Chapter 32: The Beginning of the End

The Lestranges – husband and wife Rodolphus and Bellatrix, plus brother/brother-in-law, Rabastan – along with Barty Crouch Jr. sat in high-backed chairs all in a row with bags over their heads. When the bags were quite unceremoniously ripped off, the glare was so terrific, it was hard for the quartet of Death Eaters to get their eyesight to adjust. Handcuffed and in chains, their wands confiscated, the group of assassins could only take in their surroundings enough that they were in a kind of well. As in, the floor on which they sat was like a valley when up against how the rest of the hearing room seemed to rise up around them: the stands of the spectators (the Death Eaters could not see any of the accusing faces, though the hubbub was enough to inform them the courtroom was packed). The high, imposing jury boxes in which the judges of the Wizengamot now sat, ready to serve judgment.

"All rise!" the bailiff called, and there was a great scraping and shuffling as people rose to their feet. "The Honorable Chief Warlock Tiberius Odgen presiding!"

The Lestranges glanced to each other, resolving not to show any fear or terror on their faces, however much the nerves were jumbling about inside. Seated immediately next to her husband, Bellatrix felt Rodolphus reach for her palm even though his cuffs to give her fingers a squeeze. She squeezed back in the way a friend might comfort a friend rather than a spouse.

There had to be spotlights of some sort burning down on them, for the glare was still such that the prisoners could not see the Chief Warlock staring down on them. But they could still hear his sonorous voice echoing from somewhere above them. It gave the feeling of them being dead and standing in judgment before a higher deity, as he (or she) weighed whether they were to be rewarded with eternal praise or eternal damnation.

If any one was to render judgment and claim their word was equal to the law of any deity, Bellatrix wished that she was standing in judgment before her Lord at the moment. He wouldn't stand for this kind of travesty, this… this sham! How she missed him so!

"I shall now read the charges: Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange and Bartimaeus Crouch, Jr., you stand here accused of torturing into insanity the Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom of Orkney. You have all pleaded not guilty. As Chief Warlock, it is my duty to inform you that a jury has found otherwise. You are all found guilty of unlawful torture under the laws of magic and under the laws of this body. I shall now yield back to my colleague, Barty Crouch Sr., to deliver the sentence."

From somewhere off to Odgen's right, a higher, accented voice now spoke out from the bright glare. "The four prisoners identified in this indictment herein are hereby ordered to be remanded to the Azkaban wizarding prison for no less than the rest of their respective natural lifespans, for crimes against wizardkind. Guards, please remove these wretched creatures from the sight of this court at once!" It might have been Bellatrix's imagination, but she thought she heard Crouch's voice choke with emotion a few times, and she figured she knew why: the bastard was pretending to show regret at having to convict and sentence his own son.

As vengeful, even gleeful Aurors surrounded them to drag the criminals away, Bellatrix shrieked out one last invective. A kind of warning:

"The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us in Azkaban; we will wait! He will 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!"

This was much as Bellatrix could get out before she was dragged into the narrow corridor that eventually led them outside the Ministry through a side door, where a locked and caged threstral carriage awaited to fly them off to Azkaban. She was still screeching abuse as the carriage with bars on its windows took to the skies.

Bartimaeus may have washed his hands of his own son, but that didn't mean his wife, Veronica, had.

Over the course of several months, the prominent magical lawyer watched as the woman he loved wasted away even more than she already had been with her terminal illness. Her worsening condition was clearly from bereavement. A broken heart. She would sit at the window of their country home for hours on end, staring out into the grassy hillsides beyond and to the distant horizon.

Azkaban prison was on an island in the middle of the churning sea, hundreds of miles away, but even so: Barty knew that is where his wife's thoughts were taking her, pining on behalf of their son, their only child.

The Healers did not expect Veronica to live long. Though she was still remarkably lucid, the woman seemed to be at peace with her impending death.

Except in one respect. She expressed it to her husband one evening when he brought up her supper to where she could take the meal in their bed. Veronica was on hospice at this; the Healers had advised Barty to keep her comfortable.

"Barty, love…. before I die, I want to die knowing that my son is free! You must set our little Barty free!"

Set him free? Bartimaeus was quite stunned. As much as their son's imprisonment had caused him his own fair share of pain, what was he to do? He was not the Minister for Magic – the only individual in their government with pardon power. He knew for a fact that Minister Millicent Bagnold wouldn't stand for it, even if many people in high-ranking posts had concluded she was a lame duck who would soon be on her way out anyhow. And it wasn't as though Chief Warlock Odgen and the rest of the Wizengamot would grant a new trial and overturn the conviction. The evidence against his own son and the Lestranges had been irrefutable. Even if it hadn't been, all good and humane wizards in this land had hungered for justice, demanded blood. Demanded that someone be strung up for the heinous act against the Longbottoms – no one would have cared who.

"What…. what would you have me do?" Bartimaeus bemoaned to his wife.

He had meant to ask it as a rhetorical question, so he was quite amazed to hear Veronica's deeply well thought out plan. Even as he heard it, it was crazy, it was mad! More to the point, it went against everything he believed in as a magical law enforcement officer. At least one aspect of the plane skirted on the borders of being illegal, as it hinged on the deployment of an Unforgivable Curse. Yet Veronica was able to rationalize in such a way that it would ensure that no one would be harmed, least of all their son.

There were several proposals within the scheme with Bartimaeus agonized over, but none more so than the one which described how his wife wished to spend her last days. Bartimaeus most certainly did not agree to allow his beloved to meet such an inglorious end. Veronica had merely smiled at him sadly.

"Barty, love, I'm dying. I will be at peace and beyond this life within the year, if not sooner. Which is why, if you love me, you must do this. And it is why we must hurry!"

For the next several months, Bartimaeus went to court by day, then worked in their basement brewing potions by night. He shopped for the ingredients in market himself, for he daren't not even ask any of his Potion Master friends for the materials, even casually – they would brew the potion in their head and wonder what it was for. For this plan to work, absolutely no one could be tipped off. No one could suspect.

Finally, on a dark and stormy night, Bartimaeus chartered a threstral carriage to take him to Azkaban prison. He gingerly carried his weak and emaciated, dying wife down the stairs from their bed and deposited her on the carriage's cushioned seat before telling the driver to take to the air.

Certain Azkaban prisoners could be given the privilege of having visitors while incarcerated, unless the Ministry explicitly barred a prisoner from such a perk. Mostly for Veronica's safe, Bartimaeus had left the option open for their son to receive visits, even if he himself wanted nothing to do with him.

So, it wasn't all that unusual for there to be two visitors arriving at the sea-sprayed, isolated island rock. Barty noticed some of the few human guards who worked in tandem with the Dementors nod to them sympathetically, clearly observing how Veronica was using much of the last of her strength to walk into the prison under her own power, if on unsteady feet.

A wizard guard unlocked the gate to Barty Jr.'s cell, ushering the inmate's parents in. Barty Sr. felt for the pair of vials hidden in the pocket of his cloak, smuggled in past the pat-down search by way of an Undetectable Extension Charm.

Barty Jr. had the makings of a full-on beard stubbling along his face. He glared hatefully at his father when the man entered, though the glare in his eyes faded instantly when his mother toddled into view.

The wizard guard locked the door behind them with a CLANG!, staying behind on the outside. "You have fifteen minutes," he mumbled to the couple. "By that time, I'll have circled back to this block on rounds." He walked away. Barty Sr. was relieved for such lax security, such foolishness. 15 minutes would be plenty of time to do what needed to be done. He scanned down the row of cells – most of the other prisoners were mere lumps on cots, fast asleep.

He pulled out the two vials and passed one to his son. "Drink, quickly!"

"Why?" Barty Jr. sneered, glowering down at the vial mistrustfully. "Mean to poison me to rid me of you?"

Barty Sr. chuckled bitterly. "Oh, believe me, if only that were so!" He could feel Barty Jr. watching with interest as the second vial was passed to his mother, who clutched it eagerly. "You should be thanking your mother down on bended knee that she still loves her so! Drink it for her sake, if you don't trust me!"

Barty Jr. hesitated for a moment before uncorking the vial and pressing it to his lips. Veronica followed half a second later.

Within moments, both vials were being dropped; Barty Sr. threw his body forward in a wild dive and someone managed to catch both of them, one in each hand, before either hit and shattered upon the stone.

Barty Jr. and Veronica were both holding their necks, their sides and choking. Barty Sr. watched as his petite wife shot upwards in height; their son was shrinking, his body becoming more curved, growing breasts….

It took all of five minutes, but then there was a very weak Barty Crouch Jr. languishing on the floor while a perfectly healthy Veronica Crouch stood upright and frozen with shock.

"Help your mother over to the cot," Barty Sr. rumbled. Dazed, the not-Veronica obeyed, carrying the person masquerading as him over to the cell cot.

Father and disguised son shared a look. "I am going to have to carry you out, so you will have to feign being sick. Are you a good enough actor?"

Barty Jr., disguised as Veronica, could not bear to look the older man in the eye even as he nodded.

"Very good." Barty Sr. now bent over his wife, disguised as their son.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

She nodded, appearing at peace, even in this body. "These are my wishes. Thank you, darling, for fulfilling them."

She kissed him goodbye then – which, considering she had taken on the appearance of her son, made the embrace quite strange and bizarre. Barty Sr. broke the kiss quickly, trying not to sob.

"Goodbye!" he croaked. Turning back to his son (in the appearance of his wife), he lifted the disguised prisoner into a bridal carry. "Come along, you," he grunted.

It wasn't a moment too soon, for the wizard guard now returned and unlocked the cell door.

"Sir, madame: this way, please." And just like that, Barty Jr. waltzed out of prison carried in the arms of his father, with none except the mother (left behind as him) the wiser.

One prisoner, however, observed the departure with suspicion: Sirius Black peered at Barty Crouch Sr.'s retreating back with a curious look in his already haunted, traumatized eyes, the moonlight creating a slash of illumination across his scraggly face, marring him.

Above the island prison, a full moon loomed….

Barty Sr. had created a doubly strong batch, to ensure the Polyjuice Potion lasted for two hours. By the time father and son staggered into the Crouch family estate, the brew was minutes away from beginning to wear off.

Barty Sr. watched emotionlessly as his beloved wife extended and height and writhed through the transformation of turning back into his son. Barty Jr. barely had time to stare at his own hands, marveling at how a noble sacrifice had made him a man free – free! – before…..

"Imperio!"

Barty Jr. yelled and screamed, attempting to struggle against the sudden and abrupt hijacking of his mind by his own father, but Barty Sr. was relentless and resolved. Finally, the son was broken in, his mind subdued and made into an instrument that could only obey. Barty Jr. now stared back at his father with dead eyes.

"You will never leave this house without my authority!" Barty Sr. commanded.

"I will never leave this house without your authority…" Barty Jr. intoned in a flat monotone.

"You will never speak unless spoken to."

"I will never speak unless spoken to…."

"You will stay in your room until I call for you."

"I will stay in my room until you call for me…"

Barty Sr. nodded once, stiffly. "Very good. Neurtsy:" and he turned almost absently to where their house elf was staring in shock at his convicted young Master who moments ago had appeared in place of his mistress. "You are sworn to silence as to the Young Master's presence here. Is that clear?"

Neurtsy dutifully saluted, though he appeared quite scared and unsure, but Barty Sr. didn't hold this against him. In his experience, house elves were quite conscientious, but in the end, all that mattered was the instinct to please, and to carry out orders, even in this case, such an order – to harbor a fugitive – was considered legally and ethically dubious.

"Yes, Master. Whatever you say, Master."

Barty Sr. sighed heavily, resigned. He may not like it, but so long as he was following his beloved wife's wishes, he supposed he could live with that. The key now was to not get caught. "Excellent."

If Barty Jr.'s Polyjuice batch had been just strong enough to get him out of Azkaban and safely hidden away inside the Crouch estate, then Veronica's batch had been strengthened by as close to an infinite number as Barty Sr. could manage. He had brewed two different cauldrons of Polyjuice, and for the one for his wife, he had strengthened its potency so the effects could last for weeks upon weeks. For hopefully as long as she needed.

Veronica didn't even last one week.

Days after arriving in Azkaban, "Barty Crouch Jr." was found dead in his cell. There was no sign of suicide, never mind foul play. The Daily Prophet crowed about the passing of one of the Longbottom torture perpetrators and the body was buried in a pauper's grave on a small stretch of beachhead at the edge of the prison island.

It would be months before the concealed corpse transformed back into that of the late Veronica Crouch, now buried six feet under and without anyone other than her family and house elf aware that the man Azkaban thought it had buried was not only still alive, but at large.