23

THE chilly autumn air made her numb, as dark purple and black thunderclouds stretched across the horizon.

She had been awake all night, so had Remus, almost instantly after Frank had been taken shortly after being healed by her, not even fifteen minutes after, which suggested this was all a trap to start.

The Death Eaters that came for Frank had not been interested in Remus and Mrs. Longbottom, and had left them more or less alone, having orders to bring only Frank in alive.

The Order member had informed Augusta that there were a few known hideouts of the Dark Lord's followers, the Death Eaters. Between the two of them, with another helpful Patronus sent by Sibyl Trelawney at Professor Dumbledore's insistence, the message and information divulged had led them here, to the outskirts of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's manor.

A gray mist slowly crept towards the darkening sky as a clap of thunder rent through the air, the scent of heady rain making the older witch's nostrils flare.

"Mr. Lupin," she calmly called, calm, but still. She kept her eyes fixed on the Malfoy's home, watching.

And as the noise of panic began to swell within the manner, Mrs. Longbottom noticed a very feminine figure in a familiar-looking blue dress come out from the front door, leading a limping man.

Mrs. Longbottom's heart almost stopped in her chest to taken in her son's battered, bruised form.

She recognized the pair of them as her son and her daughter-in-law, the way she was running with panicked and hurried steps, the way her head looked both was as her husband struggled to keep up. Mrs. Longbottom stared, clutching her wand.

They made it.

She turned towards Remus, who moved to stand alongside her, breathing out a sigh of relief, and the young brunette haired new witch who the pair had encountered in the Forest shortly after Frank had been taken by the Death Eaters.

The witch was a young Auror around Alice's age, who bore a striking resemblance to her daughter-in-law, the same hairstyle cut short in a dark pixie cut, a similar face shape, though a slightly differently shaped nose, a narrower face, and different color eyes.

Alice's eyes were blue. This witch's eyes were a light forest moss green color.

Anne, Remus, and Mrs. Longbottom had learned, had been dispatched to the Forbidden Forest by Alastor Moody and Albus Dumbledore in the hopes of providing extra wand support in order to get Alice Longbottom back out of the clutches of the vampire's, and now, it would seem, from the Dark Lord himself…

This young witch, whose name was Thatcher, Anne Thatcher, an Auror alongside Alice, and Frank, shot Mrs. Longbottom and Remus a dark look that needed no explaining.

Something truly awful and unthinkable had happened. The trio raced to meet the pair of Aurors halfway, Mrs. Longbottom keeping her teeth clenched as she kept her wand raised at eye-level.

Remus reached Alice and Frank first, his arms outstretched, and he clutched Alice to him tightly, looking almost close to the point of tears.

Alice was almost doubled over, fighting to find her breath, and Frank was staggering on his feet.

Alice closed her eyes in relief as Mrs. Longbottom and her coworker Anne ran to help support Frank. She could faintly hear Anne murmuring an incantation under her breath and fumbled in the pocket of her coat for a small glass vial of an orange-colored liquid that Alice recognized as a Strength Potion. Almost instantly, within the first few drops of the concoction going down Frank's throat, he seemed to regain his color. Alice clung tightly to Lupin, still shaking with fear.

He stroked her hair, unwilling to let his friend go back inside and face the horrific truth. Lupin squeezed his own eyelids shut to chase away the image of what might have happened. When the two could finally move again, Remus brought his calloused hands up to hold Alice's face. She grabbed onto the werewolf's forearms as if clinging to a lifeline.

"Crouch, I-it was Barty, Remus, h—he saved us both," she choked out in a half-formed sob, tears welling in both her eyes. Though before she could say anything else, a sharp, shooting pain shot right through her chest, leaving her feeling stricken, hollow, and empty. And cold. So cold.

This foreign feeling came to her in a flash of knowing something so terrible had happened to Barty, so strong, that it stole the very breath from her lungs.

"Barty," she whispered, her voice horrified. "No, no, no, no!"

Remus's wolfish hearing perked up and he turned his head to look at his friend, frowning. "Alice?" he asked slowly and cautiously, his light hazel eyes making a quick scan of the young witch, not liking how sickly and pallid she looked.

"I—I should go back…" Alice said in a small voice, not wanting to voice her suspicions that something awful had surely happened to Crouch.

Had the entire country fell on them? Everyone swiveled their heads, Anne included, to stare at her, all of them wanting to believe they'd heard her wrong.

But Alice was as grim as a graveyard.

Lupin blinked owlishly in disbelief. "You can't…" His voice trembled as he looked towards Frank, who still looked bruised and more purple than pale, but he'd regained some color and could at least stand up on his own two feet without staggering backward and looking like he'd faint.

Alice looked at Remus numbly.

"If Voldemort hasn't already, then he'll kill him. I have to go!" she cried, though before she could take a step back, another sharp shooting pain cut through her belly. She winced and doubled over as a wave of dizziness and nausea swept through her. Frank and Lupin were by her side in an instant, bracing Alice against the pain as her face twisted in pain.

"Alice?" Frank murmured hoarsely in a weak, faint voice, whispering into the shell of her ear, and pulled back a bit to study his wife's ashen face. "You're white as a sheet. A—are you alright, Al?"

Alice gritted her teeth and shook her head as beads of sweat dripped down her temples. "Tea," she managed to gasp out through clenched teeth. "Poison, I….The—the Dark Lord forced this nasty tea down my throat. I—I think it might be poisoned," she whispered weakly, her soft voice barely above a whisper.

Alice groaned loudly and sank to the ground on her knees, bringing Frank and Remus with her. Lupin closed in on Alice first, one hand on the back of her head, pressing the side of her face against his shoulder, the other wound around her middle.

Lupin was shockingly so calm that it almost made Alice feel even sicker, not knowing what was happening to her. She was sure to die.

Damn you, Voldemort…curse you…She and the baby growing inside for her were sure to die. The Dark Lord had poisoned her. She was dying now. I'm dying….

When it occurred to Alice that she was slowly passing out of this world and into the next, it almost sent her mind reeling and insane.

"Frank," she whimpered, reaching out with trembling fingers to grab onto fistfuls of her husband's sweater. "I…help me…"

Alice tried to say something else, but her tongue felt heavy in her mouth like clay had dried on her tongue, making it feel like there was a gag on her mouth and rendering her unable to speak at all.

Nervous and panicked at hearing her words, Frank was hardly able to breathe himself as he gripped onto Alice's waist, Remus supporting her left side, and draping her arm around his shoulder. He shot Remus a worried, knowing look. They needed to get her to St. Mungo's, fast.

Her life and their baby's life depended on it.

"Hang on, Al," Frank pleaded softly. "We're going to save you. You'll—you'll be alright, love," he stammered, fumbling over his words as he spoke them, though he knew his tone lacked the conviction to sell the argument he wanted to make. He himself was having trouble believing his own words, much less that they were still alive.

Frank cringed as he could tell by the pained, hurting expression on his wife's face that Alice wasn't quite buying it either as her pleading, pain-filled gaze flitted between Frank and Remus for a moment, before looking towards her mother-in-law, and her fellow coworker, suddenly grateful that Anne had been ordered by Moody to come.

Alice briefly appeared relieved for a moment as she blearily lifted her chin to better look Auror Anne Thatcher in the eyes, which was admitted difficult through her haze of pain. She looked at her and Frank's colleague desperately, aware of what she was about to ask her friend was a lot.

"Save him. If Barty is still alive, Anne, save him since I can't. Please," Alice implored, begging the witch who, even after almost two years of working alongside her, with a few physical differences, how much alike they looked. The same haircut, facial features, save for a slightly different face shape, and different eyes. Her green eyes met hers.

Anne's green eyes widened as she looked at Alice Longbottom, a young witch whom she liked to think of as sort of a friend, and her husband, too. Anne Thatcher's breaths caught in her throat. She could not find her voice, could not even speak.

It was clear that the young Auror rapidly growing within their ranks at the Ministry of Magic, that she very much cared for Barty Crouch Jr. All Anne could do was manage to nod her head and pray that she would be able to save the man.

If the wizard was still alive. There was no time to lose.

Anne caught everyone's gazes and nodded, turning on her heels, steeling a breath, preparing herself for the carnage that was sure to be inside the Malfoy's manor, her wand clutched in hand. The young witch did not allow herself to look back as she turned on her heels and Disapparated with the intent of heading towards the front door.

Frank's mother was the first to break the heavy silence that lingered in the air between them following Anne Thatcher's vanishing from the edge of the wooded area that bordered the Malfoy family's property's estate.

A look of intense determination was set upon her features as she continued to clutch her wand firmly in hand, her red handbag's strap swung over her left shoulder.

"You need to get Alice to St. Mungo's, Mr. Lupin. And you too, Frank, you need looking after," was all she said in a matter-of-fact tone that gave the air of a business-first nature. The aging witch took a half step forward towards Malfoy Manor, though paused when she heard an odd, strangled noise come from the back of her son's own throat.

Her brows furrowed, her lips pursed into a thin line as she shot her son a firm look of disapproval.

Mrs. Augusta Longbottom sighed, shaking her head to herself, but she did not lower her wand.

"Go," she ordered, speaking more towards Remus than the other two, as her son and daughter-in-law were not in much of a physical condition to be putting up much of an argument. "I shall stay and see if I can aid Miss Thatcher in her efforts to save Alice's…friend…" she added, her voice trailing off as her nose scrunched in anger.

Remus blinked owlishly after the older witch as she began to totter off towards the direction of the Malfoys' home, seemingly not to be bothered with Apparating directly inside, and then he cursed himself for not remembering that they couldn't.

The Malfoy's, he knew, had set up protective enchantments within their home that prevented all, save for a select few, from Apparating or Disapparating into and out of their home as a precaution. So, when Alice's coworker had Disapparated a second ago, the further she would be able to make it was perhaps their front door.

Lupin tore his gaze away from Mrs. Longbottom's fading silhouette as the older witch set off with the intent to help Frank and Alice's coworker, before realizing he still had to help them.

"Hang on, Alice," he whispered into the shell of her ear, as with her husband's help, he lifted her upright into as much of a standing position as he could muster by holding her arm. "We're going to save you, Alice. I—I promise…."

Remus's voice cracked and broke as he spoke the words. He turned his head away sharply so Alice, if she were awake at all, wouldn't see tears forming in his eyes.

Alice had already been through so much, and for this to be happening to his friend was not fair. She grunted something inaudible, just barely summoning enough internal strength to lift her head and look at her friend, before looking to her husband.

Save him, she thought pleadingly towards her and Frank's colleague. Save him. Save him, Anne. Save him, please.

She repeated her prayer to Anne over and over, last seeing Crouch facing off with the Dark Lord, and now she was seeing Frank's face, a worried, concerned expression on her husband's features as he tried to peer into her pupils before her consciousness began to ebb at the deafening sound of the lot of them Disapparating.

But even in the sweet embrace of blackness as the three of them touched down onto solid ground just outside of St. Mungo's and Frank and Remus ushered her inside to receive immediate emergency medical attention for her wounds, a dull, aching pain began festering from her womb.

ANNE Thatcher shivered as she very calmly and deliberately, almost feeling like she was watching herself from far away, like in the Pensieve in the Hogwarts Headmaster's office, stepped forward, her hand in hand, through the front entryway of the Malfoy's familial estate.

She was fully expecting company, either Narcissa or Lucius, but there was no one here to be found. Her slight form cast a shadow across the entryway as she opened the door wider, and she moved off to the side in order to allow Mrs. Longbottom to enter.

"Keep your wits about you, ma'am," she muttered darkly, holding her wand aloft in front of her, on the unlikely off-chance a few of Lord Voldemort's followers still lurked in these walls.

Considering the Dark Lord himself had fled, she highly doubted it, and then she remembered that Narcissa and Lucius had gone on holiday to somewhere in the countryside for a couple of days.

Which would explain the lack of security. Out of the corner of her peripherals, she saw the elderly witch nod. "You too," was all Augusta said stiffly. "You check the downstairs, I'll head to the second floor and see if I can't find Bartemius's son, dear."

Without even thinking about it, Anne accidentally let the revelation slip before she could think about stopping herself. "I wasn't even aware Mr. Crouch had a son," the Auror blurted out. "Mr. Crouch hardly ever talks of his home life," she stammered, a light pink blush speckling along her cheeks as the older greying-haired witch turned to shoot Alice's almost-doppelganger an incredulous look of utter disbelief. The older witch scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Perhaps then, my dear, that's why my son's wife asked you to be the one to find him, and save him," was all she said, the witch shooting her an odd little look as something unreadable flickered through her serious eyes.

Something that Anne did not know yet what to make of. Though before she could ask after it, Mrs. Longbottom tottered off, clutching her red handbag and her wand, and headed for the staircase towards the second floor. Staring after the older woman's fading silhouette as Alice Longbottom's mother-in-law headed up the stairs, Anne Thatcher could only blink owlishly at the old witch, wondering what she meant by her words just now, before she remembered Alice's plea to save her friend's life.

The young Auror checked the kitchen, living room, and nothing, and she was about to turn down the hallway that would likely lead her to the bedrooms and the loo, and that's what she smelled. The unmistakable, disgusting stench of blood made the witch halt in her tracks, nostrils flaring.

Her feet moving of their own accord, no longer taking direction from her own mind, Anne was forced to follow her nose as the stench of blood and the icy chill of death's grasp wound its icy tendrils around the quivering muscle that was her heart in her chest. As she walked, she tried to force her breathing and heart rate to remain calm.

Anne reached the closed door and hadn't even realized that she had begun trembling, almost uncontrollably so, until she nearly dropped her wand on the floor in front of her as she outstretched her hand around the door's handle.

Anne tried to wait for her racing heart to calm down, but the Auror also recognized that Mr. Crouch's son, if he were still alive, was on borrowed time, and she had promised Alice that she would do what she could to save the man's life.

With a firm twist and a shove as her slender fingers curled over the doorknob, she felt her pupils dilate in the dark as cautious green eyes peered in through the now-open doorway into the dark, and gingerly, Auror Thatcher stepped in.

The smell of blood and sweat and other things she would rather not think of was the first to assault her senses. Swallowing down hard past a lump in her throat, Anne slowly enters the Malfoy's dining room, thinking old Lucius was going to have one hell of a mess and inquiry to sort through when he got back from his holiday.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and when they finally did, as her eyes made a quick scan of the gruesome scene in front of her, her green eyes rested on the only one whose chest was still barely moving, a rattling rising and falling.

Shaking her head and blowing out a deep, slow exhale, the Auror forced herself into action and shoved her emotions down into the pit of her churning stomach, not letting herself look at the bloodied and mangled mess of corpses around her. All of them Death Eaters. She could tell by their black robes and scattered masks on the floor.

Is Crouch Sr.'s son one? Anne thought, furrowing her brows as she knelt beside the barely conscious man and put a hand on the handsome, dark-haired man's arm.

Much to her surprise, it was still warm. Balancing her wand on her thigh for a moment as she stayed knelt into a crouch, she reached out with shaking fingers, holding them to the man's lips to check for any signs of breathing. There! Yes! Anne briefly felt a momentary surge of triumph and hope swell in her chest as she realized there may be a chance to save his life, yet.

A breath emanated from his barely cracked lips. Faint, but it was there.

You're still alive, she thought, her eyes widening in shock and surprise. "Mrs. Longbottom!" she shouted as she lifted her head to the ceiling. "I found him, he's down here!" The Auror could tell by the sound of thundering loud footsteps coming from above their heads that the elderly witch had heard her summons and was on her way back down to help Anne.

She turned her attention back towards Bartemius Crouch Sr.'s son on the ground, studying the man. A good-looking chap. Tall, well built. Dark hair, pale complexion that was tinged slightly grey from the amount of blood that he had lost already.

Anne gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to escape as the man's eyes suddenly fluttered open just then. They blinked once, twice, three times, swiveling around the room wildly for a moment before coming to rest on Anne's face. Barty Crouch's son stared up at her silently, awestruck. As he did so, Anne felt her chest start to constrict and her throat hallow, a shimmering moisture building behind her shining eyelids as she looked at him.

His eyes were a beautiful, rich, deep brown. And filled to the brim with grief and pain, the likes of which she couldn't begin to understand. But if she was going to help him heal, Anne knew that she had to try to reach this man.

"…Alice…?" he whispered faintly in a weak voice.

Anne's eyes widened for a moment at the comparison to her coworker, but she got that a lot within the Auror Department at the Ministry. So, she didn't fault him. She was used to it by now.

She shook her head, unable to explain away the brief feeling of hurt at the man's crestfallen expression as she did. "Anne, sir, my name is Anne," she whispered back. Moved with pity, she rested a hand on his bleeding shoulder. "Hold on, sir," she whispered into the darkness as he rested his head back against the hardwood floor, his eyelids fluttering closed. "You'll be alright, sir."

He did not answer her, but that was expected.

You'll be alright, she thought again, hoping that in some small way, the young man could hear her.

Because she owed it to Alice Longbottom to try to save this man's life, and she was going to do it.

No matter what it took.

BARTY had thought to be killed by the Dark Lord should have been much less painful. A merciful lord, he always called himself, seeing no need for bloodshed and to draw out a victim's end. But then again, he was certain that he was far away from any sweet, glorious Heaven in an afterlife. If anything, it seemed like he was in Hell. It felt as though he were caught in a churning tide that was unrelenting, and all at once, Barty was all too aware of the searing pain that ravaged his bleeding and broken body. It was almost more than the former Death Eater could bear. His muscles wanted to convulse and writhe in agony.

However, his lack of strength from both his energy being drained from fighting the group of Death Eaters before trying to take on Lord Voldemort himself and now his wounds, kept him pinned to the ground, lying in wait for that cloaked hooded figure of Death from the stories, to come and take him away to whatever might be waiting for him next in the next realm after this.

However, the hooded figure did not come for him. The only thing that did, however, was nothing. A nothingness, a void in which Bartemius Crouch Jr. pointedly ceased to exist. Then pain.

He bit down on his tongue hard enough that he tasted his own blood as he tried to move his left arm, only for a horrible burning pain to shoot up the nerves in his arm, almost paralyzing him there. The pain took over a portion of his brain, radiating the strong, burning feeling in a way that shattered his mind, or at least…that's what it felt like. He realized with a sickening sense of dread at what was happening, coupled with relief that it actually was, what was happening to him now.

The Dark Lord had deemed him unworthy, branded him a traitor, a traitor he believed dead. His Dark Mark branded onto his left arm was magically being removed, as was the case when one either betrayed him or passed away while in his service when Voldemort saw no further need of you. He laid so still, his breaths shallow, hurting.

If this was what Hell felt like, then Crouch figured he deserved more than an eternity of such torture. Barty thought he could handle this better than the remorse at not being able to save Alice. Barty thought this was more acceptable than having to look into the pain and heartbreak of his best friend's face, angelic though it was even through her tears, and scream at her flee the room. At seeing the hurt in her astonishing blue eyes. He'd not been able to bring himself to look.

Now, he wished more than anything, he had. If he concentrated enough behind his closed lids, Crouch swore he could see them now before him. Not filled with tears and misery, but sparkling pale blue and happy, as he'd always wished to see her. This was pure and utter torture, enough to make him wish that Death would just take him.

Even now, Barty's heart clenched in horror to think of what the Dark Lord would do to Alice. What he had done. He had told the Dark Lord whatever lie he needed to believe and resolved to let the Dark Lord kill him for his act of betrayal.

It had all be to sacrifice himself for the witch that he desperately loved but would never be able to have. The ultimate act of his love and adoration for Alice. Even so, Barty couldn't help but wonder why it was that the Dark Lord wasn't with him now, in the darkness, in his own personal Hell. It would have been fitting.

What better torture could he possibly think of than spending an eternity in the afterlife with the one person for whom he had lost everything he had ever cared about? No. No, that wasn't quite right, nor was it the truth. He'd given up, his future, his honor, who he was, in his seventh year of Hogwarts. A chance for a happy life, with Alice, all of it.

Though his reasons had been pure, sacrificing himself in order to save her life, Barty had thrown away his friendship with Alice. Once she learned the truth that he had stabbed Frank, she was sure to never forgive him.

He could not go back, not now. He'd thrown it away, and all for a delusional lie that she would love him. Now, the only thing he wished for was another chance at life, and the chance to win back her friendship, but knowing he wouldn't have it.

Alice had tried. Merlin blesses her lovely soul, his friend had tried to make him believe that he was better than the monster his father had created out of years of high pressure, negligence, and abuse.

Alice had seen some small spark in him that he didn't even know still existed and had held up the mirror in the hopes of getting Barty to see his reflection, trying to make Barty realize it as well.

He had shielded his eyes, wanting to look away from the burning. He ran from it, towards the Dark Lord and the path of darkness. However, Barty had felt Alice's pull on him even back then.

And now…he had managed to save Alice even from himself. All Barty truly saw as he kept his eyes shut, peeking into the promise of his slow-going but inevitable demise was Alice's sweet face.

He didn't even care if his wounds claimed his life. At this point, considering how much in pain he was, he hoped that he would just bleed out here. Without Alice in his life, even as a friend to him, what point was there for him to carry on? So, Barty allowed himself to wallow in his own misery and ached for the friendship he'd ruined.

It was only the memories of his former relationship and friendship with Alice Prewitt that would be his comfort forever in this hellish dark. And still, even now, he counted himself fortunate.

He wouldn't give up on Alice ever again now. So intently did Barty focus his mind on the remembrance of their time together when they were dating, that he swore he almost conjured her.

He thought he could see her looking down into his face and trying to peer into his pupils.

Suddenly, from seemingly out of nowhere, a horrible blinding light began to burn his retinas. It was dim, like someone had thrust the lighted tip of the end of their wand into his face, yet agonizing, nonetheless. It nearly blinded Barty.

Everything hurt like hell. And then…his eyes snapped open and the darkness around him was gone. He stared up into the vaulted ceiling of the Malfoy's dining room, he was sure of it, yes, he was absolutely sure that he was still in this damned wretched miserable excuse of a manor. His chest heaved as his weakly beating heart tried to find its rhythm.

Crouch nervously tested his body, his muscles flexed, but each attempt to even just twitch a toe or a finger sent explosions of white-hot pain through his bones and in his abdomen.

Crouch clenched his teeth, a violent shudder clawing its way down his spine to think what fresh torment awaited him now that he was fully awake and lay there in dread for more pain and suffering. But that moment for him never came.

Then he heard a soft, shy voice. A witch's voice.

No. No, no, no, no…. Crouch's mind clamored for understanding as his eyelids could no longer stand the strain of remaining open to look into the light, and he squeezed themselves shut again against it.

It couldn't be. He wanted to shout. Whoever the witch was speaking to him, sounded like his Alice.

Had she directly disobeyed him and come back for him anyway? Had Alice died as well? He could hardly breathe. Surely, Alice wouldn't dare come back, not for a wretch and a bastard like him. If anyone would have found a way to survive, it was her. Nothing ever stopped his love. Somehow, Alice had managed to overcome every obstacle life had thrown at her and had come out on top. But if Alice were here with him now, then what did that all mean? Crouch battled for a second time to open his eyes, and just the act that should have been so simple, that it took all the man had left within. It was as if something of equal will was warring with him in his agony and torment, fighting to try to keep him lost, alone, in the dark.

Barty tried again. He just had to try. He had to know what it all meant. At long last, Crouch's eyes flung wide open. As if he emerged the victorious one in the conflict he was waging with this force.

The strain and torture of his eyes were met by the harrowing, burning off that dull but still quite dim light once more. He could see the faint shadowy outline of a witch's face, peering down at him, and Crouch could recognize the light that came from her.

His hoarse throat tried to cry out against it. He wanted to tell this witch, if it really was Alice, to lower her wand and put that stupid light out, but he couldn't. "That's it," the witch's voice came to him through the gloom, and for a moment, Barty felt his heart sink to the pit of his churning stomach. The voice did not belong to his friend. Though this voice still sounded quite lovely, shy, and kind as this stranger, whoever she was, spoke to him. "Fight it. Come back to us, Mr. Crouch…."

She knew his surname. He wanted to frown, but even the slightest twitch of his facial muscles hurt. How was it that this witch could know his last name? Barty could hear the woman again, trying to reach him.

Then…that mean that he wasn't dead. He was alive. All at once, the memories flooded back into his awareness. Standing in the Forbidden Forest and looming over Frank's fallen body, watching the man writhe and scream in pain.

He'd have stayed longer, but an Auror had Apparated a few minutes after he'd done the deed, and he hadn't been able to stick around. He wondered if this witch was the same one who had sent him off heading towards Malfoy Manor earlier. He couldn't be sure, but knowing him and his luck these days, wouldn't that be just his luck?

He could see Alice's face, her eyebrows knitted together in worry, tears streaming relentlessly down her cheeks as her face twisted and contorted in pain from whatever the Dark Lord had slipped into that tea he'd given her and forced her to drink it. Alice had wanted to stay behind to help a bastard like him. And he had given up their friendship because he was jealous of Longbottom. He had abandoned the one good thing left in his life.

Oh, Merlin. What had he done?

His heart sank lower than the depths from which he wanted to crawl and hide and not return. He knew he must be alive, but he didn't want to be. He'd given up the greatest thing he'd ever known, the only witch he ever thought he could love, she who loved another, would never love him. Crouch knew that he had to let Alice go. It was what was best, yes.

Exhausted, Barty couldn't fight to hold on anymore. He knew that by some miracle of Merlin, he was still alive, but he didn't wish to be. He wished that the Dark Lord would have killed him where he stood. He'd given up the greatest thing he had ever known, his friendship with her. What purpose was there for without Alice by his side? Without having earned his best friend's forgiveness. He let himself go.

He wanted to fall back into the void, into the nothingness, and let the pain and darkness take him. As it surged towards him again, he hoped that it would engulf him wholly and that he would just cease to exist. Surely, it was better for Alice that way. He prayed that it would end his sorrow. He wanted no further part of it, no more, just take it all back, take it back.

All he wished, for now, was to spend eternity with the memory of the one who had never given up on him, for Alice was sure to never forgive him. She would never again look upon his face with the tenderness and love that she'd once held for him.

That thought was more than he could even bear. Though, even as he was thinking this, the harrowing white light faded from his vision. Very slowly, against his will, his eyes opened of their own accord, no longer taking directions from his mind, which were screaming at him to just give up.

Though everything burned and hurt like hell, Barty forced his eyes to remain open a bit longer.

And he found himself staring up into the face of one of the prettiest witches in all of Great Britain.

At this, he gave a sudden start as the witch leaned her face closer to his for a better look, and suddenly, his tongue felt thick in his throat as it hallowed, and his chest suddenly felt tight. Barty felt what little color was left in his face drain at once, and the man wracked his brain as his heart leaped up into his throat, stricken by her appearance, as he tried to remember how words worked. He could not ever recall getting this flustered over a witch that was not his sweet Alice.

"Not…Alice…" he whispered hoarsely, trying his best not to sound disappointed as he looked at her.

It wasn't her, but Merlin, they could have been twins. The same face shape, her dark hair was cut in a similar short pixie as hers, the only difference in the two witches, what little he could see of her given the light in the room, was this one's nose was a bit slenderer, and her eyes were light green, which brought to his mind the moss in the forests.

Damn, he thought miserably to himself. She's pretty. Just like…just like Alice was. Is, he corrected himself. His stomach lurched and churned in apprehension as she shot him a white, kind smile.

"No, not Alice, but I do work alongside her in the Auror Department, sir, I like to think of her and her husband as friends of mine. It's Alice who sent me, in fact," she murmured apologetically, shooting Crouch something of a pained look. "Thank Merlin. I'm glad she did too. If I wouldn't have found you…" he couldn't be sure, thinking perhaps his mind was playing a sport of his eyes, but he thought he saw her shudder in worry and fear, though she didn't voice what she thought would have happened. "I was getting worried about you, Mr. Crouch. Alice is alive, sir. She sent me to find you. I'm here, you're going to be alright. Her mother-in-law, Augusta is beside me too. We're going to get you help, sir, can you understand?"

A nod, though even that hurt like hell to move.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Crouch?" the witch asked, jumping as he gave a spasmodic twitch at hearing her question. No one, save for Winky, had ever inquired after his health in this manner before.

Most expressed the desire that he tops himself, especially when he was in a right mood. Crouch parted his barely cracked lips to try to answer the witch but couldn't. the best he could manage given the parched, dry state of his throat and a tongue that felt like heavy clay in his mouth, was a pitiable-sounding cough that needed water.

She must have been able to sense his desires, for she waved her wand and conjured a glass of water.

With Augusta Longbottom's help, the two witches were able to raise him up into a sitting position, though both flinched at the shrill hair-raising scream he gave off as his wounds throbbed. But the two were able to lift him up enough that this new witch, Alice's lookalike, he tried not to think of her in those terms and failed, to hold the cup of water to his lips.

The water was cool and soothed his flaming throat, and he had to be mindful not to drink all of it in just one swig. When Crouch had drunk all that he could manage and the witch waved her wand to make the empty cup vanish from her hands, a lone tear slipped its way unbidden from the edge of his eye, clearing a single track through the blood on his face, and he closed his eyes, exhaling tiredly, though his chest undiluted which vented off pressures as a sob he wanted to fight back, but couldn't, and he hated that this witch had heard it.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped wide open in shock and surprise as he felt a surprisingly cool pad of a fingertip reach up and wipe the tear-off of him.

"Don't," the witch said soothingly in a quiet, somewhat shy voice, again not quite unlike his lovely Alice. "You're safe with me, sir, I promise. You're in good hands," she encouraged. "You'll be alright. Whatever happened to you, it's over now, sir…"

As his head collapsed back onto the hardwood floor of the Malfoy's dining room, too weak to move a muscle, he was stricken with an abrupt realization that almost made him flinch: her voice. He'd heard it before, just a split second ago. On the brink of death, teetering between realms, he had heard a shy, quiet, low feminine voice.

It was telling him to hold on, that he'd be just fine.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. Moved with emotion, he summoned enough strength on his throat to ask the one question he wasn't sure he wanted an answer to. "Am…I…h—have I…died?!"

To his surprise, the witch laughed, and just the sound sent a spiraling warmth radiating through him that instantly warmed him. Which was shocking, considering the copious amount of blood Barty had lost. Was probably still losing. "No. You're alive," she reassured him, with just a hint of steel in her voice that told Barty that he needed to listen to her, and listen to her, he did.

Then I'm not dead, he thought, feeling his eyes start to drift shut again. That's a goddamn shame.

"Sleep," the witch soothed. "Go to sleep. Rest. You need to get your strength back. When you wake up, you'll be in St. Mungo's, she informed him, her voice soothing and soft, like a gentle breeze as the tone of her voice wafted to his ears.

Sleep was very quickly and inexplicably taking hold of his entire body, but before it could claim him completely and Barty could dive for that sweet tidal wave of oblivion that would dull his senses to the immense pain that he felt, the man summoned up enough strength on his throat to speak to his savior one last time. "Your…name…?"

It seemed to take the pretty witch a moment or two to find her voice, and when she did finally grace him with an answer, her voice was faint, muffled, as if speaking to him underwater from the Black Lake.

"Anne, sir. Anne Thatcher…."

He felt himself smile as he drifted off to sleep.

"Barty…." As precious sleep found Barty Crouch Jr. once more, under the watchful and vigilant eyes of both his new savior, lovely, kind Anne, and stern and formidable Augusta Longbottom, he whispered the only two words that meant anything to him anymore. "I'm sorry…." He sighed, and then the man slipped into a deep sleep.