Barty opened the magical trunk. Alastor Moody didn't even look up, he just stared ahead with no interest. Barty handed him some bread.
Eat, he ordered through the Imperius Curse.
The Auror obeyed immediately, but with no enthusiasm. His impersonator smirked. A couple of days without food and his resistance to the Unforgivable Curse completely vanished - which was very good indeed, because Barty needed him for questioning. He knew enough about Moody to behave like him and fool most people at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore wasn't most people. The two of them have been friends for years. Even though Barty's Legilimency skills were impeccable, he needed to watch himself constantly, especially around the Headmaster. One little slip up, one thing Dumbledore thought his friend wouldn't say or do, and the old man would start asking questions.
Constant vigilance, as the bloody Auror would say. He had to give him that one.
It was demanding and frustrating to pretend to be the exact opposite of what he truly was round the clock, but he had a lot of experience in this area. He was just a teenager when he joined the Dark Lord's ranks. He had to hide who he was at Hogwarts, especially since he was in Ravenclaw – a house not as approving of the Dark Arts sympathizers as Slytherin (yet still better than the other two) – but most of all, he had to hide who he was at home.
His lips twisted in disgust at the thought of his father. His great, righteous father, who stiffly followed the rules, no matter how absurd they might be, to whom the only thing that mattered was his precious reputation, and who was strictly against the very people like Barty.
Every day he was at home, he was forced to listen to the man's insulting comments towards his kind. But even before he became a Death Eater, he always felt completely out of place. He always got the best grades, yet somehow, no matter what he did, nothing was ever good enough. It took him many years to finally understand his father simply didn't love him. If he didn't know for a fact his father loved Barty's mother, he would be convinced the man was incapable of such feelings at all.
Barty was merely expected to excel at school, so that he wouldn't be an embarrassment to his father's political career. When he got twelve O.W.L.s, the only praise Barty Sr. was able to muster, was a curt satisfaction that he would have a safe answer when his colleagues enquired about it.
The Dark Lord was the first one to truly appreciate Barty. He even trained him in the Dark Arts himself. Serving his master quickly became the sole purpose of Barty's existence. Taking the Dark Mark was the second happiest moment in his life, and that's only because his master coming to his father's house to free him from captivity recently, definitely made number one on the list.
He made sure to lock the trunk properly before leaving for class. He was teaching Potter today. He's had to wait the whole week for it and he couldn't wait to see the boy. He had very mixed feelings about him. The Boy Who Lived, the reason of his Lord's downfall and his target for many years, was now to be protected. Barty found it tricky to change his mindset.
Still, he couldn't help being intrigued by Potter. His master said the two of them were bonded somehow; that the boy actually carried a part of the Dark Lord's powers in him. He wondered exactly how much they were alike.
It took him annoyingly long to get to the classroom. He was never going to get used to the stupid wooden leg.
He passed Snape in the corridor, who did a spectacular job of not looking him in the eye. Barty didn't bother hiding a scowl at the sight of him. It was one of the very few things he didn't have to pretend – hate towards former Death Eaters. Except that Alastor Moody despised them, because he didn't believe their excuses and was convinced they were still the Dark Lord's supporters at heart, while Barty despised them because of their excuses. They abandoned their Lord when he needed them most, and renounced him in order to live comfortable lives, some of them right under Dumledore's nose. Barty was imprisoned for years, wishing he could look for his master, while they were free to do so, but chose not to.
Scum. He hoped the Dark Lord would punish them all, when he returned to power. He hoped he would hurt them badly.
Harry Potter was seated right in front of the teacher's desk. How convenient. He couldn't pay him much attention, because it wasn't what Moody would do, but he kept sneaking a peak from the corner of his eye.
He didn't seem like anything special; he looked just like any ordinary boy. But of course he wasn't an ordinary boy. He was his master's favorite now. They had a personal connection, which meant Potter outranked all the Death Eaters without exception. One day he would probably be the Dark Lord's right-hand man.
Barty would have never expected that the first class he would be teaching as the ex-Auror's impersonator would be the Unforgivable Curses. Normally they weren't supposed to be shown to students until they were in the sixth year, but apparently Dumbledore's old friend had other ideas. Not that he disagreed. He used those curses himself at a younger age.
"So… do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"
Arthur Weasley's son knew the Imperius Curse. That one would have been talked about by the Ministry workers quite a lot, he imagined.
A plump boy knew the Cruciatus Curse.
"Your name's Longbottom?" he glanced at the register to make sure, but the boy already nodded.
He chuckled inwardly. Oh, this job was just too much fun. He already got to scare Lucius Malfoy through his son, torment Snape a few times, and now there was the Longbottom kid. And it was just the first week.
He might have held the spider under the Cruciatus Curse for a bit too long.
"Stop it!" the girl next to Potter cried, looking at Longbottom, who seemed to be having a fit of some sort. He was terribly pale and he was clutching the desk, as if he was the one under the curse.
Barty quickly lifted his wand, angry with himself. It's been a while since he used that curse. He might have gotten a little carried away. On the other hand, however, the boy was one hell of a wimp. His parents may have been the Dark Lord's opponents, but at least they were worthy. Their son was a disgrace to his name.
"Right… anyone know any others?"
The girl who seemed to know the answer to every question raised her hand again, but no one else did.
Come on, Potter, you know this one. Yet Potter stubbornly refused to raise his hand. How intriguing. Did he not want to give the answer, or did he really not know?
"Yes?" Barty finally said, nodding at the girl.
"Avada Kedavra," she whispered.
By the look on Potter's face when Barty killed the third spider, he could tell that the boy definitely did not know. Didn't he ever bother to find out? Now he really understood what his master meant when he said Potter was in a desperate need of being tutored.
"Not nice," Barty brushed the dead spider away. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me."
Barty looked at the Boy Who Lived, as did everyone else in the room. Potter blushed and stared ahead blankly, not meeting anyone's gaze, clearly uncomfortable with being the center of attention.
Interesting, Barty thought. So unlike the Dark Lord. In fact, if his master didn't assure him their bond made the boy similar to him, Barty would never notice any resemblance whatsoever. But perhaps it only seemed that way at a first glance.
The lesson ended and Barty cleared the desk, while the students left the classroom. He followed them with anticipation. Moody's unusual curriculum was a great excuse to finally talk to Potter privately.
He saw him in the corridor, with his friends fussing over Longbottom, who still had the expression, as if he's just been tortured. Pathetic.
"It's all right, sonny," he said gently to the wimp. "Why don't you come up to my office? Come on… we can have a cup of tea…" The boy looked even more terrified, but Barty already turned his attention away from him. "You alright, Potter? Perhaps you should come too."
"I'm fine," he said defiantly.
Barty almost clenched his teeth with irritation. Those Gryffindors… proud and brave, but not very bright.
"You sure, Potter? You're looking a little pale," he snapped. The boy made an appalled face and opened his mouth, but before he could retort, Barty said in a tone that brooked no argument, "Tea it is for both of you. Let's go."
He steered the boys along the corridor and into his office. He sat them down, and a moment later they all had a steaming cup of tea in their hands. Barty sat down behind his desk, studying their faces intently.
An awkward silence followed. Longbottom looked like a cornered rabbit, waiting for Barty to turn away, so that he could escape. Potter looked as if he was embarrassed to be included in this affair in the first place. Barty cleared his throat.
"You've got to know what you're up against. You two know firsthand what impact the Unforgivable Curses bring." Potter glanced curiously at Longbottom, who stared at his cup, even more terrified now that Barty started speaking. "It seems harsh, maybe, but you've got to know. No point pretending… Even though it's harder for you to deal with, than it is for your friends." Potter frowned indignantly. He opened his mouth, and Barty quickly cut him off again. "Drink you tea, Potter," he said pointedly. "You'll feel better."
Oh, man, that boy really did have more pride than brains. Potter glared at him grimly, but remained silent and took a sip. Longbottom, on the other hand, apparently came to a conclusion that the faster he drank his tea, the faster he could get out of there. He forced the hot liquid down, no doubt burning his tongue.
Barty smiled at him (or what passed for a smile on Moody's face).
"That a boy! Nothing like a good cup of tea to calm your nerves, eh?" The boy gave him a shy nod. "So… I hear you're good at Herbology. I happen to have some books that might interest you." Longbottom's eyes lit up at that and he seemed to forget about being scared. "Personally, I don't have much use of them… it's a shame for them to just sit on the shelf."
He limped over to the bookcase and beckoned for Longbottom to follow. He ran his fingers through the spines of the books crammed in there chaotically.
"Ah, there they are."
Barty took out three volumes on magical plants and handed them to the boy. He flicked through the pages excitedly, all his fear forgotten.
"I can really borrow these?"
"Oh, please, sonny, take them," he said kindly. "Like I said, I have no use for them anyway."
Longbottom's eyes widened and a grin bloomed on his plump face.
"Thank you, Professor!"
"Not at all, my boy, not at all," he said, patting him on the shoulder. He glanced at Potter, who seemed rather amused by the scene. "Ah, I have something for you as well!" he pretended to search for something in the bookcase. "Where did I put it? Perhaps I have it in the back… I'll have to look for it… Well, you alright then, Longbottom?"
"Yes, Professor," he said cheerfully. "Thank you for the books… and for the tea."
He patted the kid on the shoulder once more before he left. Barty closed the door after him, but remained there, following him with his magical eye, until he was sure it was safe to talk.
"Alright, he's gone," he said, turning his full attention to the boy.
"I suppose the tea party is over, then."
Potter put his cup down on the desk. He looked at Barty in a completely different way now. His gaze was sharp; his lips curved in a cunning smile, which sent a shiver down Barty's spine, because he knew that smile so well…
Oh, yes, he could see it now. He has judged the boy too quickly. He exhaled a shaky breath. He felt exhilaration, akin to which he always felt in his master's presence, for right there, beyond the ordinary boy, he could definitely sense a part of the Dark Lord himself.
"Barty Crouch Jr., I presume," he said with a glint in his eyes.
"Harry Potter," Barty stared at him with fascination. "We meet at last."