Chapter Two

Loyal Traitors


Harry lay awake staring at the ash-coloured ceiling. As much as he cherished being in the home of his much loved father-figure, he had to admit the heavy air would never feel right in his lungs. He genuinely wondered how Sirius had taken so long to run away. Imagining his father seeing Sirius utterly terrified on his doorstep, of his father leading him inside and into the living room where his grandparents had made him feel like another son...it made his heart thump loudly but also bring forth sadness. All those stories of the Marauders now lost. He wished he'd asked Remus and Sirius about their friendship at Hogwarts more but life wasn't thinking about the past all the time. The Mirror of Erised had taught him that valuable lesson.

He rolled over and laced an arm around Ginny's waist and was thankful she was already asleep. That was the case until she spun around so fast he had no time to react as she pinned him to the bed, a victorious grin on her face. He raised an eyebrow. "And why are you pinning me to the bed at...two thirty in the morning?"

"Why are you still awake at two thirty in the morning?"

"And why are you?" He countered effortlessly.

"Because, Harry Potter, the difference between you being awake and you being asleep is judged by your snoring. And you weren't snoring."

A flash of guilt appeared on his face. "Do I really snore that bad?"

"Not as badly as Ron," she replied, giggled and then released him. She sank back down and rested her fiery head on his shoulder. "Remember how embarrassing I was when I was younger? I'm glad you're oblivious sometimes because seriously I really wasn't subtle about my crush on you."

"I thought it was sweet, scary, but sweet."

"Harry?" She asked. The humour was gone from her voice. He rested his head on hers and made a noise to show he was listening. "I know you don't want to talk about it but Tom-"

"You don't have to say his name you know."

"He was Tom Riddle," she persisted stubbornly, "at least to me. Tom Riddle has always been scarier to me than Voldemort. Voldemort was a monster with barely any soul left. Tom Riddle had one and still enjoyed torturing. And stop trying to change the subject," she added, gently tapping his nose, "what I mean is Tom may not be back, he may never come back, but that doesn't mean Death Eaters won't still try and hurt you. And I know that means living life with a little fear in the back of our minds but...it won't just be our lives now." She paused. Waiting for his response with dizzy excitement.

"Yeah," Harry said, "I dragged Ron and Hermione into this when they met me. They're still in danger because of me now."

Ginny sighed. Oblivious Potter. She flicked his nose.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"Do I really need to say it out loud?" She asked in a huff. He blinked. Confused. She in turn rolled her eyes and vocalised the words excruciatingly slowly. "I. AM. PREGNANT."

Harry Potter's eyes had never bulged out of his sockets but they very nearly did in that instant. He sat up straight in their shared bed and looked down onto his wife who had the biggest grin. Was she suddenly glowing? Like, the glowing glowing people always were when they were pregnant? He didn't know what to do, what to say. He was happy though, damn he was happy beyond belief, but if he opened his mouth a garbled mess would come out.

"Harry? You okay there boy wonder?"

Ginny's nickname snapped him back into reality. "Can we call him Remus," he blurted out.

Ginny smiled. That was the best thing she would get out of him right now. "Too early to say if its a boy or a girl yet, you know, for a girl I was thinking Lavender."

Harry paled. Ginny laughed until her sides hurt. Of course she was joking, never would she call her child after the woman who latched onto her brother like a leech.

The two lay back down but were too excited to sleep. Harry fiddled with the strands of her hair, his whimsical expression aimed at the ceiling. Ginny. Pregnant. Ginny was pregnant. Ginny Weasley was pregnant because of him. Molly would either smother him with love or with a pillow, he didn't quite know yet. One thing he did know was that their child would have both it's parents around them. Harry knew that if this dark mark escapade did get worse...he wasn't sure he could be the boy who lived this time.


He melted into the shadows effortlessly, his dark clothes billowing slightly in the wind as he scuffled towards the row of houses in the dark moonlight.

It wasn't hard to find out where the famous Harry Potter lived. Barty instinctively kicked a flowerpot as he trudged through the small garden park outside Grimmauld Place. He was almost disgusted that Harry Potter had stopped the spell cast on the house so that it was visible to all muggles around. Sickening. He knew the true ancestor tree of House Black, the noble Blacks, and he was sure that any true Black would be disgusted as he was at the sight of his/her home on display for muggles.

He leaned against the black, metallic gate and pondered. Had things been slightly different he too could have lived in that grand house, dined with the noble Black family as one of their own, if only his father hadn't become a member of the Ministry of Magic. Barty's tongue flicked out grudgingly. Oh he knew his grandfather's marriage to Charis Black and he was proud that he had the Black family blood running through his veins, about the only useful thing his father had ever gifted him. Pure-blood, the purest-blood in all of England was in his body and that must have been what had made the Dark Lord so fond of him. He smirked. Everything could have been very different for him. Three events in his life could have changed him into a different man in a different place.

He was more than thrilled that the events had happened the way that they did.

Barty was pulled out of his thoughts by low grumbles coming from the front of the house. His eyebrow creased and then a quivering smirk played onto his lips again. A house elf. The hero that was Harry Potter had a house elf, oh so noble and heroic. True, that was the one distinguishing factor about Barty: he didn't see house elves as vermin made to serve. Winky really had been his only companion during those haunting years being hidden by his father and no matter how much he hated that side of him he couldn't get rid of it. He carefully strolled closer so that he could hear the little house elf's mutterings.

"Mudbloods and traitors...disrespecting House Black...dirty half-blood and even dirtier mudblood...Kreacher must serve Master Potter...Kreacher has no House Black to serve…"

Barty rolled his eyes. Merlin's beard, some house elves deserved to be put down when they got too old and were just withering sacks of skin. Much like this Kreacher once Barty saw the top of his wrinkled head. This could work in his favour though.

He waited until Kreacher noticed his presence leaning against the brick wall separating Grimmauld Place from the neighbouring muggle houses, his old head leaning up very very slowly. Barty didn't feel threatened by time but the longer he stayed the longer he was likely to get caught. He couldn't afford to get caught. Kreacher studied him with beady black eyes. He had a permanent frown on his long, drooping face. "Are you House of Black?"

Barty grinned cruelly. "I am related to a House of Black member, yes."

He swore Kreacher's eyes lit up for a moment. Poor Kreacher, serving this family for so long had probably lost him his mind. Barty knew how that felt. Slight panic entered him when ice tickled in his chest. Not now, not now not now. He willed the darkness away but it wouldn't last long.

"Then I am your servant-"

"You serve Potter, Kreacher," Barty ordered. It felt delightful to give orders. Powerful. "You serve Potter as normal, you do as he says as normal. However, whenever the mudblood Hermione Granger is mentioned or is here I want you to listen to everything and report it back to me."

"Yes, Master-"

"Crouch."

"Yes, Master Crouch," Kreacher said, bowed and hobbled back into the house.

Barty apparated instantly back to the Riddle House.

It was just in time as ice slithered through his chest again and he swayed with the house. More blood. More pain. More time lost as he lost control. By the time he regained it he was lying on the floor and choking. He rolled over and spat the syrup-like liquid out. Blood. His own? He didn't know. The room was a mess, furniture long forgotten now broken around him, the mirror above the fireplace had been smashed. He crawled towards the fireplace and gasped for breath as his spine pressed up against the cold brick. His arms were slick with blood; he'd tried to cut the dark mark off of his arm. That was not a good sign. He didn't focus on the detail for the time being and tried instead to even his rapid breathing.

His chest hurt, not the ice kind of hurt, but an almost tender suffering filling his lungs. He shuddered uncontrollably. And then, he felt wetness travel down his cheeks. He didn't stop it, he felt too numb and delirious to stop the trickling droplets but his tattered mind was revulsed by his own weakness. He would kill Harry Potter because he was too loyal not to.

Be still. Be silent. Be hidden.

Barty's head fell back and after weeks of disturbed nightmares appearing behind his eyes he finally felt the bliss of quiet unconsciousness.

He just hoped he would wake up again.


Gahh I'm sorry these are so short so far, I promise they will be longer once the story actually gets going after the next chapter, right now it's just setting up the AUish element of it. Also I'm hoping I'm portraying Barty convincingly as we really don't know that much about him in canon so I'm mostly going by fan theories.

Anyway, I hope you're enjoying it so far.