[Content Note (Applies to whole story): Fantastic slurs, torture, corruption.]

I own nothing.

I.

"How could you have been so foolish?! Do you know what would have become of you had you been caught?! Do you know what would have become of our family?!"

Bartemius Crouch, Sr., could not claim to be having a particularly good evening. Two of his subordinates, Jameson and Parker, who had vanished during the final months of the War had finally turned up in the Orkneys, both absolutely gibbering; the Healers at St. Mungo's had diagnosed their condition as being the result of repeated application of the Cruciatus Curse, topped off with badly-performed Memory Charms. The two of them had last been seen in the company of people who later turned out to be followers of the vanquished Voldemort, but any hopes of getting information out of Jameson or Parker were remote indeed. They'd been good people, unquestioningly loyal and hard workers; Crouch didn't suppose he'd be able to find their like again.

And now, on top of that, was this.

For all that he often had to work late in the past few months since Voldemort's fall and before that, Crouch could hardly have failed to notice the strange behavior of his son. Barty had always been shy and prone to avoiding large social gatherings; for all that he was brilliant and seemed to have a bright future in front of him, Barty simply was not a sociable person. However, he'd grown even more wont to avoid large gatherings than before, giving his excuses or conveniently falling ill—though Barty, like Clio, was ill often enough, the timing of these illnesses was simply remarkable.

Moreover, Barty had been coming and going from the house at odd times of the night and morning. He'd been doing so quietly enough that he never woke his parents—the only reason Crouch even knew about it was because Winky had realized and told him—and that in itself was suspicious. Crouch had, when first told of it, written it off as Barty going out late to meet friends, and though he wasn't entirely happy, he told himself that it was a normal thing for adolescent boys to do, and that Barty was old enough that he could trust him not to shame the name of the Crouch family. The fact that Barty never ended up plastered across the front of The Daily Prophet or some gossip rag led credence to Crouch's assumptions.

Now, it seemed, he'd been entirely off the mark, and would have done better to keep a closer rein on his son.

Crouch glared furiously down at the top of his son's sandy-haired head, eyes fairly bulging out of their sockets. "What possessed you to fall in with them?!"

His son had just confessed to him and his mother that he had been recruited by Augustus Rookwood as a wizard in the service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the vanished Voldemort. Perhaps you could understand why he was resisting the urge to take Barty by the shoulders and shake him.

Standing by Barty's shoulder at the dining room table, Clio shook her head violently. "Dear, he just told you that he hadn't known what Rookwood was asking of him at first. He didn't know what was going on!" Though her shoulders shook and tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes, there was no mistaking the steel in Clio's voice as she went, "Barty, our son fell in with the wrong crowd. He fell in with the wrong crowd and recognizes that what he did was wrong. That's all there is to it."

Crouch felt all the anger go abruptly out of him, and he nodded, rubbing his forehead with a weary hand. "Alright. You're right, Clio, that's all there is to it. Barty." His voice grew sharp again as he addressed his son. Barty looked up at him for the first time that evening, his eyes frightened, and yet oddly veiled. "We will speak of this no more. I want your word that you will no longer pursue any of the activities that you were called upon to perform during your time in Rookwood's… employ." It was probably too much to ask that Barty cut off all contact with anyone he might have met through his work as Rookwood's subordinate; God only knew how many there had been, or how many walks of life they were rooted in.

"Yes, Father," Barty replied tonelessly. "You have my word."

Barty was naïve. Judging from the timeline he'd just given him, Crouch realized that Rookwood had recruited him barely a month after he'd graduated from Hogwarts. He knew nothing of the world and at Hogwarts spent most of his adolescence insulated from the true horror of the war. Rookwood was a Ministry official, someone Barty was raised to believe was trustworthy and well-intentioned. He'd fallen in with the wrong crowd. That was the only explanation Crouch would accept; any other was too appalling for words.

But this was still a disaster barely averted, and a disaster that could still unfold if things went wrong. Barty would have to keep the truth of his involvement completely secret. There was still a chance, however, that he could be exposed by others, either by former associates or by Ministry officials who went digging too deep. That would be a disaster to the Crouch family, would be a disaster to Crouch. Probably the only thing that was worse was the fact that Crouch now knew that a high-ranking official in the Department of Mysteries was a mole, and he couldn't do a thing about it on his own. He couldn't risk exposing Rookwood; everyone would want to know where he'd gotten the evidence…

"Master?"

Wearing her normal solemn expression, Winky appeared suddenly at the edge of the room, dipping a deep bow once Crouch's eyes were upon her, bat-like ears brushing the (impeccably clean) floor. "You has a visitor, sir; I has left him in the foyer, sir."

Crouch looked from his wife to his son, wondering if either of them were expecting a visitor, but they seemed just as taken aback by this as he was. It wasn't often that the Crouch manor received unexpected visitors, certainly not at this time of night. "Who is it, Winky?"

"Mister Abraxas Malfoy, sir."

Delightful. Crouch had a feeling that he knew what Abraxas wanted.

"See him in, Winky."

With another bow, the house-elf left the dining room, and barely a minute later Abraxas Malfoy, tall, gray-haired and looking more than a little worried about the eyes, entered the dining room. "Clio," he greeted his younger sister with a half-hearted smile.

"Abraxas." Clio repeated the gesture, giving him a smile just as strained as his was half-hearted.

Abraxas turned his attention from his sister to his brother-in-law, seeming not to even notice the presence of his nephew in the dining room. "Barty. I apologize for visiting without giving you some warning, but I was wondering if we could speak in private?"

Yes, Crouch definitelyknew what Abraxas wanted. "Of course," he said in decidedly clipped tones.

Leaving Clio and Barty behind, the two men went into the sitting room off to the side from the foyer, Crouch firmly shutting the door behind him and scanning the room to be sure that Winky wasn't there before getting down to business. "Alright, Abraxas, what is it?"

Sitting in a ever-so-slightly overstuffed armchair, Abraxas was trying entirely too hard to act nonchalant and at his ease, and came off instead as bearing a distinct air of desperation on his person, barely hidden and easily discernible to anyone who knew what to look for—and in more than twenty-five years of marriage to Clio, Crouch had had more than enough time to learn how to tell when Abraxas was trying to hide something. Abraxas dropped his smile, adopting instead a grim expression. "You are, I'm assuming, aware of my son's recent arrest?"

"I am indeed." Yes, Crouch was highly aware of Lucius's arrest earlier that week; Frank Longbottom had come into work with a still-healing broken nose, and Alice was swearing she'd never agree to go on a raid again.

Abraxas tapped the fingers of each of his hands together, a nervous gesture of his that Crouch had always known him to slip into when he wanted something very badly, but wasn't sure if he was going to get it. "Lucius is claiming the influence of the Imperius Curse as his defense."

Crouch raised an eyebrow. "Is he? I doubt that the court will consider that a plausible defense, given the performance he gave upon being arrested."

The elder Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Are you so sure of that, Barty?"

In all honesty, Crouch was of the opinion that if his nephew was short-sighted enough to be caught after Voldemort had fallen at the hands of the Potter boy when his name hadn't even come up on the list of potential Death Eaters during the War, then he probably deserved Azkaban. Lucius had had a free ticket to a quiet life, and he had squandered it. He had foolishly gotten himself caught in a raid on a suspected meeting place for Voldemort's followers. Once again, Crouch thought that if Lucius was really that short-sighted, he really did deserve to go to prison. Thoughtlessness got one nowhere in the Wizarding World.

"After all, Barty, you know Lucius," Abraxas went on, his eyes suddenly very keen. "If you were to support his claim, it would go much better for him, I think. I'd rather my grandson didn't have to grow up never knowing his father. And Lucius is hardly the first young Wizard to have simply fallen in with the wrong group of people without realizing it."

He knew.

Ugly color flooded into Crouch's face. Abraxas took one look at the expression on his brother-in-law's face, eyes bulging once more, and understandably flinched, utterly bewildered. But after a moment, Crouch reined in his anger and fell back into his chair, brow creased in contemplation.

Abraxas wouldn't expose Barty. He had to know that if he did that, Crouch would do the same to Lucius in a heartbeat, and damn family connections. Exposing Barty would gain Abraxas nothing, and lose him a great deal. He wasn't going to do that.

As for Crouch himself, he'd not gotten as high in the Ministry as he had, nor as high as he was intending to go, by being an ideologue. Neither by being inflexible. His objective as regarded Dark Wizards was to ensure that Voldemort never returned. Those who followed him could be discouraged from going looking for him (as no body had ever been found at Godric's Hollow, all the Wizarding World could do was assume that Voldemort was still alive) by being thrown into Azkaban for the rest of their lives, but the assurance that they were being closely watched by the Ministry, more specifically by the man who had a reputation of being the most ruthless Dark Wizard-catcher of modern times worked just as well. Sometimes, you just had to cut corners. If it meant ferreting out five more Dark Wizards, letting one go free, and being sure that you knew what they were doing, was just a trade that had to be made.

He could get Lucius cleared of all charges, if he so wished. Crouch was embarrassed (and frankly furious) to discover that since the War had drawn to an abrupt shut and the atmosphere of terror and paranoia that had so pervaded Wizarding Britain had withdrawn like a storm front blown away by a strong wind, he was starting to lose followers. He was starting to lose followers, but he still had more than enough clout to get Lucius cleared if he wanted to.

And there were ways this bargain could benefit Crouch and the Ministry, as well.

"Alright, Abraxas. I'll see to it that Lucius is cleared of the charges against him." Abraxas's light gray eyes lit up, but Crouch cut him off before he could say anything more. "On two conditions."

"Name them," Abraxas said promptly, clearly willing to agree to anything within reason.

Crouch glared sternly at his brother-in-law. "The first is the surety of your son's good behavior. The second is the promise that you and Lucius will keep your followers and his in line. I do not want to hear that any of the followers of the Malfoy family have been getting up to their old tricks. If either of these conditions are not met, you can consider our agreement void, and you can expect a Ministry raiding party at the gates of the Malfoy manor within the hour."

Abraxas's face shone with relief. "It's a deal, Barty." As they shook hands on it, he said earnestly, "Thank you."

Sitting ramrod straight in his chair after Abraxas left, Crouch stared out the window into the night and hoped that Abraxas would be sufficiently able to control his son. Something told him that work was going to become significantly more complicated for him if Abraxas could not.

For all that it's claimed that Crouch was a fanatical Dark Wizard hunter, an awful lot of Dark Wizards (Lucius Malfoy included) got off on Imperius Curse defenses at the end of the First War. Besides, the two who claimed that Crouch, Sr., was a fanatic (his son and Sirius), both had reasons to hate him and be biased against him. Also, house-elf diction is so strange; makes one wonder if their language (if they have one) has very different rules regarding tenses than English.