet annoyed expression reappeared on her face as she uncomprehendingly regarded him. "Merlin, Crouch, has it ever occurred to you that there are some topics of conversation which are not considered to be socially acceptable topics of conversation?"

He looked a bit taken aback, as though an insect he was studying had suddenly gained the ability to talk and informed him that it didn't want to be studied anymore. "No," he promptly, unapologetically replied.

"Why are you so interested in the Death Eaters, anyways?"

He shrugged. "They're a big deal in the world, and it's not like I'll learn about them at home from Father."

After fixing him with a steady, analytical look, she slowly replied, "If you want to hear about the Death Eaters, talk to Lestrange. He used to give speeches in the Slytherin Common Room about welding the world through blood and fire."

He turned his head, leaving a rather innocent, naïve expression on his face. "Lestrange? Alright, I'll keep that in mind."

A few years later, when the Daily Prophet was crowded with screaming headlines of Crouch's fall from fame to infamy, accompanied with grey, deranged, disheveled photos of a scruffy, sickly, Azkaban-bound inmate with matted hair, she would remember that day: the rainbow of leaves against the cerulean sky, his sapphire eyes, his blindingly golden hair, stirring with the slight breeze like stalks of grain in a field, the vibrant emerald grass beneath their feet …

…

A/N: Constructive criticism would be appreciated on this piece; the OC is borrowed from a 100,000 word story I wrote about her, but this one-shot it intended to be able to stand alone, so please let me know if there's anything that's confusing about it. Constructive criticism on Crouch would also be appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Barty Crouch Jr., the Whomping Willow, etc.. Colburn, however, is mine.