A/N: WAIT WAIT WAIT. DID YOU READ CHAPTER 49 FIRST because this is a DOUBLE CHAPTER POST.

Things are finally going to start rolling again! Barty finally makes his long-awaited reappearance.

WRITE ME A REVIEW PLEEEEASE!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Chapter 50: Of Keeping Our Enemies Close

Rowan sat nervously in a Diagon Alley café. She tried hard not to fidget but couldn't help but twiddle her teacup between her hands on the table. It clinked and scraped softly against the pale green saucer as she stared hard into it. A few bits of tealeaves sat at the bottom of the red tea. She hoped morosely that they read well.

A couple of days had passed since her quiet moments in Belby's old flat, but still no word from Remus. The debilitating lethargy of the days before remained somewhat, but since finding her old master's notes, she'd put forth the effort to at least maintain a semblance of functioning; however, the apathy still remained. Though the promise of new research leads had been a slight light in the darkness, she still felt the shadows heavily. If anything, the light only emphasized how long and daunting those shadows were.

As they'd promised before Remus' departure, Frank Longbottom and Kingsley Shacklebolt had summoned her the week before with their plan to get information regarding Barty Crouch Jr., and of course, Rowan had felt compelled to assist in anyway possible. But now that she was here, she wished she could be anywhere else. She knew how critical it was to catch this criminal - she had a particular responsibility if it was Barty - but she just couldn't muster the passion. No matter how much she tried to convince herself, her mind always trailed back to Remus. She was ashamed at how weak she felt. It was pathetic.

But she'd put on a hard face and nodded and complied. The least she could do was cooperate and play her part, right?

This brought her to the cafe. At her feet lay her small bag. Though it wasn't unusual for her to have it with her, she kept tapping it with her foot to ensure that it was still there. She kept it underneath her chair, caged between her feet like a pair of gargoyles. Its presence was a heavy weight in her stomach.

"Rowan!"

Rowan turned to see an immaculately dressed young man approaching her with a bright smile. She stood swiftly – still painfully aware of the bag at her feet – and automatically returned the expression, gracefully accepting the embrace and kiss on the cheek that he offered. As they both sat down, he scanned over her quickly with an approving grin.

"You're looking as lovely as ever. I hope I didn't make you wait long," he said jovially.

Rowan smiled and shook her head. "Thank you, and don't worry about it. I arrived a bit early. You're also looking well." She also sized him up – his dark green robes, his carefully combed hair. Besides the deep tired lines that folded beneath his eyes, everything seemed as normal as ever. She wasn't quite sure what she was looking for, but those physical signs of stress were off-putting. She'd never seen him look so tired. It all seemed very distant though, like a surreal dream. "How have you been? How's work?"

Barty sighed. It seemed like a half-hearted attempt at playful drama - even he looked too tired to keep up appearances. "Oh, you know, the usual – Father's been working me to the bone, and now with this fugitive murderer on the loose, it's been mayhem - like we needed another killer on the prowl."

Rowan wanted to say that his tone was disingenuous, but she couldn't be sure. Hadn't he always spoken this way?

"Yeah, I've been reading up on the case in the paper. God, I can't even imagine what it must be like around the department right now," she said sympathetically. "Do you have any new leads?"

Barty swirled a tiny spoon in his tea distractedly with a dark expression on his face. "Unfortunately, no, not at the moment. Whoever's been doing it has been very thorough to cover his tracks. Honestly, it's probably another Imperius case." He sighed quietly. "It's terrible. You just can't be sure whom to trust anymore."

Rowan nodded and kept her eyes trained on his face. She tried hard to keep her expression sympathetic, but the more she thought about it, the more strained her face felt. Was sympathetic even the right reaction? Should she give a harder expression? How could she have ever thought she could do this? Her feet tightened around her bag momentarily.

"You've been avoiding me, Rowan."

Rowan's head jerked up. When had she looked away from his face? Barty was looking at her with a small, teasing smile, and her face reddened slightly. She thought she saw something in his gaze that was off, but she couldn't pinpoint it. It seemed to be a constant issue with him.

"Rude. I have not," she bit back playfully. "I've been very busy. I just passed my licensing exam, and I've been trying to recover all my lost notes from the fire last year," she explained. "I'm sorry I've been so out of touch lately, but that's why I invited you out today. I thought it'd be nice to catch up."

Barty nodded. His smile broadened a bit. "I'd heard about you passing your exam. Congratulations. And I have to admit that I was extremely pleased to hear from you. I miss having you around."

Rowan smiled back.

The two got to small talk over tea and biscuits, and though their interactions were as light and casual as ever, Rowan couldn't shake the tension in her chest, the heat at the back of her neck. Her legs remained taut throughout their conversation, feet rigid and unmoving around her bag. But his strained movements seemed to be a strange reflection of her own.

"Have you heard anything regarding Dumbledore's Army as of late?"

Rowan nearly flinched but was able to steady her hands as they brought her cup to her lips. She took a delicate sip as she mulled the question over in her head. She'd rehearsed this. She could answer this.

"I have," she answered carefully, "but I'd imagine you probably know more about that than I do, being in the Ministry and all. I get all my news from The Daily Prophet."

Barty's expression remained light, but there was the something there again. It was like looking at two faces at once. She wasn't sure which was real.

"I see," he said quietly.

"Have you contacted Dumbledore at all?" Rowan asked.

Barty nodded, though his expression turned dark. She could see something bubbling beneath the surface. "Yes, but he denied it all – said they're all just rumors." He nearly spat the word.

"Maybe they are," Rowan urged.

Barty shook his head, gaze still down in his teacup. She wondered what he saw in his.

"No, he's just prejudiced against me because I'm a Slytherin," he muttered. "I know how it is with him. He has his Gryffindor favorites and fuck everyone else."

Something jolted up Rowan's spine. She'd never heard Barty curse before, not like that. He'd always been the image of decorum, if nothing else. She was certainly no stranger to vulgar language, but somehow, it sounded incredibly offensive coming from him.

"That's a bit hypocritical," she replied defiantly. She had no idea why she was trying to antagonize him, but that bit of something in her stomach rose slightly to her throat. "I could argue that every Slytherin I've ever met has been just as prejudiced towards Gryffindors."

Barty looked up from his cup and assessed her quietly. She felt his eyes scan over her face with a hard, searching expression, and she held his gaze. She felt that silent challenge there again - it was a relief almost.

"You're right," he agreed quietly. He seemed to think hard for a moment before continuing. "You know, when I first met you, I'd assumed I'd hate you," he admitted. He said it quietly, like a secret thought he'd been considering for a long time. It wasn't hostile though.

Rowan couldn't help her eyes from widening in surprise. He was certainly in the mood to shock today.

Barty nodded, as if answering some unspoken question. "I saw you as one of Dumbledore's little pets. I must admit I'm still not sure why you hang out with the likes of Black and Potter – I never understood their appeal – but I can see why you were one of Dumbledore's favorites."

Rowan's heart seemed to have slowed to a complete stop. She couldn't quite find it. What was he saying?

"We're quite similar, you and I," he continued slowly. That burning look returned, but it only simmered. "You would have thrived in my house. You certainly have the credentials."

Rowan bristled at this. "Well, that's where we'll have to disagree. I'm disinterested in joining a House based on credentials," she said bitterly. "Also, I think I'd rather die than be a Slytherin at this point." She wasn't sure why she was being so harshly judgmental – there were certainly numerous Slytherins to be admired – but she wanted to hurt him. It wasn't right. She was being just as spiteful as he was, but she felt a strong compulsion to meet his vindictive words with her own.

But his expression didn't turn up into the sneer she'd expected. Barty stared hard at her again. His eyes wandered slowly over her face, and then the corner of his lips twitched upward slightly. There was no word for it. "Smile" seemed to fall short of something. It wasn't a smirk. It held no humor, and she wasn't sure if she would go so far as to say there was warmth there; however, for the first time during that conversation, she could be sure that it was genuine.

"What makes you think that you won't?"

Rowan's throat tightened momentarily, and understanding spread through her. His silent declaration of intent melted into her. She felt the strange smile on his face also pinch her own. It was resolution.

"I just won't," she said simply.

Barty's lips twitched upward a bit more, warmly.

"No… you won't," he agreed.

The rest of Rowan and Barty's lunch date passed uneventfully. Neither mentioned Dumbledore or the war again, and eventually, the tension in Rowan's ankles slackened. She mused silently how odd of a picture they made – the Order member and the Death Eater. Their conversation flowed smoothly but certainly with a more muted tone at the sense of understanding between them, and before she knew it, they were moving towards the exit together. Barty's hand rested on her back, guiding her through the café with his gentlemanly habits. She knew she should feel threatened, but there was only a strange twinge of nostalgia. It was like a dance of habit, for the sake of old times, for structure.

As the pair stood outside in the cold, Rowan looked up at Barty. The high collar of his black wool coat pushed up around his cheekbones handsomely as he looked up at the sky. The heat of his breath whispered up with his gaze. Rowan followed it to see a dense mass of billowing gray clouds overhead. The sky looked as if it could fall at any moment.

"Looks like we'll be getting some more snow," Barty commented quietly. Rowan looked back at him. His gaze still remained upward, and she was reminded of Remus.

The line of Barty's brow was furrowed at an anxious angle. He seemed to be deep in thought, and Rowan took the time to admire him. Just six months before, she had looked at him and wondered if there was a possibility that they would ever really be together. With Remus' absence and Barty's sudden reappearance, the question reemerged vaguely, like floating smoke. How would her life have played out differently thus far? How would it have proceeded from here? Could she have convinced him away from the path he'd chosen? She didn't feel an ache, only a strange sorrow.

Finally, Barty turned back to face Rowan. The hard line of his brow remained; his mouth twisted almost into a grimace. Rowan looked up at him searchingly, and he seemed to do the same. His eyes scanned over her face slowly, taking in her features carefully. There was no longing, no hunger, but no bitterness either. She noticed the unusual tired lines beneath his eyes again, the heaviness of his brow. Away from the lights and bright noises of the cafe, Rowan realized just how tired he looked. The war hadn't taken its toll on just her side, after all.

His lips quirked up into that almost-smile again.

"Things never would have worked out between us, would they?" he asked quietly. He posed it as a question, but it didn't feel that way. Rowan simply smiled back gently. His lips quirked again into something warmer.

"It's a pity you chose the wrong side," he said.

Rowan's smile stretched a bit. "I could say the same," she replied.

Barty regarded her fondly. She felt all of the heat and laughter of their summer afternoons spent together in her flat. In another world, could they have truly been friends? He leaned forward slowly, and Rowan closed her eyes. She felt his lips press against her cheek, and she breathed in his warmth. For a brief moment, she imagined the alternate life in which she had chosen him.

And then he pulled away. That soft expression remained. His brown eyes gazed into hers once more. It felt like a conclusion.

"Take care, Rowan Delacroix." She smiled.

"You too, Barty."

The long shadowy hall of the Dark Lord echoed again with slow footsteps. Barty Jr. walked along the length of the sleek ebony table towards his master, the snake Nagini slithering along with him by his feet. He seemed to ignore the snake. He almost seemed bored to even be there. His pale face glowed rhythmically with the passing tall windows, contrasting with the inky blackness of his long coat.

"Barty, my boy… How was your date?" drawled the pale wizard as Barty approached.

Barty continued walking at his slow pace until he reached his master. His feet padded softly against the cold stone floor. He stood in front of him with a nearly blank expression.

"Uneventful," he responded. He seemed to think hard for a moment, his brow furrowed slightly. "That way is shut. I won't be seeing her again."

The Dark Lord turned this over in his head for a moment before nodding slowly. Barty felt as if he should be surprised, but he only felt tired. He was suddenly so tired of this game, of this girl.

"Yes, she seems to be quite the dead-end," mused the pale wizard quietly. Barty felt him prodding gently through his thoughts and memories, but he made no effort to hide himself. He let the smoky tendrils push and slither through his psyche. He'd already done enough. Was there even a point to conceal himself?

His master's thin lips stretched slightly, quirking upwards. It wasn't a smirk. It was too gentle for his master's face. It seemed eerie.

"You care for this girl," he noted quietly. There was no derision there, only observation.

Barty shrugged apathetically. "We are similar," he said simply. He paused to think again. "She knows what I am."

The Dark Lord nodded slowly. He folded his long fingers in front of him, resting them against his chin thoughtfully. His mouth then stretched again into a light smile.

"Well, it's no matter. You're very lucky. I am in a good humor today," he mused.

Barty arched a brow. "Oh?" he asked.

The smile on his master's face broadened minutely. "Yes, Severus has brought me great news. We will find our way to Dumbledore soon enough," he said quietly. He gazed at Barty for a moment thoughtfully. "That dear girl of yours will fall with him."

Barty nodded but made no answer. He gazed out the window listlessly as he felt his master slip through the fortifications of his mind, and again, he offered no resistance. What happened to Rowan Delacroix mattered not. Respect or no, he was tired of her. He was tired of the Ministry. He was tired of this war.

The Dark Lord seemed satisfied with this. Barty felt him slip out of his mind and mentally sighed.

"Is that old Pettigrew woman still in your care?" the dark wizard asked.

"Yes, my Lord."

The Dark Lord nodded approvingly. "I think it is time we inducted Wormtail properly. I will be needing him again very soon," he hissed pleasurably.

Barty nodded.

"Anything you wish, my Lord."

Peter Pettigrew sat in his dark flat. He had felt the gashes in his back sting with forewarning and knew it was simply a matter of time before his handlers came to fetch him. He wondered what they would want from him next.

On the small coffee table in front of him sat a small clear vial of amber liquid. It remained unopened. He remembered the warm smile on Rowan's face as she'd handed it to him with her well wishes for his mother's condition. His throat tightened momentarily as he thought of the two women. He prayed desperately that his poor mother was safe. He prayed that he was the only one to bear his shame.

Suddenly, the freshest gash in his back burned terribly. He gasped as jolts of pain shot through the cut. His shoulders seized back reflexively as he twitched and whimpered. Why? Why him?

A billow of black smoked around him and rose quickly until a tall presence stood in front of him, staring down at his round form. His expression seemed almost bored, and yet Peter somehow knew – this was it.

"Time to go," Barty Jr. said quietly.

Peter nodded quietly and stood. He gazed around his flat once more – who knew when he'd be back here again? He then looked down at the vial on the table. It glowed in the blue light of evening, and he thought back to the burning look that had brought him to this point. His chest tightened, but only momentarily, and as he looked back up to Barty, he wondered if it had all been worth it.

He stepped forward and Barty wrapped a slender hand around his arm. Blackness swallowed them quickly, and as he was sucked into the void, he knew that the burning cuts in his back read Wormtail.