Notes: I've just read over Red vs. Green and decided I don't like it at all. Ah well. Thanks to all my reviewers, and people who've favourite'd me. It means such a lot. There isn't as much canon dialogue as there could be in this one because I don't have GoF with me and I don't want to make a mistake.
Oh yes, also some people have said they would like to see more of the bits I cut out. The problem is I tend to skip to the bits I want to write about (mostly character thoughts and feelings) and imply most of the rest. Sorry about that. Especially as I've done exactly the same at the beginning of this chapter (heh). I might come in and fill in the gaps at some point but I'm very busy at the moment so I wouldn't count on it any time soon.
Chapter four-Spiders
Barty cursed as Moody's clawed leg slipped, knocking him off balance. Of all the staff at Hogwarts, why had the Dark Lord asked him to impersonate the one who was a cripple? Did he have any idea how hard it was to walk with a leg that was completely out of its owners control? Next to him, Wormtail sniggered.
For a fleeting moment, Barty seriously considered pulling out his wand and Crucio-ing him on the spot. Even thumping him over the head would have been a welcome relief from the smaller man's continual whining superiority. But he still wasn't sure how high Pettigrew ranked in the Dark Lord's esteem and he didn't want to risk offending his master.
It was strange how his opinion of the man had changed. When Wormtail had first materialised in front of him in the attic (he'd first thought he'd been dreaming as the rat had changed into a man before his eyes) he'd seen him as a saviour, someone to help set him free from his father's prison. Now, however, with the auror Moody captured and the Dark Lord's plan well underway, the man was just a nuisance.
He stared up at the castle doors in front of him. 'We're here.' Moody's voice sounded loud and harsh to his ears. Despite the cold weather he was sweating. Inside the castle was Albus Dumbledore, not to mention Snape, McGonagall and many others who'd known Moody to varying degrees. Many of them had known Barty Crouch as well, although that had been long ago. How on earth was he going to manage this?
'Good luck.' Pettigrew smirked, then vanished, scurrying off into the darkness. Once beyond the borders of the castle he would dissapparate back to the Riddle house, to report to his master that all was well.
Now he was on his own. Barty Crouch against the world.
He pushed the doors open, remembering his first time into the castle. Had it really been all that long ago? The familiar smell of ancient stone washed over him as he lurched forward on Moody's leg into the Great Hall.
All heads turned as he walked in. No panic. Moody would never panic. He nodded at Dumbledore's greeting, ignored Snape's frown, and tried to sit himself down as far away from McGonagall as possible.
How long since he'd taken the potion? He was sure it hadn't been two hours. He took a swig anyway, just encase, trying not to gag at the revolting taste of the polyjuice potion. He had a months supply with him, but he'd need to brew some more while he was here. How was he going to get the supplies? Snape was potions master, wasn't he. He wondered if he could get away with stealing some items while pretending to search through Snape's supplies for Dark Magic. After all, Moody's paranoia was legendary. Those damn dustbins had been proof enough of that.
Feeling slightly calmer as the focus of attention shifted away from him, he scanned the hall. Ah yes, there he was, sitting at the Gryffindor table. Scruffy black hair, glasses, next to a Weasley, it had to be Harry Potter.
And the scar. Barty stared hungrily at the scar. So much power just from one small child. But soon, that power would be broken. And then the Dark Lord would rise again. All those who had defied him would be killed, and those that had left him, those who had sworn allegiance and turned aside when he fell, they would face justice soon enough.
He focused his attention on the Slytherin table, feeling a short stab of nostalgia as he did so. How long had it been since he was last here, back before all the wasted years in the mist? He caught sight of the Malfoy boy smirking as he whispered something to his friends. He'd keep an eye on that one, it might give him a chance to repay Lucuis for his little games at the Quiddich world cup.
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'Professor Moody is that a student?'
Moody's face remained unchanged, but inside Barty Crouch suppressed a scowl. Damn that woman! He'd been enjoying himself. It had been years since he'd had power like this, power to control, power to hurt, power to kill. The fact that it was the traitor Malfoy's brat who was currently being bounced against the hard stone floor only made that power the sweeter.
Take the boy to Snape, ah yes, he'd been dreading this moment. He'd always feared Snape, with his dark glittering eyes, the rumour was that he was accomplished at Occlumency. You never knew quite where you stood with Snape, the man was half-blood wasn't he? From some poor northern family. Yet the way he acted, that mockingly superior air he always wore. It made Barty feel uncomfortable.
He grabbed Malfoy's arm, dragging him roughly down the corridor to the potions dungeon. Merlin, did Severus really live here? Had he really been living here for the past thirteen years, brooding silently, watching his life disappear into an endless stream of repeated days and wasted moments? Maybe he and Bellatrix were not the only ones that had been caged.
He opened the door and shoved the boy in. The boy whinged sulkily and Barty heard the words 'my father' amidst his grumbles. Oh yes, beneath Moody's grim features Barty sniggered, please, tell your father. It's such a pity he'll never realise it was me.
'Moody?' And at the sound of the familiar voice Barty momentarily panicked. Severus was older, yes, it showed in the harsh lines etched across his face, but in all other respects he seemed the same, just more so. More austere, more intimidating, as if his time at Hogwarts had somehow condensed his character, breaking down any softer feeling he may once have had.
He cleared his throat. 'Snape.' Surely that was what Moody would call him?
Snape raised an eyebrow. 'You wish to see me about something?'
'Aye.' Did Moody say aye? 'It's about this boy.' He grabbed Malfoy's arm and shoved him forward. Might as well get some enjoyment out of the business. 'He's been breaking school rules and McGonagall said I should bring him to you.' Would Moody call her McGonagall? Should he have said Professor? He felt his face grow hot as Snape's glittering black eyes bored into his.
'Ah.' Snape looked down at the boy. Moody tightened the pressure on his arm.
'Potter started it.' Was this really Malfoy's child? This snivelling whining thing the son of Lucuis Malfoy? 'And Professor Moody turned me into a ferret.'
'I think the wisest course of action at this point would be to remove ten points from Slytherin.' Snape was a good actor, his mouth barely twitched as Malfoy retold the incident.
Points? From what Barty could remember points had lost their meaning somewhere during the third year. Maybe things were different now. At any rate, all he wanted to do was get away from those piercing black eyes as quickly as possible. He nodded curtly. 'Better get back to your lessons lad, and don't go attacking anyone again.'
Malfoy left, and Barty grinned at his retreating back, thinking of what Lucuis's reaction would be when he heard. Before he could beat a hasty retreat however, he was stopped by a voice that seemed to smirk. 'The headmaster mentioned you wished to search my office.'
Barty grunted. Moody grunted, didn't he? 'Can't be too careful now Snape, especially given your record.'
'My record states that I was tried and acquitted.' Snape's eyes were dangerously narrowed. 'I find it intriguing that you still consider my loyalties to be in doubt.'
Intriguing? Did Moody know something he didn't? Or was the man attempting a bluff. Barty settled for merely saying 'Indeed.' before nodding and striding out as well as he could with only one leg. Indeed was a good word, neutral and impassive, with a slight air of menace. He remembered his father had used in many times.
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Three spiders. Moody started sternly at the class while inside, Barty giggled. Three spiders and a class full of apprehensive fourth years. They didn't know what the spiders were for, but he knew. They were Bagman, Longbottom and Potter.
Who would be first? He rather hoped it would be Longbottom. He was looking forward to that one. He was also looking forward to Potter (how long had it been since he'd last performed Avada Kedavra? Since he'd last felt that power flowing through him?) but sheer dramatic tension told him it would be best to leave that one till last.
'Unforgivable curses.' He stared at the faces around him. Who's looking nervous? His eye caught the Longbottom boy, who was looking faintly green. Oh yes, someone knows what's coming.
Imperius was the first reply he received. Maybe it was better to get it over with. His love of the Imperius curse had waned after thirteen years of being caged in an attic, but he still felt a thrill of excitement run through him as he brought out the spider.
'Engorgio.' The Weasley doesn't like that. Typical Gryffindors. All full of self-importance and brave ideals but they turn pale when faced with a spider.
'Imperio!' And Bagman's spider is tap-dancing. They'd only Imperio'd Bagman a few times, if he remembered correctly, to collect memos from other peoples desks. Mostly the hopeless fool had been only too eager to pass information on, after being fed his daily dose of lies by Rookwood. There had been times, however, when a moving puppet in the Ministry was necessary.
They were laughing. Let them laugh. Then shoot it down. Because they're not little Gryffindor's playing at being heroes anymore. They're stuck in a real world in a real war and these are the tools the enemy uses. It's no laugh to be Imperio'd into jumping off a cliff, or stealing mail from the ministry, or being locked in an attic.
They're all worried now, as he puts Bagman's spider back into the jar. Bagman was the lucky one. He's still alive and unharmed. The next two spiders face a far worse fate.
'Anyone know any others?' Who's next, Potter or Longbottom?
It's Longbottom. Barty has to fight hard to contain his smile as he pulls this spider out. Enlarge it, now concentrate. Concentrate on the hate, and the spite, and the love of power. It takes real feeling to cast the Cruciatus curse, Barty wonders if any of the children will realise that. He's certainly not going to tell them.
'Crucio.' And the spider is writhing beneath his curse. Suddenly he's remembering Longbottom, lying on the floor, screaming in torment, and Bella laughing, and Longbottom's wife and Bella's face lit up in the glow of the curse.
Then he's staring at Neville and seeing his father, the spider is helpless, the boy has turned pale. 'Crucio.' Now all he can see is Longbottom, father and son. The spider twitching in agony. Bellatrix laughing.
'Stop it!'
It takes a moment or so for Granger's words to fully register. He blinks, trying to rid himself of the multitude of images whirling through his brain. Besides, it's worked. The Longbottom boy looks terrified, it'll be easy to take him aside for a few moments and plant the book on him. The book that will help Potter through the second task. He'd originally planned to give it to Weasley, but there's no reason why Weasley would ever accept a Herbiology book from a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Defence Against the Dark Arts. Something inside him sniggers whenever he remembers that.
Time to move on. He shrinks Longbottom's spider. It'll live. It twitches slightly as he lowers it into the jar and brings out the last spider. Potter's spider.
He's been looking forward to this ever since Dumbledore told him to teach the Unforgivable Curses. He starts directly at the boy as he speaks the curse. The curse that rolls off his tongue far too easily.
'Avada Kedavra!'
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The class leaves. He waits five minutes before walking out into the corridor.
Sure enough, there he is. Longbottom's son. Staring at the wall and shaking slightly. Granger looks like she's about to comfort him.
He places his hand on the boy's shoulder feeling a thrill of satisfaction when he jumped in terror. He knows that fear is for him. 'Come with me lad.'
Granger's gives Longbottom a weak smile, and looks up at Moody with a slightly softer expression. He knows what she's thinking, that this is good old Moony showing his softer side. Helping a terrified young boy, because he maybe an old paranoid auror, but he's still human. He wonders how she'd react if she knew the truth; that instead this is a Death Eater drawing aside the son of a couple he tortured to insanity, in order to use him as bait for a murder.
He leads him into his office, and the boy stares around, wide eyed, at the many broken Dark Detectors littered around. Barty wonders how long it will be before someone questions the fact that every single one of them has been destroyed beyond use. He has excuses, of course (cheating students, Slytherins everywhere, they'd go off all the time) but it is still highly questionable why Professor Moody should choose to fill his office with what is essentially useless junk.
Except the foe glass. The foe glass is on all the time. Which is why he would never let McGonagall down here. Or Snape. He still isn't sure about Snape. The man had been a Death Eater hadn't he?
'Sit down lad.' The boy jumped again at the sound of his voice, then drew out a chair looking nervous. Barty would have dearly loved to Crucio him, and watch him twitch like the spider, but he couldn't. Not now, not yet, because now he was the spider and this boy was just one of many twisted threads, all woven together to catch the fly. The fly that was Potter.
'Can't have been an easy lesson for you.' He looked down at the child in front of him, who seemed to be curling into himself on the chair, as if trying to make himself as small as possible.
'There's not many who'd be as brave as that.' Barty continued. 'Back then, you behaved like a true Gryffindor.'
He inwardly smirked as the boy looked up, smiling slightly. It had been one of Bella's greatest insults; How like a Gryffindor. How noble, self-sacrificing, pointless and stupid of you. He remembered her face, twisting into an aristocratic sneer, How like a Gryffindor.
He coughed gruffly, putting another twist in the web. 'Professor Sprout says you've quite a talent for Herbiology.'
The boy was beaming now. 'Well, I enjoy it quite a lot. I'm not sure my aunt would like me to continue with it though.'
'I think you should stick with what you're good at. I'm sure your parents would be proud of you.' Very proud, but unfortunately they're insane and it's my fault. Barty fought the urge to giggle. That would never do. Better get this over with quickly.
'I wonder if you'd be interested in this.' He pulled the book from under his desk. 'Picked it up in a sale at Diagon Alley, it's no good to me but if you're interested in it.'
He'd better be. The damn book had caused enough problems already. It had taken him ages to find a book with a useful (and fairly obvious) reference to Gillyweed in, with bubble-head charms being relatively easy to perform. At one point he'd been severely tempted to write one himself (with a large box near the Gillyweed article saying 'suitable for Triwizard tournament competitors) but had decided against it.
The boy leafed through the book, looking excited. 'Thanks Professor Moody. Are you sure you don't mind giving it to me?'
He waved a hand, trying to look dismissive while inside him every nerve was on edge encase the boy suddenly decided adamantly that he couldn't accept the gift. 'No, no. You keep it. Better run along now. You don't want to be late for your next class.'
The boy left. Barty waited a few minutes before allowing himself to break down in a fit of giggles. Had it always been this easy? So far his biggest worry had been Snape, and he was one of the Dark Lord's supporters. Probably. Possibly.
Well, the trap was laid, the web was ready. He had a year now to prepare the web, dragging Potter closer and closer to the centre. And then the Dark Lord would return and Barty Crouch, the loyal servant, would be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams.
That was worth impersonating a cripple. It was even worth the endless wasted years in the attic. Because he was free now, and he was ready to fight.
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That's the next chapter done! There should be one left to go, but I've just realised there's an awful lot of stuff still to get through, so it might turn into two.
Meh, the tenses in the last section are a bit funny. And I've left out far too much canon dialogue. And the style goes a bit wierd in the middle. But I've enjoyed writing this one,and hopefully you'll look beyond the mistakes.
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