"I'm not quite sure what you want me to do here, Anwen."
Barty Crouch, Jr, stands on the desolate black rock that was once his prison. And he is not pleased about it.
"Call it to you, I suppose. Do you think it will come?" I get no answer and turn to find out why. "Barty? Can you hear me?"
He doesn't hear me, not at this moment. He's been uncomfortable since Harry gave the okay for me to come to Azkaban one last time and gave permission for Crouch to come with me. But he's disappeared inside himself here on this island built in part upon his own pain. I won't even guess at what Prisoner Crouch is seeing right now.
I reach out ever so cautiously and touch his arm. He doesn't startle as I thought he would, but closes his eyes slowly. After a very deep breath, he opens them again. I think he sees the present and not the past here at last.
"I'm alright," he tells me in a voice surer and stronger than I have yet heard from him. "And I won't have to call it. It's coming to me. It always does."
His smile - it's beautiful, it's hopeful, and I can't stop myself from staring at him. Is this really the monster from all our childhood nightmares?
"Anwen," Harry speaks into my moment of wonder. "Look!"
And there it is, five feet to my left, looking with wide, trusting, joyful green eyes at Barty.
"What is he?" I ask in a whisper.
"He's beautiful," is the only answer his friend can give me. "I've only ever seen the sprout."
"We meet now!" The little creature has a childlike voice with a gait to match as he makes his small way to Barty. He touches the prisoner's leg and breaks into a wide smile. His teeth are little white chiclets, his skin the same light green of the tendril I saw before, and he has a small gossamer set of wings. He looks like an elf, but no elf I have ever seen. "You are free?"
"No, not quite, my friend," Barty replies with quiet sadness.
"It fell down! You are free!"
"I only wish that were so. Who are you?"
"I am Bract."
"Are you an elf? A fairy?" I ask, kneeling down to meet his eyes. He can't be more than two feet tall. He smells pleasantly of earth.
"I am fae," he confirms, then his ears fall and his eyes glisten. "I am lost."
"Where have you come from? Is this your home? You've caused an awful lot of damage here, Bract." Harry isn't being loud, but he does move toward the lost fairy more aggressively than the little guy is prepared for. Bract backs up.
"I am lost."
"You were lost here, like the rest of us," Barty says softly, moving to gently lay his hand on the creature's head.
"So much pain. Mother him. Heard friend cry," Bract explains, looking at me, hope for understanding in his huge eyes. "Mother called me. I came here."
"Mother?" I ask.
He nods and points at me. "Mother calls you."
"Nature? Is that Mother?"
He nods and continues, "Mother called me. Played with him. He is good. He is sad."
I hold onto my next question and just watch. I'm not the only one. Harry has come to my side and we are both just . . . watching. The sweet little fae has his face turned up to Barty in the most honest look of sympathy and kindness I think I've ever seen. An Barty, well, Barty can only look at him in wonder.
"Too much sadness. Made it stop. It fell down!" With a sweep of his arms, Bract presents his handiwork, this broken hell of a prison.
"There's that case solved," Harry deadpans. "Your hunch was right, Hafgan. You definitely saw what I didn't. Good work."
"Thank you, Sir."
Barty is still struggling with the finer points of the situation. "Why me, Bract? Why play with me? So many others here, suffering."
"You are innocent. You are good. You are friend." To punctuate his reassurances, Bract sends that beautifully playful tendril up from the ground in front of him to touch Barty's hand. The same shoot that spun me in a harmless tornado now gently gives comfort to his friend.
"What do you mean, he's innocent?" Harry asks, suddenly remembering that we're supposed to be solving more than one mystery. The mystery of the destruction of Azkaban, and the mystery that is Barty Crouch. "Why do you say that?"
"Father said so. I took memories!" Bract pops over to the Auror's side with magic that should not happen here and sends a silvery-white memory to his mind. Harry opens his eyes after a few moments and is astonished. He gapes open-mouthed at Bract.
"How?"
"Bract has magic." Indeed he does.
Barty rushes to Harry, the man who hates him, the man who may just have gotten a very important glimpse into his life. "What did he show you, Potter? Was it about me? What, tell me!"
"Who is Abner Fendiwick?" Harry asks quietly.
"Abner Fendi-, Abner Fendiwick," Barty breathes. I can see when the name fits into place. "Fendiwick was an assistant in my father's office during the first war, a liaison between Father's Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement and the directors of Azkaban."
"He had power here?" Harry continues.
"Yes, he did," Crouch confirms slowly. "Potter?"
"Do you know where he is now?"
"How the bloody hell would I know? I've been on this lovely vacation in the North Sea for a while now."
"Harry," I begin, trying to get his attention, break into the rising tension between the two men. Bract is becoming uncomfortable. "Harry!"
"Anwen, yes," my boss responds, mind only partially on me.
"Fendiwick is still at the ministry. He's in International Cooperation. My superiors have to go through his office when we work with your department. Why? Why do you need him?"
"Bract showed me something. I, I need to confirm it, but it might be important. A missing piece of your puzzle, Crouch."
"He went through Abner, didn't he? My father? He locked me up here for something I didn't do with the help of his good old mate Abner, DIDN'T HE?!"
He's become so loud, so agitated, so manic that Bract has taken steps further away. I can't say I blame Barty, but this isn't going to get him far with Harry no matter what the little fae has revealed. I go to him, dodging Harry's half-hearted grab for my cloak. Grabbing his shoulder, I get him to look at me.
"You have to calm down. If he is entertaining the notion of investigating this, you are gonna have to give him the room to process this. Chill, Barty." I hadn't really meant to lapse into a more casual vernacular. Whatever. This is big, and he needs to chill.
"You're right, Anwen. I shall, uh, chill." He raises an eyebrow as he calls me out, then bends slowly to one knee. He's still not used to all of the movement. The years in that cell will not quickly be erased.
"Bract," Barty call. "Please come here, my friend. I'm sorry I frightened you."
The little one walks cautiously toward him. "You are sad."
"Yes, but not as sad as I could be. Thank you, Bract. Thank you for showing Potter what you did. Thank you for being here, with me. Thank you for keeping me as close to sane as I can be."
"You are friend." And, so it seems, it is that simple.
"Bract," Harry begins, "what did you mean when you said you were lost? You have magic; can't you just leave?"
"Mother called me," he replies, like that explains it all. For him, it does. For me, too, I believe.
"Mother must give you permission to leave?" I guess.
"Must give sign," he nods.
I stand up, very still, breathe deeply, and clear my mind. It's silent for a minute or two, and I wonder if I'll find it, that connection that normally comes so easily. And then I feel it, a gentle breeze caressing my skins, lifting the ends of my hair. Bract sighs with relief and grabs my leg. Opening my eyes I see leaves rise from nowhere. They swirl around the fairy and me, familiar and comforting. And sending a message.
"You call Mother," he says in happy wonder.
The leaves lift in a concentric circle that flattens into a straight line. They fly away from us, over the sea toward Britain, away from this hateful place. Giving permission.
"Thank you, Mother!" Bract cries. He is released. He looks over to Barty. "Bract leave now."
"I'm so happy for you," his friend says with an emotion-filled voice.
"I say we all follow those directions. It's time to go," Harry commands, and I'm ready to follow that order.
"Go with you?" Bract asks me.
"Of course! Let's just get to the boat."
The fae laughs, "Need no boat!" And he snaps us all back home.
AN: I made up Fendiwick. One last chapter. I'll publish simultaneously.