Chapter Three:

Sad Stupid Sods

WHEN CHRISTINE awoke, it was to a horrible, pounding splitting agony at the back of her skull, throbbing until she thought her skull might burst. A low moan left her as she stirred awake and barely had the strength to lift her head. Black spots still danced at the edges of her vision and she forced herself to swallow all the bile that was gathering at the back of her throat right now as she thought she might be horribly sick.

It took the witch a few moments for the hazy fog of confusion she found herself in thanks to Barty's well-aimed Stinging Jinx to dissipate completely.

There was always fear, she remembered. It was not exactly an experience of suddenly remembering her precarious position being consumed with fear after a sense of comfortable confusion, no. But instead, it was simply a realization of the cause of the sense of her impending doom if she failed this task tonight.

Everything came back to her and suddenly in a rush so strong it stole the breath from her lungs. There were no holes missing. None that Christine could remember anyways, and with a pained groan escaping her lips, she struggled to her feet. The steps. She was right in front of the front steps of the stoop of Moody's home.

She hesitated, raising a hand and gingerly rubbing the back of her skull, already feeling a good-sized lump there the size of an Occamy egg and despite her pain, had to marvel at Crouch's ability to throw a good hex.

Was it too late to turn back? Unfortunately, yes. Her stubborn legs moved of their own accord as she shuffled towards the steps and would not even consider letting her turn back, though her mind screamed at her that she wished there was another way that the Dark Lord would have her prove her worth. Anything but this, she thought to herself and nibbled on the wall of her mouth as she strode quietly up the steps.

Moody might not even be in his home and if she were not, and she were discovered standing around in his kitchen or sitting room, what would his ruddy neighbors think? It would put them both in danger. Though thankfully, the retired Auror lodged in a quiet part of the Muggle neighborhood where everyone seemed to mind their own business. She knocked on the door and swallowed hard. It was late and he was without a doubt likely home, asleep, but there was a chance he might have gone out for some errand or other.

She had no way of knowing and Christine found herself praying to any god she could think of that Alastor Moody was both there and away. She felt little beads of sweat break out over her forehead. Christine followed up her first knock quickly with another in relatively short succession. Fast, rapid knocks with her bruised knuckles, insistent, and pleading. She was in mid-knock, her third round of heavy wraps on the door, when it flung right open. Alastor Moody stood on the other side of the chipped oak panel, only his scarred flesh visible in the dim light that came from the entryway of his home. She nearly gasped as the tip of his wand was now pointed at her throat and she found herself staring into the grizzled face of death.

She looked over Moody's scarred and heavily lined face, what was left of it that the Death Eaters from the First Wizarding War had not managed to claim, her eyes widening as she arched her neck. Her resolve very nearly faltered as she heard the wizard let out a deep guttural growl from within his broad chest, and she almost turned heel to Disapparate, but Christine managed to hold herself still, straight, and proud.

The Dark Lord will kill not only her if she fled and abandoned her partner and this mission like a coward, but her father as well, and she would not have that be her father's fate. Perhaps she could get through this.

"Lestrange, the snake is far from her nest," Moody rasped and she saw the fingers of his wand hand curl around the handle of his wand even tighter. He had clearly been expecting some sort of confrontation or fight to break out the moment he opened the door. Moody quirked a scarred eyebrow at her as Christine opened her mouth to protest, yet no sound came forth. "Do not insult my intelligence, witch. I know that you are thinking of contradicting me. Stinging Jinx notwithstanding, Lestrange, I know your face, I know those eyes. You have three minutes to tell me who sent you and after that, you'll wish that you were dead, witch."

There was a harsh bark to the retired Auror's gruff voice that made Christine look up in surprise, alarmed.

He wouldn't dare…would he? She thought nervously, nibbling on the wall of her mouth as she tried to wrack her brain to quickly think up a plausible lie he'd believe. By a miracle of Merlin, she found her voice.

"N-no one sent me, I...I sent myself, I...I came to you because I...I did not know where else to go, I-I was attacked in Knockturn Alley, sir," she blurted out, the lie leaving her lips easier than she thought possible.

A bead of sweat began to glitter along her scalp as she bit down on her bottom lip hard enough to bleed. She left her statement hanging in the air between them and wondered if Moody would be foolish enough to believe her lie and realized a fraction of a second too late that this had been a grave mistake as her ears began to fill with ringing as one of Moody's scarred hands jutted out and wound around her throat.

"You lie to me, Lestrange. I detect when you lie. Tell me the truth. Now. Or I might just cut out this pretty tongue of yours that must be hung in the middle so that it can wag at both ends, witch. Two minutes. Who. Sent. You?" Alastor growled through clenched teeth as the man's large fingers wound around her throat.

"No one," she repeated, though her voice trembled and the Auror's smirk widened but it was cold and smug. She groaned in pain as his hand wound even tighter around her throat but she did not let her eyes leave his scarred visage. Christine did not know if she should keep goading the Auror, hoping Moody would make a mistake in his anger and make it easier for Barty and Wormtail to apprehend the wizard, or try to backtrack. If she did fail horribly at this, she did not want it to be worse for her than it had to be right now.

Play it safe or all in, Chrissy, she thought to herself. You need to make up your mind, fast.

She didn't know at this point if goading Mad-Eye Moody would make the Auror angry enough to lose concentration or give the man even more focus, but trying to supplicate the wizard in his already vexed and agitated state seemed too big a risk, with an even bigger toll on her pride, she knew. He might still find it within himself to kill her, now that he was no longer bound by a code of honor and ethics in working for the Auror Department, even if she confessed and told the truth and begged for her life and the lives of Barty and Wormtail. If only there were another way. If only he had not opened his door, perhaps he'd have made it.

She drew in a breath and held it as out of the corner of her movement, she caught a flash of black and realized with a jolt Barty was swiftly approaching. She returned her gaze to him. He stood inches from her, looming, nearly snarling, his muscles trembling as his anger swelled as did his suspicions of. Even retired, she could see the old man had a nice layer of muscle still underneath his clothes and thick overcoat.

It was no question in her mind Mad-Eye Moody could overpower her fully. She would just need to get a good, fast, and deadly jab at him before he had the chance to fully cut off her oxygen and then Barty and Wormtail could step in and take care of him from there. At least, that was what she tried to tell herself now.

"Do it, then, Moody, if you're going to. Kill me and be done with it. End my life. Keep chasing your tail like a dog if that's what you want, but if you kill me here and now you'll just end up proving my point, that you're nothing but a has-been, a rabid dog in need of being put out of its misery, Moody," she told him, raising her chin slightly defiantly and glowering at him, silently daring him to kill her here and now where he stood.

He had her dead to rights, slammed against the wall of his home on his front porch like this, grubby hand wound around her throat, and yet, she thought she saw him falter in indecision.

"You can't do it," she said. "Coward." He lunged and she jabbed at his chest with her wand, intending to aim a Stunning Spell squarely at the man's chest, four or five if need be. At his age, more than six to the chest would kill him, as his heart would likely complain and give out on him, unable to handle the stress and taxation. She couldn't tell if they made contact or not as they stumbled backward and into the man's home.

The weight of Alastor Moody crushed her and a horrible agonizing pain shot through her knee.

His left hand went to cover her mouth, but the appendage closed over her nose as well, cutting off any hope she might have had of obtaining oxygen for her quickly burning lungs. Tears stung and blurred at the edges of her eyes as they dripped down her cheeks as she floundered in how horribly her plan had gone.

His knee forced its way between her legs as he wrestled her for her wand and she hit him, spit on him, and tried to bite him, but it did her absolutely no good. Tears spilled down her cheeks and her chest suddenly burned and hurt more than she could even comprehend. His hand remained closed over her face, smothering her, and her brain began to turn foggy and her lungs continued to burn.

Christine was sure she was going to die. This was it. She had failed horribly in her assignment for the Dark Lord, but at least she knew with Mad-Eye Moody, her death would be quick. Painless. She prayed for it.

She knew the man had killed before, but only apparently when necessary, but unlike her family members, like Bellatrix and her wretched husband Rodolphus, he did not prefer to play with his food before eating it.

He had never seen any point in prolonging the suffering and misery and was quick to end it. She only wished she could know what would become of Father. If he would survive.

And Barty and Wormtail, if they were okay. She wondered if she should have attempted to listen to her new partner first before insisting her way was the only way.

But what good could she have done?

She had needed to distract Moody long enough to allow Barty and Wormtail the chance to get the upper hand, and she had failed, and now she and her father and likely even Barty and Wormtail, all of them, they were all as good as dead.

The last thing she felt before her world went black and she slipped into unconsciousness was a huge wave of unending hot shame.

BARTY KNEW he had made a mistake. That much the Death Eater was able to recognize as he came rushing into the Auror's destitute home, Wormtail at his heels.

Christine was slumped into an unconscious heap at old Broody Moody's boots, unresponsive, not moving.

It was Wormtail's face, however, that tipped him off to the gravity of his new partner's precarious position. The way the rat's mouth twitched and beady black eyes narrowed at the sight in front of them.

He should not have brought her here, he should not have agreed to this.

He knew saving Christine Lestrange's life was a sentiment, one of man's barest forms of weakness. Mercy was something that, as a fully-fledged Death Eater, he should have moved past a long time ago. Mercy had only stopped him once before, with Alice, though only a select few in the world knew the truth.

How many people had begged him not to send the last and worst of the Unforgiveable Curses his way, the Killing Curse? Or to stop flaying the skin from their bones with one of his knives?

It had never bothered him before to watch someone die, to watch as the lifeforce drained from them and their body became nothing more than an empty shell. But Christine….

The second he'd heard Moody's guttural roar and watched the wizard lunge himself at his partner with surprising speed that could summon a hurricane, his insides went cold, and for a moment, he wondered if there was a Dementor in the area. It had sent Barty immediately into action, running towards the open doorway of the Auror's home as his mind lit up like a lightning bolt of electricity.

30 seconds through the door of this wanker's home, maybe less. Incapacitate the bastard who'd hurt his partner, assess her wounds, treat them if needed, and then lock the vicious mental bit in the man's own trunk.

Simple. It had been so damn simple in his mind. But then he'd found her at Moody's boots and all thought of logic and reason had gone out the window, and all that was left surging within him was a staggering rage.

As Moody's magical eye swiveled up and came to rest on Barty, recognition dawned in the wizard's one good eye the man still possessed, though if he was surprised at all to see Barty alive and well and not behind bars, then the bastard was good at hiding it. The edges of the older wizard's scarred mouth pinched and turned down into a revolted grimace as the man straightened his gait and nudged aside Christine's limp body with the edge of his boot, stepping over her and crinkling what was left of his nose in disgust, as though he viewed the beautiful witch as his boots as no better than a Wrackspurt he was trying to swat.

"I had a feeling Lestrange wasn't alone, I knew the witch was lying to me. And here you are, yet why am I not surprised to see you, boy?" Mad-Eye Moody murmured, and Barty's blood immediately went sour.

Barty froze, a dozen foul curses on his tongue but he managed to keep silent for now. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself at the bastard, attack him, and kill him, but he needed him alive to interrogate him, learn his history, study his mannerisms, and he needed his hair if he was to continuously brew the Polyjuice Potion successfully. But taking on Moody right here, while they were still so close to Christine's tiny and unconscious form would be entirely too dangerous for the witch's sake.

Barty knew he could not risk Christine being stepped on, tripped over, or otherwise hurt in any other than she clearly already was. Barty hoped he wasn't too late. For all he knew, Moody had killed his partner. The witch was so still and un-moving that he couldn't even be sure if she was still alive and breathing at all now.

For the moment, however, he and Wormtail had to assume Lestrange was still alive and had to get the bastard away from her and locked into the man's own trunk. Barty slowly took steps forward as the Auror cautiously retreated, seeming to guess his intent on steering him from her.

"You're whom the witch had come here with, and now you've come for your liability, Crouch, eh, is that it then, Bartemius?" he snarled, the edges of his scarred lips curling up into a feral snarl.

Barty let out a feral growl, almost animalistic in nature. He owed no answer to this bastard and would not waste his time arguing over his new partner's worth. With any luck, the wizard would be apprehended in a mere matter of minutes. It did not matter what old Broody Moody thought of Christine Lestrange. He stared.

"Would have been easier on her if she would have just told me she'd taken up with the likes of scum like you, boy. I don't know why she thought it was such a big secret. I have my answer anyway and your pretty little witch suffered greatly for it. Lay down your wand quietly, Crouch," the Auror ordered curtly. "And I might even let you mend her wounds before I turn you in."

"Wormtail, his trunk! Get the damned bloody trunk!" Barty shouted, raising his voice loud enough for the rat to hear from the other room as he glowered at Moody and shook his head. There was no fucking way he was laying down his wand. He knew better than to think Moody was capable of anything other than deceit.

And of course, the offer the bastard had just given him, even if sincere, was nowhere near good enough. Barty and Wormtail were not going to give Alastor the chance to flee or apprehend them. He was going to suffer for whatever he had done to his partner. He'd bleed, he'd scream, he'd beg for mercy.

Barty knew he was a man of many things, but a merciful man was not one of them and was it not for the plain and simple fact that he needed Mad-Eye Moody alive as part of the Dark Lord's plan then he would have killed him five seconds ago for daring to lay his filthy hands all over his partner. Barty did not think himself capable of forgiving Moody for this either. As far as he was concerned, the bastard continued to keep digging his own grave. He growled as he lunged towards him and set the first of a barrage of jinxes his way.

This Auror was a better fighter than any he had encountered in times past, but still not more than he and Wormtail could handle. Though the man immediately drew his own wand and blocked Barty's blow. Barty waved his wand again, sending a nonverbal Sectumsempra aimed directly at Alastor's chest, thankfully managing to slice a shallow, superficial gash in the wizard's chest as the man attempted to dodge away. Moody growled in pain much like a mad dog would and sent a Stunning Spell his way, narrowly missing Barty's left ear and it would have hit him had he not ducked at the right moment. The spell blew a hole in the wall. Barty gnashed his teeth in anger and looked behind him to see Wormtail scampering down the hall, Moody's magical trunk floating lazily in the air behind him. There was no way his Muggle neighbors didn't hear that, he thought bitterly to himself and turned back towards Moody. Were it not for his quick reflexes, the Exploding Jinx that Moody had just aimed at his chest might well have taken off his right arm.

But it was such a heavy, wide blow that the spell flew past Barty, which gave the younger and more agile, more ruthless wizard a wide window of opportunity.

While Alastor was distracted by the small explosion that shook the very foundations of his home and nearly took out half of his sitting room in the process, Barty saw the chance he needed as the man's gait faltered.

Quickly, he waved his wand and effectively subdued Mad-Eye Moody as a length of rope burst from the tip of his wand and snaked its way around his waist, hands, and feet, binding him, while Wormtail set the trunk down onto the ground and kicked him inside. As Wormtail slammed the lid of the trunk down and waved his wand to lock it, both wizard's ears perked up at hearing Moody's body hit the floor of his magically extended trunk with a sickening thud against the stone.

"Take him to The Three Broomsticks, put Rosmerta under the Imperius Curse if you have to, make up a story, I don't care what you tell the slag, but get her to give us a room above the pub, a good one," he snapped. "Christine will stay there since she cannot come onto the school grounds without being noticed," he murmured, breathing out a tired and relieved breath as Barty rushed back into the entryway once he was certain that Moody was secured for the moment. Wormtail muttered under his breath but said it would be done and only when Wormtail vanished with Moody's trunk in tow did Barty allow himself to relax a bit.

He let out a little breath he did not realize he'd been holding and felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate. He knelt down into a crouch and immediately began looking over his partner. Christine was resting on her back, with one arm draped limply over her stomach, the other above her head, her dark hair splayed out on either side of her like a halo. Her eyes were closed. Her thinly plucked eyebrows knitted together in worry.

The poor witch's mouth suffered from a bleeding cut on her lower lip, which was set in a slight pout and his partner looked quite pale. Barty immediately put his hand on her chest, relieved when he felt a faint rising and falling of her chest, indicating at least that his partner still breathed. He let out a lowly growl. His temper swelled as his gaze drifted upward towards the pale exposed skin of her vulnerable throat and lingered on the red markings that were obviously finger markings as Moody had tried to strangle her in an attempt to coax the truth from her, and never once had she given in. She was tougher than anyone gave her credit for, despite everything that had happened to her, the drama surrounding Bellatrix and Rodolphus, her and her father being the black sheep of Rodolphus' side of the family, and now, enduring this?

Barty sighed in frustration as he closed his eyes for a moment. Christine did not deserve this. Not for one second. Breathing in a steadying breath, Barty set back to work. Christine needed him to be calm now. There was no use in him expending all of his energy being angry with Moody at this exact moment.

The outlet to vent his frustration at what Moody had done would come to him, in time, when he would interrogate the bastard a bit later. But for now, he had to see to Christine, to ensure that she was alright.

Barty leaned forward and began to gather the brunette witch in his arms, though one of her icy-cold hands shot out and clutched wildly at his left arm. A yell left his lips and he reared backward, leaving her on her back in the middle of the entryway of the house. She moaned and started to violently cough.

Barty Crouch Jr., a man who very rarely smiled, suddenly grinned from ear to ear, a wide grin like that of a Cheshire cat.

"I'll be damned," he muttered, shrugging out of his black leather jacket and settling the garment around her shoulders as he picked her up in his arms. "You're alive after all, Christine. Good."

"I'm…alive, Barty," she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I suppose…that's something, we...we did it, we're not...sad stupid sods, then," she added, letting her head loll back against the crook of his arm.

Barty couldn't help himself. He laughed, a small burst of laughter that startled his partner and roused the witch from her state of semi-consciousness for a moment. He lifted a hand to his mouth and immediately looked away sharply, trying to stifle it. For a moment, he was startled. He'd not laughed in a long time.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like. She spoke no more, but her eyelids flickered open and shut a few times, barely perceptively, before finally closing.

He walked slowly out of Alastor Moody's home, not bothering to look back, and only quenched the fires from Moody's misfired Bombarda Jinx that was blocking their path but left the rest to burn. Even as he bore his new partner in his arms down the steps of the stoop of Moody's home, he knew with a surge of excitement and trepidation in his veins that tonight, the Dark Lord had brought him something new, something extraordinary, something frightening, and something immeasurably desirable, into his lonesome world.

The Dark Lord had brought him Christine.