WINKY shivered, the disbelief and misery carved in the tiny house-elf's face as she watched her master restlessly pace in their room above The Three Broomsticks. Back and forth he went. Back and forth. Back and forth. Nonstop, in constant motion. She cringed at the tepid look in the handsome wizard's dark eyes.
"I'll kill him. I'll kill him and kill that lying, thieving slag...Merlin, I'd do anything to see the look on Lis's face when she realizes she's helpless. I'll make her want me. And then reject her, devastate her over and over and over again until Elisabeth wants to die," she heard him grow through gritted teeth. "She'll wither away in our cellar, like someone dying of thirst or starvation. A ring of hell, especially for my love." There was a pause and then he shrugged his shoulders. "Or maybe, if she refuses me again, I'll just kill her."
He was not sure which idea suited him more, and his heart was nearly at war with his brain over the notion.
The calm way which Master spoke stuffed the chills down Winky's throat and she shuddered. He spoke of killing the witch he claimed to love with such calmness, as though he were merely discussing the weather.
The man's eyes were glistening with unshed moisture she at first believed to be tears upon seeing his Special Young Miss with Quirinus Quirrell, a mediocre servant of his master if she was to take Master Barty at his word, but now, she was not so certain. She thought the look in the madman's eyes was rage. And yet…how could he be so calm? Master's key to his happiness was astray in the arms of another wizard.
She did not understand. Winky chewed on her lip and nervously twisted fistfuls of her tea cozy in her hands, praying Master did not take his anger out on her. It gave Winky a jolt to see Master this way, so affected by a witch in a way he never had been before. Now his bride had run away and found her happiness with another wizard and here he was, a calculating look in the man's eyes and he'd hardly said a word to her since returning. Master Barty was a vengeful soul. Winky knew his silence meant more.
"Master, please," Winky squeaked in a shrill voice as she tugged on the locks of her short black bob, pulling on her hair so hard she felt the roots scream in protest. She furiously blinked back her tears and sniffed. "Winky wishes you's would reconsider, Master, whatever you's is planning, do not do it. If you's force Mistress Raywood to come back with you, she will only hate you's further, Master, please. Don't. It should be Special Miss Raywood's choice to return home with you's, Young Master Barty," she tried to make him understand. "Mistress seems to have made her choice, Young Master Barty. She has chosen Master Quirrell and will want to start a family with him," she told her master, raising her head with certainty for the first time tonight. "You's must honor that choice, Master, and allow Special Miss Raywood to live her life in peace," she told him, a surge of bravery coursing through her veins as she summoned the courage within herself to speak out against Master Barty's erratic behavior. "You's has no right to disturb her new family, Master."
"Shut it, Winky!" Barty roared at the top of his lungs with as much strength as his lungs could muster. Barty ceased his agitated pacing and slowly turned his gaze toward the window. He could see his house-elf's terrified expression through the glass pane but did not turn around to look Winky in the eyes.
Barty desperately wished that Winky did not hear the edge of his voice cracking and breaking as he furiously blinked back tears. He stood there quietly, his family's servant's words sinking into his skin like a slow seeping poison. Elisabeth Raywood deserved all the happiness this world could provide for her.
She was a gifted witch and and uncommonly kind.
He could see her tall and strong, shielding her family. Barty's lips tugged upward in an almost soft and affectionate smile at the thought of how fierce and protective she would be with their children.
But it was then that his reeling mind reminded him that her home would not be their home that she would see to. It would not be his heir she cared for, his son. Elisabeth was not yet his wife, not even his lover.
His soft expression upon imagining winning her back the normal way faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. A cloud of anger shadowed his face at that moment. It was Quirrell with whom Elisabeth had found comfort and love. It was Quirrell with whom she would give all of herself and share her bed. Quirrell who would one day be the father of her children, if the coward ever worked up the nerve to propose. Elisabeth would not be a Crouch, but Mrs. Quirrell if the day came when she married the man.
The last two years that Barty had spent scouring all of London for his bride, regretting that she had left, and imagining winning back her heart, had burned a hole in the wizard. It was a void that would only be filled once he held Elisabeth in his arms once more. He stood in front of the windowsill, his eyes watching the silhouettes of that bastard wanker Quirrell and his lovely bride leave, holding hands as they departed Hogsmeade likely to head back to the castle. His face quickly transformed into a mask of anger.
His hands clenched into tight fists. His knuckles went white with the effort to keep from lashing out. But the solar flare of his temper could not be contained as it imploded and erupted to the surface.
"NO!" Barty roared, curling his hand into a fist and slamming it into the wall. "No! She loves me, Winky, not that bloody mental bit Quirrell, elf!" he snarled, the edges of his lips curling in a feral snarl. "I love her." He nodded, vehemently, sounding so sure of himself. "I know that we were meant to be together, and in time, no matter how long it takes her to realize it, I know that Elisabeth will feel what I feel for her. She will."
Winky mournfully sighed, her large, batlike ears drooping in defeat. Her shoulders slumped in disappointment and it took everything within her not to burst into tears and grovel at the man's feet, begging him to reconsider what he was planning, though the house elf had not the faintest clue.
"Master Barty, you bad boy!" she shrieked, begging him now as her voice warbled and cracked. "Please, Winky is begging you, do not do this, please!" Her huge doe-like eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as her desperate gaze bore into Barty as if she thought she could will her master back to his senses that way. Though she could tell it was no good. The wizard's mind was made up, his decision made, and nothing Winky could say or do would dissuade him from whatever the man was scheming.
Barty turned a deaf ear to his family's servant's pleas. His attention was too preoccupied with thoughts of whisking Elisabeth away from the weak sap Quirrell to attend to anything Winky was saying.
He struggled to collect his thoughts as he drummed his long slender fingers on the windowsill, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind.
It was as he was contemplating his next actions when the sound of what sounded like an angry shout from Madame Rosmerta resonated through the air outside down below in front of her pub.
He caught sight of a feminine figure being escorted away from the premises, pleading with the pub owner, but Rosmerta was not having it. Barty watched, intrigued, as the figure moved with alarming speed, agility, and quickness that made the wizard almost think of a wolf. The beginning of a plan formed in his mind.
The edges of his mouth turned up in a little grin as he watched the young witch dart across the street and duck in between another set of buildings. She moved with the kind of speed and quickness he was looking for, and as he turned to Winky, the look on her master's face stuffed the chills down her throat.
"You'll see, Winky," he promised his house elf. "I will win Elisabeth back. Even if I need a little…persuasion." The wizard shook with conviction. "When she sees me again, she will forget about him." He smiled at the thought. "Elisabeth will remember that it is me that she has always loved, not Quirrell."
"Master, please!" Winky begged, bursting into tears as she scampered off the stool in the furthermost corner of the room she had perched herself on, fearful of her master's temper and wanting to keep a distance.
But now, all she cared about was trying to stop him from leaving as Barty's pace quickened towards the door that would take him to the pub's stairwell. Barty stopped. The beginnings of an impish smile played on his handsome face as he looked at Winky before leaving. She could tell by the glossy, faraway look in the wizard's eye that his mind was already racing three steps ahead, a plan forming in his mind.
"The next time you see me, Elisabeth will be my wife, Winky." He promised his elf that, his eyes sparkling, and then he threw open the door and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, leaving Winky unable to call for her master in defeat.
Once outside, Barty's eyes needed a moment to adjust to the darkness as he crossed the street, though he found the witch soon enough who had been shooed away unceremoniously from The Three Broomsticks. His eyes made a quick scan of the shivering waifish looking young witch close to Elisabeth's age.
The brunette, as she huddled against the bricked wall of Zonko's, her teeth chattering noisily as the temperatures dropped, was quite pretty, despite the misery and woe written all over her peaky complexion.
Nights even in summer tended to get cold. His hot, dark eyes raked over the witch's tiny frame, over her angular knees, her too-bony collarbones, how her long skirt was torn and threadbare, and her thin and tattered sweater was two sizes too big. Her feet were bare and reddened with blisters.
She looked as though one good puff of wind would blow her right over.
A devious smile spread over his thin lips as he looked at her, his white teeth gleaming in the diminishing light as night was coming on now. What a beautiful sight, a vision of loveliness.
Her cropped dark hair made her skin shine like freshly poured milk. She was Snow White from the Muggle fairytales, yet dressed in all gray and ten times as stunning, a gorgeous creature indeed.
He wondered for a moment if the witch had any Veela blood coursing through her veins.
Her eyes met his, and his smile widened. There was a bit of rake in his smile as the witch let out a whimper and he caught a flash of yellow as her terrified amber eyes changed shape and color.
The misery and fear were clearly written all over this young woman's face.
She was not entirely human.
Barty moved towards her, crossing the street like a shadow. He was so quiet as he strode towards her and when he came to stand in front of her, the witch let out a little gasp of surprise and curled further in on herself, as though she feared that Barty would strike her. She let out a wolfish whine and looked up at him in fear, her newly-turned yellow eyes had not yet reverted back to their normal hue of amber, he noted.
"What are you?" he asked, careful to keep his voice level-headed as he offered the petite brunette her hand.
She took it timidly, and Barty pulled her up. She blushed and brushed the front of her skirts a bit, glancing down at her bare feet in shame as a fiery heat seeped into her cheeks.
"M-Me? I—I'm nothing, sir, nothing at all," she murmured softly in a voice barely above a whisper.
Barty's eyes narrowed. "You're lying. Cut the dragonshit and do not even think of lying to me again, darling. I know when you're lying. Tell me again. Do not make me ask again, witch. Do not, I really hate saying things to a person a second time," he growled, an edge to his previously charming voice that had not been there before.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut and sharply turned her head to the left as she confessed her secret. Though she could not bring herself to look at him. Perhaps it was out of shame or anger, he did not know, nor did he care. All that mattered was that he had a use for her.
"A—a werewolf," she whispered with the air of forcing herself to admit something unpleasant, which, of course, the revelation that she was a werewolf was.
Werewolves especially were treated with disdain and extreme prejudice in the wizarding world, much like vampires. Their species was not looked upon with any favor. She stumbled towards him and immediately blushed at the predatory look in Barty's eyes and the way he smiled down at her.
"What is your name then, pretty little wolf?" he purred, his voice a smooth buttery purr meant to disarm and charm her.
"Enya," she whispered softly. Her voice was low and shy as she looked up at the handsome older pure-blood wizard in front of her. He had a vague familiarity about him, though the werewolf could not quite put her finger on where she knew him from, as she did not venture into Hogsmeade too often.
"Enya," he repeated softly, drawing out the syllables of her name as though tasting the air for the pretty she-wolf. He stroked the back of his finger over her prominent cheekbone. "You look cold, Luv. How would you like to come inside the inn for a spell and warm up? Let me buy you dinner," he said.
"I—I can't, sir, I—I have to be getting back to my family. I…living off the scraps of human kindness and charity is the only way my family and I can get by since we broke away from our previous Pack," she blurted out. "Most of what food I can find in the garbage bins I bring home to my husband, Wes, sir."
It was then that it hit him what she was a part of, and more importantly where she lived.
He fought back a smile.
"You are—were— a part of Greyback's Pack? You live in the Forbidden Forest, don't you, pet?" he breathed in a breathless voice as it hit him square in the chest as though he were hit by Knockback Jinx. She nodded shyly and looked away, too shy to speak up. "He will not be angry with you if you do what I tell you. Do you know who I am, little dove? Surely, you've heard of me," he asked, raising Enya's chin and leaving the pretty werewolf with no choice but to look at her. Merlin, but even for a disgusting werewolf, this one was a vision.
Her cropped dark hair highlighted her good cheekbones and angular features. Her nose was perhaps a bit too big, but she was a cute witch, nonetheless. The way her earlobes seemed to flow into her neckline. The witch's profile was astounding. She parted her lips as if to speak, but nothing came out.
She was nearly leaning into his warmth, her eyes freely gazing over Barty's handsome face. He smiled. He knew he had her. Enya shook her head, but already, Barty could see her faltering.
If Fenrir Greyback, the savage beast the mad wolf really was, had been her Alpha, then his name would have undoubtedly come up in conversation, he was sure of it. He smiled as he looked down at her.
"My name is Barty, darling. Barty Crouch." He watched as recognition dawned over her emaciated features. He tugged on her hand slightly and turned his body to the side. When he saw the werewolf on the brink of starvation take a tiny step forward, his devious smile widened and he swiftly crossed the street with her.
Enya followed Barty blindly, looking around as he led her into The Three Broomsticks and to the furthermost table of the room, calling for Rosmerta to fetch him a bowl of steaming onion soup for his dinner guest. He was pleased to see her shivering was becoming less prominent, as he had purposefully chosen the table closest to the roaring fireplace.
Barty nodded curtly at Madam Rosmerta when the pub owner set a steaming bowl of onion soup in front of the starving werewolf. Her mouth watered as she looked down at the delectable meal in front of her. It was a beautiful meal and Enya had to struggle with herself to remain polite. A lifetime spent living in an encampment in the Forbidden Forest and then with her mate in a tumbledown shack even deeper into the Forest when they'd fled from Greyback's Pack left her little opportunities to practice her manners.
She wanted nothing more than to pick up the bowl of soup with her hands and down it all in a few hearty swallows. But the handsome Death Eater in front of her kept her from doing so. She was going to wait for him to get his own meal situated when the confused werewolf noticed that he had ordered nothing for himself. She frowned at him curiously.
"You're not going to eat?" she asked softly.
"No, darling, I ate earlier, that's for you. Go on, eat, you're as skinny as a rail, pet," he said with a funny little half smile on his lips.
Enya nodded shyly, pushing it to the back of her mind, and began to eat, as daintily as she could, touched by this wizard's kindness. She could hardly believe one of the Dark Lord's followers, a man known for his cruelty, was so…kind.
"Thank you, the soup was amazing," she told him, letting out a satisfied moan as she shoveled the last bite of steaming hot soup into her mouth.
He nodded his head eagerly, in his mind, he was already envisioning this pretty little she-wolf's use for Quirrell. Barty smiled, almost smugly as he dug into the side pocket of his black leather jacket and set a few Galleons down on the table to pay for the werewolf's dinner.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Luv. You could use another good meal or two to put some meat on your bones. At the rate you seem to be losing weight, you'll be nothing but bones come winter. You might not survive the season," he told her truthfully, his expression turning from jovial to as grim as a grave. "But I expect, Enya, darling, that you will give me something in exchange for this kindness? " He chuckled with mocking, a thing he did so naturally when he watched the werewolf's already pale face drain off what little color was left as her lips parted in surprise. "Relax, darling, calm yourself, I do not demand a kiss from you and I'm not asking for your body as payment for this. I merely need a little help in trying to catch someone. You have the speed that even I do not possess. Your kind are known for their speed and agility. It's a werewolf thing, isn't it?" He spoke with an angry snap to his voice that was enough to make Enya look up in surprise.
She was at war with herself, he could see it. Barty waited patiently as the pretty she-wolf fought whatever internal conflict was waging war against her mind and heart inside of her.
Most people would be worried of taking him up on his demand mostly out of fear of what he would do, but Barty sensed that this was not the case with this peculiar creature.
No, something else was on her mind.
Noting that her inner struggle was not about to cease anytime soon, Barty spoke once more, this time in a much sincerer fashion, losing the teasing lilt to the voice he'd held moments before.
"Let me put it to you another way, Enya," he began gently, leaning back against his chair and running his hands through his hair. "You would be doing me an enormous favor, and no one needs to get hurt once you capture the target I have in mind. I only want to talk to him, Luv."
"Wh-what? I—I don't, I never…" she started to say, but her voice trailed off as she looked deep into Barty's dark eyes. As he leaned forward and rested one palm flat against the surface of the table, his eyes boring into hers, she stopped babbling and fell silent, growing nervous. He looked at her, stared at her, and was not at all surprised to see the werewolf's eyes go flat, the way an animal tended to do while it tried to figure out the best way to deal with its fear. The usual fight or flight instinct. But she would not flee from him.
"Give your will to me, Enya." He used his Power voice as his other hand rested on his lap, out of her line of sight, clutching his wand, as he non verbally placed the werewolf under the influence of the Imperius Curse. For a moment, the werewolf's amber eyes went white. "Be mine to summon and control whenever I call on you, and on my honor, I promise to you, you and your mate will never go hungry." Even while cursed, the wolf still had that flat look in her eyes. He could tell she would not be an easy one to convince.
He heard her let out a little breath as her eyes slowly reverted back to their normal color again, and he fumbled underneath the table to pocket his wand to avoid suspicion.
For a moment, Barty thought the witch was going to say no. Then she blinked, and looked away for a moment, seeming to need a moment to think over her words. She nodded. Now, Barty was the one who smiled. She was his now, his good and faithful little wolf. Barty knew that no matter what, no matter how intelligent and keen his nemesis Quirrell was, as a former Ravenclaw, the dolt of a wizard lacked cunning.
He could never outrun a human wolf.