Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own none of these characters. They all belong
to J.K. Rowling.
A/N: Welcome to chapter seven! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. In fact, I'd say it's my favorite so far. Hope you like it!
Chapter 7: A Sleepless Night
"Come on, come on..." Crouch muttered under his breath. He, Winky, and an invisible Barty Jr. were wading through the crowd of frantic people hurrying toward the stadium to claim their seats. Crouch was trying his best to look inconspicuous while keeping a firm hold on his son's arm; he was half-expecting someone to ask him why he was grasping a handful of air. On Barty's other side, Winky held on tightly to the hem of the Invisibility Cloak, being dragged along in her Masters' rush to the Top Box.
As they neared the purple-carpeted stairs leading into the stadium, Crouch pulled Barty and Winky aside, out of the way of the surging river of spectators. "Remember Winky," he hissed at the elf. "Just take him up to the Top Box, sit him down, and for Merlin's sake *make sure he stays there!*" The elf nodded her head vigorously and he continued, "After the match, wait for everyone else to leave and I'll come to pick you up. If anyone asks, you're saving a seat for me. Understood?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good. Hurry up to the Box, the match begins in," he pulled a pocketwatch from his robes and consulted it. "Half an hour. Go on!"
Winky turned around, still clutching the Invisibility Cloak, and led Barty Jr. back toward the flow of people moving steadily into the stadium. Mr. Crouch watched them for a moment, but when they disappeared into the crowd he turned and began to walk back to the tent, his mind a jumble of anxiety.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Winky and Barty reached the Top Box to find that they had it to themselves for the time being. Winky was panting hard; the trip up to the Box was no easy feat for a tiny house-elf that had to clamber up stairs that were easily half her height.
Choosing a seat in the second row, she climbed into a chair and heard Barty Jr. sit down beside her. Looking out onto the Quidditch field, she groaned and threw her hands up to cover her large eyes. Barty saw her and snickered cruelly. "Rather high up aren't we?" He taunted, knowing perfectly well how terrified the elf was. Winky gave a frightened whimper in response, and he persisted. "Just wait until later... all of those people flying around on broomsticks, hundreds of feet in the air..."
Winky buried her face even further in her hands and curled up in a tiny ball on the seat, shaking. "Please, Master Barty," she whimpered. "Stop."
Barty paid her no heed and continued again, his cruel smile growing wider: "Ah, I'd forgotten; you don't like heights, do you Winky? Don't worry. Just try not to imagine falling out of the Box headfirst and hitting the ground from hundreds of feet up-"
The poor house-elf -who was shaking like a leaf- was finally spared as the door opened and eight people with flaming red hair entered, flanked by a rather bushy-haired girl and a thin, black-haired boy sporting round glasses.
Barty Jr. watched as the newcomers took their seats, feeling rather irked that they had spoiled his fun. Taking a closer look at the thin boy, he felt quite sure that he had seen him somewhere before. He wracked his memory for a few moments, but soon turned away, frustrated; he had seen the boy, but could not for the life of him remember where.
Suddenly, the bespectacled young man turned around in his seat to face the spot where the two of them where sitting, and for a split second Barty thought that the Invisibility Cloak had malfunctioned and he'd been spotted. When the young man spoke, however, he addressed Winky.
"*Dobby?*" He said, almost disbelievingly.
Winky peeked out from between her fingers, which were still shielding her eyes. "Did sir just call me Dobby?"
At the sound of her high-pitched, squeaky voice, all of the redheads and the brown-haired girl turned around in their seats to listen. "Sorry," said the boy, looking slightly embarrassed at his mistake. "I just thought you were someone I knew."
"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" Winky exclaimed, and continued: "My name is Winky, sir- and you, sir- you is surely Harry Potter!"
Barty, who had been gazing around at the flashy advertisements covering the inside of the stadium, whipped around. Sure enough, the legendary lightning- shaped scar, which had been covered by the boy's messy hair, stood out against the skin of his forehead. Barty winced suddenly, sure that everyone in the Box must have heard his loud intake of breath, but no one moved.
Harry Potter answered the question casually: "Yeah, I am."
Winky and Potter continued their conversation concerning the house-elf called Dobby, but although Barty's eyes were fixed on Potter the entire time, he was too deep in his thoughts to hear so much as a word that was spoken.
*This* was the Boy-Who-Lived? This scrawny teenager with untidy hair and glasses had defeated his Master, the most powerful wizard who had ever lived? *If I felt like it,* Barty scoffed to himself, *I could probably grab him around the throat in the middle of the match and that would be the end of it!* For a moment, he smiled at the thought of being the one to avenge his Master; of being the most faithful of the Dark Lord's hundreds upon hundreds of supporters.
*Or so-called supporters.* Barty thought bitterly. Lucius Malfoy, with Narcissa and Draco in tow, had just sauntered into the Top Box. Shaking the hand of the Minister of Magic, Malfoy didn't seem a bit concerned about the whereabouts of his unfortunate Master. He turned toward the red-haired man who had been sitting in front of Barty and in an undertone said: "Good Lord, Arthur, what did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?" It was obvious that the two were less than friends.
Barty Jr. stared hard at Lucius, twisting around in his seat as the Malfoy family settled themselves in the row directly behind him. As hard as he tried, Barty simply could not understand the former member of the Inner Circle. Lucius had the money and the political influence to find his Lord; why did he not use it? "Coward." Barty whispered softly.
His thoughts were interrupted by the lighthearted voice of Ludo Bagman, who had entered the Box only moments before, echoing through the stadium. "Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and seventy-second Quidditch World Cup!" He waited for the thunder of zealous applause emitting from every corner of the stadium to die down before continuing. "And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"
As the Bulgarian side of the stands erupted with cheers, everyone in the stadium leaned forward in their seats as one to get a good look at the creatures marching onto the field. To the dismay of many a wife attending that day, the Bulgarians had brought along a troop of graceful, silvery- haired veela.
Barty Jr, like every other male in the stadium, was effected by the veelas' magic-induced charm. When he tried to stand up with the rest to get a better view of them, however, he found that his legs refused to let him leave his seat. *Damn Father and his Imperius Curses!* He thought, leaning back to watch the other men and boys in the Top Box make fools of themselves.
Barty snickered as he watched Harry Potter, who was perched on the rim of the Box as though about to jump from it into the crowd below. *Maybe I won't have to kill him myself after all!*
Then the music ceased and the veela stopped their graceful dance. A bellow of outrage rocked the stadium for a moment, and discarded shamrock souvenirs flew through the air as the crowd voiced their support for the Bulgarian team. Or at any rate, for the veela who accompanied them.
Suddenly, Ludo Bagman bellowed: "And now, kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!"
The veelas' beauty was all but forgotten as a green shamrock consisting entirely of leprechauns swept over the crowd, raining their vanishing gold upon the heads of the delighted spectators. As they scrambled about on the floor, no one noticed the gold falling in Barty Jr's seat disappearing into thin air as he stuffed greedy fistfulls of it into the pockets of the Invisibility Cloak.
When everyone had returned to their seats with pockets full of leprechaun gold, Ludo Bagman began to announce the two teams. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome- the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you-" Scarlet-robed players sped onto the field as he read off their names. "Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaand- Krum!"
"And now, please greet- the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Roared Bagman. "Presenting- Conolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand- Lynch!"
Both teams waved to their fans in the stands below as the referee stepped onto the field. "And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"
Mostafa released the Bludgers, Quaffle, and the Golden Snitch into the air before blowing his whistle to begin the match. "Theeeey're OFF! And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov..."
Bagman continued with the commentating, but Barty heard none of it. He was looking looking again at Harry Potter. The boy's bright-green eyes were hidden behind a pair of Omnioculars; he was completely focused on the match. Looking at him, Barty's mind flashed back to his earlier thoughts of vengeance. Part of him knew that killing Potter wouldn't bring his master back, that the only thing it would accomplish would be getting him caught and thrown back inside Azkaban, but another part of him still had a hope...
On an impulse, the Death Eater reached forward toward the Boy-who-lived, sure of what he meant to do, but still not certain as to how he meant to go about it. Suddenly, Potter leapt up out of his seat, startling Barty, who half expected the young man to turn around and feel him sitting there. Everyone else in the box had jumped to their feet in the same instant as Potter, and those sitting in the front row of the Top Box were leaning out to get a better view. His mind snapping back to the match for the first time since it began, Barty leaned forward. Aidan Lynch lay sprawled the grass on the floor of the stadium; it looked as though he was fighting to remain conscious.
After having numerous potions poured down his throat, Lynch finally found his feet, and the match began again.
In front of Barty, Potter settled back into his seat. As he did so, Barty spotted a long, black stick of wood protruding from the boy's pocket: his wand. Upon seeing the thing, Barty's heart positively leapt. A wand... all those years locked away... if he had ever had access to a wand in all that time, he would have been free in an instant. Now, finally, he had his chance... there would be no need to kill Potter, all he would have to do was snatch the wand now, and sneak out later that night while everyone else was sleeping. He would go directly to Albania... and then...
A grin spread over his face and he reached out once more to grab the wand. Suddenly, his spirits plummeted. His father's Imperius Curse was beginning to work on him, he could feel it forcing his hand to turn back. This time though, he wouldn't- he just couldn't- resign himself to it as he had in the past. He continued to reach for the pocket of the boy sitting in front of him, now physically aching from the exhaustion of fighting the Curse. Suddenly, all of the invisible tension that had been holding him back vanished, and Barty nearly fell forward in it's absence. In one swift motion, he righted himself and snatched Potter's wand from his pocket, grinning triumphantly.
The match continued, but Barty couldn't have cared less. When Lynch slammed into the ground for the second time and Krum grabbed the snitch, practically handing Ireland the Cup, he was completely oblivious.
From under the cloak Barty gave the wand a trial flick, changing a green Irish rosette that had been dropped on the ground into a small white mouse, which immediately scuttled away to avoid the feet of the exhilerated crowd. He grinned, feeling as victorious as the Irish supporters now stampeding from the stadium to celebrate.
*Thank you very much, Mr. Potter.* he thought giddily. *I'll be sure to thank you before my Master kills you!*
Soon all of the other occupants of the Top Box were gone, and Barty and Winky were left waiting for Mr. Crouch.
Winky was still rather shaken from that morning; the image of the Dark Mark printed on her young Master's arm wouldn't leave her mind. Nervously, she tried to break the silence. "It was a good match, wasn't it, Master Barty? I is glad Ireland won." Of course, she didn't really care one way or another, but it seemed that there was nothing else to say.
"Mm-hmm." Barty mumbled, not listening.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs leading up to the Box and Mr. Crouch entered, peering around for a moment to be sure that they were completely alone. "Well?" He said to Winky. "Did everything work out?"
The elf nodded her head vigorously. "Oh yes, Master. Master Barty is being very good, he isn't making a sound."
"Good. Come on, then. Most of these people will be leaving by Portkey tomorrow, and I'm left to organize it all while the rest of my colleagues are off celebrating." He said distastefully. It was obvious that the person he was talking about for the most part was one Ludovic Bagman.
Winky hopped off her chair and followed him down the steps, dragging Barty Jr. along behind her.
Barty glared at his father's back as they walked along, but his bitter scowl changed to a wicked grin as he reached into his pocket and felt the stolen wand there. It was wonderful to be able to perform magic again. He had felt powerless without it, but now he could use spells... he could even perform the Unforgivables. Watching his father as they ducked into the tent, Barty knew just who to use one on first.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hours later, Mr. Crouch sat at the small, unsturdy kitchen table, trying to finish the paperwork he had brought with him from the office. There were dark-purple rings under his eyes, as it was nearing one o'clock, and he was consistantly closing his eyes and nodding off for a few minutes at a time before-
BANG!
Crouch started and nearly fell off his chair as yet another firecracker exploded outside. "Damned Quidditch fanatics..." he grumbled, seeking out his quill, which had fallen to the floor as he drifted off to sleep.
It seemed that the exuberant Irish fans did not share his feeling of exhaustion. Their celebrations had gone on since the very moment the match had ended, and showed no sign of ceasing. Twice Crouch attempted to go to bed, but each time his slumber was interrupted by the crash of fireworks or (more than once) the sound of two or more extremely drunken wizards picking a fight just outside his tent.
Around eleven-thirty, he had been making himself a pot of coffee when a leprechaun, toting a mug of beer nearly half it's own size, had burst through the door, sloshing the contents of the mug everywhere as it weaved about. The small, bearded creature had tossed a handful of gold coins at Crouch, who was openly shocked at the sight of it. "Hee hee... I say!" It giggled, and passed out on the floor.
Moments later a haggard-looking Ministry worker had entered, grabbed the unconcious leprechaun, and darted back out the door, saying: "Sorry about that, Mr. Crouch! We're trying to keep them away from the tents, but they just drown us out with their cheering. I'd stay inside if I were you!"
Needless to say, Crouch intended to do just that. As he returned to his paperwork, it seemed to him that the noise of the merrymakers outside had changed from joyous to almost fearful. Screams were mingled with the raucous laughter now, and panic seemed to have stirred in the crowd. His stomach tightened as an ear-pearcing cry of terror sounded through the blur of other voices.
It seemed that Barty Jr. had noticed the change too, for he came out of his room, rubbing bloodshot eyes sleepily. "Wha's goin' on?" He asked, sleep slurring his speech.
"Another fight, most likely; they're all drunk out there." His father said, his eyes never leaving the door, as though he expected another uninvited guest to come bursting through it at any moment. "Go back to sleep." And as an afterthought: "And for Merlin's sake, put on the Cloak when you're out here!"
Barty Jr. was so tired that he forgot to argue, and soon disappeared back into his room, shutting the door behind him.
It was lucky for the both of them that he left without putting up a fight; their third visitor of the night burst in only seconds later. It was Arthur Weasley, gasping for breath and looking extremely distraught. "Barty! They sent me to get you..." he panted, stopping for a moment to catch his breath.
"Why? What's happening?" Crouch questioned, too anxious to be patient. "Have the celebrations gotten that out of hand?"
"Yes! Barty, there are... there are Death Eaters out there! They've caught a family of muggles and..."
Crouch's stomach turned over as Arthur spoke. Death Eaters! He could have sworn that he heard a sharp intake of breath from behind the closed door of his son's bedroom, which meant that Barty Jr. was eavesdropping. He let his fellow Ministry member continue.
"...they've got them up in the air! The two little ones as well! You have to hurry, Barty, there are hundreds of them! We need all the help we can get. They're burning tents as they go along, and there've been at least a dozen injuries already!"
Crouch needed no second invitation; he grabbed his wand and cloak and was out the door in a heartbeat. He turned around only to shout his orders to Winky, who had awoken and padded into the kitchen at the sound of their voices. "Stay here, Winky! Don't leave the tent!"
Barty Jr. had indeed been listening at the door when Arthur Weasley delivered the news. Now, sitting on the little bed in his darkened room, he buried his face in his hands as a cascade of bitterness washed over him. "Hundreds of them." He whispered, repeating the words that Weasley had said. Hundreds of free Death Eaters, and that group consisted only of those who had attended the World Cup!
*And to think that if any *one* person out of those hundreds had ever gone looking for our Master... I would be free now.* He thought bitterly, clenching his fists as anger took him over.
Reaching out to steady himself on the bedside table, his hand struck a long, smooth piece of polished wood. Potter's wand! Barty snatched it up as he remembered.
A scream from outside shattered the silece, and Barty's fury deepened. He felt no pity for the victimized muggles; he had done such things and worse to their kind before. It was their tormentors that were causing the dark, seething hatred he felt now. Those who called themselves Death Eaters and pledged to serve the Dark Lord with their lives, yet turned their backs when their Master was truly in need of them.
They needed to learn! They needed to be punished! And now he, a *faithful* servant, had the means of doing it!
"Oh yes, Father can wait." He whispered, grinning in the darkness. "*They* must be punished first. They'll learn..." Barty gave the wand a flick, sending a shower of green sparks into the corner. He giggled, suddenly feeling rather giddy. "...and *I'll* be free."
The door creaked open suddenly, and Barty hastened to hide the wand before Winky walked in quietly. "Master Barty, is you alright?"
"Oh yes, quite alright. Better, in fact." There was something in his tone that frightened the elf, and she took a step backward as he stood up. She watched as her young master snatched the Invisibility Cloak from the chair where it hung and pulled it on, vanishing instantly.
Her inability to see Barty increased Winky's feeling of anxiety tenfold. She jumped when she heard the floor squeak as he crossed the room and passed through the doorway. Recovering her wits, she ran after him. "Master Barty, where is you going? There is Death Eaters outside!" The elf squeaked, forgetting entirely that the man she was addressing was himself a Death Eater.
Barty laughed, and Winky could tell that she was right in front of him, the only thing standing between him and the door. "No, Winky, they only *say* they're Death Eaters. They don't know what it truly means... so I'll have to teach them, won't I?"
"Master Barty, please, stay-"
"Move, Winky!"
"No-" The elf's protest was cut off as Barty kicked her aside.
"Get out of the way, you stupid elf! They will be punished, and you along with them if you don't stay back!"
Tears slid down Winky's face as she stared up at the spot where she knew Barty stood. Her young master sounded completely mad now; as much as she hated the thought of it disobeying Mr. Crouch, she knew that she had to get Barty as far away from the crowd as possible, where he could do no damage.
Feeling triumphant, Barty started out the door, grinning cruelly. Suddenly, he felt an invisible force pulling him back into the tent. He looked back to see Winky standing there, tears still streaming down her face in a steady flow. "I is sorry Master Barty, but I isn't ought to let you leave!" She sobbed.
Barty noticed that her tiny feet were slipping, and she was already straining to find the effort to hold him back. He would have to drag her with him, but his strength still gave him the upper hand. For a few moments, he dragged her along behind him, but he tired quickly. Soon Winky began to pull him away toward the woods, and no matter how he struggled, Barty was simply too exhausted to fight for very long.
They passed other people once they had reached the safety of the trees. Barty looked back at the campsite and saw utter chaos. Tents burning, people running everywhere, the shouts of the Ministry officials trying to stop the pandemonium, and floating high above the grisly scene, the family of unfortunate muggles.
Winky, struggling on, took them deeper still into the woods. Suddenly, they both heard voices in a nearby clearing. The voices stopped abruptly and then: "Hello?" A slight pause. "Who's there?"
Winky froze in terror, obviously fearing that it was one of the Death Eaters, separated from the group, who had spoken. Barty saw his chance at last. He whipped the wand out of his robes and shouted at the top of his lungs, feeling more exhilerated than ever before-
"MORSMORDRE!"
An enormous formation of sparkling green smoke shot from the wand, soaring into the air. He heard the people in the nearby clearing begin to panic, heard them begin to run toward the spot where he and the absolutely petrified Winky stood, and then:
"STUPEFY!"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Mr. Crouch darted toward the spot where a cluster of Ministry employees stood. He had rushed back to the tent earlier, only to find it empty. Upon seeing the Dark Mark illuminated against the night sky he had feared the worst.
He brushed past Arthur Weasley as he neared the crowd. "Out of the way, Arthur." In the middle of the congregation of Aurors and Ministry officials, three teenaged children sat, looking confused and frightened. Crouch could tell immediately that they were not to blame for the apparition blazing above their heads, but he knew just as well who *was* responsible. "Which one of you did it?" He snarled at them. "Which one of you conjured the Dark Mark?"
"We didn't do that!" One of them, a thin, dark-haired boy, protested.
His redheaded friend backed him up immediately. "We didn't do anything! What did you want to attack us for?"
"Do not lie, sir! You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"
"Barty," whispered a member of the group around them, an old witch who had been an Auror in her heyday. "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to-"
Arthur Weasley cut in suddenly. "Where did the Mark come from, you three?"
A young girl, looking quite shaken, answered. "Over there." She pointed to a spot just a few feet away, in the bushes. "There was someone behind the trees... they shouted words- an incantation-"
"Oh, stood over there, did they? Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy-"
The rest of the group was peering through the trees, searching for any sign of the person who had conjured the Dark Mark while talking quietly among themselves.
"We're too late. They'll have Disapparated."
"I don't think so," said Amos Diggory. "Our Stunners went right through those trees, there's a good chance we got them..."
"Amos, be careful!"
Just as Crouch was about to tell them all that it was a lost cause, that they would never find anything, Diggory's voice rang out from the trees. "Yes! We've got them! There's someone here! Unconcious! It's- but- blimey..."
For the third time that night, Crouch's stomach twisted into a knot as he said: "You've got someone? Who? Who is it?"
Diggory marched out of the trees, carrying a small bundle in his arms. He deposited it on the ground in front of his colleagues. It was Winky.
Crouch felt himself begin to shake. "This- cannot- be. No-" He hurried back into the spot where Winky had been found, knowing full well who would be lying there. Sure enough, he found the form of Barty Jr, unconcious, sprawled on the ground just a few feet from where Winky had been. He let out a long sigh, of both exhasperation and relief. He could hear them talking back in the clearing.
"Bit embarrassing. Barty Crouch's house-elf. I mean to say..."
Crouch stood up, mentally marking the spot where his son lay. It *was* embarrassing. It was more than embarrassing. If they had been caught, he could have been sent to Azkaban along with Barty Jr. Yes, Winky would have to go.
Crouch turned and walked back to the group. He locked eyes with Winky, and she looked down, knowing exactly what was coming.
A/N: Evil, psycho, Death Eater-Barty is really starting to emerge now... I love it. :) r/r, please!
A/N: Welcome to chapter seven! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. In fact, I'd say it's my favorite so far. Hope you like it!
Chapter 7: A Sleepless Night
"Come on, come on..." Crouch muttered under his breath. He, Winky, and an invisible Barty Jr. were wading through the crowd of frantic people hurrying toward the stadium to claim their seats. Crouch was trying his best to look inconspicuous while keeping a firm hold on his son's arm; he was half-expecting someone to ask him why he was grasping a handful of air. On Barty's other side, Winky held on tightly to the hem of the Invisibility Cloak, being dragged along in her Masters' rush to the Top Box.
As they neared the purple-carpeted stairs leading into the stadium, Crouch pulled Barty and Winky aside, out of the way of the surging river of spectators. "Remember Winky," he hissed at the elf. "Just take him up to the Top Box, sit him down, and for Merlin's sake *make sure he stays there!*" The elf nodded her head vigorously and he continued, "After the match, wait for everyone else to leave and I'll come to pick you up. If anyone asks, you're saving a seat for me. Understood?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good. Hurry up to the Box, the match begins in," he pulled a pocketwatch from his robes and consulted it. "Half an hour. Go on!"
Winky turned around, still clutching the Invisibility Cloak, and led Barty Jr. back toward the flow of people moving steadily into the stadium. Mr. Crouch watched them for a moment, but when they disappeared into the crowd he turned and began to walk back to the tent, his mind a jumble of anxiety.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Winky and Barty reached the Top Box to find that they had it to themselves for the time being. Winky was panting hard; the trip up to the Box was no easy feat for a tiny house-elf that had to clamber up stairs that were easily half her height.
Choosing a seat in the second row, she climbed into a chair and heard Barty Jr. sit down beside her. Looking out onto the Quidditch field, she groaned and threw her hands up to cover her large eyes. Barty saw her and snickered cruelly. "Rather high up aren't we?" He taunted, knowing perfectly well how terrified the elf was. Winky gave a frightened whimper in response, and he persisted. "Just wait until later... all of those people flying around on broomsticks, hundreds of feet in the air..."
Winky buried her face even further in her hands and curled up in a tiny ball on the seat, shaking. "Please, Master Barty," she whimpered. "Stop."
Barty paid her no heed and continued again, his cruel smile growing wider: "Ah, I'd forgotten; you don't like heights, do you Winky? Don't worry. Just try not to imagine falling out of the Box headfirst and hitting the ground from hundreds of feet up-"
The poor house-elf -who was shaking like a leaf- was finally spared as the door opened and eight people with flaming red hair entered, flanked by a rather bushy-haired girl and a thin, black-haired boy sporting round glasses.
Barty Jr. watched as the newcomers took their seats, feeling rather irked that they had spoiled his fun. Taking a closer look at the thin boy, he felt quite sure that he had seen him somewhere before. He wracked his memory for a few moments, but soon turned away, frustrated; he had seen the boy, but could not for the life of him remember where.
Suddenly, the bespectacled young man turned around in his seat to face the spot where the two of them where sitting, and for a split second Barty thought that the Invisibility Cloak had malfunctioned and he'd been spotted. When the young man spoke, however, he addressed Winky.
"*Dobby?*" He said, almost disbelievingly.
Winky peeked out from between her fingers, which were still shielding her eyes. "Did sir just call me Dobby?"
At the sound of her high-pitched, squeaky voice, all of the redheads and the brown-haired girl turned around in their seats to listen. "Sorry," said the boy, looking slightly embarrassed at his mistake. "I just thought you were someone I knew."
"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" Winky exclaimed, and continued: "My name is Winky, sir- and you, sir- you is surely Harry Potter!"
Barty, who had been gazing around at the flashy advertisements covering the inside of the stadium, whipped around. Sure enough, the legendary lightning- shaped scar, which had been covered by the boy's messy hair, stood out against the skin of his forehead. Barty winced suddenly, sure that everyone in the Box must have heard his loud intake of breath, but no one moved.
Harry Potter answered the question casually: "Yeah, I am."
Winky and Potter continued their conversation concerning the house-elf called Dobby, but although Barty's eyes were fixed on Potter the entire time, he was too deep in his thoughts to hear so much as a word that was spoken.
*This* was the Boy-Who-Lived? This scrawny teenager with untidy hair and glasses had defeated his Master, the most powerful wizard who had ever lived? *If I felt like it,* Barty scoffed to himself, *I could probably grab him around the throat in the middle of the match and that would be the end of it!* For a moment, he smiled at the thought of being the one to avenge his Master; of being the most faithful of the Dark Lord's hundreds upon hundreds of supporters.
*Or so-called supporters.* Barty thought bitterly. Lucius Malfoy, with Narcissa and Draco in tow, had just sauntered into the Top Box. Shaking the hand of the Minister of Magic, Malfoy didn't seem a bit concerned about the whereabouts of his unfortunate Master. He turned toward the red-haired man who had been sitting in front of Barty and in an undertone said: "Good Lord, Arthur, what did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?" It was obvious that the two were less than friends.
Barty Jr. stared hard at Lucius, twisting around in his seat as the Malfoy family settled themselves in the row directly behind him. As hard as he tried, Barty simply could not understand the former member of the Inner Circle. Lucius had the money and the political influence to find his Lord; why did he not use it? "Coward." Barty whispered softly.
His thoughts were interrupted by the lighthearted voice of Ludo Bagman, who had entered the Box only moments before, echoing through the stadium. "Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and seventy-second Quidditch World Cup!" He waited for the thunder of zealous applause emitting from every corner of the stadium to die down before continuing. "And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"
As the Bulgarian side of the stands erupted with cheers, everyone in the stadium leaned forward in their seats as one to get a good look at the creatures marching onto the field. To the dismay of many a wife attending that day, the Bulgarians had brought along a troop of graceful, silvery- haired veela.
Barty Jr, like every other male in the stadium, was effected by the veelas' magic-induced charm. When he tried to stand up with the rest to get a better view of them, however, he found that his legs refused to let him leave his seat. *Damn Father and his Imperius Curses!* He thought, leaning back to watch the other men and boys in the Top Box make fools of themselves.
Barty snickered as he watched Harry Potter, who was perched on the rim of the Box as though about to jump from it into the crowd below. *Maybe I won't have to kill him myself after all!*
Then the music ceased and the veela stopped their graceful dance. A bellow of outrage rocked the stadium for a moment, and discarded shamrock souvenirs flew through the air as the crowd voiced their support for the Bulgarian team. Or at any rate, for the veela who accompanied them.
Suddenly, Ludo Bagman bellowed: "And now, kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!"
The veelas' beauty was all but forgotten as a green shamrock consisting entirely of leprechauns swept over the crowd, raining their vanishing gold upon the heads of the delighted spectators. As they scrambled about on the floor, no one noticed the gold falling in Barty Jr's seat disappearing into thin air as he stuffed greedy fistfulls of it into the pockets of the Invisibility Cloak.
When everyone had returned to their seats with pockets full of leprechaun gold, Ludo Bagman began to announce the two teams. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome- the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you-" Scarlet-robed players sped onto the field as he read off their names. "Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaand- Krum!"
"And now, please greet- the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Roared Bagman. "Presenting- Conolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand- Lynch!"
Both teams waved to their fans in the stands below as the referee stepped onto the field. "And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"
Mostafa released the Bludgers, Quaffle, and the Golden Snitch into the air before blowing his whistle to begin the match. "Theeeey're OFF! And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov..."
Bagman continued with the commentating, but Barty heard none of it. He was looking looking again at Harry Potter. The boy's bright-green eyes were hidden behind a pair of Omnioculars; he was completely focused on the match. Looking at him, Barty's mind flashed back to his earlier thoughts of vengeance. Part of him knew that killing Potter wouldn't bring his master back, that the only thing it would accomplish would be getting him caught and thrown back inside Azkaban, but another part of him still had a hope...
On an impulse, the Death Eater reached forward toward the Boy-who-lived, sure of what he meant to do, but still not certain as to how he meant to go about it. Suddenly, Potter leapt up out of his seat, startling Barty, who half expected the young man to turn around and feel him sitting there. Everyone else in the box had jumped to their feet in the same instant as Potter, and those sitting in the front row of the Top Box were leaning out to get a better view. His mind snapping back to the match for the first time since it began, Barty leaned forward. Aidan Lynch lay sprawled the grass on the floor of the stadium; it looked as though he was fighting to remain conscious.
After having numerous potions poured down his throat, Lynch finally found his feet, and the match began again.
In front of Barty, Potter settled back into his seat. As he did so, Barty spotted a long, black stick of wood protruding from the boy's pocket: his wand. Upon seeing the thing, Barty's heart positively leapt. A wand... all those years locked away... if he had ever had access to a wand in all that time, he would have been free in an instant. Now, finally, he had his chance... there would be no need to kill Potter, all he would have to do was snatch the wand now, and sneak out later that night while everyone else was sleeping. He would go directly to Albania... and then...
A grin spread over his face and he reached out once more to grab the wand. Suddenly, his spirits plummeted. His father's Imperius Curse was beginning to work on him, he could feel it forcing his hand to turn back. This time though, he wouldn't- he just couldn't- resign himself to it as he had in the past. He continued to reach for the pocket of the boy sitting in front of him, now physically aching from the exhaustion of fighting the Curse. Suddenly, all of the invisible tension that had been holding him back vanished, and Barty nearly fell forward in it's absence. In one swift motion, he righted himself and snatched Potter's wand from his pocket, grinning triumphantly.
The match continued, but Barty couldn't have cared less. When Lynch slammed into the ground for the second time and Krum grabbed the snitch, practically handing Ireland the Cup, he was completely oblivious.
From under the cloak Barty gave the wand a trial flick, changing a green Irish rosette that had been dropped on the ground into a small white mouse, which immediately scuttled away to avoid the feet of the exhilerated crowd. He grinned, feeling as victorious as the Irish supporters now stampeding from the stadium to celebrate.
*Thank you very much, Mr. Potter.* he thought giddily. *I'll be sure to thank you before my Master kills you!*
Soon all of the other occupants of the Top Box were gone, and Barty and Winky were left waiting for Mr. Crouch.
Winky was still rather shaken from that morning; the image of the Dark Mark printed on her young Master's arm wouldn't leave her mind. Nervously, she tried to break the silence. "It was a good match, wasn't it, Master Barty? I is glad Ireland won." Of course, she didn't really care one way or another, but it seemed that there was nothing else to say.
"Mm-hmm." Barty mumbled, not listening.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs leading up to the Box and Mr. Crouch entered, peering around for a moment to be sure that they were completely alone. "Well?" He said to Winky. "Did everything work out?"
The elf nodded her head vigorously. "Oh yes, Master. Master Barty is being very good, he isn't making a sound."
"Good. Come on, then. Most of these people will be leaving by Portkey tomorrow, and I'm left to organize it all while the rest of my colleagues are off celebrating." He said distastefully. It was obvious that the person he was talking about for the most part was one Ludovic Bagman.
Winky hopped off her chair and followed him down the steps, dragging Barty Jr. along behind her.
Barty glared at his father's back as they walked along, but his bitter scowl changed to a wicked grin as he reached into his pocket and felt the stolen wand there. It was wonderful to be able to perform magic again. He had felt powerless without it, but now he could use spells... he could even perform the Unforgivables. Watching his father as they ducked into the tent, Barty knew just who to use one on first.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hours later, Mr. Crouch sat at the small, unsturdy kitchen table, trying to finish the paperwork he had brought with him from the office. There were dark-purple rings under his eyes, as it was nearing one o'clock, and he was consistantly closing his eyes and nodding off for a few minutes at a time before-
BANG!
Crouch started and nearly fell off his chair as yet another firecracker exploded outside. "Damned Quidditch fanatics..." he grumbled, seeking out his quill, which had fallen to the floor as he drifted off to sleep.
It seemed that the exuberant Irish fans did not share his feeling of exhaustion. Their celebrations had gone on since the very moment the match had ended, and showed no sign of ceasing. Twice Crouch attempted to go to bed, but each time his slumber was interrupted by the crash of fireworks or (more than once) the sound of two or more extremely drunken wizards picking a fight just outside his tent.
Around eleven-thirty, he had been making himself a pot of coffee when a leprechaun, toting a mug of beer nearly half it's own size, had burst through the door, sloshing the contents of the mug everywhere as it weaved about. The small, bearded creature had tossed a handful of gold coins at Crouch, who was openly shocked at the sight of it. "Hee hee... I say!" It giggled, and passed out on the floor.
Moments later a haggard-looking Ministry worker had entered, grabbed the unconcious leprechaun, and darted back out the door, saying: "Sorry about that, Mr. Crouch! We're trying to keep them away from the tents, but they just drown us out with their cheering. I'd stay inside if I were you!"
Needless to say, Crouch intended to do just that. As he returned to his paperwork, it seemed to him that the noise of the merrymakers outside had changed from joyous to almost fearful. Screams were mingled with the raucous laughter now, and panic seemed to have stirred in the crowd. His stomach tightened as an ear-pearcing cry of terror sounded through the blur of other voices.
It seemed that Barty Jr. had noticed the change too, for he came out of his room, rubbing bloodshot eyes sleepily. "Wha's goin' on?" He asked, sleep slurring his speech.
"Another fight, most likely; they're all drunk out there." His father said, his eyes never leaving the door, as though he expected another uninvited guest to come bursting through it at any moment. "Go back to sleep." And as an afterthought: "And for Merlin's sake, put on the Cloak when you're out here!"
Barty Jr. was so tired that he forgot to argue, and soon disappeared back into his room, shutting the door behind him.
It was lucky for the both of them that he left without putting up a fight; their third visitor of the night burst in only seconds later. It was Arthur Weasley, gasping for breath and looking extremely distraught. "Barty! They sent me to get you..." he panted, stopping for a moment to catch his breath.
"Why? What's happening?" Crouch questioned, too anxious to be patient. "Have the celebrations gotten that out of hand?"
"Yes! Barty, there are... there are Death Eaters out there! They've caught a family of muggles and..."
Crouch's stomach turned over as Arthur spoke. Death Eaters! He could have sworn that he heard a sharp intake of breath from behind the closed door of his son's bedroom, which meant that Barty Jr. was eavesdropping. He let his fellow Ministry member continue.
"...they've got them up in the air! The two little ones as well! You have to hurry, Barty, there are hundreds of them! We need all the help we can get. They're burning tents as they go along, and there've been at least a dozen injuries already!"
Crouch needed no second invitation; he grabbed his wand and cloak and was out the door in a heartbeat. He turned around only to shout his orders to Winky, who had awoken and padded into the kitchen at the sound of their voices. "Stay here, Winky! Don't leave the tent!"
Barty Jr. had indeed been listening at the door when Arthur Weasley delivered the news. Now, sitting on the little bed in his darkened room, he buried his face in his hands as a cascade of bitterness washed over him. "Hundreds of them." He whispered, repeating the words that Weasley had said. Hundreds of free Death Eaters, and that group consisted only of those who had attended the World Cup!
*And to think that if any *one* person out of those hundreds had ever gone looking for our Master... I would be free now.* He thought bitterly, clenching his fists as anger took him over.
Reaching out to steady himself on the bedside table, his hand struck a long, smooth piece of polished wood. Potter's wand! Barty snatched it up as he remembered.
A scream from outside shattered the silece, and Barty's fury deepened. He felt no pity for the victimized muggles; he had done such things and worse to their kind before. It was their tormentors that were causing the dark, seething hatred he felt now. Those who called themselves Death Eaters and pledged to serve the Dark Lord with their lives, yet turned their backs when their Master was truly in need of them.
They needed to learn! They needed to be punished! And now he, a *faithful* servant, had the means of doing it!
"Oh yes, Father can wait." He whispered, grinning in the darkness. "*They* must be punished first. They'll learn..." Barty gave the wand a flick, sending a shower of green sparks into the corner. He giggled, suddenly feeling rather giddy. "...and *I'll* be free."
The door creaked open suddenly, and Barty hastened to hide the wand before Winky walked in quietly. "Master Barty, is you alright?"
"Oh yes, quite alright. Better, in fact." There was something in his tone that frightened the elf, and she took a step backward as he stood up. She watched as her young master snatched the Invisibility Cloak from the chair where it hung and pulled it on, vanishing instantly.
Her inability to see Barty increased Winky's feeling of anxiety tenfold. She jumped when she heard the floor squeak as he crossed the room and passed through the doorway. Recovering her wits, she ran after him. "Master Barty, where is you going? There is Death Eaters outside!" The elf squeaked, forgetting entirely that the man she was addressing was himself a Death Eater.
Barty laughed, and Winky could tell that she was right in front of him, the only thing standing between him and the door. "No, Winky, they only *say* they're Death Eaters. They don't know what it truly means... so I'll have to teach them, won't I?"
"Master Barty, please, stay-"
"Move, Winky!"
"No-" The elf's protest was cut off as Barty kicked her aside.
"Get out of the way, you stupid elf! They will be punished, and you along with them if you don't stay back!"
Tears slid down Winky's face as she stared up at the spot where she knew Barty stood. Her young master sounded completely mad now; as much as she hated the thought of it disobeying Mr. Crouch, she knew that she had to get Barty as far away from the crowd as possible, where he could do no damage.
Feeling triumphant, Barty started out the door, grinning cruelly. Suddenly, he felt an invisible force pulling him back into the tent. He looked back to see Winky standing there, tears still streaming down her face in a steady flow. "I is sorry Master Barty, but I isn't ought to let you leave!" She sobbed.
Barty noticed that her tiny feet were slipping, and she was already straining to find the effort to hold him back. He would have to drag her with him, but his strength still gave him the upper hand. For a few moments, he dragged her along behind him, but he tired quickly. Soon Winky began to pull him away toward the woods, and no matter how he struggled, Barty was simply too exhausted to fight for very long.
They passed other people once they had reached the safety of the trees. Barty looked back at the campsite and saw utter chaos. Tents burning, people running everywhere, the shouts of the Ministry officials trying to stop the pandemonium, and floating high above the grisly scene, the family of unfortunate muggles.
Winky, struggling on, took them deeper still into the woods. Suddenly, they both heard voices in a nearby clearing. The voices stopped abruptly and then: "Hello?" A slight pause. "Who's there?"
Winky froze in terror, obviously fearing that it was one of the Death Eaters, separated from the group, who had spoken. Barty saw his chance at last. He whipped the wand out of his robes and shouted at the top of his lungs, feeling more exhilerated than ever before-
"MORSMORDRE!"
An enormous formation of sparkling green smoke shot from the wand, soaring into the air. He heard the people in the nearby clearing begin to panic, heard them begin to run toward the spot where he and the absolutely petrified Winky stood, and then:
"STUPEFY!"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Mr. Crouch darted toward the spot where a cluster of Ministry employees stood. He had rushed back to the tent earlier, only to find it empty. Upon seeing the Dark Mark illuminated against the night sky he had feared the worst.
He brushed past Arthur Weasley as he neared the crowd. "Out of the way, Arthur." In the middle of the congregation of Aurors and Ministry officials, three teenaged children sat, looking confused and frightened. Crouch could tell immediately that they were not to blame for the apparition blazing above their heads, but he knew just as well who *was* responsible. "Which one of you did it?" He snarled at them. "Which one of you conjured the Dark Mark?"
"We didn't do that!" One of them, a thin, dark-haired boy, protested.
His redheaded friend backed him up immediately. "We didn't do anything! What did you want to attack us for?"
"Do not lie, sir! You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"
"Barty," whispered a member of the group around them, an old witch who had been an Auror in her heyday. "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to-"
Arthur Weasley cut in suddenly. "Where did the Mark come from, you three?"
A young girl, looking quite shaken, answered. "Over there." She pointed to a spot just a few feet away, in the bushes. "There was someone behind the trees... they shouted words- an incantation-"
"Oh, stood over there, did they? Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy-"
The rest of the group was peering through the trees, searching for any sign of the person who had conjured the Dark Mark while talking quietly among themselves.
"We're too late. They'll have Disapparated."
"I don't think so," said Amos Diggory. "Our Stunners went right through those trees, there's a good chance we got them..."
"Amos, be careful!"
Just as Crouch was about to tell them all that it was a lost cause, that they would never find anything, Diggory's voice rang out from the trees. "Yes! We've got them! There's someone here! Unconcious! It's- but- blimey..."
For the third time that night, Crouch's stomach twisted into a knot as he said: "You've got someone? Who? Who is it?"
Diggory marched out of the trees, carrying a small bundle in his arms. He deposited it on the ground in front of his colleagues. It was Winky.
Crouch felt himself begin to shake. "This- cannot- be. No-" He hurried back into the spot where Winky had been found, knowing full well who would be lying there. Sure enough, he found the form of Barty Jr, unconcious, sprawled on the ground just a few feet from where Winky had been. He let out a long sigh, of both exhasperation and relief. He could hear them talking back in the clearing.
"Bit embarrassing. Barty Crouch's house-elf. I mean to say..."
Crouch stood up, mentally marking the spot where his son lay. It *was* embarrassing. It was more than embarrassing. If they had been caught, he could have been sent to Azkaban along with Barty Jr. Yes, Winky would have to go.
Crouch turned and walked back to the group. He locked eyes with Winky, and she looked down, knowing exactly what was coming.
A/N: Evil, psycho, Death Eater-Barty is really starting to emerge now... I love it. :) r/r, please!