1
THE Order of the Phoenix was clever that day, Barty Crouch Jr. had to admit, as the Death Eater lingered in the shadows of one of the Order members' home. They thought they could hide the Dark Lord's newest asset from him.
The Dark Lord's most prized possession was now staring at him with wide eyes. She looked up at Barty with awe and fear brimming with life behind her dark brown eyes. Marlene McKinnon and her wretched miserable family had been keeping hostage Rodolphus Lestrange's distant cousin, Christine.
A few of the Order of the Phoenix had stumbled across the witch wandering about the streets of Knockturn Alley. She had been confused with seemingly no memory of herself, where she was, or how she had come to be lost. The witch quickly averted her gaze and would not look upon Barty. It left the wizard with an amazing feeling of conflict.
To see such a prize as Christine Lestrange so broken was a brand new humiliation to the Dark Lord and one that Barty thought he could not abide in the slightest. But at the same time, there was a feeling of satisfaction as he glanced briefly around the room at the precious few Order members' fallen bodies, the very same who had been assigned to guard Christine Lestrange with their very lives and had ultimately failed her. Triumph. Smug glory.
These emotions and more began to well deep within Barty's chest as he looked around with glee that the hated thieves who had whisked away Rodolphus's cousin and tried to hide her were now all dead.
These feelings that were rooted deep within him were not something Barty thought he could articulate. His hands trembled with rage, and he was left with no choice but to shove them into the pockets of his black leather coat to prevent himself from lashing out at the nearest target in anger, the closest which would have been Lestrange.
A part of the Death Eater wanted to kill the witch's so-called 'protectors' again and again.
To bash their skulls to the floor and hear every miserable bone in their body crack. Barty wanted to watch the clean hardwood floor beneath his boots stain red with their blood, he wanted to watch their brain matter paint the ground, and only then, were they good and dead enough for him then. Yet, for now, he had to see to Christine.
The Dark Lord had called for him to show himself an hour ago and bid him to come here, to ensure that Christine was kept protected and safe, officially appointing her his charge. Barty stalked forward and came to a stop a few feet in front of the now-violently trembling witch who was beyond terrified. He knelt into a crouch in front of her and held out his arm for Christine to take so that they could Disapparate and leave this hellish place the McKinnon's had dared to call a house. Barty felt the edges of his mouth pinch and turn down into a frown.
He felt his face freeze and his anger swell when the witch sharply turned her head to the left and averted her gaze.
Something was gravely wrong, something more than the Order taking her now. He vowed to find out what was wrong, however, now Barty's only thought was getting her away from London and to a more secure location.
That of his own home. She would be safe in his family's manor and looked after by his house-elf, Winky. His lips twitched as he fought back a smile in thinking how the witch would likely be good company for the old elf.
"Christine," Barty whispered, his former classmate's name sounding funny on his lips, though he recalled Rodolphus's beauty of a cousin to be shy and timid, but never skittish.
Not like this, and she had never been afraid to look another living soul in the eye. Until now.
"We have to go," he told her in as calm and level-headed a voice as Barty could manage, though even he could hear the faint twinge of annoyance and impatience seeping their way unbidden to the surface of his voice as he spoke. "Lestrange. I am here to help you, the Dark Lord, he sent me to protect you, but I cannot do that unless we move," he gruffed as he implored the witch to take the arm he offered her.
However, it was fear and apprehension that kept Christine Lestrange rooted to the ground.
His former classmate cowered in the corner of the room that used to be the McKinnon's kitchen of their house for a moment of uncertainty that nearly made Barty roar like a cursed and enraged Hungarian Horntail. He wanted nothing more than to whisk her away to his home where he knew the Dark Lord's newest asset would be kept safe.
Barty was quick to recognize the witch was extremely fragile and in a state of shock, the Death Eater tried to rationalize. Barty furrowed his brows into an intense look of concentration as he utilized his skills in Legilimency and dipped into the witch's mind and was shown images of the cruelty and torment she had suffered at the hands of the Order members who had held Christine hostage.
One of Marlene McKinnon's own relatives had cut off Christine's long lovely dark hair with a blade and sliced it roughly to shoulder length. Sometimes, when she was alone, Christine had urges to hurt herself, to destroy the famous—or infamous—Lestrange beauty she possessed that in actuality seemed to possess her, Barty realized.
The witch in front of him was a slave to her feminine loveliness.
She seemed a peculiar sort, this witch. He recalled Christine Lestrange being a happy and vibrant witch during school, humorous, compassionate, everything a man could want in a wife one day, but since she had been taken, she had sunk deep into a dark and bottomless pit, unable to claw her way to the top. She'd taken to hiding in the corner of whatever room she was kept in, of which there was a different one every night, and she would cry. Dark thoughts would swirl around in the witch's mind and whisper thoughts of malice into her ear, some insulting her, some suggesting she do awful things. Some even suggested that she let the demonic entity within herself take control.
The thoughts were persistent and dangerously attractive to her, but by Merlin's Beard, Lestrange always managed to reemerge and come out stronger for it. Barty recognized her courage to hold on to the fleeting hope someone would come. She'd leave them behind for another day. She would come out of it with another slash mark on her arm or cheeks, or an extra long skirt to cover her whole leg to hide the cuts she made on herself and refused any Dittany to let them heal. Hurting made the fog disperse and jostled her back into the harsh reality of her situation.
Her captors would grow furious with her for hurting herself, but she could not help it at all, it was as though the witch was compelled to hurt herself as a byproduct of her own heart and mind.
Her delicate condition seemed not only physical but emotional as well. His black and wretched heart was nearly in his throat as he let his narrowed eyes sweep over the black and blue bruises that littered the witch's collarbones, at the obvious slash markings on her face, arms, and legs that did nothing to take away Christine Lestrange's beauty.
Barty knew he would need to be careful with her, lest his master's asset blows up the home and himself with it as he swore he saw the witch's eyes flick purest black for a moment before they reverted to normal again. He stared but quickly shook his head to rid his mind of his frenzied thoughts. Barty tried again, desperate to convince Lestrange.
"Please," he asked again. "Your life depends on it, and I really do fancy not being carted off to Azkaban and left to the mercy of the Dementors, those foul bloody demons," he snapped, with an angry cut to his voice that nearly made the witch look up in alarm. "The Aurors will have likely already been called, there's no possible way their neighbors didn't hear the commotion and not alert the Ministry," Barty grunted.
Christine's clouded eyes rested on his outstretched hand as the witch seemed to be recalling how she had once considered him a friend when they had been in school together.
She wanted that security, and she did not understand why she had been whisked off the streets of Knockturn Alley or what use the Dark Lord himself could want with someone like her.
Christine made up her mind to try to depend on Barty now, even if she would come to regret it later.
Christine slowly took hold of Barty Crouch Jr.'s forearm, her slender fingers trembling as they curled around his bicep, and Barty lifted her effortlessly to her feet. She knew she needed to find a way out, and Crouch may be the only help that would come for her. She would go for the chance to save herself, but she'd trust no one.
Barty steadied Christine Lestrange as the witch managed to stand on shaking legs that looked as though they had been hit with a Jelly Legs Curse. He wound his arm gently around her small waist and turned heel and Disapparated, the loud resounding crack! that never failed to remind him of a Muggle's car engine backfiring filling his ears with the sound as he whisked her to safety.
His home.
BARTY stood in the shadows of the sitting room of his family's manor, staring at pretty Christine as she stared awestruck at the room they had just touched down in, Winky already at her side and immediately fussing over and letting fly, just like Barty knew the prickly little house-elf would do.
The elf was tugging on the tattered ends of the witch's skirt and already pulling her to the stairs.
"Come, Special Young Mistress Lestrange, we's must get you cleaned! You's cannot go around looking like…like that," she squeaked shrilly and shot Barty a reproachful look that made him grit his teeth. The fingers of his wand hand twitched but he fought the urge to draw it and use it against Winky when she was only helping him. "We's must get you warm and dressed properly, and if you's will not help, Master Barty, you bad boy, then Winky will do it!" Winky said indignantly because Barty had not moved. Sensing he was not about to bound forward and help, Winky, without another word, led Christine upstairs, muttering indignantly under her breath.
"You will be safe here, Lestrange," Barty whispered. He moved away from the wall by the fireplace and let his hand rest over his wand he kept tucked securely in his belt as he stared at the space where only moments ago, Lestrange had stood looking around his home in wonder and awe. He wondered how the witch was looking at him now if she viewed him as a disgusting bully or a handsome hero in her eyes. Probably a bully, but it was easy for him to pretend he saw admiration and respect in those dark eyes of hers. The witch would be safe and looked after here.
There was a room for her. Secure, enchanted, with only a spell that he and Winky could undo. Someone from the Order would undoubtedly alert Albus Dumbledore that Lestrange had been taken. He had to make sure she would not leave. He would have to make sure that the room that was to be hers and hers alone was enchanted securely…and he had to make sure that Christine would be good. So much to do. So much to do….
But Barty could think of little else save for the hard pulsing of blood as it surged through him. The feeling of her soft body against his as he had pulled her practically flush against his chest as he had Disapparated with the witch in tow.
How many nights had he dreamt of finding an equal, a witch like Lestrange whom he could be proud of to call his, and now, the Dark Lord was good. Lord Voldemort had gifted Christine Lestrange to him and appointed him her guard.
But it was not enough. Barty wanted more. Barty was pulled from his thoughts as he felt a wave of icy air wash over him and he did not even need to look to know that his master himself had materialized within this very room.
He mentally cursed as he spun on his heels and bent to one knee the moment Lord Voldemort's icy stare lingered upon him, crimson slit-like eyes like that of a snake's slit-like pupils, all suspicion.
"Bartemius," Lord Voldemort spoke in a shrill and cold voice that never failed to stuff the chills down Barty's throat, yet the wizard had always been good at hiding it, ever since he was young. "No problems in bringing the witch here, I take it?" he spoke quietly, his voice a smooth buttery purr that was enough to set Barty on edge.
"None, Lord, she will be quite safe here, you have my word. All who were holding her are dead. Winky will look after her, having a guest here in our home will be good company for her, I am sure," he answered through gritted teeth as he clenched his fists and kept his gaze fixed on the ground, studying his boots in too engrossed a manner. He was grateful Winky was not here to see the Dark Lord in their sitting room, the creature would surely go into a panic.
From the corner of his lowered gaze, he saw the Dark Lord nod in what he assumed was approval. Only then did he let out a little breath he'd been holding and let some of the tension in his shoulders dissipate as he lifted his gaze to him.
"She is an asset, Bartemius, but in the wrong hands. You would do well to remember that and ensure that she is kept calm until we have need of the power that is repressed deep within her."
Barty did not mistake the steel in Lord Voldemort's voice. His master did not want any tricks or acts of deceit. He nodded solemnly.
"She will be," he reassured the Dark Lord. "She should be able to come with me in two days, Lord. I want her well-rested and of a better state of mind before you set us to the task of going after the giants," he quietly explained, pausing to draw in a quick breath. "It will not go well if she is not calm. The giants will become spooked by her."
"Very well." Lord Voldemort assented and turned away, keeping his bone-white, spindly hands folded neatly behind his back as he did.
He twisted at the neck and paused to give his most loyal of followers a withering look.
"It is my highest recommendation that you speak to the witch come the morning, Crouch. Say what you will to her, as long as it does not ridicule or place her fears in an even greater state than they already appear to be. Do not arouse or aggravate her further, for she will retaliate in ways that we admittedly are not prepared for, and Dumbledore will be the least of our many problems should the Ministry be alerted to the destruction she is capable of."
And with that, Lord Voldemort turned on his heels and Disapparated from Barty's home. Barty Crouch Jr. was dismissed. Barty was left alone in the darkness of his sitting room and let his mind fill with the image of pretty Christine Lestrange's face, her dark chocolate eyes staring up at him with what he wished was admiration.
He would be happy indeed if her eyes were looking at him and him alone, but then he began to question if there was another wizard in Lestrange's life, one who held her heart. He gnashed his teeth in annoyance at the idea.
Barty knew then he needed to give Winky a task. It would be good for his house-elf to have something to do and would keep her from nagging him and constantly fretting over him. He needed to know where Christine Lestrange went in his home, what she did with her time, and the people she tried to correspond with.
He needed the reassurance that she was his until the Dark Lord sent them to the giants…