6

CHRISTINE sat frozen in the armchair by the fire in Barty's home. Time passed, approximately fifteen minutes. She shivered and shrank even further into her thick cardigan for warmth. Winky had given her a mug of herbal tea laced with a Calming Draught almost the moment Barty had ushered her inside and forced her to sit down in a chair in front of the fire. Winky refused to leave until she'd watched Christine take the first sip.

She'd done so reluctantly before Barty had ordered his family's house-elf away to Diagon Alley on an errand. She watched Barty, who appeared to have a headache. She wanted this situation to end quickly so she could retreat to her bedroom. Nervously, she took a sip of the tea, finding it surprisingly warm and sweet. Too sweet.

She made a face of disgust and set the cup on a nearby table, apologizing to Barty, who looked at her with distrust as she nearly coughed as a little bit of the tea went down her throat.

"Must it be this sweet, Barty?" Christine asked, her voice filled with fear. She didn't want to anger him further, but his current mood made it unpredictable how he would react.

She watched and tried not to shiver as he slowly twisted his head in her direction and looked at her blankly.

"Yes. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, Christine," he sneered sarcastically, his tone cold and unforgiving. "Think about the fact that you're alive and draw strength from the fact that I saved your life this morning. You've survived worse things than a cup of medicine." Christine thought bitterly that he sounded like his old self again.

He had a point, she thought. Barty looked at her with mistrust, doubting she would finish the Calming Draught.

"I will finish it, Barty. The sweetness is too much, but I promise to drink it all," she assured him. He barely acknowledged her and she anxiously waited for his next words.

Guilt had faded since she sat in the chair. She justified her actions and was prepared to answer any accusations. Barty had been mostly silent, except for ordering her to drink the tea. Christine noticed his nervousness.

She didn't know he was summoning the courage to ask her to join him for dinner. Barty turned to face her, still looking irritated. He appeared exhausted with dark circles under his eyes. He criticized her for her foolish behavior in the graveyard. Christine noticed vulnerability in his voice. He questioned why she didn't call for him.

She apologized, explaining her belief that she could handle the situation on her own. Barty emphasized the seriousness of the threat and instructed her to alert him or anyone nearby if a dangerous wizard approached her.

Christine insisted on protecting Barty and caring for him, causing him to sneer. She meant what she said, but Barty doubted her. He confronted her and demanded an explanation for her actions.

Christine observed a change in his demeanor, with hints of sadness and frustration. She defended herself, highlighting that she took the same risk he did to save each other's lives. Barty angrily claimed that it was different with him and accused her of sacrificing herself. Christine tried to explain that she didn't reveal anything about him and hoped to keep him safe. Their intentions were the same. Barty interrupted her, cutting off her words.

"No, Lestrange. No more, Christine. Enough. I don't want to hear it, Lestrange," Barty snapped, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and frustration. "You have no idea the lengths I would go to protect you, to keep you safe. It's not the same for me because I have already lost too much. I cannot bear the thought of losing you as well."

Christine felt a pang of guilt and empathy for Barty. She realized that he had been carrying the weight of past losses and traumas, and her actions had only added to his burden. She wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, but she knew he wouldn't welcome it.

"I didn't mean to cause you more pain, Barty," Christine said softly, her voice filled with remorse. "I understand now that I was reckless and foolish. I should have trusted you and called for help. I'm sorry."

Christine sat rigidly in her chair as Barty faced the fireplace, his back paraded to her. He'd not looked at her once since they'd returned to his family's manor. She tried her best not to shiver while she waited for gritted teeth for the arrogant Dark wizard to finally turn and face her.

Barty had said very little to her, giving her only a brief and withering look of irritation before he looked away as Winky had continued to fuss at her. He stared moodily out the window towards the vast countryside in the distance.

If Christine had not been so preoccupied with trying to figure out just how their conversation over what had happened in the forest was to proceed, she would have realized that the Death Eater was, in fact, nervous. The only thing she had picked up on was his anger towards her.

After several minutes of excruciating silence, Barty finally turned around to face Christine, his exhausted and irritable expression still intact. His face was pale, paler than she had ever seen before, but the dried and crusty blood on his right cheek almost looked like war paint. It nearly made her cringe.

"You should have woken me, Christine, why didn't you?" he growled.

His voice was rough and coarse, which oddly enough, put the witch's frazzled mind nearly at ease. It gave him a sense of vulnerability that had been absent in the years that she'd known him.

Christine blinked as the wizard's scathing voice brought her back to the dilemma now at hand.

It was not the question she had thought the Death Eater would ask.

"I…I wanted to let you rest, you looked exhausted," she replied, horrified to hear how small and meek her voice sounded. "I did not need your protection, Barty, as there was no danger when I stepped outside. I saw no sign of any giants, and we'd have heard one coming, so why couldn't we? Isn't that the question we should be asking?"

Barty blinked, seemingly startled by Christine's quiet response. His posture turned rigid as he took a step away from the hearth. He merely grunted by way of response, as if begrudgingly admitting without words that her words had a semblance of truth to them. After a moment, he spoke, his tone clipped and curt.

"Lord Voldemort will insist that one of us pay as a consequence for what happened this morning if I can't return immediately and rectify our mistake," he continued, as Christine kept silent. "I have to go back. Will you be alright here on your own if I leave you alone?" Barty stared at her for a moment, his eyes searching hers, before finally sighing heavily. The anger in his face softened, replaced by a mix of resignation and concern. "Just promise me, Lestrange, that you won't put yourself in danger like that again," he said, his voice weary. "I can't bear the thought of losing you. Your safety is more important to me than anything else."

Christine nodded, her eyes welling up with tears.

"I promise, Barty. I won't take unnecessary risks anymore. I'll trust you and seek help when I need it," she said.

Barty nodded, his expression still guarded but with a glimmer of relief. "Good. We need to look out for each other, Christine. We're in this together."

As they sat in silence, the weight of their words hung in the air. Despite the challenges and uncertainties ahead, they had reached a mutual understanding and a renewed commitment to protect and support each other.

Christine couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the complicated man sitting across from her, knowing that they would face whatever came their way, together.

"I'm sorry for everything," she hoarsely apologized, brushing away tears with practiced precision. They locked eyes, lingering longer than comfortable.

Barty frowned. He had not intended for his words to be taken so harshly. "Don't do this to yourself. You have nothing to apologize for, Christine. I was...wrong to speak to you as I did just now, you are right. We should have heard the giant coming, the fact that we didn't is...troubling," Barty assured, itching to bridge the gap between them.

Both hesitated, fearing that looking away would rob them of something irreplaceable—something precious.

"Who will she be?" Christine whispered, her words tinged with jealousy. "Your new partner... The Dark Lord might reassign you once he hears of our failure. I assume he'll pair you with another witch," she growled.

Barty's heart shattered, but he needed Christine to understand. There was no other witch, no reassignment. He intended to keep his promise and protect her under the same roof. They were inseparable.

"That won't happen, Christine," he asserted, dismayed by her assumption that he would allow it without a fight.

But Christine interrupted, her anger and hurt evident. She shook her head violently and sent the wizard's words away.

"The Dark Lord won't give you a choice, Barty. I'm not good for you as a partner, as tonight made clear. I won't claim anything against you or ask for anything," she boldly declared.

Barty stood speechless, observing her. He wanted to refute her fears, to make her see that she was wrong. He finally blurted out, "There won't be another partner. I don't want one. I want... you."

Surprised, Christine met his gaze and whispered, "What will you do when the Dark Lord comes? What will you say?"

Barty hesitated, thrown by her question and caught off guard. He asked timidly, "Do you trust me, Christine?"

She answered without hesitation, confessing her complete trust in him. "Yes." Relieved, Barty pulled her close, assuring her of his commitment. They discussed their next steps and what to do when facing their master.

"I will talk to him, Christine. You don't need to worry," he assured, but she remained skeptical.

Barty admired her, finding her irresistible. With a blush on her cheeks, Christine redirected the conversation, offering gratitude for saving her life and asking how to make it up to him. Reluctantly, he released her and decided to take a chance. He looked into her hopeful eyes, gathering the courage to ask the witch the unexpected.

Summoning all his strength, he finally asked, "Would you let me take you to dinner?"

Christine nearly dropped her mouth in shock and sank back into her chair, hardly daring to believe Barty's words.

Had Barty just…asked her out? Christine parted her lips to speak, to give Barty an answer, though before she could, the faint silvery mist of a non-corporeal Patronus floated in lazily through the open window of the wizard's parlor.

Lucius Malfoy's droll baritone voice filled the room, stating that the Dark Lord had been informed of the fiasco regarding the giant and the burning of the forest, and he was calling for Barty.

Christine flinched as the Patronus dissipated and a heavy silence filled the air between them. She briefly looked into the Death Eater's eyes and could tell that Barty was angry with himself and Christine found herself wishing he would speak to her, to be honest with her as she was with him about the nature of her uncle's attack.

She wanted to tell him that she accepted his offer of a dinner date, as he'd been trying to do right by her in saving her life, but without being able to tell him that he was doing well, she was terrified the man would snap and lose it.

She could see the anger written all over Barty's face, but the witch knew that it was not directed at her. She reached out with her hands as he curled his hands into fists and sharply turned away and inhaled.

Christine rested a hand on his shoulder and gently tried to smile.

"Yes," she whispered, giving Barty the only answer she could give, and hoped it would be enough. Christine bit her lip and hesitated. She thought she was beginning to understand the looks in the Death Eater's eyes. She was not so sure she believed the stories Father had told her of Barty, what little her father had known of Barty Crouch Sr.'s only son. She refused to believe what she saw in the wizard's eyes was imagined, that there was genuine thought behind his dark eyes, and caring for her, even if he had trouble expressing his emotions. "I'm partial to Italian," she murmured, suddenly almost too shy to speak, though she forced herself to. "Y-You should go, the Dark Lord, he calls for you," she coaxed him softly as he moved begrudgingly for the exit. He turned slowly and looked at her back from the doorway, eyeing her intently. "I am not going anywhere, Barty, I will see you when you get back," she promised.

Christine smiled at him and Barty nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned to leave. Barty looked at her as he lingered near the entryway, and she could see his eyes, dark, wide, and questioning, but also hard and austere.

He looked towards the front door and seemingly with what seemed a great exertion of his willpower, turned and left the room. Christine chewed on her bottom lip as she watched the wizard go.

She could hear his footsteps down the hall and then the front door of his manor opening and slamming shut, followed by the sound of another protective enchantment being thrown up around his home's barrier for good measure. He was not stupid, Christine thought to herself. Though they had returned home, he would make sure she was kept safe. He knew well enough to take steps to avoid capture from the Aurors and avoid detection.

She let out a frustrated sigh and moved to sit on the sofa, preparing herself for a long and boring wait.

Christine flicked her gaze towards the bookshelves along the wall, wondering if there was any book she could read that would entertain her until he returned. She spotted a glint of a knife on one of the shelves, seemingly for decoration, intricately carved and made of the finest goblin-crafted steel.

She felt her mouth go dry as she realized her new partner had likely killed some poor goblin to get it. She paused and listened, her senses suddenly on high alert, and for a moment, she felt her eyes flick black.

Christine could have sworn she'd heard the door open and close shut. But…Barty was no longer in the house, and he had ordered Winky away on some errand almost the moment they'd gotten back.

She half rose from her spot on the sofa, though she immediately sat back down when she heard the sound of footsteps, thinking it was Barty having come back to get something he'd forgotten.

She thought of what to say, though her words died in her throat when a man came to stand in the doorway and he was not Barty Crouch Jr., as Christine had been hoping for, but the wizard's father.

Christine Lestrange found herself staring face-to-face into the cold and hardened eyes of Barty Crouch Sr., a formidable if not menacing wizard, and she hardly ever recalled the man smiling. Not a single crease could be seen in his pressed suit and robes. His grey hair was unnaturally straight and impeccably neat, shined with some sort of oil to give it a sheen. The lines on his face were prominent, his brow creased with deep lines.

Mr. Crouch was almost looking annoyed at Christine's intrusion into his family's home. The edges of the man's narrow dark toothbrush mustache twitched as his gaze lingered on her. She bolted upright from her spot on the sofa and nervously ran her hands over her skirt and thick cardigan, hoping she looked presentable.

A light pink blush speckled along her face as she waited for Mr. Crouch to recover from his shock at finding an unfamiliar witch in his home and find his voice again.

"Oh, Mr. Crouch, forgive me, I—I didn't know you would…be home, I-if you're looking for Barty, he is not here. He has graciously let me stay here, you see, I-I was recently kicked out of my….home."

She trailed off and looked concerned into the shocked older wizard's eyes. Her desperation seemed to break Barty's father out of his stunned reverie, as Christine watched as he came back to himself.

"Forgive me, my dear, I did not expect that my son had…brought a witch home. My son is where…?" Mr. Crouch questioned curiously with furrowed eyes as he looked around the room in concern and saw no sign of Barty.

"I…he's…out, Mr. Crouch, sir, I forgive me, he did not, er, let me know that you would be coming home. Your house-elf is out on an errand as well." A nervous chuckle escaped her lips, though thanks to her nerves, it sounded like a sigh.

Mr. Crouch frowned as he noticed the hitch to the witch's already shy and mild-mannered voice.

"Are you... well? You are looking pale," he pointed out, his words blunt and harsh, but true.

Christine gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, willing the monster within her to stay quiet, though she could feel her stress levels pique.

"No, No, I-I'm quite fine, Mr. Crouch, sir, I had been…asleep when you…arrived home, sir. My name is Christine, sir. Christine Lestrange." The edges of Mr. Crouch's mustache twitched without bidding as he proceeded to eye Christine suspiciously, looking the brunette up and down from head to toe slowly.

Merlin's Beard, but Christine did not appreciate this. She felt as though she were being inspected, as though being sized up to see if she was suitable enough of a match for his son. Her face reddened again, this time from irritation.

"You are Elias Lestrange's daughter, correct?" Mr. Crouch asked smoothly, the wizard's expression impassive. Christine was almost afraid to try and read the look on the wizard's face as he studied her. Her eyebrows rose.

She took a cautious step towards him as he moved to step into the middle of his sitting room and turned his back to her for a moment as he moved to look towards the fire. After a moment, he turned back to look at her and his head tilted to the side. No doubt he was studying her dark curls and prominent features that made her a Lestrange.

"I am, sir," she stated with a slightly defiant tone to her voice as she raised her chin somewhat haughtily, silently praying to Merlin that she would not lose control of her emotions. It would not bode well for either of them if the Obscurus with herself came out. She swallowed down hard as her face burned. She wondered if he was trying to goad her. She took a deep breath and let out a little breath before pushing forward. "Will that...be a problem?"

He paused for a moment, not immediately answering her. "Your uncle is Linden, is he not? Linden Lestrange? He works in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes?" Mr. Crouch asked with no semblance of tact as his eyes furrowed in contemplative thought, unaware of the irony of the wizard's question.

Christine felt her eyes grow cold and nearly flick black as she felt her temper swell at even the mere mention of her uncle's name. Her eyes were completely desolate from the few seconds of shame she was sure was plastered all over her face like a Permanent Sticking Charm as she was forced to stand here until the scrutiny of Barty Crouch Sr.'s gaze. She turned away and shrugged, averting her gaze, not wishing Barty's father to see it.

"He is, and yes...he does..." she whispered, her voice hushed.

Mr. Crouch nodded in understanding. "You certainly come from the family's strong stock, Miss Lestrange, I will grant you that. I was…disappointed to have to be the one to sentence your father to Azkaban, Elias was a good man, a fine wizard, though the evidence against him was... irrefutable," Mr. Crouch explained, keeping his expression blank as he took stock of how the color drained from Christine's face. She recalled the trial and what a nightmare the experience had been. How the memories both she and her father had given to the Aurors as sufficient evidence of her uncle's crime against her had been tampered with. She suspected Uncle Linden had bribed a member of the Wizengamot with a fat bag of Galleons to change the memories to bend the outcome of his trial in his favor. "I hoped that you have taken your life down a different path. One in which your soul could still be saved. It would be such a shame to see a promising and beautiful young witch such as yourself be marred by her family's unsavory history," Mr. Crouch spoke to her plainly, his words constant in their execution.

Christine was nearly rendered speechless. She was sure the look of bewilderment on her face was obvious as Barty's father turned to face her, the edges of the man's pencil-thin mustache bristling at the edges as he nearly glared at her. She swallowed down hard and her mouth, already dry, went dryer still.

She nervously licked her lips and waited for Mr. Crouch to speak.

When he did, his tone sounded cold. Almost dull and lifeless, and she knew then that Barty Crouch Sr. was just the greater shadow of his son, though the public refused to believe it, given his favor at the Ministry and the fact that he was campaigning for Minister of Magic later within the year.

"Miss Lestrange, it does pain me to say such words to you, but I would not give my son false hope for a life with you when there is none to be had." Mr. Crouch nearly pulled a face and crinkled his nose in disgust as he looked down at her, and suddenly, Christine felt no taller than a Wrackspurt the wizard was annoyed by and could not swat away.

Christine flinched though even she could feel the dark look that appeared on her face upon hearing Mr. Crouch's words, which, oddly enough, reminded her of Barty back when they had been classmates at Hogwarts, and he'd been caught in a lie a few times by a professor. But she quickly shook her head and sent the thought away.

Such thoughts would not help her here, and it was thoughts of Mr. Crouch in thinking that she was not good enough that compelled her to come to her defense.

She glanced down at the floor for a moment as she knew she needed to be careful with her words.

"What exactly," she began, speaking slowly to stem the hurt emotions that were threatening to break through the surface of her voice, "do you mean by that, Mr. Crouch, sir?"

"I know exactly what you are, Miss Lestrange, do not presume me to be ignorant as my son does, the attack against you made the front page of the Daily Prophet all those months ago. It was I who sent your father to Azkaban Prison. He attacked an upstanding memory of the Ministry, your uncle, and for that, is a heinous crime in it itself, let alone laying hands against you," Mr. Crouch replied coldly, his tone close to sounding exasperated as he reached up a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger as if fighting off the beginnings of a splitting headache. He turned towards her after a moment and stood tall to his full height, towering over Christine, and stared directly and coldly into the witch's eyes. "Rumor of the Obscurus that has attached itself to your soul spread throughout the Ministry after your father's arrest, my dear."

Christine shivered as she thought she saw a flicker of sympathy dart through the older wizard's dark eyes, but as quickly as it had come, the look vanished, to be replaced with coldness.

"As kind and a gentle witch that you seem to be, Miss Lestrange, I cannot take the risk of allowing my son to harbor an interest with someone of your…affliction, painful though it is. Like it or not, my dear, you are a danger and a menace to society, and I cannot have you near him, you are too dangerous and far too much of a liability, Miss Lestrange," Mr. Crouch told her softly. "No matter how fond Bartemius has grown of you," he confessed, his expression almost pained.

Christine felt her cheeks burn with humiliation. Mr. Crouch thought of sending her away when Barty had promised her that his home was hers as long as the Dark Lord needed the monster that lurked within her. She swallowed a lump in her throat, and it took her several minutes to find her voice as she struggled to keep her fear at bay.

"Barty, he…he told me that I would be safe here," she whispered hoarsely, though the listless manner in which Barty's father was eyeing her now made her fingertips go numb and rendered her entire body feeling cold, as though a ghost had stepped through her, or she'd had a bucket of ice water dumped over her head.

"Yes," Mr. Crouch seconded. "You were, Miss Lestrange."

There was a glint forming in Barty's father's dark eyes that afflicted her. Christine clenched her teeth behind straight lips. Without her asking for clarification, Mr. Crouch seemed to be in the mood to convince her.

"You cannot stay," he proclaimed in a sure voice. "Miss Lestrange, you seem an intelligent witch enough to know. Would you allow yourself to believe that I would allow my son to become entangled with…a woman the likes of you, no matter how kind and gentle a soul you are? My dear, Obscurials are evil and soulless creatures, only deserving of a quick and painless death to be put out of their misery and their suffering finally at an end," he questioned.

Barty Crouch Sr.'s words pierced her heart better than the goblin-made knife on the shelf in the corner of the room ever could. But as she gaped at Mr. Crouch, the wizard had not shown an inch of embarrassment or remorse in his own words as he spoke so terribly of her.

"I…I see," Christine stammered, though her voice was now as hard as Mr. Crouch's voice.

The air around her clamped and the walls felt as though they were closing in around her. Christine felt as though she were going to crawl right out of her skin.

She felt sure she was about to be sick to her stomach as bile rose in her throat. Christine forced herself to step away from Mr. Crouch, the heels of her boots making a clicking sound against the hardwood floor.

"I am...sorry that you feel that way about me, Mr. Crouch. But it is clear to me that I am not wanted here, nor could I possibly convince you that there is more to me," she whispered as she spat her words through gritted teeth, her words tasting bitter. "I will leave then, Mr. Crouch, if-if that is what you wish," she murmured. "Please give Barty my best when he…when he returns."

Christine turned on her heels without bothering to wait to gauge Mr. Crouch's reaction. She fled the room, in fear of the way that Barty Crouch Sr.'s gaze followed her to the exit. She hurled open the front door of the Crouch family manor and stepped out into the morning light.

The skies above her head were dull and grey, the low rumbling of thunder could be heard somewhere off in the distance. The cold hit Christine's face and nearly stole the breath from her lungs, but the witch could not manage to pretend to care. Her thoughts of Barty and now the Death Eater's father were already leaving her feeling dizzy.

The cold invigorated her body and cleared her mind. Drawing the front door of the manor closed shut behind her, Christine fled down the steps and was desperate to Disapparate anywhere, eager to be anywhere else but Barty's home with the man's father, as Mr. Crouch had made it painstakingly clear she was not wanted.

But as she made to turn left to prepare to walk a short enough distance away to be safe to Disapparate, her progress was stopped by a sudden blinding light that flooded her vision. Followed by the blinding flash of light, her ears burned as she picked up on the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter clicking.

Christine let out a little cry and raised her hands to shield her vision.

When the spots that appeared in her sight finally cleared, she lowered her arms from around her face, but of course, her hands found their way to rest in front of her. Her heart was in her throat as she realized what had just happened.

She had just become the subject of a photograph taken without her consent outside of Barty Crouch Jr.'s home, a place in which she was no longer welcome, and in the company of an undesirable individual. The witch who stood a few inches from her was admittedly the last person she had expected or wanted to see. The person standing in front of her was not Barty, as she had been hoping for, but infamous poison-pen journalist, Rita Skeeter.

Christine felt the color drain from her face, as when Rita Skeeter turned her eyes to her, the witch's eyes were twinkling and smiling.