Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and no copyright infringement is intended; not making any money, but they are fun to play with.

Sequel to: "A goddess to snakes"

A/N: I'm not yet finished with the last chapter, but I intent to update once a week and I guess I will have it complete till then.

I'm not sure if the sequel is what you would expect. Much like "Goddess" it will have 4 parts, each from a different point of view.

Read and enjoy.^^

TRINITY

CHAPTER ONE: MOTHER

Looking at the flowers on the table Barty Crouch junior asked himself if he had made the right decision. The peonies were nice but maybe he should have settled for the dahlias instead. Hermione did enjoy them the last time she was here. Although she was quite taken with the peonies as well. She loved his magical garden and Barty was proud that he could truthfully claim it the work of his own hands.

Difficult!

After another hard look at the flowers he cursed silently. He should have settled for both! With a quick twist of his wand he checked the time. Damn! She would be here any minute now, so he had no time to cut some dahlias. Hermione was never late.

No, she always made sure to be right on time and Barty admired her all the more for it. His mother taught him it was a sign of disrespect to be late, not fashionable like some of his former acquaintance seemed to think.

Hermione always respected him.

Yes, yes she does. Always full of respect. The voices in his head agreed enthusiastically but softly.

They hadn't been all that loud since the healer treated him once a week Barty didn't like healer Bromwick very much but it made Hermione happy and more important, made her visit him once a week so he underwent Bromwick's treatment.

After the final battle the Wizard Government had been quick with arresting Death Eaters and everyone else they could put some dirt on. It wasn't much of a surprise that he had been among the top ten of their list. Much more surprisingly was, one Hermione Granger stepping forward with a determined look on her face and fighting for him. Well, she fought for getting him out of prison and into medical care instead, claiming he was ill and simply needed help, but who cared for details?

His wildflower was always worried about him and who was he to tell her otherwise? Grinning fondly he remembered the stubborn little hellcat bending the fools down to her will. Leaving them clearly frightened of her quick tongue and sharp wit.

After she was finished with them, there was no doubt left in his mind, that she should have been sorted into Slytherin. Of course there was still the matter of her blood but he quenched the thought quickly like he always did. It wouldn't do him good to think ill about his wildflower. No! She was pure and sweet, just like his mother had been.

Yes, she's pure and soft. She's good for us. The soft chorus assured him pleased with his line of thoughts. Relief washed over him as he felt the soothing hum in his mind and he allowed himself to sit down in one of the giant chairs around the table.

In the past the voices in his head had given him awful headaches with their persistent and loud demands and he had known better than to resist them. So if they asked for something he hurried to please them, but since his wildflower came into his life, they weren't that loud and demanding any longer. In fact they left him alone for most of the day only reminding him now and then that they were still there.

Mostly when his mind slipped to Hermione's blood status or other things he knew she wouldn't like. They could still get pretty awful and made him feel like his head was about to explode, so he was eager to banish all bad thoughts from his mind.

All in all it could be said that they were more of a helpful reminder these days and he hadn't had a headache in months. No, he was a good boy and good boys weren't punished.

No, no good boys were being rewarded.

"Yes, " he muttered and turned the vase around till it stood directly in the middle of the table. "Good boys get visits from beautiful witches."

His eyes glanced around his home, one last time, to make sure everything was in order. Pleased he noticed that everything was were it belonged and looked perfect. The cottage he lived in these days wasn't big or anything fancy but he liked it just fine. Compared to Azkaban it appeared like a palace.

He had been forced to give up his ancestral home, together with a good part of his money as part of his deal with the government.

The manor served as an orphanage these days and the money made sure that they would want for nothing. Compared to the Malfoy's or the Purcey's, the Crouch vault wasn't that big but it certainly contained enough to ensure a comfortable life for hundreds of orphans.

He didn't care!

What he did care about was the limited use of his wand. Apart from a few basic spells it wasn't of much use any more. Barty knew that in this lifetime he would neither leave this property nor ever possess a wand which could do more than lit a fire.

In the beginning he had thought of ways to escape his punishment quite often, but the prospect of never seeing Hermione again had always stopped him.

Of course he could've taken her with him but he had a feeling that she wouldn't be okay with that so it wasn't an option. After all his mother taught him how to treat a lady and abducting wasn't part of it - so he stayed. And now, seven years later he was quite comfortable with it.

He had his house, his garden, a beautiful witch who visited him every week and most of all he had his freedom. Something he hadn't experienced since he was a boy.

Suddenly the wards surrounding his house informed him of Hermione's arrival and he was quick to stand up. A moment later she apparated onto the patio. He allowed himself a moment to take in her appearance and like always he was struck by her natural beauty.

The witch wasn't beautiful in the classical sense. She was much too short, her hair to wild and her figure to plump but there was also something incredible sensual about her. It wasn't visible right away, he himself had needed quite some time to sense it, but once you got a glimpse at it it was impossible to look away. It made you crave for more and Barty knew that she had attracted quite a lot of men, mostly Slytherin, due to her alluring nature.

Barty knew about her close relationship with the young Malfoy as well as the Purcey heir. Ever since the final battle those two had done everything in their power to win her affection and unlike himself hadn't been locked away.

He didn't like it very much, but there wasn't much he could do about it either. At least those two were raised with proper manners and knew how to treat a lady and further knew how to protect her. Other than her little Gryffindor friends who simply weren't good enough for her.

Grinning he rose from his chair and stepped towards her to kiss her cheek like he used to.

"Hello, my wildflower."

"Hello, Bartemius!" Grinning a little wider at the use of his full name, he allowed her to link her arm through his so that he could lead her over to the patio. He liked hearing his proper name from her lips. It made him feel more mature, more respected. Barty was the name for a boy, but Bartemius had a certain ring to it. At first he'd despised it to be called the name his bastard of a father had worn, but over time he had changed his mind and come to enjoy it.

His father was dead, killed by his own hand and no one would mistake him for the person who had made him feel inferior and unwanted all of his life any longer. He was his own man and when his wildflower called him by his given name it was to remind him of that fact, not to mock him.

Hermione was good for him and his self esteem.

Yes, yes, she was.

She always found ways to do so. It often showed in little acts and words and he was always very careful to look out for them. He would mull over their afternoon meetings after she had left and reflect her reactions, smiles and words. Often it was only then that he was able to recognize all signs of support and affection Hermione showered him with.

Yes, his wildflower was very good at being subtle. He liked it. It gave him something to think about when she was gone.

Barty made sure she was comfortable in her seat before he called Winky to bring tea and biscuits outside. Since he moved into the cottage the little house elf was back into the service of his family, something the Wizard Government hadn't been happy about. Elf magic was different from that of wizardkind and they feared, rightly so, that he could use Winky to escape his house arrest.

But Winky wouldn't accept a no, especially after he told her he would allow her to bind herself to his family once again. After all the little elf held a special place in his heart, though he would never admit it out loud. But apart from his mother the house elf had been the only one who cared about him in his youth.

So in the end the government had given in. They had made Winky swear all kinds of vows, mostly to prevent her from becoming a vessel in his schemes. Once again their act displayed nothing but their own stupidity. Unlike witches or wizards who died if they' went against an unbreakable vow, elves weren't affected by it at all.

Barty suspected Hermione knew as much, but never made an effort to correct the Wizard Government.

"How are you today?"

Realising that Hermione was talking to him he pushed his thoughts away for now.

"Wonderful, now that you are here Wildflower. It felt longer than a week since your last visit and I was getting quite anxious to see you again. How was your week?"

"Busy, like always," she smiled.

"You work too much, Wildflower," he carefully looked her over in search of lines of weariness and wasn't too surprised to find some. She was a bit too pale, her shoulders a bit stiff and her hair appeared to be a tad bit more bushy than usual. All signs that told him that she was stressed and he didn't like it.

"You shouldn't have to work at all. I should have known those two whelps are not able to look after you properly. If you were mine I would treat you like a queen. You would have to worry for nothing and..."

"Bartemius Crouch jr.," she interrupted him sternly before he could go on. It wasn't the first time he told her how he felt about the subject and he knew very well that she wasn't fond of people telling her what she could do or not.

"I'm perfectly capable of looking out for myself. I don't need Adrian, Draco or you for that!"

Barty was tempted to remind her of the final battle where all of them had done a pretty good job in looking out for her and rescuing her life. On the other side even he wasn't insane enough to fuel the fire, when she had that certain look in her eyes. He could feel his shoulders slumping down and sighed. Why couldn't he make her see that he was only worried about her welfare?

"I know you only mean well, but you as well as Draco and Adrian," Hermione emphasized, "have to learn that I'm my own woman. I don't need a man to look out for me and I love my job. But," she interrupted herself to smile at him and pat his hand across the table. "You always treat me like a queen. Never doubt that I don't know that."

He peeked up at her words and more so at the feel of her touch. Shyly he took her small hand in his larger one and couldn't stop himself from grinning brightly, when she allowed him to hold it during their entire tea session. Like always they mostly talked about the books she had brought him. The latest contained all kinds of abstract magical theories, which he found himself deeply fascinated with and was all too happy to discuss his thoughts with the little witch who could easily keep up with him.

Afterwards there was an awkward moment of silence in which he feared she would take her hand from his or worse -leave. So he eagerly asked her for a walk in his garden and much to his relief Hermione agreed at once.

Showing her the gentleman his mother had raised him to be he offered her his arm and accompanied her towards an area where his magical garden was build on. It was surrounded by special wards Hermione had set for him, so that his plants and flowers were sheltered from the weather and other influences.

Barty had invested a lot of time to create his little paradise. It had given him peace and kept him busy and it reminded him of the time he'd spend with his mother in her rose garden as a child. They were her pride and joy and with the exception of him no one was allowed to tend to them. That was until his father forbade him to take part in such girly exertions of course.

In honour of her memory he had grown roses of all colours in the centre of his garden as well as lilies which were Hermione's favourites. It was by far his favourite spot, not only because of the soothing atmosphere, but also because of the scent that lingered in the air and reminded him of both, his mother and Hermione. There was a bench as well as a little table which were both used quite often as he tended to spend most of his time here when he wanted to relax, read his books or-

"What is this?"

His eyes widened in horror as he noticed the leather notebook in Hermione's hands. It wasn't just any notebook but his poetry book. He would have blushed hadn't he remembered in time that he used to be one of the most feared deatheaters.

Normally he hid it behind some of the flowers before her visits but obviously he had become careless. He wasn't sure how he felt about her finding out about his other hobby. Especially because it was centred around her person.

"That...uhh..." He spluttered unsure how to explain the book. Sheepishly he scratched the back of his head, but before he could make up his mind Hermione's curiosity solved his trouble.

"As I wander'd the forest,
The green leaves among,
I heard a wild flower
Singing a song."

Her voice was soft and he even thought he could hear something like awe in it's depth. She stopped for a moment to look at him and it was the look in her eyes that soothed his nervousness. Maybe she didn't find it horrible. His poetry was never meant to be read by others, especially not by those it was about. At least not since a girl he had liked as a boy had made fun of him because of the poem he wrote for her. But his wildflower was different, she wasn't laughing at him but regarding him with admiration.

"I slept in the Earth
In the silent night,
I murmur'd my fears
And I felt delight." *

She stopped again, this time with an open smile on her lips.

"It's beautiful, did you write this?"

Barty nodded, but he wasn't sure if she saw it because her eyes were already wandering over the other poems in his book while her fingers turned the pages. Suddenly her head shot up and he could see a rosy blush covering her cheeks.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I know that I'm a bit noisy sometimes and I probably shouldn't snoop through your things. I mean, they are your private thoughts and I..."

"No, no, no." He hurried to assure her. "It's okay. I...well I didn't write it for you but while thinking about you, so...um...so you like it?"

"Like it? I love it. It's beautiful! Would you...would you allow me to read more?"

Barty could feel himself practically glowing with happiness under her praise. "Yes, of course. You can take it with you to read it," he instantly allowed her and was rewarded with a spontaneous hug from the witch.

If possible his smile got even bigger, as he carefully wrapped his arms around her tiny form and inhaled her sweet scent. Thoughts and emotions swept through him like an erratic tornado till they abruptly settled down and left him with a soothing calmness. Apart from his mother, Hermione was the only person who had ever made him feel that way. Both women had the gift to reach his very soul and case away all the dark taints that soiled it and Barty realized that he was truly blessed to have someone like Hermione in his life.

Someone who was sweet and pure and willing to fight the darkness that held himself so deeply in its clutches. He had no idea why she really continued to visit him every weekend. Though Bartemius was not stupid enough to think her reasons were the ones he wished them to be, he was Slytherin enough not to question them either.

The little witch was the light in his life and like every week at the end of their meeting he escorted her back to her apparation point with mixed feelings. There was sadness and the feeling of loss about her departure but also a lightness in himself that filled him with energy and spirit which urged him to grasp a quill and paper and write about it.

"I had a lovely time, like always Bartemius." Her soft voice ripped him out of his thoughts and he used the last minutes to memorize every part of her so that he could visualize her perfectly when thinking about her later.

"Will you visit me next week?" Although she had visited him every week in the last seven years he needed her to promise him. Her visits were the highlight of his week. Everything he did during the other six days was done with her on his mind. There was no sense in reading books without having her to talk about them, he wouldn't work so hard on his garden without the reward of her smile and there would be no poetry without her in his life.

He needed her, much like a child needed his mother to shelter him and give him strength.

"Of course I will visit you next week, you know that I will! And thank you for allowing me to read more," she answered while she caressed the back of his leather notebook. And with a last smile she twirled her wand and was gone.

Starring blankly at the spot she had been standing mere seconds ago he thought about his life and the events that brought him to this point. A few years ago nothing would have stopped him from finding a way to bring his master back to life. He had done it once, there was no reason why it shouldn't be possible a second time. Magic held many facets;easy and complicated, dark and light, sweet and fearful, new and old. In fact some were so old that they seemed long lost and forgotten.

Barty hadn't forgotten. In fact he had found a spell which could bring back the dead, even such a shattered soul as the Dark Lords. There were times when he thought about it and sometimes he actually considered using it but in the end he couldn't. Not when thoughts of Hermione invaded his mind and reminded him of her smile, her scent and most of all of the way she made him feel; valued, cherished, accepted and alive.

The Dark Lord most certainly failed to make him feel any of that. What use did he have for a master who wouldn't even acknowledge his most faithful follower? No, he was better off without him. He didn't need to hide in the shadows any longer and bask in the darkness. Not when he had his wildflower in his life, filling it with lightness and...love.

Sighing deeply he realised that for the first time in nearly three decades he felt completely at ease with himself. His life wasn't what he expected it to be but it certainly was what he needed it to be, all thanks to his wildflower.

The hum of approval in his head added to the surge of happiness as he headed back to his garden. There was a rosebush he needed to tend to and maybe another leather notebook which was waiting to be filled with words. After all his inspiration had just visited him.

And she would be coming back...like always.

TBC

A/N:

* The Wild Flower's Song by William Blake. (I suck at poetry so I took the liberty to use one of his. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.)

- I really like Barty. He may be a bit unsteady..okay crazy, but he's fun to write and maybe he's only a hurt soul after all. ^^

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