A/n: hello it's us again.

Yes us... no we're not dead and you didn't get rid of us. We're still hanging around.

Sorry about the hold-up...there's nothing stranger than a duel writer's block, but it's all good. We know what we're doing now...

Yes we do, after much of that dreaded stuff called plotting... but the sticky part is over and now we get to write!

Yay! So, without any more ninnyhammering, on with the muffins!

"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law so that we may pass judgement on you, for a crime so heinous that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court."

~Bartemius Crouch, Sr.

Frank Longbottom's long stride took him to the door of Alastor Moody's office quickly, his usually languid walk hurried. He rapped on the door, having been told that was where Dumbledore was. As one of those helping Dumbledore in the war against Voldemort, Frank was on close terms with the great wizard.

Dumbledore answered the door with a curious look, and his brows furrowed when he saw Frank.

"Frank! How have you been?"

"As good as can be expected, Albus, considering." he said grimly. "But I'm afraid I have some news." the tall man came into the room, closing the door behind him as he went to take a seat wearily, and Dumbledore followed suit.

Frank faltered as he looked into Dumbledore's clear blue eyes, full of hope, full of concern.

"The thing is..."

Again Frank hesitated. "Aw, Albus, this is really hard for me..."

Dumbledore rested his elbows on the richly polished mahogany desk and pressed his fingertips together.

"Go ahead Frank, you know you can speak freely to me." Dumbledore urged him on, even as he dreaded what Frank might say. Lately, he felt, no news was good news.

Frank gulped, his oversized Adam's apple slowly rising down and up again on his throat.

"It's about your brother. Aberforth."

Dumbledore looked suddenly very wary.

"What has the old fool done now?" he asked. In long previous years his brother's harmless, foolish pranks and strange quirks of character had amused him – they gave Dumbledore his rolling, slightly off sense of humor. It had ceased to be amusing now.

"Well...oh, Albus, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but you know Cornelius Fudge, the fellow who works as Junior Minister for the Department of Magical Catastrophes...well, lately he's been accusing everyone as being a Death Eater, and, erm...he accused your brother earlier this morning of being a follower of You-Know-Who and had him arrested, along with Bartemius Crouch's son."

"Good Lord... I always knew that man was a pompous, insufferable..." Dumbledore silenced the stream of rather uncharacteristic bashing of Fudge's character quickly with a shake of his head and sighed. "I never thought Rochester would let him get away with something like this." he said in a low voice.

Longbottom buried his head. "I know...I know..." he kept murmuring. "Honestly, the kid would accuse his own mother if it helped his political career...but let us not berate our colleagues. If you want, I can arrange for you to visit Aberforth, he's in my department. But before you do, I want to let you know that a lot of people are on your side, and the press already has agreed not to report this, because his disparaging of any Dumbledore is absurd."

Dumbledore nodded, straightening himself out.

"Thank you, Frank." he said sincerely, his crystal blue gaze weary but grateful. He shook his head. "Poor Aberforth. The man probably doesn't even know what is going on."

Longbottom laughed and patted Dumbledore on the back.

"He'll be fine," he said. "Look, I can even pull a few strings for you, if you want. And Bartemius is doing away with a lot of trials because there are so many people that Fudge is accusing...I heard he's up to around two hundred names now! Two hundred!"

"That is absolutely absurd. He's worse than the Muggles of the witch trials," Dumbledore said, shaking his head yet again.

"Yes, well, at least the Muggles knew something fishy was happening, most the time," Longbottom answered. Longbottom stood, and Dumbledore followed suit. "I really must be going, I have a pile of paperwork to be doing, and Alastor asked if I could get down to the Black scene as soon as I was near done..."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes, the Black scene. Another thing that just doesn't sit right." he commented quietly. He shook the other man's hand firmly, letting the Black issue slide from his already over-crowded mind for a moment. "I appreciate your coming by, Frank. Thank you."

Frank nodded his head. "Good luck, Albus. And do let me know when you want to call on your brother, I can get you in quite easily."

That said, Longbottom left the room, closing the door behind him.

*

Bartemius Crouch Jr. woke up with a throbbing headache on a slimy floor, he knew not where. He opened bleary grey eyes and found himself looking up at a ceiling that had to be at least as slimy as the floor he was on. Light came through a barred window high above, but the light was dim as if even it didn't want to be there. No one in his or her right mind would.

He groaned as slowly, slowly, memories of what happened last night and that morning came back to him. Like an undeveloped dream flashes of instances came to Crouch, flashes that were intangible, as though a very grainy photograph recorded his dream. He remembered crawling through the sewer, finding Peter, blundering about killing someone...and he remembered watching the Potter house explode, and leaving to find his way. Oh, but these memories were painful, painful yet wonderful.

"Where am I?" he asked the murky light.

"Yer in a holding cell in the Ministry of Magic." A voice with a hint of cockney to it told him boredly.

"A what? Who's there?"

"Ahm over here, pal." the person said, and Crouch saw vaguely a hand waving at him through the gloom. "Aberforth Dumbledore."

Crouch gave a double take. "Aberforth Dumbledore!" he exclaimed. "Wow. Of all the servants I know, I thought you'd be the one who'd never get caught."

"Hush your voice, Son. You want to give them evidence?" he said, though he sounded somewhat amused and even flattered. "S'all that fool, Fudge's fault, I tell yeh. And it ain't because he's smart either. You drag enough wizards in here you're bound to catch a few, eh?"

"Fudge...so that's why..." but Aberforth cut Crouch off with an audible, "shhhhh!"

"Who else is here?" Crouch asked a little more quietly.

Aberforth gave a shrug.

"Don't see too many people from in here, but I did see Keiran Avery dragged by not long ago, and Nott's in the cell next door. The others" he said with a dismissive gesture, "are less guilty than my grandmother."

"Wow, how many are here?"

"Oh probably, I don't know, fifty?" he guessed. "Don't know exactly. That Fudge..." he shook his head, his short grey beard bobbing.

"Wow, I'd have trouble believing it," Crouch said. He rubbed his head. "If they've all been Stupified, same as me, I would be mighty mad at the Ministry, had I been, you know, innocent. But as it stands...." Crouch's voice turned lower. "So how is everything? Do you know if Master is...?"

Aberforth gave him a calculating look, the kind that most people never saw on Aberforth's face. He kept the more intelligent kinds of looks to himself mostly. Better if they thought you didn't know right from left.

"You didn't hear?" he asked.

"Well, I was there when the house exploded, like most of us, but I never quite understood what happened...it was all madness after that."

Aberforth nodded.

"Well, the Dark Lord is still alive, but only barely so." he explained.

Crouch nodded. "Go on," he said.

Aberforth nodded back.

"He's weak, but with the help of one of his servants he could easily come back. We all know he's been working towards immortality or else he'd be a pile of ash right now. But all he needs is a loyal servant."

Crouch jumped up. "What do you mean?" he asked enthusiastically.

Aberforth shrugged one shoulder and look appraisingly at the eager young Death Eater.

"I dunno the particulars, but there are ways."

Aberforth shrugged one shoulder and looked appraisingly at the eager young Death Eater.

"I dunno the particulars, but there are ways."

Crouch looked a little put out. "Curse this cell," he said. "I'd be the one...I'd find a way, for him, my master..."

Just as Crouch was starting to feel his powers swell, it was then a door opened.