A/N: I didn't realize how much I loved writing for Barty Crouch Jr. until I finished my other fic on here, His Second Chance, so I decided to do a 2nd story with him featuring a brand new love interest that's not Alice, and while this is primarily a Barty Crouch Jr./OC story, there are shades of Alice and Frank in here as well.
I hope that you enjoy it!
The Devil's Smile
By HeadintheCloudsForever
1
THE thick sound of silence was almost deafening for Anya Oaksdale as she walked with purpose through the dimly lit corridor of the Malfoy's first floor of their home, with Lucius and Narcissa had graciously opened their home to the Dark Lord and his ranks.
Her footsteps echoed off the hardwood floor that held not a hint of dust, though Anya attributed that to the family's newest house-elf to replace their old elf, Dobby, who had since gone rogue and quit.
The twenty-six-year-old dark-haired witch furrowed her thinly plucked eyebrows into a frown as the edges of her mouth pinched downwards to accompany her frown.
Curiously, she let her fingertip ghost along the edge of the wall, swearing her French-manicured finger came away with a thick coat of dust and grime.
What in Merlin's name was their new house-elf doing, if not cleaning in its time?
Making a mental note to ask either of the Malfoys the next time she saw either Lucius, Narcissa, she shook her head to herself and shoved aside thoughts of the faint coating of dust on the wall out of her mind, deeming it irrelevant to what mattered the most.
She marveled at how quickly her life had changed since she had joined the Dark Lord's ranks when she came of age. Anya was not an official Death Eater, but her father was, albeit low in rank for now, but hopefully, if the man played his cards right, things would change for her father.
It had been almost a year since the Quidditch World Cup and the Dark Lord's forces had sent their message following the match's conclusion and had attacked the campsite and sent the Dark Mark into the night sky. It had been almost a year since the Dark Lord had begun his infiltration of the Ministry of Magic, and a year since the Order of the Phoenix, per Severus, was active again.
A year since Dominic Brennan had gotten himself killed, right before their wedding...
No! She forced her mind to grind to a halt as she ran a hand through her short dark hair in confusion and hurt. She would not think of Death Eater Jack Brennan's oldest. She'd said goodbye to Dominic months ago when they had found his wand buried underneath rubble, what was left of a building in downtown London that the man had blown up during a skirmish with his younger brother, Ollie.
Anya had forced that chapter of her life to come to an end.
But even as she swore to leave the Death Eater in the past, and as practical as she prided herself on being, there were still times when the pain of the wizard's death would seep its way unbidden to the surface, rendering her nearly unable to breathe.
Last night, sadly, had been one of those times for her.
The young witch had slept relatively little, finding the quiet darkness of her simple bedroom in her flat in downtown London an unwelcome burden, as Anya had fought and failed to keep thoughts of Dom from her reeling mind. A year since the wizard's death, and she still missed him.
Anya had spent the dark hours of the night forcing her chest to rise and fall. Sucking in the chilly autumnal air that came in through her cracked open window forced the witch to swallow down past the lump in her throat and filled the empty void within her heart.
Anya had willed her mind to think of nothing as she'd restlessly paced the floor of her bedroom, unable to stand staring up at the slowly rotating ceiling fan blades in agony. She clung desperately to the small shards of dignity that Dominic had left her alone with upon his passing. Her nails dug tightly into the skin of her clenched palms, her lungs practically heaving for calm.
Anya had spent yet another long, dark chasm of nighttime fighting to keep herself from sinking into an anguished misery, missing the man whom she had loved, the one whom she had thought she'd marry. She had been going to, as it happened, and still wore the ring Dom had given her on a chain around her neck.
Racked with the memory of the wizard who'd stolen her heart the night he saved her from a would-be mugging outside of the Hog's Head after Rosier had too much to drink, her heart was now nothing but a hollow pit in her chest. Her very skin mocked her for the knowing of Dominic Jack Brennan that it remembered. Fighting against the bitter despair Anya knew would come for her in the end, she fought the tears that stung the edges of her eyes.
She had bloody well cried enough.
Had she a vial, she could have gathered all the little droplets and filled an entire well.
Finally, in the dwindling hours of the morning, as the sun had started to creep over the horizon, sweet, precious sleep had claimed Anya Oaksdale.
However, the witch's precious rest had not lasted long.
The young woman woke just as the sun rose, gasping and yearning for Dominic, slick tears streaming down her cheeks without her realizing it. Not for the first time since the wizard's death, she'd dreamt of Dominic. He had visited Anya in her sleep many times since he'd left her.
In the darkness behind her closed lids, her vision came, as clear as if she were seeing the memories through a Pensive, of their time spent together.
As if the wizard were there in the bed by her side, she could see the depths of Dominic's catlike green eyes and deliciously European strong, chiseled features, feeling the strength of the man's arms around her, tasting the man's kiss, her lips tingling and burning with the sweet sensation.
Each time the dreams intensified and forced the witch once more to relive the glorious love she had thought she'd found in Jack Brennan's eldest son, and the heartache to find his side of the bed gone as she jolted upright from sleep, her body still tingling with the memory of Dominic.
Anya was beginning to fear that she might never be able to truly live a life without the wizard by her side, and hated herself, cursing herself to the seven hells below for being so weak.
It had been hard for Anya at first, working at the Ministry, near the very building where Dominic had died.
Anya had not been able to drive away from the melancholy when she had first been summoned at the Dark Lord's request to work alongside Antonin Dolohov at infiltrating the Ministry and planting ideas into the susceptible minds of the Ministry's unsuspecting workers.
She had fully anticipated and expected the man's presence to haunt every corner of the building and all of downtown London where he had taken her on dates. Anya still could not force herself to go back to the Hog's Head, the place where the two of them had first met.
She wasn't sure if there was a part of her that somehow hoped that there would be a kind of presence that she might feel of the wizard, a reminder of the feelings they had once held for one another, a connection, a strength to take away from the inner sadness of everything.
But Anya quickly chided herself for her silliness when she realized that she felt nothing of him here and scolded herself for her foolishness when she realized she felt nothing of Dominic in the Ministry or their usual hot spots and busied herself with her duties at her job.
It was her duties that had kept Anya busy for most of the day, and it was that which was responsible for quickening her steps now. The Dark Lord himself had personally requested her presence in the Malfoy's dining room for a brief meeting.
Anya tried her best not to shiver as she walked down the cold and desolate hallway, each step feeling like lead in her black ankle boots. She could not help but wonder what the reasons might be behind her summons. She had heard talk of the Order of the Phoenix attempting to recruit their own followers for Dumbledore's pathetic organization to further their own interest in stopping the Dark Lord's cause, no matter the personal cost. It seemed there would always be threats to their way of life. Her stomach clenched, tightening at the thought as she swallowed down bile in her throat.
The months had flown busily by while she balanced her day job as a menial front desk administrations clerk in their Administrations and Records Department, close near to the Department of Mysteries, and her duties for the Dark Lord in the evenings, usually keeping watch.
It was easy to consume herself in her new job and distract her mind from thoughts of missing her boyfriend. The young witch was still pondering what her future might hold as she instantly slowed her stride as she hovered, lingering in the doorway of the Malfoy's drawing-room.
Her breaths caught in her throat as she caught sight of the tall, pale wizard standing on the opposite end of the room, his hands folded neatly behind his back, his posture stiff and rigid, his black robes almost still and unmoved.
Lord Voldemort sensed the witch before he'd even turned his head to meet Anya's gaze. The powerful wizard had greeted Anya even before she'd dared to take one step across the threshold of the doorway that separated the dining room from the rest of the Malfoy Manor's hallway.
"Milord," she managed to gasp out, summoning enough strength on her throat to manage to address him with the proper reverence as she lowered her head and her gaze to the floorboards beneath her boots as he eyed her.
The tall wizard offered a slight incline of his head in return as he twisted his body around to face Anya more fully, regarding her with a critical interest in his slit-like red eyes that reminded Anya of a pit viper's slit-like tiny pupils. He motioned for the skittish young brunette witch to approach him.
"Ah. Miss Oaksdale. Please," he nodded to her and addressed Anya in a strangely soothing, smooth, and languid tone. "Come closer, my dear, I was beginning to think that perhaps you had lost your way. You are very nearly late," he said, only slightly admonishing her, as he drew back thin, bone-white lips to reveal strangely pointed teeth, which made her think of fangs.
Briefly, for an inappropriate moment, the young woman wondered if the Dark Lord was in any way related to vampires.
Anya swiftly covered the distance from the entrance to where the Dark Lord stood in short order, noticing Antonin Dolohov hovering in the doorway, seemingly ready to assist the Dark Lord with whatever he needed, looking proud.
She was pleased to see the man as Dolohov nodded a smile to her as she approached. She lowered her head and bent her right knee and kneeled with the utmost reverence upon reaching the Dark Lord.
Her mind felt like it was reeling. She was still at a complete loss as to what it was that the Dark Lord himself could want of her. She wasn't even a part of his ranks.
If anything, she thought the wizard might have a job for his father, but not her.
However, considering all that had happened within the last year, she was eager to do anything she could for him to offer her assistance, considering that the Dark Lord had taken her father in, given the man a second chance at life, and healed his ailments and had prevented her only living family member she had left from dying a painful death. She owed the Dark Lord her life.
"You sent for me, milord?" Anya inquired, a bit nervously, unable to keep the warbling tremble out of her voice as she felt him turn to face her.
Out of the corner of her gaze, the Dark Lord motioned for Anya to stand up with an airy, almost dismissive wave of his bone-white hand, as though he found her attempted pleasantries a bore.
She did so but stood stiffly at attention as he continued speaking in that surprisingly soothing and soft voice of his.
"No doubt, my dear, you are wondering why I have asked for you," he continued in his smooth silky tone that almost set Anya's nerves at ease, and likely would have too if she weren't so confused as to the purpose of her summon.
Anya fidgeted with her fingers and chewed on the wall of her mouth as she nervously shot the Dark Lord a shy smile, a bit embarrassed, as if the man had heard the thoughts that were echoing through her mind.
She'd always gotten the impression the wizard knew the thoughts of others. She had never bothered to ask Father or the Dark Lord himself if he happened to be a naturally-gifted Legilimens, but it seemed that way, or perhaps he was merely gifted in Occlumency.
"Yes, milord," Anya nervously confirmed. "How may I be of service to you?" she asked, watching him with wide eyes as he began leisurely pacing about the dining room.
She could not help but glance down at the wizard's bare feet. Bony and pale, he looked almost like that of a ghost. He paced a lot whenever he was thinking about something, and it was a few minutes before the Dark Lord turned to look at her again.
Lord Voldemort looked almost thoughtful for a moment before he spoke.
"I would ask for your service elsewhere, at the Northernmost part of Europe, you would be doing a great service to me, and to your father," the Dark Lord acquiesced in his languid tone.
Anya grew instantly concerned.
Every fiber in her body tingled and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
Her senses were on high alert that something was wrong.
"My—my father, is he in any danger, milord?" she asked urgently, suddenly fearful that something had happened, and she was eager to provide whatever help that she could give.
"Not presently, no," Voldemort reported. "However, I fear the disunity which remains in the North could be of greater threat in the future to our ambitions than expected."
Anya furrowed her brows into a frown as she thought she saw an unreadable emotion flick through the man's crimson irises.
He had obviously seen something or had been reported information by a Seer, from the shadows of time that were now troubling the Dark Lord greatly.
"I will do anything I can to help, milord," Anya vowed, ducking her head, and refusing to meet her master's gaze as he lifted his gaze to meet hers. She was suddenly quite shy.
The Dark Lord nodded, knowingly so.
He knew the girl would not refuse his request to aid her own father. Love was a fickle thing, the death of a wizard's duty to that of his people and his country.
Though in his mind and twisted and sick psyche, it made men weak, and he had no time for such an emotion, it served his purpose when it came to those witches and wizards who were under his command. He could use it as an incentive.
"Your father has reassured me repeatedly that your word has always been your bond. You have served me with valor and honor," he asserted, studying her reactions intently.
Anya's eyes widened and she blinked owlishly in shock at her master before she quickly regained control over her emotions and assumed an impassive expression, nodding.
It was, she suspected, the closest thing the Dark Lord could come to giving out a compliment.
"You have again demonstrated your skill and principles in assembling our armies by utilizing your time at the Ministry, my dear," he said, almost praising her efforts.
"It has been my absolute privilege, milord. The highest honor that I can think of, to serve you, milord." Anya accepted the compliment humbly and dipped her head.
The Dark Lord was, of course, referring to her ability to cast an exceptional Imperius Curse on several unsuspecting passersby, her fellow Ministry coworkers without their knowledge.
Casting them correctly was always a slow-going process, especially ensuring you weren't caught, but so far, Anya had managed to curse at least ten of her coworkers within the last week and a half on her lunch breaks alone and was still avoiding detection on her part.
Anya couldn't be sure as she studied the Dark Lord's expression, but she thought she saw the briefest shadows of regret, perhaps even disappointment cross his pale features as he turned to her, folding his hands in front of himself.
"I could not have asked for a humbler servant, Miss Oaksdale. It is, however, time for me to ask you to relinquish your duties within the Ministry." He frowned.
What little color was left in Anya's complexion drained as she felt her stomach drop and her knees go weak. Instinctively her hands groped for the back headrest of a nearby chair that was behind her as she staggered backward.
Her knuckles going bone-white with the effort to steady herself, her lips parted open, and she gaped in shock at the man whom her father and herself had sworn their undying fealty and loyalty to, the day the Dark Lord saved his life.
She had always dreamed of such a position within the Ministry of Magic. Perhaps not as the lowly ranking, entry-level desk clerk to the Administrations Department, but she had been hoping when the time was right and after she had been at this year for a year and could put it on her resume, she could apply for a position within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Department and use her education to its fullest potential.
She had always dreamed of carrying these types of responsibilities on her shoulders.
She was sure that, given a chance to prove her worth to the Dark Lord, he would be proud of her ability to command. That he would see how good she was at it, how much she loved it, and how much her knowledge of a vast majority of magical creatures might prove to come in handy to serve his cause for the greater good of wizardkind.
After all that she had been through, within the last year alone with Dominic's death, and then two years before that, Mum dying, she needed this job.
Anya felt bile rise in her throat as a sickening fear welled up in her chest. Without the duties of her job at the Ministry to consume her hours during the daytime, what in the hell was she going to do when the memories and painful emotions of her time with Dominic came flooding back?
If she had nothing at all to distract herself from the troubling, dark thoughts of her own mind, and him, she was growing increasingly afraid that thoughts of Dom would consume her.
Yet, somehow, the worst thought of all was wondering if perhaps she or her father had inadvertently done something to displease their master, and this was the Dark Lord's idea of a fitting punishment.
"H—have I done something to displease you, milord?" Anya asked, quietly and confused, unable to keep the pleading note from seeping its way to the surface of her voice. "I—I can assure you, any oversight on my part or that of my father was completely unintentional," Anya begged solemnly and concerned for her father's future, and herself.
She wondered what the Dark Lord had in mind.
Lord Voldemort looked at her with his usual impassive expression. He had assumed the young woman would misunderstand his words and judging by the stricken look on the French-Russian witch's face, it seemed that she had. He heaved a haggard-sounding, frustrated sigh through a nose that was no longer there.
"Miss Oaksdale. You go too far. You get ahead of yourself with your words. You are perhaps one of the brightest witches of your age. You are skilled, stronger, and more honorable than half of my own men in my ranks. My request for you to leave the Ministry has nothing to do with any failure on your part, or that of your father's. Believe me when I tell you that thus far, you have more than lived up to the high expectations that were placed upon you and your father when you pledged your loyalty to me. You have gone above and beyond them, my dear."
The furrow between Anya's eyebrows only deepened and her bewilderment grew as she gaped at the Dark Lord.
"I—I don't understand," she stammered, suddenly shy.
Lord Voldemort could not allow the young witch to think her performance within his ranks anything but exemplary.
He quickly attempted to diffuse the sense of defeat he sensed with her, as per Severus, she was perhaps the best candidate for the job of this type of caliber he had in mind, alongside that of her new traveling companion, who would serve as her escort and bodyguard for this mission, and she, the diplomat.
"The truth is, Miss Oaksdale, I require your expertise elsewhere and am in desperate need of someone with your…extensive knowledge of magical creatures."
Anya's eyes bore into her master as she hung onto the wizard's every word, watching with wide, almond-shaped eyes, a look of confusion, disbelief, and surprise on her face.
"I must call upon you and another, a Death Eater in my ranks, to further our interests in the North, near Minsk, and even beyond," the Dark Lord explained in his quiet tone.
"Beyond, sir?" Anya repeated, feeling certain she had misheard.
"Yes," Lord Voldemort Confirmed with a slight nod of his head. "Your actions and travels in ensuring my ruling in the North of Europe might very well take you throughout the continent. I have also been in close contact with Rosier, who has already begun to work towards the same end on my command," the Dark Lord said thoughtfully.
Any slowly nodded her head at all of the information.
She was quickly realizing that what her master was asking of her was of far greater importance than whittling away her days behind a desk pushing quills as an Administrations clerk.
As much as she truly relished her work for the Ministry, and as much fulfillment as Anya had found, the young witch also understood that the opportunity the Dark Lord was presenting her with was perhaps her one chance to prove herself, an opportunity that she could not refuse.
Suddenly, Anya thought there was nothing that she wanted more than to undertake this brand-new challenge, whatever lay in store for her, what her master had in mind.
As her excitement grew within her, so did her courage. But first, she had to make certain that her father would be well looked after in her absence, as she was sure this mission the Dark Lord was sending her on would take her weeks, if not possibly months.
"If I could make one request of my own, milord?" Anya asked in a shy, nervous voice.
"Of course," the Dark Lord answered languidly.
"If I am to leave London, and perhaps Great Britain altogether and leave on this mission you've assigned, all I ask is that someone familiar to my father checks on him, a few times a week, ensuring he has whatever he needs, sir."
The Dark Lord let out a morose little chuckle. The young witch's earnest concern for her father was almost touching. Almost. The edges of his thin lips curled up in a smirk.
"You truly want for so little, my dear," he sighed, waving her concerns away with a brush of his hand as he fingered his wand. "I knew I was right to take you on. Have you a particular person in mind?" he pressed, already knowing the answer, judging by the way she looked at Lucius's only son.
"Yes, sir." Anya nodded eagerly. "I'd like to volunteer Dolohov to check on my father a few times a week. His home is relatively close to ours, and my father always liked you, Antonin," she murmured shyly, shooting Dolohov an affectionate look. "I'll pay you for your time."
She gave the dark-haired Death Eater a soft smile, hoping the Dark Lord would see the logic in her request, that her father needed a caretaker in his frail, aging health. She could not leave him alone unattended for longer than a few days, at the most. He did indeed.
A glimmer of something sparkled in his red irises, and the smirk on his face grew unnaturally wide.
"I can think of no one better," the Dark Lord murmured. "Consider it done."
Anya bowed her head in gratitude.
Antonin returned the gesture, only too happy to check on Anya's aging father, Elias, who was growing older, his memory starting to slip up a bit. He was, however, humbled at her confidence in him, and could only stare at Anya Oaksdale, the shock evident on his face as he nodded his agreement.
Anya merely smiled proudly at him, though her attention was quickly diverted back to their master as Lord Voldemort's soft voice reached her eardrums once again.
"Miss Oaksdale." Lord Voldemort called attention back to the more pressing matter at hand. "Preparations have already been made for your departure to Scotland in two days. You'll start there, as you won't be going alone. You'll be traveling with an escort and you're to meet Rosier and Antonin here, even for more information as to what your mission entails. Will two days be enough time to settle your affairs at the Ministry?" he inquired, again, already knowing it would.
Anya nodded eagerly, twisting at the waist to regard the Dark Lord over her shoulder, having turned on the heels of her boots to go.
"It will, milord. More than enough time," she confirmed, startled.
Apparently, the Dark Lord had been confident she would accept this new mission of his. He merely nodded and turned towards Dolohov, who flinched, though he tried to shrug it off and look blasé.
"What say you, Antonin?" he asked, almost sounding bored.
"I will check on Elias tomorrow, sir," Dolohov immediately retorted, reverting his gaze to the floor and still not quite able to believe that the Dark Lord had taken his suggestion and had gone with his recommendation of Anya for this assignment.
He hoped that she would not fail him and taint his view of her.
"Very well. It is settled," the Dark Lord announced, turning on his heels and striding towards the dining room door's exit, leaving Antonin to stand alone near the window.
Their master paused in the doorway, studying the young witch and wizard with a critical interest that shone as a glint in his red, narrowed eyes.
It was a minute or two before the Dark Lord spoke, keeping his gaze fixated on Anya entirely.
"I am grateful to know that the North will be in your and your escort's capable hands, Miss Oaksdale. Your fealty and loyalty towards me shall not go unrewarded upon your return, my dear."
The Dark Lord offered what Anya thought was supposed to be a smile before he turned on his heels and vanished with the familiar loud cracking! sound that made both Anya and Dolohov jump, as the sound of the Dark Lord Disapparating from the dining room rent the air.
Dolohov soon quit the scene as well, mumbling something under his breath as Malfoy's hoarse voice flooded the room from downstairs, calling for his son and complaining about their newest house-elf and her slight forgetfulness.
Anya was left alone to ponder the overwhelming events of the last few moments, and its outcome, and the possibilities that were to come her way, if she played her hand right.
She had thought her destiny was to remain in London forever.
Perhaps she had been wrong about herself in that regard. Anya knew that this opportunity was one that she could not fail. She could not—would not—let the Dark Lord or her father down.
Their very lives depended on her success…