Chapter Ten

"Crouch's Chance"

One of the first things Snape noticed about the new room was how much lower the ceiling was. Hagrid would have been able to reach up and easily touch it. For another thing, the floor was stone again in contrast to the highly polished wood of the drawing room, but unlike the dungeon, there was no moss or moisture anywhere.

Macnair took Snape at wandpoint across the room to the only furnishing in the whole space: a long trestle table surrounded on two sides by wooden benches. On the opposite side of the room a golden grate was set up in front of a large fireplace that looked as though it had never been used. The rest of the room was completely bare, and the only door other than the one leading back into the drawing room was small and painted black.

Snape took a seat on the bench, his sharp eyes alert despite his ashen face, and watched Potter come through the door a few feet ahead of Crouch. Crouch had his wand on Potter, but Snape saw with a lurch of inspiration that Potter's hands had not been retied. Snape sat up a little straighter, thinking hard.

How could he communicate the message of what needed to be done? And would they get a chance, or would the Death Eaters be watching them too closely?

Potter had spotted him across the room, and with a backward glance at Crouch, was heading toward him, walking quickly.

Snape clenched his jaw beneath the gag covering his mouth, thinking furiously. He needed to calm his mind… it would be essential if he hoped to get into Potter's head, which looked unavoidable unless the gag were removed. And Potter… the boy was hardly subtle enough to be an easy receptor… he had probably never heard of Occlumency, let alone practiced it. This could prove difficult indeed…

But it could be their only opportunity, and the window could be closing fast. There was no telling how long they would be leaving Potter's hands unbound.

As Potter came up to the table, Snape tried to catch his eye without being obvious enough to catch the attention of Crouch or Macnair. Fortune seemed to be on their side for the moment though, because Crouch had caught up with Potter, given him a little shove into the bench to get him to sit, and then taken Macnair across the room to talk in whispers. Potter, having sat reluctantly, didn't seem to want to meet Snape's eyes, but finally looked up.

Snape locked eyes with him. He pictured his boot in his mind's eye clearly, as though it were suspended in midair between them. He saw its black outline and small silver buckle.

Potter looked confused. His gaze flickered but he didn't look away—Snape wondered what it must be like to have one's mind unexpectedly filled by pictures not of your own imaginings. He pictured the boot more clearly, sending it with force through their eye contact.

He saw Potter glance down at his boot, then back up. Snape nodded very slightly.

"I don't…" Potter began quietly.

Be silent! Snape thought critically. Now, he focused his mind on the image of the magical silver pin that was concealed at this very moment inside the lining of his boot. He saw it solidly before him, and willed Potter to see it, too. Then Snape pictured the silver pin, inside the boot.

Apparently, his efforts were paying off. Though he felt queasy from the energy expended, Potter was looking down at his boot now with uncertain comprehension. Snape detected shivers of excitement in the boy at the realization of what Snape was trying to communicate.

Snape cast a subtle look behind him at the Death Eaters, who were still huddled in hushed conversation, then looked back at Potter with more urgency. Now!Snape kept picturing the images in his head, and jerked his head down toward his left boot.

Harry, his heart pounding to escape his chest, checked the Death Eaters over Snape's shoulder and then, with one more furtive look at Snape's face, quickly shifted so that Snape's body would shield him from view of the other side of the room and bent downward.

Snape was wearing black leather, calf-high boots, and Harry had only taken a moment to recognize them when the image had appeared in front of his eyes. Bent over double beside the bench in front of Snape, Harry's hands fumbled nervously on the slippery material. He was shaking so badly that using his fingers to search along the inside of the top seam of the boot became a nearly impossible task. He was trying to hurry, but that only made him tremble more violently. He took a deep breath, wanting to listen in case he heard the footsteps of approaching Death Eaters, and then he felt it.

It was a small, smooth lump on the inside hem. His breath hitching in his chest, Harry felt around it and tried to detect a way to get it loose. Luckily, it seemed not to be very tightly secured; after a moment of prodding, Harry felt it come off the leather and he closed his fingers around it, pulling it out the top of the boot.

He straightened up with it in his hand. Snape was looking very pleased indeed, and seemed to be trying to communicate again, but Harry didn't need further instructions; he knew what needed to be done. Without waiting another moment, Harry leaned forward and reached through the space under Snape's arm toward his tied, clenched hands and pressed the pin into his fist. Snape opened his hand to allow the pin to be pushed in, feeling for the first time as though they might actually stand a chance.

"OY! POTTER!"

Harry recoiled from Snape, drawing back his hand as though burned and standing, facing the furious Crouch.

"What in hell do you think you're doing?" Crouch yelled, advancing on Harry, spit flying from between his yellow teeth.

"Nothing!" Said Harry quickly, alarmed at Crouch's face as the Death Eater plowed forward. "I wasn't"—

"INCARCERO!" Crouch bellowed. Harry, having planted his feet the moment he heard the spell being uttered, did not lose his balance this time as his wrists were yanked behind his back and firmly tied, but it wouldn't have mattered because Crouch was already grabbing him by the arm, pulling him away from Snape. "Thought you'd take advantage of my kindness, did you, Potter?" Crouch growled, shoving Harry in front of him. "Thought you'd let dear Professor Snape out of his cuffs while we weren't looking, hmm?"

"I didn't"—

"Only because I stoppedyou,boy," Crouch barked, and he jerked Harry to a halt in the center of the room. "Get down!"

Harry wouldn't have bent his legs willingly, and Crouch seemed to know this, because the man didn't wait for compliance before delivering sharp kicks to the backs of Harry's knees. Harry went down hard, reminded horribly of his former encounter with Lucius Malfoy.

Crouch had turned him so that he could see Snape and Macnair over at the table. He tried to get a glimpse of Snape's hands… Was he using the pin? How long would it take? But the table was hiding Snape's arms, and then Crouch had circled around to stand in front of him, blocking Snape, Crouch, and the table from view.

"That was a bad move, Potter," Crouch said in a low snarl. "Very bad."

Harry said nothing.

Crouch chuckled. "Boy, say your prayers. You don't know how long I've been waiting for this," he breathed, looking down at Harry with something close to veneration. "How long I've wanted this."

Harry, stalling for time, made a gamble. "Is it the Quidditch World Cup? Is that where I know you from?" He asked keenly.

Crouch looked bored by this. "I saw you there," he said idly, twisting his wand between his fingers. "I wish you wouldn't dwell, Potter. It doesn't really matter where you know me from, does it?"

Harry sat back on his heels, leaning away from Crouch, who had stepped closer and was now holding his wand up to Harry's cheek.

"But then again," Crouch said, touching the wand lightly to Harry's skin. "It can't hurt for you to know, I suppose. The old man Dumbledore has found out, and you won't survive much longer anyway, so I don't think it'll make much difference…"

Harry, who couldn't tilt any further backward, drew in a breath of relief as Crouch lifted the wand and backed away for a moment, reaching inside his brown robes. A second later he had pulled his hand out again, and something appeared to be enclosed in his fist. Crouch set his eyes on Harry again, grinning broadly. "There you are, then."

He dropped something round and white onto the floor where it rolled toward Harry and came to a rest between his knees, but continued to spin up down, and around, with a light blue iris and a madly contracting pupil.

Harry let out a gasp and tried to move back, away from Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye which had fixed on him and didn't want to look away. "I—I don't get it"—he stammered, staring down at it in confusion and alarm. "That's—that's Professor Moody's"—

"Not anymore, it isn't," Crouch leered, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'm keeping it, in case I ever lose an eye. Pretty, isn't it?"

Harry thought 'disturbing' might have been a better description. "So, you've got Professor Moody's eye…" he said, caring more for time than for the answer, though some measure of curiosity about Crouch did still register. "Have you killed him?"

"No, I haven't killed him. He never got around to very much teaching, though, so I don't know if 'professor' is really the appropriate term."

Harry frowned. "Moody taught me all year."

Crouch was smiling widely again. "No, Potter. I did."

Harry was silent.

Crouch nodded, enjoying the astounded look on Harry's face. "Yes, I've been helping the Dark Lord all year. If it weren't for me, you never would have been delivered to him, that night in the graveyard. The Dark Lord could never have returned." He breathed deeply through his nose.

Harry didn't believe it. He was frowning, staring up at Crouch, and his mind was in overdrive. Crouch was Moody? It didn't make sense…

"But Professor Moody went out of his way to help me all year," Harry argued, ignoring the rock in his stomach. "He—he gave me hints when I couldn't have done it"—

"Like I said, Potter, it's all because of me that you were delivered to the graveyard that night. I'd made the Cup into a Portkey. All I had to do was make sure you were far enough ahead of the others in points to go first into the maze, and it was fairly easy from there. I just had to get you to that Cup."

Harry was shaking his head, unwilling to accept it.

"And then when you took that Diggory boy with you, I worried whether the plan would be upset—but I was very glad to find out when I returned to the manor that it caused no disruption at all."

Harry was breathing shallowly. "So… so it was you, all along."

"It was a pleasure having you as a student, Harry," Crouch taunted, leering. "I had no idea it would be so...exciting."

Harry was starting to feel hot anger swelling in his chest. Everything that had happened was because of this man in front of him. He had caused it all.

"I'm tired of this little chat," said Crouch abruptly, and the gleam had returned to his eye.

"Voldemort won't like it if you do anything without asking him!" Harry blurted out, slightly desperate for more time; he didn't know what it was Crouch intended to do.

"Oh, I don't think he'll mind," Crouch replied in a low growl. "If I manage to get the right information out of the two of you, I'm fairly sure everything else will be forgiven." He had his wand pointed at Harry as he drew near again, forcing Harry to bend backward and sit on his heels once more. "Macnair!" Crouch barked suddenly, his wand about three inches from Harry's chest.

"Yeah?"

"Take Snape into the parlor and I'll be in to get you. I've decided I want to have a private talk with Potter here."

There were a few heartbeats of thumping silence. Severus Snape could feel blood rushing in his ears. His fingers were bent awkwardly around the metal pin, crushing it inside his fist.

"The Dark Lord"— Macnair began, but Crouch cut across him with feverish impatience.

"He won't object to me…questioning the boy, not if I get what the Dark Lord needs from him! The Dark Lord has given me governance over him, I have the words directly from his mouth, and you heard him."

"He told you to go with Malfoy to the dungeon. He never said to"—

"Do you think you know everything the Dark Lord has his faithful followers do?" Crouch demanded fervently. "We will not be punished, Macnair, you have my word."

Snape watched Macnair, hoping against hope that the taller Death Eater would decide it wasn't worth the risk to comply. To his dismay, Macnair was standing down. "I hope you know what you're doing," Macnair muttered, and pointed his wand at Snape, who stayed seated, rigid with furious displeasure. "Get up, Snape," ordered Macnair.

"And leave on that gag," added Crouch malevolently, watching them.

"UP!"

Snape didn't move. He glared up at Macnair and over at Crouch, his eyes snapping dangerously.

"He's not about to leave, Macnair, just get him out!"

Macnair thrust his wand at Snape, who found himself propelled into the air and dropped roughly onto his feet. He clamped his fingers around the pin. Macnair stabbed his wand painfully between Snape's shoulders, using a spell to shove the very disinclined Snape across the floor toward the single black door.

Snape heaved against the magic, pulling to no avail, and struggling not to leave the empty, unfurnished room. His grunts of enraged protest were barely audible through his gag. Just before the door sprang open at Macnair's command, Snape was able to catch a glimpse of Crouch standing before Potter, and Potter was on his knees watching Snape depart. Snape saw the look in Potter's eyes then.

He made a promise to himself, and to Potter. He'd get them out.

He just needed to do it soon.

Y'all come back now!