A/N: I want to thank everyone who is still reading this, and everyone who has commented on it. I appreciate the feed back and continued support! Special shout out to BEN~Beyond the Elusive Nomads~ for her support, advice, help, and general awesomeness, sorry it took me a couple of weeks to get this up! And thanks to Aana for being a bitch, I need it! As well as Andy for his guidance!

Hope you all enjoy! Its a little different this chapter than usual, so let me know what you think.

I own nothing except Scarlett and Oliver....(what? *gasp*)

Chapter 14: The Others

The Previous Evening

Barty's eyes fluttered opened. He stared curiously at the timbers of a house. What had happened?

Anger rose in his chest like an uncontrollable fire as he remembered the woman and the imposter. Tenderly touching his jaw where he'd been stuck at the memory, he sat up and looked out the open door. There was no movement outside. He realized that he had to get out of the area immediately to return to the safety of his flat before the Aurors arrived. Searching the floor littered with remnants of the previous residents, Barty found his wand.

He disappeared with a pop, reappearing in the comfort of his home.

A high pitched giggle caught his attention. Some blonde slut was sprawled across the divan in his sitting room. Ignoring her in hopes that she'd get the hint and bugger off, he moved down a hallway to the lavatory. The lights lit up as he entered. Regarding the reflection in the mirror he could see a bruise forming on his jaw. Spitting into the sink he saw oxidized blood. Narrowing his eyes at his messy appearance his ire grew. He went back into the sitting room to annoyingly find that the bird was still there. Again he ignored her, crossing the blazing fireplace to the bookcases along the back wall; pulling the potions book he knew so well out from amongst the many dark labels.

Another giggle. He felt arms wrap around him and lips make contact with the back of his neck, then teeth. He shrugged her off, adding, "Get out," before moving to a nearby chair.

The woman, make-up was smeared, not looking particularly reputable, whined and followed him to the chair where he was perusing the pages of the book.

Crawling on the floor, up his legs, and planting her face over the open book the woman asked coyly, "Playing hard to get, are we?" Her hands clawing at his thighs.

"I said, get out," he repeated darkly.

"But love," she pouted, "you said when you got back we'd…"

"I don't care," he interrupted, "plans have changed. Now get out of here you filthy whore, before I make you sorry you stayed."

Only slightly off put by his comment the woman continued to paw at him. "Can't we change the plans back? I so desperately want you to..." She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence before he closed the book, forcefully pulling it back, and struck her across the face with it, knocking her back onto the floor.

"I said, get out you stupid cunt! When I say get out, it means you take your two galleons and leave!" His eyes were wide, the fire reflecting off them, causing their appearance to be in his brown eyes.

The woman scuttled across the floor away from him. She stood quickly, gathering her things. She took one last longing look towards him. He didn't bother looking up, but flicked his hand dismissively toward her, as if reiterating his desire for her to leave.

She humphed at him before letting the door slam, indicating that he was finally alone, "Good company just isn't what it used to be," he reflected to himself before returning to the ingredients list for Polyjuice potion in front of him.

He surmised that it was the only way, well, not only, but surely the easiest, to create a copy of someone. But why him? It had to be his nearness to the Dark Lord, though very few knew about his involvement with such circles. Perhaps his wealth? His name then? He was a well known member of wizarding society, what with his father at the ministry and the Crouch's being an older pureblood family and all. They had certainly accumulated a good amount of money through the years.

That must be it. Either his money or his status had drawn these two to him. But how did they get close enough to procure a part of him, something necessary to the potion? He knew he'd never seen her before, but her accomplice was another matter. They could be anyone. Though, she did admit to knowing him, perhaps they had indeed crossed paths at some point and he didn't remember?

Barty decided that he needed help of some kind and not reputable help either. Lowly scum of the earth help. He knew just the place to procure such filth.

Placing the book back on the shelf in its proper place he went back down the hallway to the end where his bedroom was located. He stripped out of his disheveled clothes and changed into another set of robes. Taking a final look in the mirror to ensure his proper form, Barty strode from his flat, down the stairs and into the streets of Diagon Alley.

Casually strolling towards Knockturn Alley, so as not to rouse suspicion, he kept to the shadows. Upon entering the disgusting street he ducked into the Borgin and Burkes storefront. Though it was long past shop hours, he knew that someone would be there. Sure enough, after a moment or so he heard shuffling from the second floor. About three minutes after the initial movement the greasy form of Mr. Borgin emerged in the main level of the shop.

"Mr. Crouch," the older man spoke warily, "what an unexpected surprise."

He didn't sound surprised nor particularly happy to see the younger man, but that was inconsequential to Barty, who knew that for the right price the shop owner would be as pleasant as Barty wanted.

"Mr. Burke is gone for the evening I take it?" This wasn't merely small talk, Barty also knew that Borgin would not only give him a better price for services rendered but knew even seedier people than Caractacus Burke. And he did want the scum of the earth on this little project of his after all.

"Yes Mr. Crouch, if you'd prefer, Caractacus will return in the morning."

"No, no I'm much obliged for my current company Mr. Borgin. Yes, I believe you are exactly what I need sir."

"I'm happy to help any way I can but may I be so bold as to inquire about the hour of your arrival sir?" He paused momentarily to ensure that he hadn't angered his potential customer before explaining further, "It is quite late Mr. Crouch."

"Indeed, and I apologize for my disturbance but I need a bit of advice, as it were," Barty broke to gage the interest of the other man. When Borgin's eyebrow rose he continued, "It appears I have a problem, and I was hoping that you might be able to point me in the right direction."

"I'll do my best," Borgin said with a shrug.

Not the enthusiastic response Barty had been hoping for so he added with a light laugh, "For the right price of course. A man with your connections deserves only the best."

"Thank you sir, anything you need sir."

Now that was more like it. Barty flashed him a smile, "I'd appreciate that Mr. Borgin."

With a slight bow Borgin asked, "What do you require?"

"I seem to have an imposter roaming around. I'd like to find out who and why, then properly…rid myself of the problem."

"Ah, I see," Borgins face was alight, "you need someone to do some…research on the matter, or rather, the individual and his motives."

Barty was quite pleased that the man understood. "That is exactly what I need sir."

The older man grinned, revealing broken and blackened teeth. Barty inwardly grimaced, but returned the gesture with a nod.

"I can set up a meeting if you'd like sir?" Borgin went on at Barty's affirming nod, "Tomorrow night perhaps? Would you prefer it here or else where Mr. Crouch?"

"You can find someone that fast?" Barty pseudo marveled; he knew how to chat a man up.

"I already have someone in mind sir. He's very good," Borgin was obviously very happy with himself.

"And he's discreet?"

"Very much so," he nodded enthusiastically.

"Wonderdful! Yes, tomorrow evening would be perfect. Here I think. Wouldn't want this getting out to the wrong people, it's bad enough as it is. No telling what this scoundrel has planned, let alone the disgrace he may have brought to my reputation by now." Barty pulled a small but weighty purse out of his coats inside pocket and dropped it into Borgins waiting hands. "An initial fee. We can firm up the final price at tomorrow evenings engagement. Oh, Mr. Borgin? This individual impersonating me, he has an accomplice, a woman. That won't be a problem, will it?"

"No sir, not at all," Borgin smirked.

Barty nodded at the other man, "I'm very pleased with your assistance in this matter Mr. Borgin, I look forward to our next meeting."

"Until tomorrow night sir," Borgin bowed as Barty let himself out.

The walk back home was less cautious than his previous journey that night, as far less people were on the streets. None the less, Barty was much happier once he had closed his door, shutting out the world. Heading to his bedroom and stripping once again, he wanted to shower immediately in order to remove the last remnants of Knockturn Alley from his body.

Forty minutes later he emerged from the shower. Wrapping a towel around his waist he went to the basin wiping the perspiring mirror above it. Tilting his head and pouting his lips, he gazed at his reflection asking aloud, "Merlin, how can you be so very irresistible?"

He smirked, answering "Just comes naturally I suppose."

Chuckling at the exchange between himself and his visage and slicking his wet hair back he continued with his nightly routine.

Well, not exactly. Part of his nightly routine didn't often occur alone. The though caused his grin to deepen.

"As gorgeous as you may be my friend," he regarded the mirror again, "there can only be one, Barty Crouch Junior. So, we will have to dispatch with all others now won't we? Believe me I will crush those two when I find them, and find them I will. Might even have that bird delivered to me in naught but a bow so we can enjoy her fully before she's lost to this world for good, don't you think?" He simpered leaning closer to the mirror, "Pleasure as punishment, eh?"

He gave his reflection a devious, toothy smile, "It'll be the best beating I've attended in a while," he said chuckling.

He snapped his fingers, extinguishing the lights as he left the room.

The Next Morning, 5:00 am

She awoke in her bed, alone. She hadn't been alone a moment ago. She had been with him, with Oliver, in this very bed, warm and happy in her dreams. But that was a lie, it was all a lie. A disconnected anger flooded her and pushed her out of bed. Resetting her alarm, she donned her morning sweats and sneakers. She moved silently into the kitchen to start the coffee pot. Once finished, she grabbed her key from its place on the key rack and swung it onto her neck. She locked the door as she left, and once outside double checked it. Heading for the stairs she descended the three flights into the buildings small lobby and out onto the London streets.

Fog hung heavy this morning, she loved London like that. She began stretching her legs, the trip down the stairs was sufficient enough of a warm up, taking the time to enjoy the relative calm of the city in the early morning hours.

"Okay Scarlett, let's go," she said to herself and set out at an amply paced jog.

Some people found that running gave them the ability to leave their world and all its problems behind. Scarlett found it to be uninterrupted time in which she had no choice but to face her own mind which included her worries, doubts, and fears. It was like running head long at her problems, staring them in the face for three long miles.

This was a time of self reflection and analysis for her. Most people didn't care for such things but Scarlett found a kind of strength in it. That strength had kept her going for the last year.

She picked up her pace a bit once she entered Regents Park. Scarlett enjoyed living in the area, mostly due to convenience. There was an area in which she could run every morning just blocks from her place and she was incredibly close to work. She liked simplicity in her routine these days, lavishness had led to ruin, therefore simplicity would restore order, it seemed obvious enough. Unfortunately along with said simplicity came a certain amount of isolation. But that was for the best, she feared she would be like poison to any potential companions right now. It was best to settle in her life a bit more before branching out.

Life was like a morning run, she surmised, if one kept a steady pace one would eventually reach one's destination. Too fast and you would run out of energy, leaving you short of your goal. Too slow and you'd either get left behind or take too long to complete the goal and someone would take your place.

Someone had taken her place with Oliver.

She circled back by the zoo, heading for her flat. She was well over half way there and her previous thought about him fueled her forward. But she was careful to keep her steady pace. Yes, running at break neck speed had led her off a cliff, so keep it steady and she'd be safe.

Security was a necessity in a world gone to hell in a hand basket. She would find security in her day to day life and that would give her further stability. The key to that security was her work.

Halting in front of her building again, she returned to her flat the way she had come. Removing her key from her neck she opened the door and the scent of fresh coffee wafted towards her. Going into the kitchen she prepared her first cup of caffeine for the day and left it to cool on the island, moving through the open floor plan to the back of her flat and into the bathroom for a shower. She turned on the water, not caring about the temperature, and stepped in. The drizzle was lukewarm at best, but it felt quite cool against her perspiring skin.

She didn't linger for more than fifteen minutes under the nozzle before getting out and grabbing a thick towel from the stack in the cupboard. Drying her self and twisting the towel around her hair she went back into the bedroom to begin pulling on the clothes she had set out the night before.

Taking her wand from the nightstand she flicked it toward her hair, instantly drying both it and the towel. She dropped the towel into the laundry bin on the way back into the lavatory. Scarlett set to work with her wand using charms to fix her hair and apply makeup. When she was satisfied with her appearance she clicked off the light and went back to her suitably cooled coffee.

She popped two pieces of bread into the toaster and sat down in one of the bar chairs at the island silently sipping her coffee.

Looking at the clock she knew she had time to kill before going into the office. She was glad that she didn't have an appointment first thing in the morning; there was paperwork to catch up on. Well, that wasn't accurate. All of her paperwork was done but she wanted to reorganize some of her files for a more efficient system. The toast popped up and she mindlessly buttered them. She remembered that she needed to talk to Susan about moving the Thorne case back to Thursday afternoons and post new office hours.

Taking a bite of toast she considered her change in hours again. She'd gone back and forth on lengthening her day for the last month; even now she came to the same conclusions. Longer hours meant more flexibility for clients, and had the potential to bring in more clients, Susan didn't have to stay for the extended hours, and Scarlett put off going back to her empty flat for an extra two hours. By the time she'd get home there was enough time for dinner, a review of the following day's cases, and maybe a chapter in a book. That was it. The less time she spent wandering her apartment the less she dwelled on recent events in her personal life.

She sighed deeply. As a mental health professional she knew she had to think about it, to come to terms with it. But Scarlett wanted to put some time between her and Oliver so that she could look at the situation objectively. This would inevitably lessen the guilt and pain he had left in his wake. In the mean time she could focus on her budding career. More cases and longer hours meant more experience which would eventually lead to more intense cases.

Scarlett excelled with trauma patients and abnormal psychology, some how it was easier for her to make sense out of chaos. People who had control over their lives and selves frustrated her. It was boring. Though she hid those feelings well, always appearing to be interested and engaged. She had no problem noticing details in people and their behavior but she couldn't connect with patients like some of her colleagues could. Perhaps the added case load would give her that experience, adding that elusive ability to her repertoire would be indispensable as she moved forward in her career.

Finishing the last of her toast and pouring herself another cup on coffee she moved to the sitting room where a stack of files were waiting to be retrieved. She did so placing them in her briefcase and setting that next to the door. Going back into the bedroom she picked up the remaining clothes and tossed them into the laundry bin, sipping coffee as she went. Coming full circle again in the kitchen she grabbed the stack of bills waiting on the counter that she finished last night tucking them into her briefcase front pocket. Taking one last pull from her coffee she placed the mug in the sink along with the single breakfast dish.

Pulling on her coat, she picked up her briefcase and pocketed her keys, locking the door and checking it before descending the stairs again. The morning walk to the office took about twenty minutes. The fog was slowly receding from the grey streets. Despite her appreciation of London weather she was still glad to see the large art deco building of her office come into view.

Once inside the building she bustled up the stairs and into her still dark office. She still had another fifteen minutes before her secretary, Susan was scheduled to arrive. Turning the lights on in the waiting room she moved to her actual office to turn on the remaining lights. Setting down her briefcase next to Susan's desk she removed her coat and hung it up and went to start more coffee. Scarlett usually only drank another cup before switching over to tea but she knew Susan drank it all day long.

She liked Susan. Her secretary was short, in her forties, married with no children, efficient, friendly with clients and kept to herself. The perfect assistant for a young, rising therapist. Technically, they were apart of a larger clinic, but it was strong place to begin, and Scarlett had begun working her a year and half ago, right out of school.

After the coffee was beginning to percolate she returned to her office, briefcase in hand. She pulled out the files setting them on her desk. She was about to reach back in for her mail when she did a double take.

Something wasn't right.

She looked over her desk, scrutinizing everything that laid on it. Picking up the files and dumping them into her chair she stared at the desktop. It suddenly dawned on her: the pen was tossed on the desk and a notepad was lying askew across the desk.

The notepad wasn't where she'd left it. And Scarlett always placed her pens back in the center drawer of her desk. She looked down at the drawer to find it ever so slightly ajar.

Her brow furrowed. No one knew about her emergency reserve of money, so surely…she glanced up at the cupboard. The door wasn't completely shut.

Scarlett opened her desk drawer, quickly finding her wand. She moved cautiously toward the door, wand poised as she grabbed the knob and flung it open. There was nothing there except a few empty hangers swinging. Now that definitely wasn't right. The closet had also had a store of clothing and a bag previously. It was quickly becoming obvious that someone had been here in her absence.

Hurrying back around her desk she stashed her wand and pulled out the center drawer. Reaching her arm inside, she found nothing. At least not the package containing over a thousand pounds, instead her fingers found a slip of paper. Removing it, she moved the files again to sit in comfortably in her chair. Who could've done this? No one knew but her.

Gazing at the paper she read the note left by the perpetrator:

Scarlett,

I know this may seem impossible but I need your help.

Or rather you need your help, as we are one in the same.

No, I'm not some lunatic. But as Dad says, with magic,

all things are possible. We're at the Brown under Mum

and Dad's name. Please come as soon as you get this.

P.S.

Trust your self, you're the only one in the room you

know isn't lying.

S.V.B.

Scarlett stared at the piece of paper in her hand, then re-read it, and read it again. She could hear Susan in the other room. There was no other explanation for what was in the note, no one knew where her stockpile was, let alone what her father had told her in her youth, and especially the fact that she a witch. But it was the last part of the note that drew her in. Lying. It was meant to be a reference to Oliver, she was sure of it. Only one person could know all these things: herself. One or two could be found somehow, but all these things added up to the least likely culprit but the only possibility.

She stood up, grabbing her briefcase and the note, and rushing into the waiting room.

"Susan, when's my first appointment today?" She asked breathlessly.

The older woman looked confused for a moment before looking into her date book, "Not until 9:15."

"I need to run an errand. I'll be back before then." Pulling on her coat she left before Susan could question her fast exit.

She walked as quickly as she could to the hotel that was specified in the note. Unfortunately morning rush hour had begun and people were beginning to litter the streets, impeding her journey. Finally arriving in the hotel lobby, she went to the clerk's desk. A young woman was manning the post.

Scarlett smiled at her as she approached, "Excuse me, but are Octavia and Magnus Birch staying at this hotel?"

The woman smiled back, "Let me check," she perused the registrar then nodded, "I'm sorry they aren't."

Scarlett frowned. Maybe it had been a hoax.

The clerk saw her reaction then offered, "But we do have a reservation for an Octavia and Magnus Jones, is that maybe your party?"

"Yes, yes that's them," Scarlett was relieved and smiled again at the obvious mix up.

The woman at the desk gave her the room number and Scarlett thanked her before getting into the lift.

Quickly locating the room she knocked on the door. She could hear some shuffling from within but a moment later no one answered. So she knocked again, hoping for a different response.

"Open the fucking door Barty!" She heard a woman yell.

The door opened to reveal a man in his mid thirties clothed in a terry cloth bathrobe. His brown hair stuck up in every which direction and his brown eyes squinted, obviously still blurry with sleep.

He stared at her a moment then turned to look back into the room then resumed staring at her, obviously confused.

After he didn't say anything for another minute Scarlett spoke, "Magnus Jones I presume?"

Looking further confused he finally shrugged, "Yeah, sure, why not?"

Despite the oddness of his response he stood aside for her to enter the dark room. She steeled herself for what might inside the room and entered.

She heard him grumble, "Jesus and I thought one was enough to kill me sufficiently," as he closed the door, shutting out all light.

'What rabbit hole have I fallen down?' She wondered while waiting for what would happen next.

Despite her extensive training and experiences in the magical world, nothing on earth could've prepared Scarlett for what followed.