The horrible moment swelled. Harry stared at her, seeing the reflections of Weatherby and Frank Longbottom in the sudden glassiness in Ginny's eyes.
Then it burst.
"Oh, fuck," said Ginny. The skin around her eyes and lips whitened. Tremors of fear and horror went through Harry's body in response to hers, and he could see them, Arthur and Molly, tortured beyond the scope of their sanity, never able to come home… they were as close to parents as he had, and if they were gone…
"What the fuck is going on?" Ron asked.
"He has them," Ginny said. "He has them."
"Who's got who?" Ron demanded.
"Mum and Dad," she said. Her expression shattered into pieces. "He has Mum and Dad… I used my own snitch… how could I have been so fucking stupid?"
"You weren't stupid," Harry said.
She gave him a fierce, angry look. The white in her face was taking on a greenish tint. Then her shattered expression crumpled in on itself. "It's all my fault…"
Harry rubbed his arms vigorously. "We need to figure out what to do." A chill brushed across the back of his neck. His head half-turned, and in that moment of fright, Harry was convinced that he would see the shadow of Frank Longbottom screaming at him to save his family. Except this time, it wasn't the Longbottom family being shattered… it was the Weasleys… It was Ginny's family. Harry's family. "We have to go. Ginny. We have to go… we can – Dumbledore will have an idea what to do."
"My… brothers," said Ginny. She lifted her wand with hands that shook so badly the yew looked part made of rubber. "Expecto patronum," she said. A silver spark gathered at the end of her wand, and then it died. "Fuck," she said. Then, louder, she said: "Expecto patronum!"
"I'll do it," said Harry, even though he felt that it would be rather difficult to produce a patronus at this moment.
Ginny's eyes lifted to his; that familiar determination firmed her chin as she seemed to study his face. Then, she spoke the incantation again. Another shock went through him as he saw the silvery form of a doe leap from the tip of her wand. As she told it what message to pass along to her brothers, Harry stared at it. It was corporeal, of course, with filigrees of light curling out from it.
"I'm about to lose my patience," Ron said, cutting into his thoughts.
"Quiet," Ginny ordered. Her eyes never left Harry's as she gave the message to her doe. "A Death Eater has Mum and Dad. I need your help. Come to Grimmauld Place." Her doe grew more powerfully bright with every word until its light seeped into every corner of the room.
The doe turned and leapt through the closed window and disappeared into the gloom.
"We need to get back to Grimmauld Place," Ginny said. Grim lines bracketed her mouth. "He has Mum and Dad, Ron. We'll need to gather the others and go – go rescue them before he can – oh, Merlin, before they…"
"Before they what?"
But Harry had no desire to answer Ron's questions. The silence persisted as Harry led the way back to the kitchen and back to the floo. The fact that Barty Crouch Jr. had the Weasleys kept pressing down on him. It was a physical weight on his shoulders, pushing him down to the ground, making it difficult to walk and even more difficult to think. The black edges of panic kept slamming down on his thoughts – it was impossible to think—
"What's happened, Harry?"
It was Dumbledore's voice that had him blinking. The kitchen at Grimmauld Place was rather more crowded than it had been a moment ago. Harry's gaze glided over the Weasleys – Fred and George were already there, and Bill was just stepping into the kitchen. How long had they stood in the Weasley's empty sitting room, burdened by the weight of what had happened, and unable to move? He didn't even remember stepping through the floo… It was this thought that had Harry forcing himself to look back at Dumbledore.
"He has Molly and Arthur," Harry said. A heavy breath pushed out of him. "He has them at the Ministry…" He shook his head, as though trying to clear it.
"What do you mean, he has your mum and dad?" Neville said sharply. Panic spiked his voice into an upper register.
"He heard you say my name," Ginny said in a flat voice. Harry looked at her; there was no blame in her tone. This was almost worse.
"What do you mean?"
"He must have done," said Ginny. "He somehow… he'd know me from the party, he must've found my snitch at the Ministry, but he had to have heard you say my name at the hedge…" Her eyelashes fluttered. "He didn't take Mum and Dad until he—"
No one interrupted her, but her words cut off nonetheless. Harry took her hand and she squeezed so tight his bones scraped against each other.
Fred raised his hand. "Anyone want to explain what the fuck's going on here?" he asked.
"Ginny…" Neville said. "I'm so—"
"It's not your fault," she said. But there was something broken about the way her words were strung together, and Harry knew Neville couldn't find comfort from it. It wasn't Neville's fault, but it had still happened.
"It became obvious to us earlier today that we have an enemy in the shadows," Dumbledore said. "We went to search the Minister of Magic's house and found…" Behind his half-moon glasses, the blue eyes flickered. Harry knew that despite the other horrors they'd found at the Minister's house, it was Weatherby that disturbed him the most. "A man had been tortured into insanity—"
The Weasley sons barked a barrage of questions. Bill looked particularly upset, and Harry wondered if he knew exactly what that meant, or if he remembered the stories from when Voldemort first came to power. Dumbledore continued on, describing what they'd found. Harry's thoughts turned toward what they were going to do… They needed to get to the Ministry…
"I need to get to the Ministry," said Ginny. Her hand slipped from Harry's grasp. "I don't know what I'm thinking… I need to get there – while we still have a chance."
"You think this mystery enemy is going to kill Mum and Dad?" George said, disbelief in every syllable.
"No," said Ginny. "I don't think he's going to kill them."
"I'll get my cloak," said Harry. "We can figure out which one of us will wear it later."
"You don't have to—"
"Ginny," said Harry. There were many people he'd had to say goodbye to, many situations that he couldn't control, and many things he'd had to allow to happen. This was not one of the instances in which he could or would sit back. The thought itself made his heart flip over in his chest, and his hands got clammy. He looked down at her; the shadows under her eyes looked like bruises, and one corner of her lips trembled.
"Why is Ginny involved in this?"
Harry turned to Bill, who had his arms folded over his chest and a formidable look on his face. They don't know, Harry thought. Of course they don't know.
"Um," said Ron, his eyes shifted between Harry, Bill, Ginny, and finally Hermione. "He sent a message to Ginny, I guess, it was on her old snitch… she's got to go to the Ministry?"
"Not alone," said Harry.
"Not at all," Bill spat. His eyes were wide and incredulous. "Why is this even up for discussion? Mum and Dad would kill us if they knew we let her walk into danger." His gaze roved over the room. "I'm not even certain how this monster could know her name, or even why she's come to his regard." Fury built in his tone. "Or why you feel like you should even do as this monster says. What could you possibly do to help them? You'd just make it worse - they'd have to worry over you! What are you thinking?"
"She's thinking she's the Seeker," said Neville. His voice was frigid. "She isn't a child."
Bill barked out a harsh laugh. "Being a Seeker—"
"The Seeker," said Harry. "From The Turnip." But this was unimportant. Why was everyone still standing here. Ginny tugged on his hand, pulling him along. They needed to get his cloak… they needed to leave here and get to the Ministry. They were skirting around Fred and George when Bill's heavy hand came down on Harry's shoulder.
"You're lying," Bill said.
"No," said Neville.
"It's not a lie," said Ginny. "I'm the Seeker. And I've made an enemy who tortures people into insanity."
"They have Molly and Arthur," Harry said desperately. "We have to go."
"So get out of my way," said Ginny.
All the color faded from his cheeks, giving them a sunken in look. "No," he said.
"I'm Mimbulus," said Neville. "Ginny started The Turnip when she broke open that mad potions thing going on at Hogwarts. She allowed me to join, and we've been working together ever since."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Miss Weasley, I believe we need a plan before we plunge in." He cocked his head and looked at her. "If it is any consolation, I do believe we have time."
"Time!" Ginny nearly shrieked. She pointed a finger and jabbed it upward. "Look what he's done! To Weatherby! To Neville's parents!"
"He will not have the magical energy necessary achieve his ultimate goal and also… hurt Arthur and Molly as the others were hurt," said Dumbledore.
Ginny did not allow him to be delicate. "You mean he won't torture them into insanity? Why would I believe he'd spare them?"
"He wants to make a Horcrux," said Dumbledore.
"Then why has he kidnapped Mum and Dad?" Ginny demanded. "If he's trying so badly to make a – a whatever it is you've just said, why is he doing this?"
Horror hit Harry with the force of the Hogwarts Express. "A fucking Horcrux," he said. The words wheezed out of him. "He wants to – you aren't saying – he would try—" Dumbledore thought Barty Crouch Jr. "Ginny… to make a Horcrux, you've got to murder someone." An image of a grotesque-looking Crouch Jr. standing over Ginny, brandishing his wand, and using her death to stave off his own—
I'll kill him first.
The image imploded.
Dumbledore was speaking. "—it is, of course, only a guess."
"Since when is it just a guess with you?" Harry demanded. "We have to go."
The room truly erupted then. Every Weasley voice was raised to the roof of the kitchen; it flowed over him. All he could hear was the voice of Frank Longbottom's shadow, screaming at him. It made his body prickle with urgency, and he was pulling Ginny along with him when Bill snagged her by the arm.
"Let go of me," Ginny demanded through gritted teeth.
"Mum and Dad wouldn't want you in danger," Bill said.
The next instant, he bent over double. Dark bats erupted from his nostrils, phlegm dripping off the tips of their wings, and winged their way upward before disappearing with a splat. "Don't manhandle me," Ginny said. Her voice was cold. "I'm the one here he wants, I have the best chance—"
"Ginny, be reasonable," Percy pleaded.
Ginny looked at Harry. There was a high flush on her cheekbones and a mad shimmer in her eye. "We don't have fucking time for this. Harry, I think you ought to be August for this."
Everyone's head swiveled to Harry. Eyebrows were raised, shoulders tight with worry and anger. He knew they expected him to help them with Ginny, knew that they could have no idea what she meant when she mentioned August. There was no time for explanations. At the same moment he pushed through her wall of brothers, he touched the bump under his skin with the tip of his wand. Their cries of shock were an almost impossible distraction.
Ron let out a loud whistle.
"There's no time for explanations," Harry said.
"We've got to go now," said Ginny. "If you want to go, just follow us and… and be useful."
Harry focused on what they had to do: Grab the cloak and leave for the Ministry. As they walked out of Grimmauld Place, he ignored the indignant squawks of her brothers; he pushed everything aside except the fact they needed to rescue Molly and Arthur before—
Dumbledore was speaking in a low, fast tone. Harry's attention caught on his words and held. "It is most important to find him," said Dumbledore. "He could be anywhere in the Ministry. We need to focus on locating him before we attempt to engage."
"There will be workers there," said Hermione. It was the first time she'd spoken since Harry had stumbled out of the floo. Her face was grey. "We have to—"
"We?" Ron demanded sharply. "Not 'we', Hermione."
"I have to—"
"Stay here," Ron said. "You're pregnant."
"I noticed," Hermione said coldly. "But I still have to do something. I can't just stay here—"
"We need someone to stay with Weatherby," Dumbledore murmured.
"And Ginny can stay with you," Bill interjected smoothly.
"Fuck that," said Ginny. "Mum and Dad…"
Might be being tortured as we idle here, thought Harry.
His mind skittered away from the possibility. Chills went up and down his arms. He could see Weatherby in his mind's eyes… he could hear the voice of Frank Longbottom's lost sanity screaming to save his family. It was a relief to him to know that Dumbledore was following them. Harry did not fear for his life. He feared for what might have already been done. These thoughts were a pack of rabid dogs nipping at his heels, hurrying him along, rushing him toward the Ministry in the hopes—
"We have to get there," Ginny said. Her tone was low and fervent; it was a prayer she'd spoken out loud.
"We will," said Harry.
"We think it is just one man," said Dumbledore.
Just one man, thought Harry. There was something wrong with that statement, but his mind was so numb with fear that he couldn't chase down what his instincts were telling him. Fred mentioned something about veritagas, and Harry tumbled back down into his own thoughts. Get there. Get them safe. Get there. Get them safe.
His mantra kept up as they Apparated one by one to the Apparition point close to the Ministry. So focused was he that he followed Dumbledore in by rote. Strength radiated off of him and it bolstered him even as he kept reminding himself that Dumbledore couldn't fix everything… there was nothing he could do for Weatherby… what if—
"—Harry." Ginny's firm voice cut through the haze of fear.
"I know," Harry said hoarsely. There were in the telephone booth, which had magically expanded to fit every Weasley brother, Dumbledore, and – Harry was shocked to see – Remus and Tonks. "I know. It's time."
"I still want to know what Harry's been doing disguised as someone else," Bill muttered.
"Later, idiot," said Ron.
"He came over to Mum and Dad's and let us abuse him!" said Fred.
But there was no time for further comment. A terrible crunching sound rang in Harry's ears and the telephone booth gave a violent shudder. The glass blew out of panes as though a bomb had gone off. His ears were still ringing.
"He's pulling down the wards," Dumbledore said, grim. "He needs the magical energy from them to make his Horcrux."
"That's not how Voldemort made his," said Harry. "Why is he doing this?"
"I expect this is his third attempt at creating one," said Dumbledore. "The first two didn't work, and he thinks it is because he needs more power. Thus he's borrowing it from the wards."
"What do we do?" Ginny asked, desperate. Her wand was out and eyes were wild. The invisibility cloak was draped over her arm and Harry wanted to drape it over her.
"Stand back," warned Dumbledore.
With his wand, he drew a rune in the air. It gleamed bronze for an instant before it seemed into the wall of the phonebooth. Then the wall began to sizzle and melt away, leaving an acrid scent in the air. Behind the booth was a tunnel that had just enough space for them to crawl through. Dumbledore went first, Harry ducked after him.
"Good thing you came with us," Harry muttered.
The words had no sooner left his mouth when he heard a terrible sound – like the wail of a banshee – and the ground shifted beneath his feet, nearly pitching him forward into Dumbledore.
"That was one of the Muggle repelling charms," Bill said.
"How'd you know that?" Fred asked.
"It smells like your dirty socks," said Bill.
"Quiet, please," said Dumbledore. Then, almost to himself: "We need to find out where in this building he is. We need to find him as swiftly as possible. Will he be in the Minister's office? We won't have many chances to get it right…"
More tunnel was revealed thanks to Dumbledore's acidic rune. There were no other signs that wards were being taken down by Crouch Jr, but there was a strange wind that blew inward, blowing against the back of Harry's neck and forcing him onward. Every delay they had… time mattered now. Molly and Arthur could be close to—
The tunnel gave way to the Ministry atrium with no warning. One moment, Harry was following Dumbledore, the next, they were all spilling out onto the floor just to the right of the security podium. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny whirl and twirl the cloak over herself. One moment she was there, the next she was gone.
"WATCH OUT!"
A second later, there was a blast of hot air. Dumbledore shouted a word and the entire world tilted madly. By some miracle, Harry remained on his feet. Grey haze filled the atrium, which was not nearly as empty as he thought. Terrified witches and wizards screamed from every bit of cover they could find. But this wasn't what caught his eye: it was the house elf – Bobbins, Harry dredged up from his memory – who was capering about, laughing wildly. Dumbledore engaged her calmly – he did not duel to kill.
Harry almost wished he would.
"Over here!" The same voice who had given them warning came again. This time it was a harsh whisper.
Harry crouched and pulled the invisible Ginny along with him. Everyone trailed behind them, allowing Dumbledore to duel the house elf, while they converged on Erik the security wizard's podium, which was covered by a shimmery golden dome.
"What's going on?"
Everyone asked this nearly at once.
"It's been like this for over an hour," Erik said, looking ill. "The house elf keeps attacking – she's waiting for – but you're the Weasleys! You shouldn't be here. He – he's waiting—"
"Has he revealed himself?" Harry asked sharply.
"What do you mean, he's waiting—" Percy's face was very pale under his freckles.
"I told you, he sent for me," Ginny said. Erik's head bobbed back and forth as he looked for the source.
"I have no clue what's going on," announced George.
"He has our parents," Ginny said.
"But you've not really explained who, but brought out this wild story—"
"I don't know how it happened, but it's the Minister's son," Erik interrupted. "We didn't know he had a son – none of us did – there was some sort of forgetting spell—"
"HIS OWN FATHER RENOUNCED HIM!" shrieked Bobbins. "MADE EVERYONE FORGET HIM! HIS OWN FAMILY!"
The elf capered about Dumbledore, dodging everything, but landing nothing.
"How is it that was accomplished?" Dumbledore asked.
Bobbins let out a wordless sound of rage. It reverberated around the hall, impossibly loud for such a tiny creature. Dread pulsed in Harry's belly.
"I don't know, Professor!" Erik answered, sounding terrified. "But you'll hear it in a minute – it keeps happening – it's terrifying, but you'll hear it. You'll hear about him. You'll—"
It did not even take a minute. Erik couldn't finish his sentence before it happened. A wail lifted the hairs on the back of his neck and a blue light erupted in the middle of the atrium. Harry was forcibly returned to the memory of watching the Minister's body reknit from bones on the floor. This time, it was remnants of stone remaking itself into the giant, Magic is Might statue. It was broken and shattered in places, and reminded him eerily of Voldemort.
More cries of pain erupted from its mouth. Crouch had enchanted the statue to speak, repeating what must have been the last moments of Weatherby's sanity. "—I DON'T KNOW! STOP! I DON'T!"
That's Weatherby, thought Harry. So unnerved was he that he looked up, expecting to see Weatherby above him, screaming from the pain, from having his soul mingle with a man like Crouch Jr…
The next scream went on and on and on until there was a broken sound at the end. "It's – ah – the Minister – he had a son – I DON'T KNOW HIS NAME! I DON'T! MERLIN, MAKE IT STOP!" A wet gargle interrupted him. Then, in a whisper: "It was Barty Crouch Jr. His son is Barty Crouch Jr."
Dumbledore made a terrible sound. There was a boom that filled the air – for a moment, the air splintered and Harry couldn't take in a breath. His chest grew tight.
"That is more than a memory charm," Dumbledore said. He was breathing heavily; his thin chest heaved and his hands shook. "A variant of the Fidelius?" he murmured.
"Master doesn't tell me!" Bobbins screamed.
"Weatherby must have been his secret keeper," said Dumbledore. "Ah! His illness, so quickly after Bartemius was returned to the DMLE? Weatherby was the secret keeper of his son's existence and crimes—"
"Master doesn't crime," said Bobbins. There was scorn in her voice, but she had dropped back onto her bare feet. She no longer battled Dumbledore but eyed him with wary triumph.
"You are very wrong," said Dumbledore. "I had forgotten, you see, but with Weatherby's words I remember your master's crimes very well. But you are not the Crouch house-elf… that was Winky, if I remember correctly."
"Winky was taken, Master said," said Bobbins. "The bad man at the Ministry took her to see how they does it, how they gives us house-elves a family. When Winky was gone, Master needed a new elf."
"Who is your true family?" Dumbledore asked.
"Stan Shunpike's family," said Harry. "Her true family was Stan Shunpike's—"
"MASTER IS MY TRUE FAMILY NOW!" Bobbins shouted, outraged. "You don't be talking about Master like that?"
"He did always hate Stan," murmured Dumbledore.
"Liar!" Bobbins flung the word at him like a javelin. It was accompanied by a vicious surge of light. Dumbledore batted it away like it was a ball of yarn. "Lies! Master loved Stan. He brought him out of Azkaban…"
"And how did he get out of Azkaban?" Dumbledore asked.
"Mother love was strong," said Bobbins. "His father hated him. His mother loved him. She took his place."
"Ah! Polyjuice, I assume," Dumbledore said. "His father hated him, it's true. For all his faults, Bartemius loathed the Dark Arts. I remember when he received incontrovertible proof that his own son was the author of terrible curses that destroyed a family. Barty Crouch kept his son under his control all these years? Goodness me."
"MASTER'S WOULD NEVER—"
Neville surged forward. "Your master tortured my parents," he spat. "He—"
Bobbins slashed her hand down, and Neville tumbled backward. George grunted and caught him.
"Yes, you have the house-elf loyalty," said Dumbledore. "It matters very little what your master does, you will follow and obey. It was a terrible thing that was done to your kind."
"I have a family," Bobbins said.
"Did you know that your prior family, Stan, too was afflicted by a curse?"
"Of course I did," Bobbins sneered. She capered about, glaring at Dumbledore. Her lips curved upward in a sneer. "His whole life, people mocked him."
"Yet you serve the one who cursed him?" Dumbledore asked idly.
This threw Bobbins. "No. Master didn't do it. Master punishes people who hurt Stan." A gleeful little cackle tore through the air. "Master punished all of them!" It was raucous laughter. "He punished them."
"How did Stan die?" Anyone would have thought Dumbledore was only idly curious. "And when?"
Bobbins's face twitched. "It was Halloween. Master took him out for a walk… he disguised him… he didn't want anyone finding out that Stan was out of Azkaban. They would have hurt him." Her little face was alive with hate. "Master never said—"
"Halloween, you said?"
"Halloween," Ginny said in an urgent whisper. "Harry, I think I know where he is – where he'd be!"
"Halloween," said Bobbins. Her voice rose to a high-pitched squeak. "Halloween! And he was murdered! He was minding his own business, Master did everything he could! No, my Stan died in Godric's Hollow. Murdered."
"Not Godric's Hollow?" Bill ventured. "Halloween in Godric's Hollow?"
Bobbins shrieked at him. "YOU'RE ONE OF THEM!" she shouted. "YOU MURDERED STAN!"
Bill had no time to refute it; the force of the house elf's rage tore through every bit of protection that wizards and witches had placed on the Ministry. The roof rumbled overhead, and it was the only warning they had before the it began to fall apart around them. Harry ran at half a crouch, dodging chunks of roof, and shouting "PROTEGO!" whenever he could. Terrified witches and wizards scurried under cover, the calmer of them casting charms to protect them.
No one was running in their direction; it was a clear path to the lifts… the further along the atrium they were, the less chaotic it was.
"Your brothers—"
"They'll be fine, they have to be fine," Ginny said. The edges of her voice were jagged. "I need to get to my parents."
Instead of taking the lift, they flung themselves down the stairs at a speed that Harry usually attained on a Firebolt. The small space echoed with their footsteps. Ginny kept up a constant refrain about Godric's Hollow, Bobbins, prophecies, and her parents, but Harry could only focus on the one thing: stopping Crouch Jr. before he could torture the closest people he had to living parents into insanity. It was as though Frank Longbottom's shadow was at their heels, harrying them, urging them onward.
Get to them. Get to your family.
There was a constant rumble in the ground by the time they got to the floor that held the Department of Mysteries. It was so cold Harry could see their breath and there was a strange, burning scent in the air.
His eyes were so focused on the end of the hall that he tripped and nearly crashed headlong into a wall. Looking back, he saw one of the Unspeakables crumpled in a heap on the floor. He was dead.
"Damn it," Ginny whispered. Just before they got to the door, she stopped him. "Harry," she whispered. "Harry, that rumble beneath our feet… that isn't…?"
"It's not the same as with Weatherby, I'm not feeling those awful surges of power," Harry assured her. "I don't think we're too late."
They were silent as they opened the door and found the spinning room. It took all of Harry's patience to wait for the right door… he wanted to blast every door off its hinges, to find Molly and Arthur before permanent harm could be done to them. Ginny was close enough to him that he could feel she was shaking.
But when the door finally appeared before them, Harry cast Ginny a desperate look. "It would be best if you stayed invisible, don't you think? I'll distract him, you get to your parents… It would just complicate everything if you went – went visible." Please don't let him see you.
"You're just trying to protect me," Ginny murmured. "But you're right regardless. He shouldn't know both of us are here."
"I can't help it," Harry said quietly.
"Harry," she said. Then she rocked into him and hugged him fiercely. "Let's go rescue my parents."
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
The light in the room did not come from a permanent source, but rather several of them. White, diffused light illuminated an area fifty feet from the door: all the prophecy orbs that had survived Harry's first visit here with Ginny had been brought together and formed a small galaxy around a darkened figure.
Harry's eyes were drawn immediately to the band around Crouch's wrist. It was swollen and seemed alive. It pulsed and crawled up the man's arm, glowing with a sullen red light. As Harry watched, the man cried out in pain and the red flared so abruptly Harry had to shield his eyes. The ground rumbled under his feet, stampeding toward Crouch. The band pulsed and writhed and Crouch grunted with the effort of containing the magical energy he was attempting to harness.
The revolving prophecy orbs lit the space behind Crouch – Harry's heart seemed to fail as he saw Molly and Arthur, huddled together, and not moving. Or – did he see Arthur's hand give Molly's shoulder a squeeze?
"Distract him," Ginny breathed. "I need time to get to them."
Harry strode forward as though prodded. "OI!" he yelled.
Crouch jerked and spun around. Red light jetted from his wand – but fizzled out before it hit the shield Harry hastily erected. Harry raised his eyebrows.
"You aren't supposed to be here!" Crouch shouted. Petulance twined through his words.
"Ah," said Harry. "And here I thought we had an appointment…"
Crouch blundered forward. The red lights were sinking into his arm. The closer he got, the more Harry could hear his labored breathing. "It's not supposed to be you," Crouch accused, terror turning his voice shrill. "Where's the Weasley girl? Why did that Bobbins let you – wait, you aren't Dumbledore?"
"You are correct," said Harry.
"You aren't Dumbledore," mumbled Crouch.
Harry held his footing as the ground beneath his feet rumbled. Crouch let out a whiny breath as more power from the breaking Ministry wards hit him. This time, the light sunk in enough that Harry had a glimpse of his skeleton and sinews, muscles and bone. Crouch was imbued with red light… there was a fleeting shadow that caught Harry's eyes and held it.
"I'm not Dumbledore," Harry agreed. A fleeting glance told him that the Weasleys hadn't moved.
"Where is that Weasley girl?" Crouch asked. His eyes were wild and Harry had the feeling he teetered on the verge of madness, for he seemed to expect Harry to produce her for him. "I expected her already… she's just leaving her parents to me?"
"What do you need her for?" Harry asked.
"Oh," said Crouch. His face shone with sweat. Harry no longer feared the wizard – he feared the glowing band around him that held more and more magic from the wards. There was a faint buzz in the air… it was coming from that band… Then Crouch was talking to him. "I'm performing a ritual."
"You've chosen an interesting spot to invoke a ritual," said Harry.
A sneer flitted over Crouch's face, alleviating some of the pain etched there. "You wouldn't understand," he said, dismissive.
"Try me," Harry said in a hard voice.
Crouch gestured, an oddly gallant motion of his wrist. It encompassed all the orbs of the prophecy – the few that were left after Harry's last visit with Ginny. "My father performed a bastardized version of the Fidelius charm, you know," he said. "Everyone my father deemed important forgot about me. He couldn't have gotten to my master, but surely my master thought I disappeared or died in Azkaban… for why else didn't he come looking for me?"
Harry blinked several times. "But I asked why you're holding a ritual here."
"We were always so alike," said Crouch. His wand arm was now at his side and there was a beatific look on his face. "We both were named for our fathers… both our fathers disappointed us… and both of us had our revenge on them." Dark fire kindled in his eyes. "And both of us are subject to a prophecy."
Harry's eyes lifted to the orbs and he couldn't help but wonder which one was Crouch's. Movement flickered out of the corner of his eye and he saw Molly's feet disappearing around the corner of a shelf. Crouch's eyes followed his, and Harry said hastily: "Did you think that Voldemort cared about you?"
Crouch flinched. "Don't say the name," he said. "You aren't worthy to say his name. You aren't worthy of it. He was my master… he was a better father than the one I was cursed with… he cared."
"No, he didn't," said Harry. "He couldn't have."
"Liar," Crouch flung at him.
"If he did care about you, those feelings died on the nights he performed a similar ritual to the one you're trying now," said Harry. "Multiple nights. Multiple Horcruxes."
Crouch did not seem to hear him. The tentacles of red light were inching their way across his chest. "My master, the Dark Lord, would understand. He would know the weight of having a prophecy…"
A small thump from behind one of the shelves had Crouch turning on his heel.
"How did you find out there was a prophecy about you in the first place?" Harry asked quickly, before he could see that Arthur was now being dragged away from danger.
"My father told me." Crouch spat the word as though it were a filthy thing. "He came home – this was after Yaxley took Winky, so I was tied to my bed with chains – and told me one of the Unspeakables alerted him that a prophecy had been recorded. They thought it was his name. The fools. As though my father could warrant a prophecy…"
"What did it say?" Harry asked. The feigned idleness in his tone belied the hairs sticking up on the back of his neck.
"I DON'T KNOW!" Crouch shouted. His hands sank into his hair. "My fool of a father didn't bother to listen to it. He didn't tell me. He warned me that I would go free over his dead body… and it might have been true, but after that day, I grew stronger and stronger. With Winky gone, the fool couldn't contain me the way he used to. And I knowing I had a destiny that my father couldn't comprehend granted me even more clarity." His eyes were wild and fierce. Harry didn't think Crouch had as much clarity as Crouch thought he did. "How could a prisoner have a destiny?" He made that gallant gesture again. Harry wondered if any of that crowd was the orb that contained the prophecy about A. Peverell. He wondered if it was exactly the one that excited Crouch so much.
"Do you know what I think of prophecies?" Harry asked, attempting a conversational tone. Another magical surge happened; Crouch was brought to his tip-toes and his skeleton was outlined once more… this time, Harry saw shadows in it that didn't belong to muscle, sinew, or bone. It was as though Crouch had shadows nesting inside of him.
"Why would I care what you think of prophecies?" Crouch flung at him. "Prophecies precede acts of magic so great that they cause a ripple effect forward and backward in time. You're no one. You're just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There's no great act of magic coming from you."
In reply, Harry flicked his wand and uttered a command. The orbs nearest him shattered – each orb became its own galaxy of broken shards. His hex waved outward, and with pops, crackles, and the whispers of a hundred seers, the orbs were destroyed by the handful. Crouch watched, eyes popping and mouth sagging open. Harry felt the exact opposite: watching the orbs explode gave him a sense of freedom. It didn't matter if destiny expected him at a certain place or time… Harry would be there anyway, by his own choice.
"You – you – you!" Crouch spluttered. Something bubbled under his skin, and Harry had the sense there was another person inside him, and the waves of magic coming from the wards and into that band around his arm were pushing it out.
Oh Merlin, it's the Horcrux, Harry thought, horrified. There were things he had never wanted to see, and the creation of a Horcrux was one of them. At the same time – Crouch's eyes were like mirrors, reminding him of the revenant he had faced so long ago – Harry knew he needed to see more. The memory of the revenant prodded his instincts—
"PSYCHISMORI!" he shouted. He'd used it once to reveal a revenant; instinct told him this would reveal the faultlines in Crouch's own soul, where he'd attempted to sunder it again and again.
The world sundered, and then reknit itself, doubled.
Crouch had a sudden twin, strange and frightening. A grotesque frown pulled its features down. Dark fires lit its eyes. They were joined at the waist, but the second Crouch twisted and writhed and clung as though it did not want to part. The failed ritual, Harry thought. It ignited hope inside him, that he was seeing anything at all.
Then Crouch was turning to him, mouth open with rage. "YOU DARE!" he shouted. "YOU DARE!"
"I dare," said Harry. He forced his breath to calm.
"You're no one!" he shouted. His eyes were wild and mad. His shadow continued to pull at him. Its fingers dug into Crouch's hips in a way that was nearly sexual. "I won't use you for the ritual! You're no one! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE WEASLEY GIRL! YOU'RE NO ONE!"
"I'm not the one Daddy made everyone forget about," Harry said, unable to stop himself. "You're more of a no one than I am."
Crouch's eyes bulged. "You – I – whatever you did, stop it," he ordered.
Harry gestured around them. The shattered bits of the orbs still floated around them. "It's possible that great acts of magic are preceded by prophecies," said Harry. "It does make sense that there would be a – what did you just call it? A ripple effect?" Harry had never thought of it like that before, and he would not be surprised if it was true. But Crouch was wrong nevertheless. "But it wasn't Voldemort's great act of magic that created the circumstances of prophecy. A Horcrux is a mutilation, not a wonder. If the prophecy involving Voldemort and the – the child he tried to kill was made, it wasn't because of the Horcrux. It was because of the mother's sacrifice."
Crouch curled his lip. "Delusion. Some mudblood dying—"
"Sacrificing," Harry corrected. "She sacrificed her own life for her child's. That was magic Voldemort knew nothing about. It's far stronger than committing murder and then mutilating his own soul." He twitched his hand. "Look around you, Barty. Your shadow is trying to cling to you, trying not to separate from you. It's because of your mother, isn't it?" The furtive look in Crouch Jr.'s eyes confirmed it. "She died in Azkaban so you wouldn't have to. Now you're trying to excise that goodness from your own soul."
"She was dying anyway," Crouch Jr. jerked his shoulder. "It was no sacrifice."
"Maybe your father just told you that," suggested Harry. "Maybe she was perfectly healthy – though sick at what her son had become – and she died to give you a chance."
"A chance!" Crouch screamed. "A chance at what? To be imprisoned by my father?"
"He never should have done it," Harry agreed. Privately, he felt it would not have been any sort of loss for Barty Crouch Jr. to have died in Azkaban decades ago. "He never should have trusted that he could keep you subdued for the rest of his life. And what was he to do when he died?" Curiosity compelled him to ask: "How did you escape him? You weren't clear earlier."
Crouch's shadow curled its hand around his forearm and Crouch shuddered. His face was a ghastly color, as though he already had one foot in his own grave. Behind Harry, he heard a whistle and his shoulders relaxed at once. Molly and Arthur were out of the room… they were safe…
"—the potion," Crouch was saying. "My father used the Imperius Curse, our old house-elf, wards, and potions… he hardly ever even bothered with everything else toward the end." His shadow was now climbing up his back, whispering in his ear. "But my head started to clear, sometimes for days at a time… I kept it hidden, even from Winky, but then Yaxley came and took her away. Father doubled my potions for a time, but even then my head was so much clearer. Then he came home with word about the prophecy."
The ingredients… Harry thought. Whatever the ingredients in the potion Crouch used on his son… they were losing efficacy like every other ingredient…
"I still kept it hidden," Crouch said. His face was twitching. "I didn't want to chance Father figuring out I wasn't his subdued little puppet any—would you stop that?!" There was panic in his tone. His shadow had its arms around him and was crooning in his ear.
"What's it telling you?" Harry asked.
Behind him, Harry heard footsteps approaching, many of them. Crouch didn't notice this, but continued to grapple with his shadow. The surges of energy to the band around his forearm ceased.
"It's singing the lullaby my mum – she used to—"
"Ah," said Harry. There was a draft against his back and he could feel the air moving around him as others – disillusioned though they might be they were still visible to his other senses – took up a semi-circle around the oblivious Barty Crouch Jr. "That's the thing about making a Horcrux," said Harry. "Your soul doesn't want to be permanently sundered. You're going to have to forget about your mum if you want to continue on."
"Forget… my mum?" Crouch said, dazed. Then he glared at Harry. "And what do you know about creating Horcruxes, anyway?"
"More than you do," said Harry. He forced a laugh. "How many powerful dark lords do you see who've successfully made one and didn't find themselves dead anyway? It even happened to Voldemort."
Crouch Jr. scowled at him. "You're the one who said the Horcruxes have nothing to do with prophecy—"
"Anyone decent would fight against someone who has made one," said Harry. "Do you remember Regulus Black, by any chance? He discovered Voldemort had made one… Voldemort used Regulus's own house-elf to protect it. The elf was meant to die, but Regulus – who was a Death Eater, and probably as far from decent as you once were… Regulus thought Horcruxes were disgusting."
Crouch batted his shadow's hands away and gave Harry a look of pure loathing. "How do you know all of this? How on earth could you possibly know?" he shouted. "You're nobody!"
"It looks like your shadow is really getting to you," said Harry.
"YOU'RE NOBODY!"
"And yet thirty minutes ago, you were terrified to meet me," said Harry. Without planning it, without conscious thought, Harry touched the tip of his wand against the stone that rested on the inside of his skin. The disguise of August Peverell melted off of him. Harry nearly felt bad for Crouch, who tripped over his own shadow in his haste to back up. The man looked even ghastlier, and put his hand over his heart.
"No…"
"Yes," said Harry. "As it happens, I know quite a lot about Horcruxes. When Voldemort killed my parents and tried to kill me, a bit of his own soul blasted apart and onto me." He gestured toward the shadow, who still looked like Stan Shunpike, but was attempting to coddle Crouch Jr. like a baby. The shadow was growing stronger… Is it about to split fully, or about to be reunited? Harry's stomach jerked.
"You lie," Crouch Jr. said. But he looked like a frightened cadaver, eyes sunken into eye-sockets and dark mouth open wide.
"Voldemort may have had power, but he wasn't a great wizard," said Harry. "If he were a great wizard he wouldn't have degraded himself as he did… you have no idea, do you, what it means to tear yourself in pieces. To murder others—"
"I've murdered before," Crouch Jr. said with despair and triumph. "And never have I – it wasn't like this when I murdered the others."
"When you murdered Stan, you mean," said Harry, remembering something. "Maybe a part of you didn't want to murder your father—"
"I wanted to murder my father as much as I wanted Stan to die," Crouch Jr. hissed. "My father – obsessed with his job, never had time for us. And Stan – a filthy mudblood who had his very own mark of prestige, a house-elf—"
"Master killed Stan?"
Harry didn't smile. It was much too terrifying a moment for that. Bobbins did not sound very happy with her new master. One by one, the Weasleys took the disillusionment charms off themselves, and suddenly the Hall of Prophecy was crowded. Bobbins struggled in mid-air, trying to dive toward Crouch. Dumbledore, who was in the back of the crowd, kept his wand trained on her.
"No," said Crouch, panicked. "No, of course not. He lies—"
"He just admitted to it, Bobbins," said Harry. "You heard what he called Stan. His mum was a witch, but what did he call him? A Mudblood. Careful, Barty…"
"He didn't deserve you, Bobbins," said Crouch. His shadow continued to sidle around him, crooning. Sweat beaded on his brow and he looked ghastlier than ever. "He had no wit to realize he could use you to break himself out of prison."
"He was my family," said Bobbins.
"But he was – was very silly, wasn't he?" Crouch stuttered. Harry eyed him, and his shoulders began to relax. So focused was he on his own turmoil that he hadn't noticed anything around him. The red light around him pulsed and Harry could almost hear the screams coming from his shadow.
"Silly?" Bobbins said.
Harry felt a stir of air and Ginny, invisible beside him, whispered a word.
Bobbins, now freed from Dumbledore's enchantment, stepped forward.
"Bobbins, you don't understand—"
"Master needs to explain to me," said Bobbins.
Harry reached out and gripped Ginny's arm and took two steps back. There was thunder in that squeaky voice; it threatened danger.
"Where are your parents?" Harry breathed.
"Fred and George are with them," Ginny whispered back. "They – it's bad, Harry. But not…"
Warm relief made Harry nearly forget they weren't done here, that they still had to untangle the mess before them. Crouch was shouting at Bobbins, and with a surge of magic, Bobbins was sent flailing backward against the shelves, where she crumpled to the ground. Her arms and legs bent at odd angles…
"IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE STAN!" he shouted. "It's supposed to be the Weasley girl… the one who's been thwarting me all year."
Ginny pulled off the invisibility cloak; Harry's heart nearly failed.
"You mean me?" she asked. Her voice was almost pleasant.
Crouch made a sound of disbelief. Blood was now dripping from the corners of his eyes. "I knew it," he whispered. His voice was weak. "I knew it. You're here. You've set yourself up as my enemy… surely it must be best to use an enemy to make a Horcrux?" The question floated around them. "You're better than my father… better than Rosier… better than Stan." He beckoned toward Ginny, as though expecting her to walk toward him and accept her fate.
"You'll never make a Horcrux," Ginny informed him, while Harry fought off the outrage that wanted to throw aside his wand tackle Crouch. How dare he—
"I will," Crouch shouted. He sank to his knees. His shadow sank down behind him and wrapped its arms around his middle. One hand brushed over Crouch's heart and he screamed in pain.
"It's not about power, I don't think," said Ginny. "I think Harry was right."
"It isn't about power," said Harry.
"Master killed Stan," said Bobbins. Her small, shattered figure crawled toward Crouch. "Master killed Stan."
"You can't kill off the best part of yourself, because your mum's sacrifice is protecting it," said Harry. "And a part of you knows you owe her."
"I OWE HER NOTHING!" shouted Crouch.
"You owe her everything," said Ginny.
"Master killed Stan." Bobbins said it one final time. Then she launched herself at Crouch, end sent a blast of white light directly at the band around Crouch's arm. For one sick, terrifying instant, both their bodies filled with red. Crouch screamed and screamed as his shadow pressed itself against his back. At the last instant, the shadow's hand covered Crouch's mouth. Harry thought he heard strains from a lullaby in the second before both Bobbins and Crouch exploded with the force of a bomb.
Harry's instinctive shield charm covered Ginny, but it was her charm that protected her brothers from the backlash. The shelves exploded into find bits and huge chunks of the stone walls came pummeling at them. In the next instant, Dumbledore shouted a word and everything froze.
Ginny made a great sweeping motion with her wand, and the rubble that had nearly flattened her brothers and Dumbledore was flung backward. There was a great amount of noise from the Weasleys as they all stared at Ginny, forced to see her as Harry now did: a grown woman with talent and courage enough for ten.
"I'm still waiting for that explanation," said Bill, who was the first to recover. "I've watched all that drama and still don't have a clue what the fuck is going on."
"Well, it's a long story," said Ginny. She took Harry's hand and linked her fingers with his, to the increased astonishment of her brothers. "And we ought to wait until Mum and Dad can hear it, don't you think?"
Harry cast one more glance around the Hall of Prophecy – which was now totally destroyed as opposed to partially destroyed, the way he'd last left it. The band that had been summoning all the power from the breaking wards was the only thing that had survived the explosion; Bobbins and Crouch were no more as surely as though they'd been Vanished. Ginny tugged his hand, and Harry allowed himself to be pulled away.
HPHPHPHPHPHP
Author's Note: I write this after a very long battle with this chapter. It's the penultimate one in the whole fic, so everything was converging in a way that I always think – "OH WON'T IT BE SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE WHEN SO MANY THINGS ARE HAPPENING AT ONCE?!" I have never learned that it isn't so much fun as it is difficult and ambitious. I hope you can forgive the flaws in the story (if you're interested, once I post the last chapter of Peverell, which shouldn't be too long a wait, I'm going to post a sort of moratorium on my tumblr of all the things I learned writing this fic). I hope you were entertained, mostly, and think it was a worthwhile read.
That's what matters, right?
Anyway, until next time. The last time. And hopefully before Christmas.