"You're back."

He was sitting up when I walked in. If I was to be honest with myself, he looked like a child. He was sitting cross-legged on his cot, his back against the wall, with his hands in his lap. His long fingers were interlaced. His head was bowed slightly and his hair fell in his face.

Like the time before, I forgot exactly who he was and what he done for a moment. Crouch looked absolutely helpless, like a kindergartner waiting patiently for his mother to pick him up at the end of the day.

Then I realized that that was exactly what he had been doing. He sat there, and perhaps he had sat like that every day since last time, waiting for me to return.

"Don't act surprised," I challenged him.

Crouch grinned and lifted his head and the little child dissolved into the mad man.

"You have too many questions," he deduced, "despite my warning, I knew curiosity would drive you back."

"You don't want me here."

"Of course I do."

I scrunched my face in mild disgust, "Why?"

"Oh come on," he giggled, and it was actually a rather agreeable sound, "I've been in this prison for two years shy of a decade. I'm rather bored. You don't think it is completely mundane for one of my former students to burst in here and telling me she is going to kill me, do you?"

"Well, no."

"Besides, I wanted you to come back."

"Why?" I asked again.

His eyes went wide as did his smile, "I have too many questions."

He looked completely insane, his eyes open farther than I would have guessed possible, and his grin bared his surprisingly white teeth to me. Barty's expression was manic, but at the same time, I was distracted by the agelessness of him. His face did not betray his age at all. Now, even smiling so wide, his face simply complimented him. His eyes and mouth showed only laugh lines, but no permanent wrinkle or crease. The moment he would stop his intense expression, I knew his face would go back to being a perfectly porcelain mask.

"Who says I am going to even talk? I came here to kill you."

I was right. His face went back to an indifferent expression and he was instantly flawless. He raised an eyebrow and frowned.

"You would have done it already."

"Well, like you said, I have questions."

"So do I."

"What does that matter?"

"Are you saying that you get to ask your questions, but I am not worthy to hear your blessed answers to mine?"

"You're not worthy to breathe air."

He sighed and lie down on his cot, throwing one arm over his stomach and the other supporting his head, "I thought we agreed that you had no right to judge me."

"We did not agree on anything," I came back, rather loudly. I was getting angry at his attitude. He didn't have the right to speak to me this way, nor did he have the right to say that I was not worthy of slaying him. I was damned worthy. He was responsible for the death of so many: Tonks and Professor Lupin, Fred, and inadvertently Professor Snape as well. There were so many more. I refused to think about them anymore.

For a second, I considered just killing him. Right now, in his cell, he would just die. Who would care? Sure, Crouch was alive and obviously Azkaban was keeping that on the level. So who would know? Maybe three people would know, but I wondered if they would care. I looked at the lanky man before me. How could they bother with him at all? He was supposed to be dead anyways, so why were they keeping him alive?

"Now you listen!" I said after a while, "You're going to answer my questions and you're going to do it now!"

"Why?"

"Why what?" I snapped.

"Why should I? Give me one reason why I shouldn't just sit and stare at you blankly like you thought I would be doing when you walked in here?"

"I could kill you," I replied.

"But you won't," he grinned but then laughed lightly, "at least not yet."

My face went hot; he was partially right; what was his motivation to answer me? He was bored. He would want to draw this encounter out as long as possible. I needed something to trade.

"What do you want?"

"I'm sorry?" He lifted his head up from the cot.

"What do you want? I want you to answer my questions. What do you want?"

Crouch began to laugh, a little harder than usual. It was a genuine laugh, his eyes crinkling in amusement, and then he very quickly stood up from his bed. His demeanor was fading into something incredibly opposite from amused. He was turning into the monster I'd seen just before I ran screaming last time. I stood my ground. He wasn't going to intimidate me again.

"Ms. Granger," he snarled, "you're willing to offer me something for mere answers?"

I glowered at him, "Don't act so shocked."

"I'm not," he laughed, but it was sinister now; threatening, as he changed his expression to mock innocence, "but you asked me what I wanted in exchange." He was walking again, too, slowly, "Did you ever consider what I might want? What I might ask for?" He drew closer. Crouch reminded me of a shadow. He was so small, but he was engulfing my vision with his tall figure and seemed to be gliding rather than walking.

My face was burning then, and yet rage was making my cheat and lungs feel like ice, "I am not…what do you…I didn't…"

Without warning, he lunged forward and pulled me to the side so that he could pin me against the wall. His hands were strong on my forearms and his face was too close for any sort of decency. I forced my face not to betray the fear that I was experiencing as I recognized the mania in his expression. He was not smiling at all anymore, no trace of delight left. He looked like an animal that had caught his prey and was basking in the victory. His body was not touching mine, other than his hands, but his stance was hostile and encasing.

"What if I was a different man? What if I wanted some sick, sexual favor? What then? I could make you strip for me, if I so wanted. Could make you let me touch you. Get you to suck me off."

My resolve crumbled under his crude words and I let out a hitched breath matched with a whimper in one breath.

"And you might actually consider it," he continued, squinting his eyes and cocking his head to the side, "maybe not at first, but you would cave eventually. Because your brilliant mind could justify it. -Because you would go mad never getting the answers. So you would have the most incredible mental debate in your head, but in the end you would find reason to agree to it. You would make it impersonal in your head; devalue your body as a temple and consider it simply a casing of organs and blood. All for answers, you would even go so far as you to fuck me. All I have to do is…ask."

I let out a tiny shriek, "I would never—"

"Neither would I."

The fear dissipated, only to be replaced by an intense rush of confusion and general surprise. Had he just said, admitted, that he would never ask that of me? Was he implying that he was a decent man? He did say at the beginning if he were a 'different man'. Was he truly saying that he would never consider asking me to do anything sexual? From his language, it even sounded like he would never ask for anything so demeaning. Or perhaps, and it was more likely that, he was repulsed by me sexually.

"Now, we could keep doing this," he breathed out in a whisper, "you threatening to kill me and then my retaliating with cheap fear tactics. But then neither of us will get what we want: answers. I thought it would be a bit of fun to terrorize you, but then we would get nothing accomplished and I realized last time that I had a goal now. You've given me something to do. If you and I keep this charade up of you trying to put my life in your hands and me pretending that I might do something revolting to you, we'll never be satisfied."

He lowered his arms and stood up straight, looking down at me, his eyebrow raised. He was so tall.

"So what do you say to this? Every day you came back here. I don't care when—I'll be awake. Each day, we get two questions. One is general. The other is personal. When we are both satisfied, and I mean both of us, you get to kill me."

I was taken aback, "I what?"

"Well," he darted his eyes away a second, "you get to decide either to kill me," he turned back and met my eyes, "or kiss me."

My face displayed my disgust at the notion, "I can tell you my choice right now."

"No," he argued, "not until we are both happy in our answers. Only then do you get to make your decision."

I went through his deal carefully. One general question and one personal question; that seemed fair.

"How do I know you'll tell me the truth?"

"I could easily ask the same of you," he challenged, "what solution do you suggest?"

I wracked my brain to think of something to assure our (but really his) honesty. Veritaserum was out of the question. It was so complicated to make and it did not produce enough for the span of time this could cover.

There really was only one solution, but I was hesitant to suggest it. However, I doubted he would know that it was technically illegal.

"I know a spell," I began cautiously, "that they use in court to ensure honesty. It's like an unbreakable vow, except that if a person lies, it causes them physical pain. The pain is minor, but it is enough to cause a visible disturbance in whoever is being tried and discourages repeated dishonesty. It is developed to target certain areas of the body, rather than all of it, so that the subject cannot prepare or get used to the pain."

Crouch let out a small laugh, "Why Ms. Granger, it is my understanding that that spell is a highly classified and, if I am not mistaken, illegal for public use. The list of people permitted to perform it is very short."

I smirked, a bit arrogantly, "It isn't forbidden if you're the one that invented it." I crossed my arms smugly.

"You developed a way of torture, and you think we're so different," Crouch was not smiling at all. His face was riddled with accusation.

I glared at him, "It's not torture! It was a measure needed to ensure truth. Veritaserum rids you of your rights. My spell gives you the option to lie. It is more humane!"

"You inflict pain. They are not subjects. They are victims."

"They are not! And you're one to talk," I tried to change the subject, "I've never tortured someone into insanity!" I pushed lightly on his chest, trying to move him away from me. I had suddenly realized that I had a psychopathic killer in front of me; I should not have let him get this close in the first place.

"But what of people on the stand who had nothing to do with the crime? What do they do?"

"Innocent people have nothing to hide."

"Oh, Hermione," Crouch looked at me with a slight condescending smile on his face, as if I was a naïve child, "no one is innocent."

I pushed down the undeniably volatile thoughts. If I said them, there would be an argument of proportions I was not in the mood to face. So instead, I decided to end the brewing conflict.

"Just stop it, Crouch!" I spat at him and pushed his shoulders.

"I accept your proposal, though," he grinned and bent down to put his face far too close to mine, "if only to watch you writhe in pain when you lie."

Finally, I pushed with enough force to make him stumble back and let me slip through to the wall adjacent the door, "I have no reason to lie."

He was standing straight again, if not a little leaned back, "Oh yes you do," he countered, "and I can assure you, I will find that reason."

"Good luck," I looked away from him and mumbled, scowling. What could he possibly ask me? Nothing; even if he asked me filthy, crass inquiries, he'd be sorely disappointed in the lack of vulgar details I would have to offer.

Briefly, I recalled how he had said he was a different sort of man. Yet, just there, he had implied pleasure out of watching me in pain. It was like there were multiple facets to the man. It was irritating.

"We start tomorrow," he finalized, and walked back to his cot, "I think we've engaged in enough foreplay for today."

I held my tongue, knowing he wanted to bother me. I walked calmly to the door, but turned back to face him as he sat down on his bed.

"If you think it will be an actual debated decision in the end, you are more of a madman than I could have possibly imagined."

"Well," he rubbed the back of his head, spiking his hair a bit, "whether you kill me," he pulled his shirt over his head and I averted my eyes and glowered at the floor, "or kiss me," I accidentally scoffed, "there is one thing you need to do first."

I looked up at him, trying not to notice his naked and, surprisingly, toned chest and stomach. I hated him all the more for it; he had the chance to work out and get his body into shape. While he grew strong, my friends were lying in a grave. I felt like I was going to vomit.

"What's that?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"It's not Crouch," he said, his face stern, "it's Barty. I hope you will respect my desired title."

He rolled over on his side to face the wall and I found myself dismissed. Stunned, I let out a loud laugh before turning to the door.

"You think I would ever extend you any courtesy? You are bloody insane!"

The door opened and I bolted out, making sure to sneak myself out of the prison. I encountered no one, luckily, and made it out just in time to catch the moon over the water. It was rather beautiful. I grabbed my broom from out of its hiding spot along the wall, already invisible to anyone but me. I cast a Disillusionment spell on myself as well and sped off towards home.

As I passed over the spectacle of the moonlight and the glow of the city, I let out a laugh mad enough to rival Crouch's.

I was free; free to do whatever I wanted and to see whatever I wanted. He would rot in his jail cell for the rest of his life.

No matter how this all came out, I would always win. Always.