A/N: Went to the CoS movie the day it came out. Last year I was a
bit disappointed with SS, but this one was great!
Thanks to NM for reviewing, and don't worry, I'll get this up on
Fiction Alley (eventually).
Disclaimer: All of these characters belong to J.K. Rowling with the exception of Jacob Dias. (Who's really only mentioned in this chapter.)
Chapter 5: To the World Cup
"Oh, come now Barty! It'll be fun!" Even when Ludo Bagman was practically on his hands and knees begging, he still wore his trademark grin.
"Ludo, I *will not* be attending the World Cup, as I've told you every day for the past week. I have other commitments, and quidditch is not one of-"
"But Barty, I told the Bulgarians that we'd have someone there to translate!" Ludo blustered, interrupting him. "I know you weren't planning on coming, but Jacob Dias is the only other Bulgarian- speaking person we know of, and he's tied up in his work at St. Mungo's!" Bagman suddenly gave him a mischievous smile and winked. "Besides, it'll give you a good excuse to get in a few extra hours on the job, eh?" Ludo loved nothing more than to joke about Crouch's dedication to his career.
Cornelius Fudge, who had been standing unnoticed in the doorway, spoke up. "Ludo's right Barty, we're counting on you to be there. After all, you *are* head of the Department of-"
"I know perfectly well what department I lead and my job, Minister." Crouch said stiffly. "I simply think that it was rather inconsiderate of you not to have informed me that I was expected to attend until now." He grabbed his cloak from a nearby rack and turned to leave. "If you will excuse me, I have some paperwork to complete at home."
Ludo Bagman seemed to think it very amusing that Crouch was leaving work only to do more work. "Well in that case I'll be sure to come and visit you tonight! Wouldn't want to miss out on any of the excitement!" He laughed for a moment, and Crouch saw, to his disgust, that Fudge was biting his lip to keep from joining in.
Bagman finally cleared his throat, still grinning from ear to ear, and said in a somewhat more serious tone, "Really though Barty, can we count on you to come?"
Crouch was becoming extremely fed-up with his inexplicably cheerful colleague, and simply said, "It would not appear that I have a choice Ludo." He then donned his cloak, which was a dreary black (matching his stern personality, Bagman often oh-so-subtly noted,) and left as quickly as possible.
As soon as he had exited the building, a new worry awoke in him. He would surely be needed for two or three days at the World Cup, and leaving Barty alone with Winky for such a long period of time was simply out of the question. Crouch rubbed his temples, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He had been working harder than usual as of late, and was quite deprived of sleep. Deciding that all he needed was a bit of rest and some time to think it over, he disapparated for home.
Upon arriving at the house, Mr. Crouch collapsed on the couch in the spacious living room. He immediately heard Winky's soft footsteps coming down the hallway towards him. The elf entered the room cautiously, reading the familiar signs that her master was not in one of his better moods. She had been exceptionally careful lately, so as not to arouse Mr. Crouch's anger after Barty Jr.'s near escape months before.
With her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, Winky said in her squeaky voice, "Master?" Crouch simply grunted to let her know he'd heard, and she continued. "Master, can Winky be getting something for you?"
Mr. Crouch disregarded his house-elf's question and asked after his son as he did every day upon arriving home. "Where is he Winky?"
"In his room Master. He isn't coming out all day. Winky is becoming very about him." The elf began to speed up as she spoke, and it was obvious that she had been waiting to tell him this for quite some time. "Master, he is hardly eating any of his food when Winky brings it to his bedroom. Master Barty is making himself quite sick if he isn't eating!"
It was true, Crouch realized. Barty had been looking even thinner and gaunter in the past few weeks than he had since the day he'd been taken from Azkaban. Again he remembered the World Cup, but inwardly scolded himself for even thinking about-
But what if it was the only way? It wasn't as though he could simply back out and not attend, not now that he had told them he would be there. And now with Barty becoming more and more ill... perhaps it would keep the boy in good health, for a time. Crouch hated to admit it to himself, but he knew he would feel horribly guilty if his son grew sick again. Really though, if it was all planned out carefully... if it was for the shortest amount of time possible. there was really no reason why it shouldn't work.
"Master? Is you not feeling well?" Crouch snapped out of his thoughtful state, realizing that he had been staring at the ground for some time now. He looked at Winky, sizing her up for a moment. Then, making an inward resolution, he abruptly stood and said to the elf, "Winky, fetch me a cup of tea. I have plans to make."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Nearly two weeks later, all of the preparations were complete. They would leave the next morning and arrive at the field before the throngs of spectators, in time for Mr. Crouch to greet both the Bulgarian and Irish teams. Winky would set up the tent where Barty Jr. would stay while his father worked, and they would both remain inside of it before and after the game.
The tent had been borrowed, as none of them had ever been camping before. Crouch simply couldn't understand what was so wonderful about sleeping on a lumpy bed in a tent when one had a perfectly good bed at home, minus the bumps in the mattress.
He had decided that a portkey would be the best form of transportation. If he removed the Imperius Curse long enough for Barty Jr. to apparate to the quidditch field, there would be nothing stopping him from simply escaping by heading somewhere else. So the evening before their departure, Crouch found an old lampshade in the corner of the closet upstairs, and - with some difficulty - changed it into a portkey. He left it lying in the center of the living room floor, careful not to touch it lest he should be transported to the quidditch pitch a day early.
Lying in bed that night, Crouch found it extremely difficult to keep his mind from all that could go wrong the next day.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Early the next morning, Barty Jr. was shaken awake by Winky. He opened his eyes slowly, half expecting the sun's bright morning rays to pierce them as they had every morning for years. He had never been a morning person, and was quite unaccustomed to rising before the sun was up.
Chancing a peek out the window however, he saw that the sky was still sprinkled with stars. The only evidence that it was early morning instead of late night was a thin streak of reddish-gold light casting a rosy glow over the eastern horizon.
Barty could hear his father downstairs, shuffling papers and rummaging through drawers, trying to finish his work for the office before their departure. Winky, who had left the room after waking him, burst through the door. She was now carrying a bundle of clothes so large that she hadn't been able to carry them all in her arms; instead, she had draped some of them over her head so that she couldn't see where she was going and kept slamming into doors and walls.
Dumping her burden on the bed, she tugged on the sleeve of Barty's nightshirt to get his attention. "Master Barty," she squeaked. "Master Barty, come away from the window! Your father is telling you this many times, Winky knows! If someone outside is looking in and seeing you there..."
Barty snorted. The closest house to theirs was Malfoy Manor, barely visible from such a distance. Visits to the Crouch household were rare, especially since Mrs. Fudge had informed everyone of the less-than-warm welcome she and her husband had received that winter. All in all, the chances of Barty being spotted in the window were second to none.
Winky snatched up some clothes from the pile and handed them to her charge. "You is getting dressed quickly, Master Barty. Winky is letting you sleep fifteen minutes past the time your father is saying to wake you." She lowered her voice when she said the last bit, as though speaking of some terrible, unforgivable sin.
Barty snatched the robes from Winky's hands, barely acknowledging the house-elf. He had been in a foul mood for the last few days, although by all means he should have been thrilled to be leaving the house at last. Ever since his father had decided to bring him along to the World Cup, Crouch had been shooting glances at him, clearly saying: "Well, boy? Aren't you going to thank me?" Barty, of course, had no intention of thanking his jailer for allowing him this small bit of involvement in the world. After all, it didn't make him any less a prisoner.
Walking to his closet, Barty nearly tripped over Winky, who had been hastily making the bed while looking over her shoulder, as though expecting to see Mr. Crouch standing there.
Barty stumbled and knocked his head against the corner of his dresser, and the pain quickly transformed his stormy mood to a fit of rage. Mr. Crouch rarely struck his servant, but Barty hadn't inherited his father's strong self-control. Picking the squealing elf up by her tea-towel garment, he punted her straight through the door and into the hallway, where she jumped to her feet and began frantically apologizing.
Barty slammed the door in the house-elf's face and continued getting dressed, now muttering darkly to himself. "Stupid elf... always underfoot... that'll teach her..."
Moments later, Mr. Crouch's footsteps came pounding up the stairs. He had heard his elf hitting the floor, followed by her frantic apologies, and put two-and-two together. He stormed into the room, shooting his son an accusing glare before getting straight to the point. "It's not your place to punish *my* servants, boy!" He wasn't sure exactly why Barty's treatment of the elf made him so angry, he himself had never exactly acted kindly towards her. Still, it was the principle of the matter...
Barty, who had returned to the window and was again gazing out of it, only gave his father a passing glance, as though surveying someone far below him who simply wasn't worth his time. "She's mine too, and she got in my way. If I feel like punishing her, I will."
"She's *not* yours!" he hissed. "*You* are merely a guest in my home, here by my invitation!"
Barty clenched his fists, wishing that he had a wand in one of them. He opened his mouth to say something, but his father cut him off as he continued. "Ungrateful boy!" he spat. "You didn't *deserve* to be given a place to live after what you did; you didn't *deserve* to be free of that prison rock, but I risked myself to bring you home anyway!"
Barty knew from experience that it would do him no good to say anything. His father brought this point up with every argument they had, as though he thought his son should feel guilty for bringing such danger upon the man who was now his only living relative.
But Barty Jr. felt no remorse for any of his crimes. Not for the destruction of the Longbottom family or for that of his own. It had saddened him to learn of his mother's death, but he felt no such regret for his father's plight. It would have made things much easier if he had felt anything but hatred for Barty Sr., but any feelings along that line were overrun by the memory of his father's disowning him in the courtroom the day of his trial.
So instead of shooting a nasty comment back, Barty simply swept past his father without giving him a second glance. He stormed down the stairs so loudly that he barely heard his father yell after him. "You wait down there, boy and don't you touch that Portkey!" Remembering the original reason for their fight, he added: "And stay away from Winky as well!" Of course, there was really no need for him to remind Barty Jr. not to take the Portkey, as the living room door had been sealed by magic.
Snatching up the Invisibility Cloak from the pile of clothes on the bed, Crouch looked at the clock. It was nearly seven, and the small streaks of reddish-gold light outside had nearly filled the sky. Tucking the Cloak under one arm, he went downstairs to find his son in the kitchen with Winky eating a plate of toast.
Barty didn't look up when his father entered, evidence that he was still brooding on their argument upstairs. Crouch tossed the Invisibility Cloak at him, nearly knocking the plate from his hands. "Put that on and hurry up." He snapped. "We're leaving."
He went into the living room and waited until he heard Barty's footsteps coming down the hall, with Winky at his heels. When they came in, only the house-elf could be seen, so Crouch knew Barty had put on the Cloak as he had ordered.
"Well then," he said, rising from the couch. "Let's go. Winky are you sure you have all of the bags?"
The elf nodded vigorously, holding out a handful of tiny luggage - magically shrunken of course -, which she then tucked safely into a pocket she herself had sewn into her tea towel. "Good." Her master nodded his approval. "We'll be on our way then. Winky, grab his hand so that he doesn't try to get away." The house-elf instantly obeyed. There was never any question as to who "he" was.
Once Winky had hold of Barty's hand, they moved over to their makeshift Portkey and stooped down. Mr. Crouch held his hand out over the lampshade, motioning for both his son and servant to do the same. "Right then," he said. "On three. One... two... three!"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Barty Jr. felt his feet hit solid ground, and heard his father and Winky do the same. He looked over at them and saw that Winky, -who was still clutching his hand- was covering her eyes with her other hand, only peeking between her fingers when she was sure there was solid ground beneath her feet. The house-elf always acted this way when she traveled by Portkey. The sensation reminded her too much of flying, which, of course, reminded her of her worst fear- heights.
Mr. Crouch was dusting himself off even though only his feet had hit the ground upon arriving, and not a speck of dirt could be seen on his crisp, clean muggle suit. He straightened himself up and looked to Winky, who appeared to be clutching a handful of air. "You've still got him then?" Without waiting for the elf's reply he turned and looked towards the campsite in the distance, where smoke was rising from the fires of a few other spectators who had decided to come early. "Good. Winky, you'll get under the Cloak with him until we're away from the muggles."
The house-elf grabbed a corner of the Cloak, which was long enough that it dragged on the ground when Barty wore it, and stepped underneath, vanishing instantly. They headed off towards the campsite, with Barty constantly stepping on poor Winky, who was trying to stay under the Invisibility Cloak and out of the way of her charge's feet at the same time.
They approached a rather old, wrinkled muggle man who simply gave them a map and pointed out their campsite before turning to leave. Just then, Barty stepped down hard on Winky's considerably smaller foot, and this time the elf couldn't suppress a squeal of pain.
The old muggle whipped around, his eyes widening. "What was that?" He was peering at an area dangerously close to where Barty and the house-elf were standing.
Thinking quickly, Mr. Crouch loudly cleared his throat and jerked his head toward the woods nearby. "I suppose it must have been some kind of animal. Well, we- er, I'd best be going." He set off to the site, praying that his son and house-elf were following. He heard the old man muttering to himself behind them.
"Animal... never heard an animal what makes a noise like that... 's one of them aliens, that's what it is."
Crouch would have laughed at him if he hadn't been occupied with breathing a sigh of relief. That had been too close. Upon reaching the campsite, his heart sunk a bit more. Two days out here! The place would surely be loud once the hoards of quidditch spectators arrived. Certainly, the walls of their tent were magical, keeping out most sound, but even from this distance he would probably be able to hear the sounds from that horrible quidditch match.
He peered around at the few other tents around them. All had wizarding families standing around them, with not a muggle in sight. "You may come out now, Winky." He said. The elf -a bit bruised from her many encounters with Barty Jr.'s feet- gratefully stepped out from under the Invisibility Cloak.
He waved an impatient hand towards the grassy spot where the tent would be set up. "Well, elf? Go to it!"
While Winky was fumbling with the tent, a few wizards passed, among them a few who recognized and greeted him.
Barty Jr. put on a high-pitched voice in mocking imitation of them. "Hello Mr. Crouch... good day Mr. Crouch," then, applying his own twist to the words of an old witch who had passed by: "My, what a perfectly hideous suit that is!"
Crouch scowled at the seemingly empty spot where his son stood, offering up a silent prayer that the boy wouldn't cause too much trouble the next day.
A/N: Not a whole lot of action in that chapter, but I hope you liked it. As always, r/r.
Disclaimer: All of these characters belong to J.K. Rowling with the exception of Jacob Dias. (Who's really only mentioned in this chapter.)
Chapter 5: To the World Cup
"Oh, come now Barty! It'll be fun!" Even when Ludo Bagman was practically on his hands and knees begging, he still wore his trademark grin.
"Ludo, I *will not* be attending the World Cup, as I've told you every day for the past week. I have other commitments, and quidditch is not one of-"
"But Barty, I told the Bulgarians that we'd have someone there to translate!" Ludo blustered, interrupting him. "I know you weren't planning on coming, but Jacob Dias is the only other Bulgarian- speaking person we know of, and he's tied up in his work at St. Mungo's!" Bagman suddenly gave him a mischievous smile and winked. "Besides, it'll give you a good excuse to get in a few extra hours on the job, eh?" Ludo loved nothing more than to joke about Crouch's dedication to his career.
Cornelius Fudge, who had been standing unnoticed in the doorway, spoke up. "Ludo's right Barty, we're counting on you to be there. After all, you *are* head of the Department of-"
"I know perfectly well what department I lead and my job, Minister." Crouch said stiffly. "I simply think that it was rather inconsiderate of you not to have informed me that I was expected to attend until now." He grabbed his cloak from a nearby rack and turned to leave. "If you will excuse me, I have some paperwork to complete at home."
Ludo Bagman seemed to think it very amusing that Crouch was leaving work only to do more work. "Well in that case I'll be sure to come and visit you tonight! Wouldn't want to miss out on any of the excitement!" He laughed for a moment, and Crouch saw, to his disgust, that Fudge was biting his lip to keep from joining in.
Bagman finally cleared his throat, still grinning from ear to ear, and said in a somewhat more serious tone, "Really though Barty, can we count on you to come?"
Crouch was becoming extremely fed-up with his inexplicably cheerful colleague, and simply said, "It would not appear that I have a choice Ludo." He then donned his cloak, which was a dreary black (matching his stern personality, Bagman often oh-so-subtly noted,) and left as quickly as possible.
As soon as he had exited the building, a new worry awoke in him. He would surely be needed for two or three days at the World Cup, and leaving Barty alone with Winky for such a long period of time was simply out of the question. Crouch rubbed his temples, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He had been working harder than usual as of late, and was quite deprived of sleep. Deciding that all he needed was a bit of rest and some time to think it over, he disapparated for home.
Upon arriving at the house, Mr. Crouch collapsed on the couch in the spacious living room. He immediately heard Winky's soft footsteps coming down the hallway towards him. The elf entered the room cautiously, reading the familiar signs that her master was not in one of his better moods. She had been exceptionally careful lately, so as not to arouse Mr. Crouch's anger after Barty Jr.'s near escape months before.
With her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, Winky said in her squeaky voice, "Master?" Crouch simply grunted to let her know he'd heard, and she continued. "Master, can Winky be getting something for you?"
Mr. Crouch disregarded his house-elf's question and asked after his son as he did every day upon arriving home. "Where is he Winky?"
"In his room Master. He isn't coming out all day. Winky is becoming very about him." The elf began to speed up as she spoke, and it was obvious that she had been waiting to tell him this for quite some time. "Master, he is hardly eating any of his food when Winky brings it to his bedroom. Master Barty is making himself quite sick if he isn't eating!"
It was true, Crouch realized. Barty had been looking even thinner and gaunter in the past few weeks than he had since the day he'd been taken from Azkaban. Again he remembered the World Cup, but inwardly scolded himself for even thinking about-
But what if it was the only way? It wasn't as though he could simply back out and not attend, not now that he had told them he would be there. And now with Barty becoming more and more ill... perhaps it would keep the boy in good health, for a time. Crouch hated to admit it to himself, but he knew he would feel horribly guilty if his son grew sick again. Really though, if it was all planned out carefully... if it was for the shortest amount of time possible. there was really no reason why it shouldn't work.
"Master? Is you not feeling well?" Crouch snapped out of his thoughtful state, realizing that he had been staring at the ground for some time now. He looked at Winky, sizing her up for a moment. Then, making an inward resolution, he abruptly stood and said to the elf, "Winky, fetch me a cup of tea. I have plans to make."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Nearly two weeks later, all of the preparations were complete. They would leave the next morning and arrive at the field before the throngs of spectators, in time for Mr. Crouch to greet both the Bulgarian and Irish teams. Winky would set up the tent where Barty Jr. would stay while his father worked, and they would both remain inside of it before and after the game.
The tent had been borrowed, as none of them had ever been camping before. Crouch simply couldn't understand what was so wonderful about sleeping on a lumpy bed in a tent when one had a perfectly good bed at home, minus the bumps in the mattress.
He had decided that a portkey would be the best form of transportation. If he removed the Imperius Curse long enough for Barty Jr. to apparate to the quidditch field, there would be nothing stopping him from simply escaping by heading somewhere else. So the evening before their departure, Crouch found an old lampshade in the corner of the closet upstairs, and - with some difficulty - changed it into a portkey. He left it lying in the center of the living room floor, careful not to touch it lest he should be transported to the quidditch pitch a day early.
Lying in bed that night, Crouch found it extremely difficult to keep his mind from all that could go wrong the next day.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Early the next morning, Barty Jr. was shaken awake by Winky. He opened his eyes slowly, half expecting the sun's bright morning rays to pierce them as they had every morning for years. He had never been a morning person, and was quite unaccustomed to rising before the sun was up.
Chancing a peek out the window however, he saw that the sky was still sprinkled with stars. The only evidence that it was early morning instead of late night was a thin streak of reddish-gold light casting a rosy glow over the eastern horizon.
Barty could hear his father downstairs, shuffling papers and rummaging through drawers, trying to finish his work for the office before their departure. Winky, who had left the room after waking him, burst through the door. She was now carrying a bundle of clothes so large that she hadn't been able to carry them all in her arms; instead, she had draped some of them over her head so that she couldn't see where she was going and kept slamming into doors and walls.
Dumping her burden on the bed, she tugged on the sleeve of Barty's nightshirt to get his attention. "Master Barty," she squeaked. "Master Barty, come away from the window! Your father is telling you this many times, Winky knows! If someone outside is looking in and seeing you there..."
Barty snorted. The closest house to theirs was Malfoy Manor, barely visible from such a distance. Visits to the Crouch household were rare, especially since Mrs. Fudge had informed everyone of the less-than-warm welcome she and her husband had received that winter. All in all, the chances of Barty being spotted in the window were second to none.
Winky snatched up some clothes from the pile and handed them to her charge. "You is getting dressed quickly, Master Barty. Winky is letting you sleep fifteen minutes past the time your father is saying to wake you." She lowered her voice when she said the last bit, as though speaking of some terrible, unforgivable sin.
Barty snatched the robes from Winky's hands, barely acknowledging the house-elf. He had been in a foul mood for the last few days, although by all means he should have been thrilled to be leaving the house at last. Ever since his father had decided to bring him along to the World Cup, Crouch had been shooting glances at him, clearly saying: "Well, boy? Aren't you going to thank me?" Barty, of course, had no intention of thanking his jailer for allowing him this small bit of involvement in the world. After all, it didn't make him any less a prisoner.
Walking to his closet, Barty nearly tripped over Winky, who had been hastily making the bed while looking over her shoulder, as though expecting to see Mr. Crouch standing there.
Barty stumbled and knocked his head against the corner of his dresser, and the pain quickly transformed his stormy mood to a fit of rage. Mr. Crouch rarely struck his servant, but Barty hadn't inherited his father's strong self-control. Picking the squealing elf up by her tea-towel garment, he punted her straight through the door and into the hallway, where she jumped to her feet and began frantically apologizing.
Barty slammed the door in the house-elf's face and continued getting dressed, now muttering darkly to himself. "Stupid elf... always underfoot... that'll teach her..."
Moments later, Mr. Crouch's footsteps came pounding up the stairs. He had heard his elf hitting the floor, followed by her frantic apologies, and put two-and-two together. He stormed into the room, shooting his son an accusing glare before getting straight to the point. "It's not your place to punish *my* servants, boy!" He wasn't sure exactly why Barty's treatment of the elf made him so angry, he himself had never exactly acted kindly towards her. Still, it was the principle of the matter...
Barty, who had returned to the window and was again gazing out of it, only gave his father a passing glance, as though surveying someone far below him who simply wasn't worth his time. "She's mine too, and she got in my way. If I feel like punishing her, I will."
"She's *not* yours!" he hissed. "*You* are merely a guest in my home, here by my invitation!"
Barty clenched his fists, wishing that he had a wand in one of them. He opened his mouth to say something, but his father cut him off as he continued. "Ungrateful boy!" he spat. "You didn't *deserve* to be given a place to live after what you did; you didn't *deserve* to be free of that prison rock, but I risked myself to bring you home anyway!"
Barty knew from experience that it would do him no good to say anything. His father brought this point up with every argument they had, as though he thought his son should feel guilty for bringing such danger upon the man who was now his only living relative.
But Barty Jr. felt no remorse for any of his crimes. Not for the destruction of the Longbottom family or for that of his own. It had saddened him to learn of his mother's death, but he felt no such regret for his father's plight. It would have made things much easier if he had felt anything but hatred for Barty Sr., but any feelings along that line were overrun by the memory of his father's disowning him in the courtroom the day of his trial.
So instead of shooting a nasty comment back, Barty simply swept past his father without giving him a second glance. He stormed down the stairs so loudly that he barely heard his father yell after him. "You wait down there, boy and don't you touch that Portkey!" Remembering the original reason for their fight, he added: "And stay away from Winky as well!" Of course, there was really no need for him to remind Barty Jr. not to take the Portkey, as the living room door had been sealed by magic.
Snatching up the Invisibility Cloak from the pile of clothes on the bed, Crouch looked at the clock. It was nearly seven, and the small streaks of reddish-gold light outside had nearly filled the sky. Tucking the Cloak under one arm, he went downstairs to find his son in the kitchen with Winky eating a plate of toast.
Barty didn't look up when his father entered, evidence that he was still brooding on their argument upstairs. Crouch tossed the Invisibility Cloak at him, nearly knocking the plate from his hands. "Put that on and hurry up." He snapped. "We're leaving."
He went into the living room and waited until he heard Barty's footsteps coming down the hall, with Winky at his heels. When they came in, only the house-elf could be seen, so Crouch knew Barty had put on the Cloak as he had ordered.
"Well then," he said, rising from the couch. "Let's go. Winky are you sure you have all of the bags?"
The elf nodded vigorously, holding out a handful of tiny luggage - magically shrunken of course -, which she then tucked safely into a pocket she herself had sewn into her tea towel. "Good." Her master nodded his approval. "We'll be on our way then. Winky, grab his hand so that he doesn't try to get away." The house-elf instantly obeyed. There was never any question as to who "he" was.
Once Winky had hold of Barty's hand, they moved over to their makeshift Portkey and stooped down. Mr. Crouch held his hand out over the lampshade, motioning for both his son and servant to do the same. "Right then," he said. "On three. One... two... three!"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Barty Jr. felt his feet hit solid ground, and heard his father and Winky do the same. He looked over at them and saw that Winky, -who was still clutching his hand- was covering her eyes with her other hand, only peeking between her fingers when she was sure there was solid ground beneath her feet. The house-elf always acted this way when she traveled by Portkey. The sensation reminded her too much of flying, which, of course, reminded her of her worst fear- heights.
Mr. Crouch was dusting himself off even though only his feet had hit the ground upon arriving, and not a speck of dirt could be seen on his crisp, clean muggle suit. He straightened himself up and looked to Winky, who appeared to be clutching a handful of air. "You've still got him then?" Without waiting for the elf's reply he turned and looked towards the campsite in the distance, where smoke was rising from the fires of a few other spectators who had decided to come early. "Good. Winky, you'll get under the Cloak with him until we're away from the muggles."
The house-elf grabbed a corner of the Cloak, which was long enough that it dragged on the ground when Barty wore it, and stepped underneath, vanishing instantly. They headed off towards the campsite, with Barty constantly stepping on poor Winky, who was trying to stay under the Invisibility Cloak and out of the way of her charge's feet at the same time.
They approached a rather old, wrinkled muggle man who simply gave them a map and pointed out their campsite before turning to leave. Just then, Barty stepped down hard on Winky's considerably smaller foot, and this time the elf couldn't suppress a squeal of pain.
The old muggle whipped around, his eyes widening. "What was that?" He was peering at an area dangerously close to where Barty and the house-elf were standing.
Thinking quickly, Mr. Crouch loudly cleared his throat and jerked his head toward the woods nearby. "I suppose it must have been some kind of animal. Well, we- er, I'd best be going." He set off to the site, praying that his son and house-elf were following. He heard the old man muttering to himself behind them.
"Animal... never heard an animal what makes a noise like that... 's one of them aliens, that's what it is."
Crouch would have laughed at him if he hadn't been occupied with breathing a sigh of relief. That had been too close. Upon reaching the campsite, his heart sunk a bit more. Two days out here! The place would surely be loud once the hoards of quidditch spectators arrived. Certainly, the walls of their tent were magical, keeping out most sound, but even from this distance he would probably be able to hear the sounds from that horrible quidditch match.
He peered around at the few other tents around them. All had wizarding families standing around them, with not a muggle in sight. "You may come out now, Winky." He said. The elf -a bit bruised from her many encounters with Barty Jr.'s feet- gratefully stepped out from under the Invisibility Cloak.
He waved an impatient hand towards the grassy spot where the tent would be set up. "Well, elf? Go to it!"
While Winky was fumbling with the tent, a few wizards passed, among them a few who recognized and greeted him.
Barty Jr. put on a high-pitched voice in mocking imitation of them. "Hello Mr. Crouch... good day Mr. Crouch," then, applying his own twist to the words of an old witch who had passed by: "My, what a perfectly hideous suit that is!"
Crouch scowled at the seemingly empty spot where his son stood, offering up a silent prayer that the boy wouldn't cause too much trouble the next day.
A/N: Not a whole lot of action in that chapter, but I hope you liked it. As always, r/r.