Crouching Lion, Hidden Serpent

By: Lutris Argutiae

Chapter Three: A New Dawn

Pensieve Memories of Bartemius Crouch

3 November, 1981

Early Morning

It was now two AM, two hours after the capture of Wispwater and my son, Bartemius Crouch Jr. on account of suspected Death Eater activity. The news hadn't sunk in yet, thankfully, as I hadn't given it much thought at the moment. No, what occupied my mind was far more sinister, considering the length and breadth of the betrayal of Peter Pettigrew.

I had yet to meet Sirius Black, convicted ex-Auror, with the crimes of Death Eater activity, mass murder of muggles, and the murder of Peter Pettigrew. He had requested one last meeting with me; perhaps from outside eyes it might seem that he wanted to plead his innocence one last time. I, on the other hand, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, knew the truth of his final wish.

I knew of his innocence.

He had, in fact, not been the Secret-Keeper for the Potters during their one-week in hiding from the Dark Lord in order to protect themselves, being a marked family. The Secret-Keeper, was in fact, the now presumed-to-be-dead Peter Pettigrew, or as Black knew him, Wormtail. I had yet to be told the reason for the name, and also why he wasn't dead. I suspected the two must be closely linked. The only way for the Fidelius Charm to fail other than the death of the Secret-Keeper was for the Secret-Keeper themselves to disclose the location of the hidden party.

In other words, Pettigrew had betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord, and consequently, albeit probably unintentionally, brought about the defeat of his lord. Comnsidering this, and the fact that he cared for Harry Potter, his, as I had discovered the night before, godson, it was logical for Black to want to entrust him to the only person that he could trust. By reason, the only person he could trust was the only one that knew of his innocence. Ergo, myself.

So, keeping that highly likely possibility in my head, I departed towards the containment cells located in the general region of the Wizarding Courtrooms in the Ministry. I rode up the elevator to the designated floor, the automated female voice pronouncing the floor number and the offices located upon the floor. The door opens with a hiss, and I walk out. I stalk down to the thin courtroom corridors, and find my way down to the far wall, which seemed to be a dead-end. I pull out my wand, and cast an identity ward upon myself, and press the tip of the wand to a designated spot on the wall.

"Identity confirmed: Bartemius Crouch, Senior Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Wand confirmed: Ash, fourteen and one half inches, powdered dragon claw core. State reason for visit."

I reply in a formal tone, clipped with terse harshness. " I am visiting the convict Sirius Orion Black, as per his final request before being taken to Azkaban Prison. Security override: Montimaeus-Z-Alpha98243. "

The woman's voice, the same as the elevator, I notice once again, replies in as frigid tone as I had used. "Security override confirmed, reason for visit confirmed. Wizard identity, wand identity confirmed. Submit wand for security."

A slim hole opens up, and I slide the wooden shaft into it, watching the wall dissolve over it again. The wall falls away, revealing a door behind it. I step up, and climb a short step, before reaching up to the doorknob and turning it. I am allowed entry, and pass through the door with a slight pull on the navel.

These high-security doors designated for convicts were specially designed by the best of the Department of Mysteries, and were one of the few items revealed for Ministry personnel in regards to said Department. In essence, the only thing they were the same as to a door was the shape and the doorknob. The whole object was basically a wall, with a doorknob sticking out of it. One would touch a designated spot, and be transported to the other side, emulating effects of a Portkey and Floo transportation systems with a non-moving object. After all, it was said to be impossible to travel with a Portkey while leaving the object behind. This made this possible, and that was one of the reasons that this was kept away from the eyes and ears of the public.

I blink upon entry, and my eyes adjust to the gloom. I step into the only occupied cell at the moment, and look upon Black. If possible, his appearance is worse than what it was yesterday, and he makes no attempt to shoot me with his finger this time. I knock upon the door, and with it recognizing my magical signature and security override, opened up, allowing me to walk into the room, if it could be called that.

Black notices me, his eyes heavy-lidded and his hair matted from the neglect it had received during the past few days.

"Oh, so you're here are you? Right then. Hup!" He stands up from the ground with a slight weeze and effort, and sits on the cot at the side, beckoning me to take the stool. I did.

"Why did you request me here?" I thought the answer obvious, but decided to wait until the facts were straight.

"Well, it's about Harry," He starts, before coughing again, and continues. " I've been doing some thinking, and I reckon that Dumbledore knows I'm innocent. I know for a fact thatm Dumbledore was at the casting of the Fidelius, because it has to be cast by a third party. He cast it. Which means that he's pushing me out of the way between him and Harry."

"I presume this is about your godson's role in the Dark Lord's defeat?"

"Yeah, I think that Voldemort's not dead."

"Don't say the name," I flinch, then reply, " Why do you think so?"

"Because if I were there, I would be the best one around to influence Harry. He doesn't want that for some reason. That means that he still has plans for him, and I know that Dumbledore's not the kind that helps celebrities with their schedules. I reckon that he thinks that Vol… sorry, You-Know-Who, might come back." he scoffs here. I ignore him. "The prophecy states that…" I cut him off.

"What prophecy?"

"Er… I thought you knew already. The one that says Harry's the only one that can kill You-Know-Who. Shall I recite the part I know?" He says in a mocking tone, albeit not meant in an insulting way.

"I would appreciate it, Black."

"Right. Here we go. The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord approaches, born as the seventh month dies. Born to those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. Or something or other like that.That's the gist of it, really."

This clarified a lot of things. The reason for Dumbledore's lackeys at the attack site was now apparent. Clearly, he wanted his hands on the Potter boy, since he could not face down the Dark Lord by himself, as prophecy dictated. No, he would want to control the boy, if only for his advancement. But Albus Dumbledore was a Gryffindor, and not the type to go looking for fame and political progress. He wanted Harry Potter for some other reason, and the only reason Black could, and also I could come up with, was that Harry Potter was still needed to fight the Dark Lord. Ergo, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was, in fact, not as dead as I had previously believed.

If that was so, and considering the state of order in the Death Eaters, or rather, lack of it, the Dark Lord was currently not available for action. Since his body was found at Godric's Hollow, it was only reasonable that while his body had died, he had found a way to keep his soul alive, and was presumably in a wraith-like form, weaker than the weakest ghost. He would require time to come back to his body, especially if it were to decay, as all the rituals he pushed it through must have accelerated the process of decomposition. Therefore he would have to create a completely new shell for himself, and that would take at least ten years at minimum. We had time.

"I see what you are proposing, Black. You want me to adopt Harry, don't you?"

He splutters, apparently not expecting me to work it out as fast as I had. "Um… yes, as a matter of fact. You're the only one I can trust, Bartemius. You're the only one that knows I'm innocent. You know the laws well enough and all the loopholes as well, and you know what, over a hundred languages? Prepare Harry for his destiny. I know you're against Dark magic, but you're willing to use it if the situation calls for it. This is a situation like that. Harry MUST be trained if he is to defeat the Dark Lord. I don't see Dumbledore teaching him any effective offensive magic if he sticks to Light spells." He replies in a serious tone.

"Fortunately, I had predicted that you would be wanting this earlier. The law states that you are not held against your rights as a citizen until your arrival at Azkaban Prison. I took the liberty of filling out the forms, Black. All that is needed is your signature, magical, and with a quill. Completely legal."

Black looks flabbergasted, and I hand him the parchment and quill, luckily it has an unlimited ink supply. He signs it with a flourish, and pours a minute, unnoticeable amount of his magic in, completing the forms.

I stand up, and look him into the eye as he does the same.

"I hereby give my word on pain of death and my soul and magic, that I shall train and prepare Harry Potter in any way necessary for his eventual defeat of the Dark Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his servants."

"Thank you, Barty. I can rest, knowing that you are in charge, not Albus. Barty." He nods, and I do the same, turning my back on him. "Sirius."

I walk out of the room, and head back towards the apparition point, where I disapparate to my residence, and fall asleep, my mind oblivious to the disaster the next day would bring.

0o0o0o0o0o0

3 November, 1981

Late Morning

I snap awake, taking in the late hour. Nine o'clock… I get up once more, and grab an energy potion off of the medicine cabinet, as I usually did when the last night's work was too stressful. The potion would ensure that I would be active for the next twelve hours. After that, a good night's sleep would suffice.

Too in a rush to bother changing my clothes properly, I transfigure them into something trial-worthy, and finish my various toiletries as quick as possible from the help of a few wayward charms. Haphazardly, I rush out of the door, not forgetting to cast the locking and security charms before doing so, and run towards the apparition point.

With a crack, I arrive at the Auror offices in the Ministry, and walk swiftly to the elevator. A few minutes later finds me in Courtroom Ten, preparing for my son's trial. My wife sat beside me, wispy and sad-looking. I took a calming draught to sooth my anxiety, and cast an Incompassion Charm upon myself. I had to give a fair trial; my son, or not.

I felt a nerve twitch in my temple, and I announce to the guards, the sound ringing through the silence of the room. The doors opened, and six dementors entered, along with four prisoners, one of which was my son.

They were led to four chairs in the center of the courtroom, and were made to sit in them, chains wrapping themselves around their arms. I recognize the Lestranges right away; Rodolphus just stares at me with a blank expression, and I see his wife, Bellatrix astride the chair as if she were royalty, which I knew her to be raised as. Oh, how I hate Dark families.

I am about to speak, when I notice Dumbledore pulling his wand out. I wonder what danger had arisen, but dismiss it as a security caution as I see the Death Eaters, or at least most of them, try to struggle out of their chairs; accidental magic can be quite powerful.

Suddenly, I feel enraged. There is no other description for it. I feel hate, drastic hate, at the ones sitting in the pit-like section of the room beneath and forwards to my position. The four in the restraining seats are evil. I am the punisher for evil. They shall pay for their crimes. I glare at my wife who is now rocking back and forth in her seat, handkerchief placed at her nose, whimpering.

As I shift my gaze at the renegade Dark wizards before me, I feel that hatred once again, and a single train of thought crosses my mind, controlling my thoughts. Dark wizards were evil. They were Dark. They were entitled to a free life stay in Azkaban. Put them into Azkaban!

I stand up, fury etched into my mental processes, and I suspect that my face reflects my mood. As clearly as I can, so the whole hall can here, I say, "You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law, so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous…"

My son. No, the Dark filth before me cries out pitifully, while I ignore him in contempt. "Father… Father… please…"

I continue with the announcement regardless of his pleas, and my voice starts to drown his out with increasing volume. "…that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court. We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror- Frank Longbottom-, and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…"

The boy shrieks in anguish, attempting to stifle my voice. The scum. "Father, I didn't! I didn't, I swear it Father, don't send me back to the dementors…""

I bellow out in an even larger voice, if that is even possible without aid of magic. "You are further accused, of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably held while he was strong. I now ask the jury-"

My…no, not son, the teen screams at the woman beside me, my wife. "Mother! Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"

"I now ask the jury," I shout, "to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"

Wizarding folk seated along the side of the walls all raise their hands. The crouds surrounding them all clap madly, faces full of barbaric victory.

"No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him!" My son screams again, and again I ignore him, my wife's sobbing consuming my ears. I couldn't bear to see her in pain, and the catalyst of this was the traitor I fed with my own food, and raised in my own home. I feel sickened by it.

Dementors glide back into the room, and the female Lestrange looks up at me and shouts, " The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!", while my son struggles against the soul-suckers. The crowd cheers, and taunts them, and they were swept out of the dungeons, and the boy screams up at me.

"I'm your son!"

I glare at him, and bellow. "You are no son of mine! I HAVE NO SON!"

My wife gasps, and she collapses on the floor, unconscious. I ignore this, and yell at the dementors, "Take them away! Take them away, and may they rot there!"

0o0o0o0o0o0

3 November, 1981

Late afternoon

I have looked in my pensieve journal over the past few hours, and have finally come to the court scene. I progress along to the point where I remember screaming, when I notice something. Dumbledore had pulled his wand. But it wasn't pointed at the prisoners. After my memory counterpart had looked back at my wife, I could see a barely visible spell hitting him in the back. I am not the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for nothing. I can recognize the form of spell right away.

A thought influencing charm.

Coupled with my enraged state and unnatural hatred towards my son, I can discern the purpose of the spell; expert, or no. Dumbledore had forced me to hatred towards my own flesh and blood, and I had fallen right into his hands. It would mean untold repercussions for my reputation, and the reputation of the Crouch line, not to mention my shame and fury at Dumbledore for such blatant manipulations.

My mind was set. I would hold Dumbledore on account of this, and file it within the Ministry records. I scarcely moved to the closet to retrieve my cloak when a horned owl swooped in through the owl grate through the ceiling. It was a Ministry owl, carrying a Ministry notice.

I know what it is, even before opening it. It is my worst fears come to light. It is my nightmare.

I open it up, and unfold the letter. I read the text on the page, shock making its way present in my mind, even with the preconceived idea running around in it.

I had been demoted, and relocated to the Department of International Magical Relations, as a middle-ranking officer. One to be sent overseas, and to other nations for years on end.

I collapse right there on the spot, the grief finally making itself present.

I had condemned my only son to a life in hellish confines. I had lost my honor and prestige. My beliefs had been shattered. I was destroyed.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Several weeks later…

25 December, 1981

Late morning

I was doing fairly well in the new Department, and had adjusted to it during the past few weeks. I had moved up a rank in the hierarchy from my organizational skills and managing ability, and the Department of International Magical Relations had profited and made astounding success from my work.

My wife was still in depression, and had since the trial, only gotten in a worse and worse state. Her magic was severely depleted and weak, and she had had to visit St. Mungo's Hospital several times a week just to be able to normally function. She was now taking thirteen potions a day, five in the morning, three at noon, and five at night. And yet, her health was still declining.

It was because of the condemning of my son, which I had ordered. I feel saddened at her condition from my choices, though influenced by an outside forces, they had still been my own choices. Besides, who would believe a demoted, un-honorable, disgraced man who was surely bitter for all the things done to him?

No one.

In fact, the only thing that pressed me to go onwards, and my wife, was the presence of young Harry James Crouch-Potter. He had pressed my wife to continue living merely by his being there, and so she kept caring for him. He had become her reason for living, and had since grown into my heart. I swore to Black that I would take care of this child, and I swore to myself that I would never, ever fail this boy in the manner I did my own son.

But, he simply was no replacement for Barty Jr. for my wife. He filled the spot somewhat, but he was no replacement. She had convinced me, in her saddened state, to brew several weeks worth of Polyjuice potion. I had done so over the past few weeks, and I had done so to placate her depression.

Her reasons are clear to me now. She is standing beside me, with the potions on her person. We are in Azkaban Prison, visiting our son for Christmas. Or so any outsider would have thought. No, there was an escape attempt going on. I did not agree to this, but had to do it. My wife was dying, and she had known it.

She had made this her dying wish, and I had no choice but to comply.

She was to replace herself with him, and continue living her last days here, in the Prison. Undoubtedly, she would not last long, as the mediwizards predicted her death by the end of February. She would die in a few weeks, and would do so in the form of her son, allowing me to escort him out of the Prison, and into our residence, where he could be hidden.

When we finally reach his cell, we immediately start to prepare for the switch. She plucked a hair from his head, and I from hers. They are inserted into the Polyjuice, and both parties drink it. My wife steps out of the cell, and my son enters it.

This is the last time I see her alive.

0o0o0o0o0o0

14 January, 1982

Late afternoon

It is my wife's funeral. Or rather, it is my son's. The casket is empty either way. Officially, my son died in prison weeks ago. My wife had taken the Potion till the end, and was never found out since the inmates, if dead, were buried during the hour after death.

So, my wife, at least publicly, died a few short weeks later, maddened from grief.

I pay my respects, thinking of my choices. I could give up. I could fall into misery; I could do a lot of things. But Black had made me swear, and I owed it to my wife. I would train Harry to prepare for his destiny, for that is my duty. He could help keep my son in line if his beliefs were unchanged. Harry would be the perfect warrior against the Dark. He would defeat the Dark Lord in his eventual rebirth.

I smile the first smile in a very long time, albeit with tears trickling from my eyes. I turn with conviction, and leave for my home. I have a new mission.

One that I will not fail.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Author's Notes.

I had chosen to not include a disclaimer in my story, as it would be quite imprudent to run a fanfiction site when there were no permission rights from the authors. Therefore, since the site must have some sort of approval from JK, I chose to not include a disclaimer, other than the exclamation here. Canon characters including, but not limited to: Harry Potter, Bartemius Crouch, and Albus Dumbledore, locations such as the Ministry of Magic, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and some spells are all intellectual of J.K. Rowling. Copyright includes but is not limited to Bloomsbury, Warner Brothers, and Scholastic.

I would like to note that much of the trial scene is adapted from chapter thirty-one, 'The Pensieve', form Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Next chapter, we start to see the growth of Harry, and the psychological development of his of-sorts brother, Barty Crouch Jr. It will be told in third person, but occasionally in this series, the Pensieve Journal idea will be used.

Thank you, and please Review.

Au revoir,

Lutris Argutiae