CHAPTER FIVE

"Frustrating man."

"Anwen?'

"Frustrating, frustrating man."

"Crouch? Or me?" Harry asks with forced humor.

"Prisoner Crouch. I have no idea how long he's been conscious. Long enough to form a coherent plan of obfuscation."

"How is he even awake? The Kiss . . . "

"I don't know. I didn't get that far. Took me forever to get him to even open his eyes. But he is completely aware of his surroundings. He understands the broad strokes of what has happened. I don't know yet if he knows more. I can't get an instant read on him."

"Shall we call in someone else? Someone here, from St. Mungo's?"

"No. No, sir. I'd like to keep trying, Harry, if I can. He's not pleased at all to be in this place. Establishing a level of comfort is important."

"You're comfortable?"

"No, but I think he is. Comfortable enough to be frustrating, anyway."

"Do you need to take a break for the evening? I'm needed back at the Ministry to calm some nerves. That frustrating man in there has really wrinkled some robes with his return. This is just beginning. But I don't want to leave you here alone."

"I'm not alone, Harry," I assure him as I open the heavy door to return to the task at hand. "There's an entire hospital to come to my rescue."

He does not look as though I've put his mind at ease, but he turns and walks away.

"You've returned," says the prisoner as I push the door securely closed.

"I won't be going far, not until I get some answers from you, Mr. Crouch."

"Ask your questions, Agent. I have precious few answers."

"How did you survive the Kiss? How did you retain so much of your mind?"

"I didn't."

"Excuse me?"

"Didn't survive, didn't retain. Wasn't Kissed. Never Kissed."

"Never kissed?"

"Wallflower, I suppose."

"Mr. Crouch, please," I say, trying mightily to restrain my annoyance. And my amusement.

"Suppose I was already so broken," he begins, the melancholy taking over, wiping all hint of humor from his face, his voice. "No happiness, no hope, nothing good for them to steal. They just left me alone, passed me over and went on to the next. They let me lie in my misery and greedily await the end. Just like all of those deranged creatures they created around me. Only I never needed a Dementor's Kiss to wish for death."

It's the longest he's spoken. The most he's had to say. So real, ringing so true, that I am utterly confused as to how I feel. I can only believe him.

"I am so sorry that happened to you."

"Sorry. Sorry? About what? That I escaped a painful and horrifying mind rape by a spector bent on the total erasure of every good thing it encounters? Well, thanks for that."

"No, . I am so sorry for whatever happened to you that made your escape from that fate possible."

"I, I, well, thank you, Agent. Thank you."

"Yes. Well. That is, no one should be without hope. Not even you."

"Not even me. Yes, not even crazy Barty, the killer cruciatus caster! Not. Even. ME!"

He leaps from the bed, faster than his apparent state of neglected health should allow. But seeing him upright, on his feet, up close, in my face, I realize he is an excellent possum. He is no longer covered by rubble or hidden in a bed amid blankets. He is revealed. What I see makes me afraid.

This is not the wasted body of a man who's been lying useless and defeated. This is not a man who has withered and atrophied. This is a man who has waited for this day. He grabs my arm and turns me, my back to his chest, one arm a steel band holding me in place. The other, a restraint around my neck assuring me of my suddenly precarious position. I think I must have been in danger all along.

"You're strong," I accuse.

"Death or freedom, Agent. I knew I would leave Azkaban. I knew I would not endure an eternity in that place. My soul was prepared for death. I held on to my mind and body. I knew death or freedom would someday come to me. Which are you?"