Chapter Two:

Christine's Conundrum

CHRISTINE NERVOUSLY looked over her shoulder, fumbling with her bag to keep her handbag from sliding off her shoulder as she groped for her wand, finally finding it, and letting out a little sigh of relief. She wasted no time in waving her wand to unlock the front door of her and her father's modest cottage that nestled comfortably on the outskirts of Doveport.

Though her feet had touched down on solid ground not two minutes ago, already, Christine had the strangest sensation that she was being watched.

It was an uneasy feeling and one she was far too embarrassed to share with her father. Surely, she was just being ridiculous.

It was just there was something about her new assignment that was sticking with her and causing her to feel anxious, if not a little bit frightened. There was much that could go horribly wrong if they so much as made one misstep or forgot one important detail.

But now, as she gazed over the seemingly peaceful landscape of the countryside, she saw nothing.

Not a single witch or wizard or even animal in sight, but she still felt a pair of eyes crawling all over her backside. It was getting dark out, anyone could be hiding out there, laying in wait for her, watching her.

She shook her head to herself and let out a deep breath.

"There's nothing, no one there, no one's watching you, get a grip," she whispered in a hoarse voice and opened the front door to step inside.

She knew deep down that she was being utterly foolish. This wasn't one of those stupid Muggle cheesy horror movies she was secretly so fond of indulging in watching on weekends on the telly after her father had gone to sleep to avoid his criticisms of a 'ridiculous' hobby.

This was real life and things like that did not happen to witches in real life. She entered the house and sighed.

"Dad?" she called, closing the door behind her.

She frowned as she noted the darkness of their cottage and the utter quiet.

It wasn't completely strange. Her father often went to bed early. He had not yet recovered from her mother's death, and she was beginning to wonder if the wizard ever would.

But it wasn't so late yet, she had expected her father to be awake. She worried about him being alone in their home for so long, especially now that she would be away from him for months on end, but it could not be helped. She hoped to visit him again at Christmas.

She turned around, hanging up her handbag on a hook of the coat rack that rested to the left of their home's front door and went to check on her father. She hoped he had eaten, but she knew that unless she left him dinner, same as every night, he didn't.

"Dad?" she called softly as she got to the top of the stairs. "Did you eat dinner?" she asked, raising her voice slightly as her voice carried up the wooden stairwell.

She set the kitchen for her destination. She was hungry, despite her growing anxiety, and she knew her father would be as well if the man hadn't eaten.

"Dad?" she called again, receiving no answer as she stepped into the kitchen.

She lingered in the doorway, looking around silently for what felt like a long time. She moved to the fridge and opened the door.

The thing was so old that it creaked and groaned whenever she opened the door. She retrieved the eggs, and sausage, and then grabbed the loaf of bread on the sideboard counter. She set about making a meal she thought would make Dad happy.

Terror remained in her heart as she thought of what the coming weeks would bring as Barty Crouch Jr.'s new partner.

Would she constantly be fending off unwanted advances from the wizard? Surely, that was a distraction that neither of them could abide by. The Dark Lord was counting on them to succeed in the assignment he had set them to task in completing without failure.

Surely, Barty would understand the importance of their work and would act professionally in nature. Why, then, was so she nervous to work with him? Why was she finding it difficult to breathe? Why was it that Christine could not stop thinking about the bastard's dark eyes? Failing meant a fate worse than death, she was sure of that.

Christine sighed tiredly in frustration and made up a plate for her father. She set up her own meal and nibbled on it slowly, though the food tasted like cardboard in her mouth.

She leant against the counter as she brought a spoonful of eggs to her lips and glanced around and gazed around for her father. She let out a sigh and dropped the sausage link back onto her plate. She did not think she could eat anymore.

She was sick to her stomach. Already, she tasted bile rising up in her throat. Slowly, Christine walked over to the sink, stared down at it for a long moment, and then threw up everything in her rolling stomach. Even afterward, she heaved, bile rising painfully up in the back of her throat. She spit, rinsed her mouth, waved her wand, and began cleaning the sink.

"Dad?" she called, more loudly now. A cry left her lips as she felt a gnarled and wizened hand grip her left shoulder and Christine jerked to the side. "Dad! Merlin's Beard, you...you scared me! What are you still doing up, I thought you would have gone to bed already?!" she cried, breathless, as a hand shot to her heart and seized at a fistful of her blouse. Standing in the doorway was Elias, his empty plate in his hands. She let out a deep breath and wearily closed her eyes. "I...I did e-expect to see you down here. I thought you'd eaten," she gasped, a fiery heat creeping to her cheeks as she realized he must have come downstairs while she was cooking. "Was it good, Dad?" she asked, as the old wizard looked down at the plate in his hands and shot her a crooked half-smile.

"There's none of it left, Luv, is there?" he asked her, a twinkling sheen in his dark eyes as he shuffled to sit down at the small and intimate round wooden kitchen table. "I hope you didn't think you could sneak back here, pack your things, and leave without saying goodbye to your old man, Luv. If you're to aid Crouch's son at Hogwarts, then that means that I won't see you until at least Christmas, darling," Elias spoke softly, winding his hands around a mug of steaming tea that he'd brought downstairs with him.

She wondered how it was that she'd not sensed him. The wizard was silent. Absolutely silent, like a phantom or shadow walker. She shivered and turned to look towards Elias in surprise, shooting him a furtive, guilty look as her father looked at her expectantly.

"You—you know?" she asked.

"Yes, your new partner Barty was kind enough to send me a Patronus the moment your meeting had ended informing me of the details of the Dark Lord's intentions," he said plainly, to which Christine nodded, blushing slightly. Of course, Father would know.

"What if he…what if Barty wishes…for more than just a partnership?" she asked him softly.

Her father was clearly unimpressed.

"Any wizard would, my dear, you are a beautiful young woman, surely you know this and can see this about yourself?" He smiled sadly and shook his head. He was looking at Christine as though she were such a disappointment to him, and she suddenly felt about as small as a Wrackspurt under the scrutiny of her father's gaze. "It has always bothered me, Luv, the low opinion you hold of yourself. I hope one day, that you will meet a man who sees your true worth and will love you as I know you deserve to be loved. Perhaps, maybe...in time, it could even be Barty, if you would let the boy in. I know that your previous history was not...favorable, to you, you've told me that much, yes?" he questioned, concerned, and she looked at him as she moved to sit down, licking her lips.

"I do not want to give Crouch the satisfaction, Dad, he was...is many things, but I do not think I can forgive him for what he did. I have tried, and I do not know if I have it within me to be able to forgive him. He tortured Alice, Dad. She was my friend too, people seem to forget that. He tortured until she lost her mind, and Frank," she growled, and her father gave her a wane sad half-smile. He shifted his chair and in the dim light of their kitchen, his entire face was better illuminated. Her father shook his head.

"You have little choice, sweetheart. I know the sort of man Bartemius is, and I think you should speak with him directly if you want the full truth as to what happened that night. There is...more that happened, more that he has kept hidden close to the chest," he added, his expression grim as a grave that immediately made the blood drain from Christine's face.

"He...he talked to you?" she asked, shocked. To which her father nodded, though pursed his lips, his signature move when he refused to discuss a topic further.

Could it possibly be that something more had happened that night, something that Barty was keeping secret? But she did not have a chance to ponder it as her father continued attempting to ease her mind.

"Yes. He has. But it is not my business to divulge. It is his. If you wish to succeed and join the Death Eaters and work alongside me, then you will give Barty all that he wants. You are partners. This works both ways. He reports directly to the Dark Lord, as do you, you do not want anything less than a favorable opinion about you passing his lips," he warned. "You will obey him, and he will listen to you, in turn. You are going to learn have to trust the man if you wish to succeed at the assignment the Dark Lord has brought you to task for." Her father thought he saw the beginnings of understanding on his daughter's face, but Christine was not letting herself believe it. He continued trying to supplicate her. In their line of work, word of mouth was everything, and it would not bode well for his daughter if the word were to get out that she despised Barty Crouch Jr. "He is...an... honorable man, Christine. You should not doubt the wizard's capabilities. Or yours," he added, almost as an afterthought, seeing her open her mouth to argue.

Christine stared, hardly daring to believe the words her father was saying, though she let the wizard say his piece, not wanting to interrupt.

"You have more than proven yourself, darling. At the Quidditch World Cup this summer, modifying everyone's memories afterward," her father reminded Christine. "That is why the Dark Lord has chosen you as Crouch's partner, sweetheart. You will do an equally exceptional job on this assignment. You will make a fine Death Eater, darling, I am certain of that. I only wish that there was another way for you." Despite the sadness in his voice, the pride in the old man's black eyes he felt for her was unmistakable.

"Thank you," Christine shyly acknowledged, lowering her gaze and studying the table too intently. "I…" she trailed off, forcing down the lump in her throat. "I hope that you've made you proud, Dad. I owe you the greatest debt for letting me do this, letting me prove myself, and perhaps, I can clear my name and people won't think the two of us to be the black sheep among our family, Dad." She did not tell him that for some reason, she felt as though she would not be returning home to Doveport, ever again.

Her father smiled, clearly a bit confused. "Sweetheart. Stop this nonsense. You're speaking as though you will never see me again." The look on his daughter's face told Elias that Christine feared exactly that. He reached across the table and took her hands. "Listen to me, Luv. You will be gone from me for a few months at the most. It will be tough for me, without you here, but I'll manage on my own." He tried to smile at her, though he knew it felt strained and looked it. "Then I will be seeing you come the holidays."

"Absolutely, you—you're right, Dad, as always. And you won't be alone. I've made arrangements to have Antonin come check on you twice a day. I know you've always liked him. Let the man keep you company for a while, while I'm gone, Dad, and don't give him a hard time," Christine mumbled, trying to shove down her certainty that she would not be able to keep her part of the deal.

He nodded. "Then this is not goodbye, darling," her father promised, as he rose from the table, wincing at the pain in his joints from his lumbago and arthritis as he aged. "I will see you in a few months, and I expect copious details over a glass of red house-elf made wine. I'll buy a bottle this week in Knockturn Alley and save it for when I see you the next time, sweetheart," he promised.

"I...I'd like that," she whispered in a hoarse voice, furiously blinking back the onset of tears that threatened to escape her lids.

Sensing his daughter was still not convinced, Elias Lestrange strode around the table to give her a feeble hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek before shuffling back towards the stairwell and climbing the stairwell to retire for the night, hollering at her over his shoulder as he ascended the stairs that her trunk was in the closet if she was looking for it, and to please give Barty his best tonight.

Christine followed her father out of the kitchen and moved to the stairwell, resting one hand on the railing as she watched her frail father climb the last of the stairs, pausing when he got to the top of the landing.

Sensing he was being watched, he turned and gave his only child a hopeful wave and an encouraging soft little smile.

Christine felt worry and apprehension worm their way into her heart, but despite the trepidation that she felt at her new role as Barty Crouch Jr.'s partner and undertaking such a daunting assignment, she could not help but return her father's enthusiasm with a curt little nod of her head and a shy wave of her own.

Her father turned and opened the door to his bedroom, gingerly shutting the door behind him.

Only when her father had disappeared behind the thick oak panel did Christine begin her ascent up the stairwell to head to her own room to pack her belongings.

As she set about gathering her things, stuffing clothes, shoes, and anything else that Christine could think of to bring, she tried not to give too much heed to the notion that she would never return to Doveport or see her beloved father ever again.

She waved her wand and caused her now fully packed trunk to vanish from the edge of her bed, satisfied she had everything she needed.

She turned wrathfully towards her closet and began to change her clothes in the near darkness.

She felt more than foolish and powerless against her own thoughts when they came to Barty.

This would not happen again, not like it had when she was in school alongside him. It could not. She would fill her mind with the task at hand.

Nothing and no one, especially not Barty, would interfere with her service to Lord Voldemort if it meant she could finally join alongside her father as a Death Eater in terms of her new rank.

Once she had fully dressed and was ensured that she had her wand tucked securely in her belt she wore around her waist, Christine shoved her emotions once more down to the pit of her stomach and strode proudly out of her room with her head held high.

She walked with authority down the stairs and outside their home, not expecting to find Barty and Peter Pettigrew already waiting for her.

Wormtail, they called the shorter, stouter wizard mockingly, referring to his ability to transform into a rat as an Animagus.

She stared at him for a moment, and Wormtail stared right back though the wizard seemed entirely too nervous to meet her gaze for long.

She was momentarily taken aback at the height differences between the two wizards and bit down on her bottom lip as her nervous eyes made a quick scan of the man.

Her first thought of Peter Pettigrew was that the man wasn't much to boast of.

Wormtail was a short man, hardly taller than perhaps a fourth-year student at Hogwarts. The wizard's thin hair the color of straw was unkempt and matted, in need of a good comb, and there was a large balding patch on top of his head.

He held the shrunken appearance of a man who had previously been rather plump though and who had lost a lot of weight in a relatively short amount of time, likely due to stress. His skin was grubby, and there was something of his Animagus rat form that lingered around the wizard's pointed small nose and the man's small, watery eyes that were cracked and red-rimmed at the edges.

Wormtail offered an awkward little half- bow towards her as he approached, and when he spoke, the wizard's voice was shrill and earnest, if not a bit squeaky.

"Miss Lestrange," Wormtail greeted her with what she suspected was meant to be a cordial smile, though it spurred revulsion in her stomach for the cowardly little rat.

Nevertheless, ever mindful of her feigned courtesies, Christine nodded and hid her disgust and contempt for him well enough.

"Worm…" She began, and then remembered. "Mr. Pettigrew. Good evening." She mentally kicked herself for her error.

This was not like her at all. She flicked her gaze towards Peter and saw he seemed taken aback, clearly not having expected her to treat him with any semblance of kindness, whether or not Christine's kindness towards him was deserved.

He parted his lips as if to speak to her, however, before he could, Barty stepped forward, a troubled if not slightly angry expression resting on his features.

She waited patiently for Barty to speak.

"You should not speak to the rat like that, Christine, the witless worm does not deserve it," Barty growled, unwilling or perhaps the wizard was unable to disguise the note of loathing in his voice that he too seemed to hold for Wormtail. She wondered why that was.

"Like what, Barty?" Christine sighed, and placed her hands in the pockets of her black leather jacket and stared at Barty.

"Like he's human, darling. Wormtail makes a better rat than a man," Barty snapped irritably and this invoked a laugh out of her.

"That does not mean he deserves what you say," she said. "He is a human being, Barty," she reminded him. "There is something still within him, otherwise, he would not still be alive," she said. "As evil as he may be, there's something inside Peter here, and you should not hold such a low opinion of him. He has agreed to help us at least tonight. We should utilize his help, we might need it."

Her lips twitched as she fought back a smile at seeing out of the corner of her gaze Wormtail was looking utterly flabbergasted, and managed a soft, hoarse, "Thank you, mum," under his breath, though if Barty heard it at all, the wizard chose to ignore his thanks.

She frowned as she looked over Barty, thinking his body somehow looked taller and stronger in his black leathers than it had when she had seen him a few years ago on happenstance out in Knockturn Alley.

He was tall and well-built, but nothing monstrous. He did not look evil, but vacant, as though something was missing.

Barty's eyes though did give her something to think about. They were a deep, dark brown that one could almost mistake for black. But she would not, however, say that they were completely void.

There was little there, no surface emotion could be detected as she tried to read his eyes now for any hint or sign of a lie, any indication at all that she could not trust this man, but she found none. She swallowed down hard. There was highly intelligent thought going on behind his dark, glistening eyes. But what was he thinking, that was the frightening part, Christine thought.

Christine forced herself back to the moment.

"If there's nothing else then, Barty, shall we go? Are you ready?" she asked softly, reluctantly reaching for his arm as the wizard nodded and offered her his arm to take with the intention of leading them to Alastor Moody's home via Side-Along Apparition.

"Yes. If you're ready, Christine," Barty answered cordially without a trace of mocking in the man's hoarse tone. "But before we do, I want to make something quite plain. I swore to the Dark Lord and on my honor to protect your life, as your partner. I would hope that works both ways." She opened her mouth to agree, though he held up a hand. "Please. Let me finish," he snapped, an angry bite to his voice that made her clamp her mouth shut. "You will follow my every command no matter what it is. If I tell you to flee, then you flee, if I tell you to do whatever you can to save yourself from being captured in the event the bastard's home is riddled with traps, then you bloody fucking do it, do you understand me?" he hissed through gritted teeth. "Only once we've caught the bastard and safely ensured he cannot escape will I let you out of my sight for even a moment, do you hear me, Christine?" Barty spoke to her in a low voice that Christine could only describe later as a low growl, a sound that stuffed the chills down her throat.

She did not mistake the steel in the wizard's voice. He did not want any tricks or sudden acts of deceit from her in the unlikely event she happened to change her mind and had a change of heart.

But little did he know, that was so far removed from her mind.

"I understand perfectly, Barty. Just go, we're wasting time," she said curtly, nodding her head.

She stared out into the night and let the tears run down her face as she could not shake the feeling she would never see her father or their village of Doveport ever again.

Christine was thankful that her tears would be indistinguishable from the light spritzing of rain that had begun to fall just now.

He nodded. "If you're certain, Christine. I am...grateful, that the Dark Lord has assigned you to me, darling. Truly. I am. I look forward to working alongside you and getting to know you...better. I hope that we can put what happened behind us, Christine."

She looked up at him in surprise. She wondered at the subdued nature of his demeanor but did not have time to ponder it as his hand slid around her small waist, pulling her close, so close, that she was almost flush against his chest, as they Disapparated.

The moment his hand touched her waist, Christine tasted bile.

A WAVE of dizziness washed over Christine the moment their feet touched down on the solid ground outside of Alastor Moody's neighborhood.

She never particularly had taken kindly to Apparition as a form of travel, preferring brooms or Portkeys. Slower, but safer, and her stomach rolled and she dry-heaved but could not bring anything up.

She remembered not having been able to eat the meal she had made for herself and her father, and nor had she eaten lunch. She'd been too keyed up to think about food when her father had come to her earlier this afternoon and informed her gravely that the Dark Lord had requested to see her specifically.

"Christine? Christine, are you alright?" Barty grunted as he tugged on her arm, to which she could not answer.

He sounded vexed, and on the brink of hyperventilation at seeing her in this manner.

She could not understand why, but she was touched by his apparent concern for her, though she had been through entirely too much to not afford to be so cautious with her precious trust.

She straightened her gait with the help of Barty and she tried to look around as she wiped at her mouth with the back of her fingers, hoping to let her eyes adjust to their new surroundings and get a feel for where they were, but it was too dark.

Everything around the three of them was black and as Barty began walking forward confidently, all she could hear was the sound of the man's footsteps.

Christine was quiet as she trailed along by Barty's side, unsure as to what the two wizards' plan was when it came to apprehending Alastor Moody.

Though he had long since retired from his career as a veteran Auror for the Ministry of Magic, his retirement had not dulled his dueling capabilities, or the man's paranoia, she recalled her father speaking of him once.

Christine was startled as she could feel the tense tightness of the muscles of Barty's bicep underneath his thick leather jacket.

He was tense, alert, and ready to kill. Christine recognized that if she did anything at all to bring about someone's suspicions if they were spotted walking the streets at the dead of night, then their blood and subsequent death would be on her hands.

The faint yellow lights of the streetlamps of the neighborhood were a welcome sight as Barty led them up a back road.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see the handle of his wand in his hand. His free hand not gripping onto her wand clutched her arm tightly.

Christine grimaced at the sheer force behind the man's slender fingers but said nothing.

She knew Barty was fragile right now, on edge, and she would do or say nothing to disturb the Death Eater.

"Oh, god," she moaned the deeper they got into the residential area and approached a Muggle man walking his dog. "Barty, for the love of Merlin, holding onto me like this, with your wand in your hand, he's going to get suspicious! For god's sake, hide your wand in your jacket! Don't let him see it!" Her voice was forceful and tense. She did not want to see this innocent Muggle man killed.

Still, she was thankful that Barty listened to her and placed his wand in an interior pocket of his jacket just before the Muggle man, a middle-aged chap, got close enough to see.

Both Barty and Wormtail jerked and took a step back when the hound began to bark and snarl at the men.

The man yanked on the leash, confusion plastered all over his non-descript features, the furrow of confusion between his brows deepening as the dog's hackles were raised, his teeth bared, and saliva dripped from his lips as he growled.

"I'm terribly sorry, you lot, I don't know what's gotten into him, he's usually so nice to folks in the area," the man apologized profusely, and Christine forced out a smile.

She'd managed to wind her arm around Barty's as if he were her boyfriend and gingerly pulled him away from the dog, with Wormtail trailing behind, making the occasional chirping noise that sounded like a squeak.

Christine glanced towards Barty and judging by the glint in his dark eyes, she got the impression that he was doing some very quick thinking to think up a believable lie.

"We just came from my mother's house," he told the man kindly. "He must, uh, smell her dog. She's in heat."

"Ah, yes of course, that would explain it then," the man said, though Christine did not know if that story had been true, if it really would have made the dog act like this.

Dogs can smell evil, can't they? She thought, but that notion did not sit well with her either.

As the Muggle man and his dog moved passed them, and she looked up at Barty's face, she felt a strange nagging pull at her chest.

Perhaps Barty really truly was evil, but she could not see it in his eyes. Something was broken in this man, or maybe something was missing entirely, but she did not know if she could bring herself to call him evil.

His father ruined him, she thought bitterly, an abrupt bitterness seeping its way into the pit of her stomach.

She remembered how when they were in school, Barty had only ever craved attention, validation, and approval from his parents, especially his father.

If only Barty could have been given the love and attention he had craved from his father growing up, perhaps the man's circumstances might have turned out drastically different, it was hard for her to say. But now, he was beyond all hope of repair.

Barty would never stop killing and she blamed, whether it was right or wrong, Mr. Crouch. Barty Crouch Sr. had chosen his own career over that of his own family, and as such, had paid the ultimate price.

Barty did not bother to spare so much as a second glance after the dog, though Wormtail did, albeit nervously, and Christine kept her arms wrapped around his.

Not only did she hope they were giving off the appearance of two lovers who were simply out late at night for a moonlight walk, minus Wormtail as a third wheel, she supposed, but if she was holding onto Barty, then he was not holding onto her, and the man's bruising and painful grip from earlier could be avoided. She leaned forward and whispered into Barty's ear.

"Are we much farther?" she asked, though she suspected she'd get no answer.

Instead, they walked another fifteen minutes in silence, until they came to a stop in front of what she presumed was the home of famed and reviled Auror Alastor Moody.

She had never seen the famed Auror's home in person before, and seeing it for the first time, with Barty Crouch Jr. standing beside her to her right, and Peter Pettigrew to her left, she thought it a sad, dilapidated sight.

She tried to imagine how it had once been, freshly painted, lighted on the inside, a clean walkway.

Now, in Alastor's apparent paranoia which was supposedly only worsening in his retirement, she could see two windows on the second story were broken that he'd not bothered to repair.

The house was dirty and the paint chipped. The grass was overgrown and nearly engulfed the walkway that led toward the man's front stoop.

It was as she was intently studying the house that an idea came to her. Perhaps there was a way for her to do this rather unladylike deed with the subtlety and class of a Lestrange witch, though it was not without its big risks.

"I should be the one to approach him, Barty, not you. You're too easily recognized," she said meekly in a small voice, cringing the moment the words left her lips and she felt the burn of both Barty and Wormtail's gazes as the wizards turned to look at her.

The men stared at her, looking as though she had lost her mind, and perhaps she had, though she thought she saw a glint forming behind Barty's dark eyes as the beginning of understanding took root in his mind.

However, the moment the wizard vehemently shook his head no, trying to send her words away, she knew Barty was not letting himself believe it.

"No, Christine, you're mad," he growled, though Wormtail stepped forward eagerly.

"How do we do it, Miss Lestrange? He—he would recognize you too," he said, feeling Barty shudder.

Christine slowly relinquished her hold on Barty's arm and stepped away, straightening her gait. She shook her head.

"He won't. Not if you hit me with a Stinging Jinx. The spell will distort most of my features. He won't know me."

She looked at Barty and saw his face flush in rage as every muscle in the man's body seemed to protest as he gaped at her for several minutes, open-mouthed.

It seemed to take her new partner an eternity to find his voice again, and when he did, it was bordering on cold.

"You are bloody mad, Christine," Barty barked, stepping away and running a hand through his hair.

"No, Barty, please, you have to, you have to!" Christine begged, a hand jutting out and winding around a fistful of his leather jacket as she tried to tug him back. "I'd—I'd tell Alastor I was held hostage by two wizards I didn't know. They cornered me while leaving Diagon Alley, hit me with a Stinging Jinx, put a blindfold over my eyes when I tried to fight back, and Disapparated with me to a safehouse. And when they fled, I was able to escape and thought to come to the only place where I knew I would be safe…and…and…"

But Christine's voice trembled as she trailed off, unable to continue her tale of make-believe. She did not sound convinced.

She nearly jumped upon hearing Barty let out a deep, guttural masculine growl from deep within his chest as he snarled at her.

"Do I look like the sort of wizard who'd raise his wand to a witch, Lestrange? I don't, do I, don't even bother answering, Christine. You're insane if you think I am doing this to you, Lestrange. I won't bloody fucking do it," Barty growled through gritted teeth. "Think what you want of me, Christine, but even I have standards to maintain and a reputation to uphold. I am your partner, I would never dare to harm you, so why don't you stop talking out of your arse and from now on, buttocks clenched, Christine, I don't want to hear any more of this nor do I even want to bear witness to such a ridiculously stupid plan, Luv," he snarled angrily.

"You swore, Barty, the moment you agreed to become my partner," she demanded, angry lighting her cold dark eyes, a fire igniting to life behind her eyes. "You swore to protect me and I swore to obey your commands, but as partners, it works both ways, and you swear to me right here and now that you'll do this…This is our best chance at getting him to er, 'come quietly', and you know it!"

Barty shook his head, unconvinced and furious that his new partner was even suggesting such a ludicrous plan. He had wanted Christine safe and away from the fighting. She was to have waited outside and only once Moody was subdued would he let her help.

But he could tell by the witch's firm tone of voice and how her gaze was unabashed and unwavering, that she had made up her mind.

He was having trouble meeting Christine Lestrange's penetrating gaze that nearly burned a hole in him, but the witch came to stand in front of him.

He tensed when he felt her hands on his shoulders and he was left with no choice available but to look.

"You swore, Barty," she repeated. "You gave the Dark Lord and me your word that you would protect me, you made an oath, in your honor, you will do this, Crouch."

Wormtail gaped at her, doing his absolute best to see the point of Christine Lestrange's seemingly mad plan. But she was entirely too frantic that it soothed Barty.

"Are you one hundred percent sure you want this, Christine?" Barty grunted begrudgingly after a pause.

Christine looked away for a moment before numbly nodding.

"Yes. It's…it's the only way to apprehend Alastor without raising too much suspicion," she sniffed and looked down at her boots and brushed her hands on the front of her long black skirt for a moment.

Barty gnashed his teeth together and throttled his urge to roar like an enraged Hungarian Horntail.

He hated this yielding to his new partner and began restlessly pacing in a nearly frantic circle as his mind contemplated her plan.

This kidnapping of Alastor Moody was turning out to be difficult and grueling, as expected, but he did not think it would be quite as demanding as this.

For a moment, he found himself wishing that Bellatrix were here, that the witch could tell him whether or not it was wise to let go of the precious prize that was already safely in his grasp. Sweat began to glitter along his hairline.

"Fine, Christine," He spat, the witch's name sounding sour on his agitated lips as he heard the contempt dripping from his voice as he assented and yielded to her request. "We will solve this little unexpected conundrum your way this time, but Wormtail and I will be carefully watching you, and when you think you've convinced him to lower his guard, send a shower of red sparks with your wand, and we'll come. No one needs to get hurt here tonight if we're careful. I need old Broody Moody alive," he grunted. "Learning his mannerisms and being able to interrogate him completely is the only way this plan of my master's is going to work. I need his hair too if I'm going to brew Polyjuice at a regular interval to maintain the man's appearance," Barty snorted with disdain.

Christine's expression brightened considerably.

"Do you understand, Christine?" Barty demanded.

Christine bravely nodded. Barty took a step closer to the witch and then another until the two of them were only a foot away from one another.

He curled the slender fingers of his wand hand around the handle of his wand, cursing himself for what he was about to do.

Wormtail's eyes had gone as wide and round as a house elf's, and it was all he could do to gawk at her.

"Wait for a moment until the worst of your headache has gone away, and then approach his front door. I don't care whatever you tell Mad-Eye, make up a story, tell them you were being chased, tell them you narrowly escaped an assault against you, Christine, but make it convincing enough that he believes you, and that he lets you in." Barty's lips pursed into a thin line of disapproval as Christine nodded mutely in agreement. "Christine, please forgive me for this." Barty frowned passionately and let out an aggravated groan. "Merlin, Lestrange, expect one hell of a headache, Luv, when you wake up. I'm sorry, but you're leaving me with no choice..."

Christine held her breath and closed her eyes as Barty raised his wand to her face and she felt something cold and hard as a stone strike the left side of her temple.

Her vision went black and Christine fell forward, landing in an unconscious heap at his boots.

No one caught her as she fell, and the last thing she heard was the sound of her skull smacking against the pavement.