Chapter Four:
Liability
AS CHRISTINE'S eyes opened, the first thing that spun into focus as the haze of giddiness danced away in her eyes was Barty Crouch Jr.'s tall form, sitting on the side of a bed she found herself nestled comfortably in. He was staring blankly at her. Christine let out a groan as she sat up and clutched at the back of her skull. That was twice now that she had injured herself. Her head throbbed and her body ached all over, though the burning feeling in her lungs from when Mad-Eye had tried to smother her was slowly subsiding. She was sure her back was covered in bruises and the lump at the back of her skull was the size of an Occamy egg, thanks to Mad-Eye Moody.
"Where—" she started to ask, though Barty held up a hand and she was immediately silenced by the withering look of daggers the wizard shot her. If looks could have killed her, she would have been pinned against the bed's headboard right then and there, she was sure.
"We're in a room above The Three Broomsticks, Christine, how's that for 'where are we', Luv?" Barty spoke to her in a low voice that stuffed the chills down her throat. He spoke in a way that she could only describe later in a growl, hissing his words through gritted teeth, his pale, slender fingers raking down the sides of his trousers until she was sure he'd accidentally punctured a hole in the left pant leg.
She had only interacted with Barty a handful of times when they were in school, and she had seen him on occasion skulking about Knockturn Alley, though the last time they had locked eyes with one another across the way at Borgin and Burke's, she had not liked the look he gave. He had looked at her with those hot dark eyes of his that were as dark as the night sky without stars and he had smiled mysteriously at her when she'd turned, sensing she was being watched while her father had haggled at the front desk with Mr. Borgin over the price of several jars of imported Instant Darkness Powder from Peru.
It was as if Barty had seen something he liked very much and he meant to have her one day. At that time, Christine had thought Barty had been mocking her, and her dislike for the wizard, handsome and charming though he was, had greatly intensified.
But now, as he looked at her, she thought she was beginning to understand, and the truth was perhaps even more alarming than her initial first impression of Barty Crouch Jr. had ever been. That his feelings for her had not changed. She swallowed down hard, feeling as though she were swallowing knives and her heart was in her throat as it pounded painfully and her ears began to burn.
It did not take an eccentric genius like Albus Dumbledore himself to be present in the room alongside her to tell Barty was angry. In truth, she was beginning to feel more than a little embarrassed about the trouble she had caused her new partner and so relatively early into their new assignment.
"I…thank you, Barty, for…for saving my life. I am sorry that you had to get involved," she whispered, not sure what else to say and pursed her lips into a thin line when she saw the edges of his mouth turn down and his head tilt down in a frown.
Her eyebrows knitted together in worry, though she did not have time to ponder the strange look as Barty spoke.
"I needed to be involved, Christine. You and I are sworn partners, I swore to protect your life and I aim to keep that promise, Luv, I could protect you through the fucking apocalypse if I needed to, but it's just not possible to protect a witch who's trying so Merlin-damned hard to get herself fucking killed all the time! What in the hell were you thinking, trying to go up against Moody alone? You seem an intelligent enough witch to know how stupid this idea of yours was! You should have let Wormtail and I handle him. I wanted you safe, outside his house, away from him, but no, we had to do this your way, and you just had to go and nearly get yourself killed, oh, yes! A brilliant plan, Lestrange!" Barty shouted, his tone rising to match his seething mood. Seeing her flinch, he lowered his voice only slightly, but continued carrying on, needing an outlet to vent his frustrations at how Christine's plan had gone horribly wrong right from the start. "I'm glad that I was able to save your life, and I expect a thank you from you in return, Christine. You always were many things, Lestrange, but politeness towards me was not one of them. I will give you a welcome when you give me a proper thank you, Christine, and I expect that you will give me something else in return for the kindness of saving your life," he grunted, though there was no semblance of warmth or affection in his tone reserved for her, and she knew he was furious with her for what she had done tonight.
She stared at the dark-haired wizard nebulously, her mouth going slightly slack in surprise. She could hardly believe the audacity of this man. Why Barty had to make things ten times more difficult for her when this was already difficult enough, she did not know, though she suspected he was speaking to her now to try to get a rise out of her. And Merlin's Beard, did it work.
"B-but I already thanked you, Barty, politely and cordially, and if that's not the way, then I don't—" she started to say, though he immediately cut her off as he let loose a low warning growl from the back of his throat.
It was a frightening noise, and one that immediately made her stop talking.
She shrunk back against the mountain of pillows piled high against the bed's headboard as far as she could go.
"How would Alice have thanked Frank, I wonder, Christine? If you wish to thank me as a witch would her partner, then do it, but stop treating me like I'm some kind of a bloody hero. I'm not, I know what sort of man and wizard I am, Luv, I need no reminders," he grunted angrily, a flicker of wild, feral rage darting to life behind his eyes.
Christine bared her teeth and let out a hiss that he was sure no human witch could have made and was briefly tempted to ask if she was part-vampire, but then he thought better of it.
"Don't you dare say her name! You have no right!" she shouted, forgetting herself. "You dare to bring up Alice, you bastard?" she snarled, feeling the blood drain from her face and watched as her new partner flinched away at the mention of Auror Alice Longbottom's name with what looked like antagonizing hurt and weariness. He eyed Christine ruefully.
"I'm hurt, Christine," he grunted, feigning hurt feelings. "I'd pretend you hadn't said that," he huffed and looked away from her.
Christine looked up in surprise and alarm, though she could not ignore the swelling of the hot fire-seed of anger now churning in the pit of her stomach.
"What, 'bastard?' Oh, I'm very sorry, my apologies, Barty. My father always taught me to address people as they really are."
A shadow of anger and something akin to remorse flashed across Barty's angular features.
The poisonous words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
"And now your father will likely die during whatever next assignment our master has for us, Christine. He's old, washed up, and a has-been," he snarled, flinging venom at her in a moment of self-pity. "It was not my wand that tortured your friend to the brink of insanity that night, so why don't you stop pretending like it was? This partnership would get off on the right foot if we settle this here and now. Go on then, Luv, spit it out, since we're talking so openly and honestly about one another, be honest with me and tell me what do you think of me, it's you to decide, though something tells me I already know how you and everybody else sees me, as nothing more than a bloody fucking mad dog," Barty growled, leaning forward in his chair and rising to sit himself at the edge of her bed. She recoiled and frowned.
"What?" she exclaimed sourly, hating that the confusion and anger must have been plastered all over her face like a Permanent Sticking Charm, for she hated seeing Barty's lips tug up in what she presumed to be a victorious smirk, as though he was enjoying seeing her squirm. "What are you talking about? You were there that night."
He nodded, not denying it as he had spent several years of his young adult life imprisoned in Azkaban for it, until Mother had selflessly taken his place and died under his appearance and name for him. Guilt and regret wormed its way through his heart and suddenly, the damned feeble wretched muscle was in his throat, though he forced himself to swallow all the bile that had gathered at the back of his throat as he shook his head to himself. He had trouble shaking the images of the memories he would rather not think about away.
He tore his terrified gaze away from the alarming images and instead looked at the much more pleasing sight in front of him. Merlin, but even in her rancor, Christine Lestrange was a beautiful witch.
Looking at her as he was now caused a strange seeping pressure to build and tighten within his chest. It was the strangest feeling, a feeling of warmth that tingled and spread throughout his entire body. It was one of the strangest he'd ever encountered.
He was skeptical of it, but then quickly came to understand that what he was feeling now was a good thing. Something he wanted to feel again, and he did not think he could explain away the peace that was wallowing in his soul the longer Barty looked upon his new partner.
His sharp, inquisitive eyes made a quick scan of her appearance as he let himself have a moment to study the witch the Dark Lord had made him responsible for, and with whom he'd only had minimal contact with since graduating from Hogwarts and then since, his release from Azkaban Prison. Christine Lestrange really was quite pretty, with long dark brown hair the color of dark espresso.
A light smattering of freckles dusted along the bridge of her slender nose. She had fair skin but was not pale, and her dark brown eyes were currently displaying much more vulnerability than he had ever seen in her.
Barty found it briefly brought him amusement, though the moment was not to last as he remembered he owed the witch an answer. His brow furrowed as he looked away for a moment to collect his thoughts and how best to phrase the truth.
Christine held her breath as she looked at him as he spoke, looking at her with dull dark eyes as he addressed her.
A half-choked sob threatened to escape from the back of her throat, yet her tongue refused its released, sending the pitiful sound away with a rough and painful swallow. She could not let the bastard see how much he was affecting her. A single teardrop spilled from her right eye, and she felt her bottom lip begin to quiver he continued to stare blankly at her.
Even in her tears, she was beautiful to him and it held such a strange fascination for him that he almost looked intrigued as he cocked his head to the side, still staring at her.
Christine swallowed and sharply turned her head away, though she still felt the burn of the wizard's gaze.
"Leave." She tried to make her voice sound intimidating, like the Lestrange she knew herself to be, though even she could hear her voice lacked the bite that it should have had, and she lacked the conviction to sell the argument she wanted to make that she wished to be alone, at least for the remainder of the evening. She needed solitude.
Barty remained unmoved from his spot, and she could feel his eyes crawling all over her, that stare that always made her feel as if she were wearing no clothes, and she could not believe that it had only taken her this long to realize that he had, after all this time, indeed been imagining her that way, and it sent revulsion spurring in her stomach.
But then again, what was new with him? He'd not changed a whit since their graduation.
Christine frowned, inwardly growing alarmed, but she tried not to let it show at the strange confidence that was slowly blossoming to life within her chest, this strange need not to be afraid of her new partner, the sadistic mad dog that Barty Crouch Jr. was rumored to be, though she nearly let out a cry of alarm when he spoke and rose to leave, seemingly to honor her request, which gave her pause.
She stared, having not expected him to behave so...so...courteously. At the very least, she had expected the wizard to refuse, or at least for him to make an overly familiar leer or lewd comment. But he did not move, and as she looked at him, his expression was grave.
"Was it that bad, Lestrange? Your…family disowning you?" He paused and then continued. "I've...heard stories, Luv. Are they true?"
Christine gave a visible start, and it was then that she realized where the man's wandering gaze had traveled to. At the disfiguring mark that marred her otherwise pretty features, her mark of shame, a permanent and constant reminder how different she was. His eyes lingered on her cheek, specifically at the white scar that snaked its way down her cheek on the right side of her face, caught the edge of her mouth and then cruelly looped its way up around her ear. The scar was nothing to her these days but a map of where her life had gone wrong. Bellatrix's punishment to her when she had come to them shortly before their competency hearing that she would be testifying against them at their respective trials for the unspeakable and horrific crime of torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom for information on the Dark Lord's whereabouts. Bella had attacked her, and her cousin had done nothing to hold back his deranged wife.
She frowned. She could pick up on neither pity nor any hint of concern in the man's smooth languid voice that was almost a buttery purr, just inquest, and curiosity, and she found herself swallowing a lump in her throat.
She stiffened and ground her teeth. "This? This is nothing, Barty," she snapped, a harsh bark in her voice.
"That, my darling Christine, is a scar," Barty corrected quietly in a dangerously low and quiet voice as he growled at her.
"No, it isn't," Christine fired back hotly, unsure where on Merlin's green earth she had since acquired the gall to speak so plainly and boldly to a man who could kill her and cross her off the face of the earth without any conscience whatsoever. "I know what it is, Crouch, and this mark? It is nothing, Barty."
"Antonin had said you've been through enough. Was it really that bad, Luv?" he questioned, and not a hint of jest or malice could be detected within the wizard's voice or in his eyes. His nonchalant gaze was now becoming more intense the longer his gaze remained stuck on the scar on her cheek, the only physical evidence of Bellatrix and Rodolphus's cruelty towards her and her father the day the Lestranges had officially disowned them and cast them aside. She blushed under the scrutiny of his stare.
She began to feel like she was being interrogated and yet at the same time, she was also aware that the Death Eater seemed to be truly listening to her words. She did not quite know how to feel about that, or what to say to him.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his with an icy stare.
"You're joshing me. Are you…are you doing me over here?" she scoffed incredulously in disbelief, crinkling her nose and pulling a face of disgust as she glared. "I saw my best friend and her husband lying near lifeless on the floor of their home, out of their minds insane. Thier baby was screaming for them upstairs in the nursery, terrified and now alone. When I tried to help them, I was beaten by Rodolphus until I could barely stand up, and when I told them I'd dare to testify against the lot of you in front of the full Wizengamot jury, they gave me this," she growled, gesturing with an angry finger towards the mark on her cheek. "No amount of Dittany will ever fix this, Barty, nothing. And nothing will ever restore my friend's memories or her mind, or Frank's. And now, their boy Neville is without his parents, never to know them, you all robbed him of that! My entire family disowned me except for my father, and now, the Dark Lord would have me work alongside the likes of you." She looked away, and Barty heard her sniffle back tears. "No, Barty, it wasn't 'all that bad.'"
Fully expecting the Death Eater to leave, Christine swung her legs over the edge of the mattress and shakily rose to her feet, turning away so the man would not see the bitter disgusting tears welling in her eyes, stinging and blurring her vision.
She tried to shove her thoughts and memories of her friendship with Alice into the pit of her stomach. But her stomach heaved a pressure she was so unfamiliar with when she heard the audible sound of Barty's boots on the hardwood floor of their room and nearly shivered in disgust as his hand came to rest over the top of her shoulder. She stayed still, willing her nausea to leave her.
"What is it that you want of me?" Barty growled, almost sounding angry with Christine at this moment.
Something like guilt flashed across his face as he asked the question she was sure he didn't want to hear the truthful answer to.
The words were ripped from her lips seemingly not of her own accord and she whirled around as she spoke the truth that tasted bitter on her lips. She half expected to see Barty's wand drawn and in hand as he placed her under the influence of the Imperius Curse, to force her into telling him the truth. But his wand was by the bed.
"I wish that Alice was still alive, as she was. She's as good as dead. It would have been a mercy to just kill her and Frank. Why didn't you?" she cried, her anger a fiery pit in her stomach, flaring to life like a dragon's flame. "Frank and Alice were a power couple in our world, Barty. Why in Merlin's name didn't you-?"
"Oh yes, they were good, Christine, the best of wizardkind. Alice was sweet and kind and generous, and so was Longbottom. And I don't suppose your father or anyone else you might have heard the stories from told you that night that I tried to stop Bellatrix from torturing them?" Barty interrupted, his fury was visible as his own. His neck had turned slightly blotchy and his face was flushing red in his anger as he strode closer and leaned his face in closer to hers, so close in fact, that the tips of their noses were now touching.
He was close enough to kiss her if the Death Eater was of a mind to and she very nearly recoiled out of fear and disgust in case he was of a mind to try to kiss her, but she did not want to give the evil bastard the satisfaction.
"You disgust me, Barty, why the Dark Lord chose you for this, I do not know, but this must be a test, working with you, and if I pass, then he might let me join alongside Father, but I won't enjoy a single moment of working alongside you. I'm only here because I want to be closer to my father, to keep an eye on him," she snorted, making an odd noise of dissent through her nose that he suspected was meant to be laughter. "As for you stopping them, you're lying," she hotly accused, anger flaring through her veins like a solar flare, her bitter words could not be stopped. "Are you seriously trying to make me believe that you tried to stop them? You should have killed the Longbottoms, Barty. It would have been kinder than to see them as they are now. They will never leave that ward in St. Mungo's."
She felt him pause. Almost but not quite succumbing to defeat. She expected him to stay silent as she made to move away, eager to step outside for a breath of fresh air. She felt as though the walls were closing in around her chest felt heavy and tight, and black spots were starting to cloud her sight. Christine clenched her hands into fists, aching to draw her wand from out of around her belt and jinx him.
Though she knew she could not. He would need to interrogate Moody soon in the man's stupid bloody trunk, and he needed a clear mind for that. She let out a frustrated sigh through her nose and slowly turned around to face him.
"I was going to, Christine. Think what you like of me, though even I have my limits. I knew Alice was a friend to you in school. Everyone bloody fucking knew it. You and Prewett before she married that sad stupid sod Longbottom were joined at the hip. I...I tried to stop Bella, for you, Christine. I tried to fucking stop her, because you wanted it. I wanted you to look at me in school but you never did. I thought, if I saved your friends, you would at least fucking smile for me, even just once, and it would have been worth it, and perhaps...maybe...had our circumstances not been so different, you could have been mine," he said, his voice dangerously low and soft.
She could not be sure, though her ears twitched at the warbling note in his voice.
She turned her profile to the side so Barty could only see a quarter of her face as she curiously eyed him from the corner of her lowered gaze as she studied the soles of her boots in far too engrossed a manner.
"I was about to put them out of their misery, though Bella stopped me. The bitch nearly killed me for intervening," he hissed. "We fought, so did Rodolphus, and by the time I could reach the Longbottoms to send the Killing Curse their way, the Aurors were already on the scene, arresting us. I never had a chance. I didn't tell you because you already thought so poorly of me. What difference would it have made?" he snarled, his voice shaking as he spoke to her. She heard him swallow and sniff as he sharply looked away. Her eyes made a nervous and quick sweeping scan of the man that she was to be partnered alongside for the better part of a year, for better or worse.
She could not back out of the arrangement now, or the Dark Lord would brand her a coward and a traitor and kill her and her father for her cowardice. His hair was a dull chestnut color, streaked with a few flecks of grey at the temple, likely a result of the years of being locked away in Azkaban with nothing but the Dementors and his own miserable memories for company, slowly driving him insane.
A light five o'clock shadow was dusting along the man's angular jaw and chin, giving the Death Eater a rugged look. His black leather jacket over his collared shirt and trousers did nothing to hide his thin almost emaciated frame that looked as though one good puff of wind would blow him over. He needs feeding up, she thought bitterly to herself. He looks like he's about to die.
Her eyes lowered to the angry red creases on his knuckles, red, swollen, and freshly made bruises. She winced as she quickly realized this must be the result of the skirmish that had followed Alastor Moody rendering her unconscious earlier. It confused her. She was not sure whether she should feel guilt or joy or horror that it might possibly be her blood smeared on the man's knuckles next if she were not careful. But it was how bone white and pale the wizard's face was that astonished Christine the most. Barty looked like a ghost.
She could see him still nursing the shock in those electrifying eyes. He was a broken man, this Death Eater of Lord Voldemort's. Broken but still very much alive, and still feeling. And altogether, even in his ghostly look, there was a small part of Christine that found Barty Crouch Jr. charismatic and she hated herself for thinking such a thought. She flushed and immediately lowered her eyelashes.
"It's alright, Barty. See Potter through the Triwizard Tournament in whatever way you and Wormtail see best. I will help where I am needed or wanted, or I am happy to remain here in our room, making no noise and pretending I don't exist if you've no use for me, but sending the boy to the Dark Lord so that he may use his blood to regain his body will never put Frank and Alice in their graves."
Barty started, hating how the witch would not even look at him. She wondered if Lestrange would try to flee from him. His hands trembled with rage as his eyes lingered on the disfiguring mark on Christine Lestrange's otherwise beautiful face, wanting to butcher Rodolphus and Bellatrix for what they had done to his new partner. Again, and again and again. He wanted nothing more than to bash their skulls to the ground, to hear their bones crack, to slit their throats with a nonverbal Sectumsempra when neither of them was expecting it. He wanted to watch the floor stain red with their blood, he wanted…he wanted them dead, and all for Christine's smile.
"You aren't thinking of leaving, are you, Christine, hmm?" he purred as he moved towards her. Every muscle in his body had turned tense, and every cord was pulled taut and tight across the wizard's slender form. Barty steadied himself, prepared to pounce at the slightest hint Christine meant to flee, to turn heel and try to Disapparate from their shared room. At any hint of a lie.
She sighed and shook her head. "No." She continued, annoyed, when she sensed that her new partner was not yet convinced. "I gave the Dark Lord my word. I am your partner, Barty, aren't I? I won't leave. If I left you now, then me and my father are as good as dead. The Dark Lord would brand us as traitors and he has no use for that among his ranks. My word is my bond, Barty, I hope you'll learn that."
But she was scared of him. Her voice trembled as he continued to slink towards her. He kept his head bent and his shoulders hunched and when he inhaled, the witch smelled like vanilla and peaches. Electricity surged through him. Raw, violent passion. It was an instinctual urge that he did not understand. There were no words he had to describe what he felt as he looked at Christine.
His fingers twitched and his lips parted as his body hardened. His heart pounded loudly against his ribs.
Just a little closer. He itched to be a little bit closer. Her skin looked so soft. He'd never felt such a strong urge before.
He longed to be able to touch her. It was again a new desire for one, one that was almost—almost—stronger than the need to kill that pumped through his veins. He came to stand in front of her, until his nose touched hers.
"Barty!"
He jumped back, startled. His wide eyes found hers. He breathed out a steadying breath and quickly looked away so the witch would not see the faint pink blush speckling along his cheeks. He swallowed down hard and when he spoke, his voice sounded hollow and tinny.
"This conversation has entirely too many clichés, Christine. It has begun to bore me, and you should rest, old Broody Moody did one hell of a number on you, Lestrange, you look like you're about to pass out. Rest, and do not make me say it again to you a second time, I really hate saying things a second time. You will rest, and then later, I will brand you. The Dark Lord has given you permission to join us, Luv, as a Death Eater. I won't lie to you, Christine, the Dark Mark will burn and it will fucking bloody hurt worse than anything you've ever imagined, but the pain only lasts a few days," he growled, heading towards the trunk Wormtail had shoved unceremoniously in the corner of the room before fleeing back to the Malfoy Manor to see to their master's needs and comforts while awaiting further instructions. "I had wanted to let you rest since you so clearly seem to need it. But to see you again was worth the wait and I enjoyed our little talk, Luv. But now... I think it's time I had a little chat with our prisoner. And you seem an intelligent witch enough to know this already for yourself, but I think that it goes without saying here, darling, that you're not to leave this room, Lestrange, unless you are with me or under my spare Invisibility Cloak, do you understand? You are a liability to our mission if you are caught, Luv. I need you to nod your head and tell me that you understand. I swore to protect your life, though you also have to look out for yourself, witch."
She shivered but quickly nodded her head. "Yes." Only when she offered him a wane half-smile did Barty turn around and wave his wand to open the magical trunk that he and Wormtail had somehow managed to stuff Moody into. "Barty, wait," she blurted out, thinking that to say his name sounded rather funny on her lips. He stopped halfway to twist his head to her. She hesitated and bit the wall of her cheek. "…Will you kill me after I've outdone my purpose, Barty? What happens to me after...all of this is over?" she whispered, voice hoarse. She cringed at hearing the words pass from her lips, thinking that her voice sounded entirely too flat, dull, and lifeless in nature.
Barty remained stock-still, like a stray dog or cat caught in the headlights of the oncoming Knight Bus. Christine listened intently to the deafening silence that flooded their room, which all the while seemed lost before the wizard spoke up.
"As one of the Death Eaters under the Dark Lord's command, I only do what Lord Voldemort tells me, Christine."
His tone was bordering on almost biting and cruel, though his voice was calm.
"And becoming your partner, your protector, Christine, was perhaps his first command that I have been the happiest in doing. No, Christine." Barty looked away for a moment to compose himself as he breathed out a steadying breath and twisted his head to glance at her over his shoulder before stepping one foot into the trunk, a set of staircases magically appearing in front of him as he waved his wand again to descend where Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody sat crouched in the furthermost corner of the bottom of his magical trunk.
Barty glanced at Christine one more time, his hot dark eyes a striking contrast of want and scalding.
"I will not kill you."
