Chapter 2
Under the shroud of a chilling, eerie night, an unsettling silence cloaked the wizarding village of Doveport, a small hamlet that was situated not very far from a Muggle neighborhood. The tall, dark oak trees encircling the quaint settlement groaned and creaked, contributing to the foreboding ambiance that hung in the air after recent rainfall. Inside the village, all its residents slumbered peacefully, oblivious to the imminent events.
However, one figure remained awake amid the stillness—Barty Crouch Jr., the Dark Lord's most trusted and loyal Death Eater.
Positioned on the outskirts of the village near the residence of the seasoned Auror, Mad-Eye Moody, he anxiously awaited his new partner's arrival.
Time seemed to crawl, and Barty's mind swirled with anticipation and apprehension. The success of tonight's mission was critical, and any mistakes were simply not an option. He desperately hoped for a competent partner to join him in their dark plans.
Yet, beneath his outward facade of determination, Barty carried the weight of haunting nightmares, visions he dared not breathe a word of to anyone in his life.
His troubled mind replayed painful memories of Alice, the woman he once loved, now lost to him.
The torment of the Cruciatus Curse Bellatrix had inflicted on Alice to this day still haunted his soul, fueling regret and bitterness that he could not save her.
In his grief, he couldn't fathom why Alice chose another man over him, particularly someone like Frank Longbottom.
Barty believed himself to be superior in every way and felt their union could have been one of unparalleled power and prosperity.
But reality had its cruel plans, and his heart remained torn by unrequited love and jealousy. Haunted by these ghastly images, Barty struggled to escape the grip of his guilt and sorrow.
The darkness within him seemed relentless, a shadow of his past that refused to fade away.
He pondered the unfathomable reasons behind fate's cruel act of snatching Alice away from him.
He also questioned why she had driven him to commit such drastic actions. The memory haunted him, the relentless echoes of her screams becoming unbearable.
In desperation, he implored Bellatrix to cease her actions, as he could not bring himself to be the one to raise his wand to the witch he could have loved, had she only chosen him, but the pleas fell on deaf ears, and Rodolphus Lestrange's wife persisted until it was too late.
As the minutes passed, Barty's patience wore thin while waiting for his partner.
He had urged Antonin to bring the chosen individual and divulge their identity.
However, Antonin remained frustratingly silent, relishing in keeping Barty in the dark.
Annoyance and temptation tugged at Barty, but he resisted resorting to darker means to extract information.
With so much at stake, he knew he had to remain focused and determined. He craved an end to this suspenseful charade and the beginning of their crucial collaboration.
In their world, loyalty to the Dark Lord reigned supreme, and every decision carried significant consequences.
As Barty's anxiety mounted, he could only hope that his new partner's arrival would bring clarity and set their plans in motion.
As the minutes dragged on, an instinctual urge to kill surged through Barty's veins, growing stronger with each passing second.
His patience waned, and the thought of subduing Alastor Moody without taking the man's life seemed increasingly challenging, though it was imperative to keep him alive for their mission.
Every noise from behind sent a jolt of anger through Barty, hoping it was Antonin arriving with their partner, yet constantly being disappointed.
"Where are they?" he muttered, the frustration building with each unanswered question.
He paced back and forth, the tension coiling within him, making his hands tremble.
Barty shoved them into the pockets of his leather jacket, attempting to steady them, but his anger was relentless, and his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He cursed under his breath, his scowl deepening, as he battled the desire to unleash his fury on anyone who crossed his path.
The wait was pushing him to the brink, and he couldn't shake the feeling of restlessness gnawing at his insides.
During his agitation, Barty tried to regain control over his emotions. He knew that succumbing to anger and impatience would only hinder their plans.
They needed to be strategic and focused, and the constant waiting was fraying his nerves. He took a breath, attempting to center himself.
Barty reminded himself of the importance of the mission and the dire consequences of any missteps.
The fate of their dark cause rested on their actions tonight, and he couldn't afford to let his emotions get the better of him.
Still, the endless waiting persisted, and Barty wrestled with the rising anger threatening to engulf him.
Every passing second stretched out like an eternity, while worry and frustration consumed his thoughts.
As he teetered on the brink of losing control, a familiar silhouette emerged from the shadows.
In the darkness, the details of his new partner's face remained obscured, but he recognized the towering presence of Antonin Dolohov accompanying the figure.
Antonin approached, his enigmatic smile hinting at the deliberate test of Barty's patience.
Relief washed over Barty as he saw them, but he swiftly composed himself, concealing the turbulent emotions behind a resolute demeanor. It was time to focus on the mission, and he knew he couldn't afford any distractions.
With a brief nod to Antonin, Barty turned his attention to the new partner, steeling himself for the challenges that lay ahead.
The night was still young, and the darkness within him was ready to be unleashed, but he would channel it with precision, ensuring their actions aligned with the Dark Lord's grand design.
Barty's brows knitted together as he glanced at his partner, impulsively raising his wand and casting a nonverbal Lumos spell.
The illuminated tip of his wand darted toward his new companion's face, driven by his curiosity and impatience to finally see the person who had kept him waiting for so long and was now testing his patience.
Suddenly, a witch's trembling voice reached his ears, nearly causing him to startle.
The sound of her shy, timid, and gentle voice drifted through the air, and to him, it felt like a delightful melody. His neck flushed with warmth upon hearing her words.
"I wanted to, I... excuse me!" she uttered, her voice carrying a mix of nervousness and sincerity.
His lips parted as if he intended to speak, and he instinctively lowered his wand slightly, nearly dropping it by his boots. In front of him, two youthful almond-shaped eyes stared in shock, widening as they locked onto Barty's gaze. As he stared back, he felt the blood drain from his face in disbelief.
The Death Eater blinked, feeling his throat tighten, just as he was about to utter a word. The person before him, whose face he had inadvertently illuminated with his wand's light, was not what he had expected.
It was Alice—undoubtedly her—the witch he knew and had once been familiar with, with her short dark hair and deep brown eyes.
Barty found himself whispering her name, and he noticed how heavily she breathed, her chest rising and falling with each trembling breath.
He couldn't help himself; he reached out and cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him, despite her apparent resistance.
Alice seemed determined to avoid meeting his gaze, but he was resolute in wanting to understand the truth of this unexpected encounter.
She stood there, short, just as he remembered Alice to be. Her height had never been much, her delicate little nose barely reaching his chest.
"Uh, e-excuse me... B-Barty?" The witch's soft and timid voice brought Barty back to reality, shattering the illusion he had created in his mind.
The moment he heard her speak, he realized that this witch was not Alice, as he had mistakenly assumed at first. Barty's mood soured instantly, and he blinked to shake off the dizziness caused by sudden anxiety. He refocused his attention on the witch standing before him.
Judging by her appearance, she appeared to be around his age, perhaps in her early thirties, yet she possessed a remarkably youthful face that made her seem even younger.
As Barty's new partner, the witch finally looked up at him, and at that moment, his heart skipped a beat.
The anger that had been simmering over her and Antonin's late arrival seemed to dissipate, replaced by a sense of awe as he laid eyes upon the person the Dark Lord had chosen to work alongside him for the next year. Her dark hair was cropped short, and it complemented her fair skin, giving it a radiant glow.
He couldn't help but be captivated by her profile—it was truly astounding. The graceful length of her neck and the way her earlobes seamlessly flowed into the sharp angle of her jawline left him entranced. Her thin, delicately plucked dark eyebrows framed her face perfectly, adding to her enchanting beauty.
As Barty continued to observe the young-looking witch, he couldn't help but notice the air of confidence that surrounded her.
Her eyes sparkled with intelligence, and there was a certain wisdom in her expression that belied her youthful appearance.
"How...kind of you to show up on time," he retorted, his words laced with an angry snap that caught both Antonin and the witch off guard.
The woman, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Alice, pursed her lips and hastily scanned him, her expression tinged with nervousness.
In that fleeting moment, Barty became acutely aware of himself, questioning whether he appeared or smelled peculiar to her.
Nonetheless, he mustered the courage to convince himself otherwise.
"We were delayed because we had to check on her father, Crouch. Just drop it," Antonin growled, his tone defensive.
The young witch shook her head, visibly intimidated by Antonin's anger. She nervously played with her pinkish-tipped fingers, trying to keep them warm, while speaking softly in an attempt to placate both wizards' tempers.
"I-I'm sorry, Barty," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "We didn't mean to keep you waiting. My—my father is all I have left."
With a flat and disinterested tone, Barty disregarded the pretty brunette witch's comments about her father and directed his attention toward her.
"Your name, what is it? You seem to know me, but I do not know your name," he inquired, his gaze leisurely scanning her from head to toe, lingering momentarily on her face.
Anya felt a brief sense of unease, uncertain of how to respond to his distant demeanor.
Despite this, she gathered her composure and answered, "My name is Anya, Anya Oaksdale."
Barty simply nodded, seemingly unimpressed, and then resumed focusing on their task, seemingly dismissing Anya's presence.
Yet, beneath his stoic exterior, a flicker of curiosity ignited, leaving him intrigued by the mystery that surrounded this seemingly ordinary encounter.
A sudden and bitter wave of resentment washed over Barty, settling like an unwelcome guest in the pit of his stomach.
Of course, the witch's name would start with an A, just like Alice's had.
"Of course it is," he muttered bitterly to himself, unable to shake the connection that seemed to be haunting him.
With an angry scowl, Barty didn't spare the lovely beauty before him even a second glance.
Instead, he shifted his gaze to Antonin, and to his dismay and fury, he noticed the Russian Death Eater's lips twitching as he fought back a smirk.
It was evident that Antonin found amusement in Barty's discomfort over the striking resemblance between the new partner and Alice.
Suppressing his anger, Barty tightened his jaw and composed himself, refusing to let his emotions get the better of him.
He knew he had to focus on the task at hand, but the unexpected similarities between the two witches lingered in the back of his mind, threatening to distract him.
Deep down, he understood that this was merely an unfortunate coincidence, but he couldn't help feeling the painful sting of memories resurfacing as he embarked on this new mission with his peculiar new companion.
"I…e-excuse me?" Anya stammered, her voice barely audible, hushed, and almost a whisper.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to ask Barty a burning question, but the intensity of his gaze as he looked up made her freeze, and she immediately clamped her lips shut.
"Nothing," Barty snapped, his voice measured and unyielding as stone.
He didn't need to raise his voice to command respect, just like his master. The authority in his demeanor was evident, and it demanded obedience from those around him.
Barty's eyes flicked up to meet Antonin's, and a surge of fear washed over him as the Russian wizard's intense gaze seemed to dissect his every emotion.
He sensed that Antonin was studying his features, looking for any visible reaction to the uncanny resemblance between Anya, his new partner, and someone from his past—likely hoping to use it against them both by spreading vicious rumors.
Swiftly, Barty averted his gaze, refusing to show any vulnerability. In a rough voice, he addressed Antonin, trying to keep his composure.
"Just go," he ordered, his voice on the verge of cracking under the weight of his emotions.
Unaware of Antonin's actions, Barty remained focused on containing his emotions. Meanwhile, Antonin turned towards Anya and gently rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder, silently acknowledging the palpable tension in the air. Despite Barty's firm words, Antonin keenly perceived that his younger colleague was wrestling with inner turmoil hidden beneath his tough exterior.
With a subtle nod towards Anya Oaksdale, the Russian wizard's voice sent a chill down Barty's spine. It was a smooth, buttery purr that had the younger Death Eater on edge as if he could sense the unspoken thoughts swirling in Barty's mind. Though Barty tried to maintain a stoic facade, Antonin's intuition was disconcertingly accurate, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable.
"An, are you certain about this?" Antonin inquired, his eyes lingering on the witch's delicate features. "There's no shame in saying no and letting m—"
"I am sure, Antonin, you are sweet to worry for me, but I-I will be just fine," Anya interjected with a resolute tone, nodding to reinforce her point.
However, even Barty could discern the lack of conviction in her voice, making it clear that she struggled to sell the argument she wished to make.
The Death Eater offered no reply, simply turning away.
"Please, just go," Anya whispered in a hoarse voice, a distant look in her glossy, brown eyes as if lost in a memory from a time and place beyond Barty's reach.
She didn't even flinch at the familiar, too-loud ringing crack! of the Russian wizard Disapparating, filling the night air. Only after Antonin had departed did she turn her gaze towards Barty. As Barty drew nearer to the witch, a small smile curved upon his lips.
However, she flinched in response to his approach, causing him to pull back and pause, just a few inches from her face. He blinked, studying her intently. His new partner possessed fair, pale skin, and her brown eyes betrayed an unusual vulnerability, unlike any he had seen in a woman for quite some time.
Strangely, this vulnerability ignited anger within him. He briefly pondered what his new partner might think of him. Did she regard him with awe or disgust, much like so many others who were filled with fear? He wondered if he appeared to her as a bully or a hero, though deep down, he knew he was likely perceived as a disgusting bully. Regardless, he chose to deceive himself, pretending to see awe and respect in those dark eyes as he turned away.
"Shall we... shall we go, then, Barty?" Anya inquired softly, her voice tinged with nerves, as she anxiously bit her lip.
"We should," Barty grunted, though deep down, he yearned for another moment alone with the witch, a sensation that tightened his chest and left an ache in his stomach. I
t took the Death Eater nearly a minute to recognize the unsettling emotion churning inside him as jealousy.
He couldn't help but fixate on the way Antonin's eyes had roved over the witch, displaying an almost possessive interest, as if he coveted his newest prized possession. Barty couldn't fathom why the idea of Antonin taking the witch to his bed in front of him stirred such turmoil within him, but he felt undeniably betrayed by the thought. It vexed him greatly.
The moment he heard the witch's trembling voice call his name, he nearly jumped out of his skin. A strange, seeping pressure formed like a pit in his stomach, creating an uncomfortable, churning warmth he desperately wanted to suppress. However, her calling his name made it impossible to do so.
In a fleeting instant, as Barty shifted his gaze towards Anya Oaksdale, he entertained the thought that, in this moonlit glow, her dark eyes glistened not with fear but with a different emotion. Yet, deep down, he knew they, like everyone else, feared him.
People always became scared in his presence, just like Alice did on that fateful night when he and the Lestranges invaded her home.
That look in her eyes haunted him to this day—the fear that preceded her descent into madness.
"Barty?" she called again, and he recoiled, startled, locking eyes with her. His heart pounded fiercely against his ribs. He longed to be just a little closer to her, to feel the softness of her skin. His new partner was undeniably captivating, a vision that held him in thrall.
"Has Antonin briefed you on the Dark Lord's plan?" he asked in a hushed tone, making sure to maintain a calm and composed demeanor. There were times when anger consumed him, and his voice would turn frighteningly low and hoarse, a trait that had unsettled his mother and displeased his father.
But, as much as he wanted to refrain from using that tone in the presence of a witch, his irritation at how Antonin had looked at his new partner, his witch, lingered and refused to fade away. He shifted his head slightly, his dark eyes scanning her face, seeking the answer he needed.
When the witch timidly nodded and averted her gaze, he finally released the breath he had been holding, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease. She remained silent but continued to gaze at him, her eyes conveying what her lips withheld.
He cherished the unspoken connection for another brief moment, appreciating the intelligence that shone through her dark eyes. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from her and turned his attention to the darkened streets of the wizarding village of Doveport. In the distance, he spotted old Broody Moody's home.
"Good. I don't have the time to explain myself, we waste time the longer we stand out here. Do exactly as I tell you, and you will survive," Barty whispered, his voice barely audible. "If you don't...well, I don't think I need to say it, do I, Anya, darling?" He lowered his gaze and scrutinized the witch's face, intentionally leaving his sentence unfinished. However, the implication was clear to all three of them—himself, Pettigrew, and Anya—if they failed to overpower the Auror.
Allowing the weight of his words to settle in her mind, he extended his hand toward her, urging Anya to take it. He cleared his throat, the sound sending a jolt through her shoulders.
"Aren't you going to ask me where we are, Anya?" he inquired.
She swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze.
"I know. Doveport, Barty," she replied in a trembling voice, keeping her face turned away to conceal her emotions from him. "We're here for Alastor, but what will happen to him?" she asked, unsure if she truly wanted to know the Death Eater's answer. Nonetheless, the question escaped her lips, and she winced the moment it left her.
"He will be killed, Anya, once I have what I need," Barty stated matter-of-factly. He observed as his words seemed to strike her, though he hadn't anticipated such a strong reaction. Her teeth clenched, and she drew in a sharp breath that sounded like it pained her.
"Why?" she asked, leaving him momentarily speechless. Despite not being a Death Eater, her tone resembled one, leaving him stunned.
"We can't let him live, Anya, not even if we were to erase his memory. The risk is too great with his connections. What choice do we have?" he answered, struggling to find his words.
"Let him live," Anya pleaded, fixing Barty with a look of angry disapproval.
The color drained from Barty's face as he witnessed fear fill the witch's eyes, realizing she had misspoken.
"Why?" Barty growled, his voice taking on a low tone that even startled him. He regarded his new partner with suspicion and an inquisitive frown, his expression darkening when she hesitated to answer. "Why? What good would that do me, Anya, eh? The other Death Eaters would see me as a fool for not killing him," he repeated firmly, leaving no room for deception.
She shook her head, desperately trying to send the wizard's words away. "That's not true. There's no reason to kill him. If he remains alive, he can be interrogated since you plan to impersonate him. The more information you have, the greater your advantage. Let him live, and you might be surprised by how well it works out for you. Let him live, please, Barty," Anya pleaded earnestly, her gaze unwavering in its sincerity.
Barty fell silent as his mind raced in consideration. Grudgingly, he acknowledged that her reasoning held some merit. His plan to impersonate old Mad-Eye Moody required him to become an expert on the wizard's history, background, and every minute detail.
Perhaps there was wisdom in his new partner's words. With deliberate slowness, Barty nodded, not just to Anya, but to himself as well.
He was surprised by how he seemed to be convincing himself that the witch's plan was indeed a good one.
Keeping Moody alive, at least for now, could force the grizzled wizard's obedience, allowing Barty to do as he pleased with him. He chuckled at the thought of turning the rude, sarcastic man into a dog if he refused to cooperate willingly. The image brought a smile to Barty's lips as he considered the witch's plea.
The thought of the once fierce and barking Mad-Eye Moody reduced to a canine form amused him greatly.
But more than that, there was a deeper layer within him that yearned to fulfill anything that would bring a smile to the witch who bore a striking resemblance to Alice. He longed for her to look upon him with the awe, respect, and admiration he had always hoped to see in Alice's eyes.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, he ran a hand through his hair before glancing towards the grizzled old bastard's home.
"Are you scared, Anya? I will keep you safe. I'm sure you've figured this out for yourself by now, but everyone in our circle is afraid of me. No one will hurt you, especially Moody, or I will kill him," he warned, his voice carrying an edge that hadn't been there before.
Anya hesitated, appearing unsure if she could believe his words, but the solemnity in his voice and the intensity of his pledge made it clear that he meant every word. His word was his bond, stronger than any Unbreakable Vow that could be cast.
He would willingly make such a Vow to protect her life if Anya Oaksdale asked for it.
"If I'm caught, he will kill me," Anya whispered timidly.
"You'll be dead if you stay out here alone," Barty rasped. His meaning might not have been immediately apparent to her, but after taking a moment to consider his words, the witch nodded slowly, allowing them to sink into her mind.
"Barty," she whispered timidly, the sound of his name on her lips eliciting a strange warmth in his body.
He swiftly realized that when she spoke to him as if he were just an ordinary person, he felt a sensation that others in their circle would call... happiness.
It was a feeling he had never experienced before, one that had never been made available to him. As his mind reeled with these newfound emotions, he was brought back to the present by the soft voice of Anya Oaksdale, calling out to him.
"Keep him alive, Barty, please," she pleaded earnestly. "No matter what. If he...if Alastor does harm me, I...I can handle it," Anya whispered in a shaky voice.
Barty's face froze, and a surge of anger welled up within him as visions of old Broody Moody harming the petite witch in front of him flashed through his mind like fragmented images in a Pensieve. Furiously, he shook his head, trying to dispel the frenzied thoughts. His mouth felt dry, and he nervously licked his lips.
Suddenly, the urgency to apprehend Moody couldn't be greater, if only to protect his partner. He took a step back, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over her shoulders, surprising Anya with his unexpected act of kindness. Her shocked expression revealed that she had not expected such a gesture from him.
He noticed that she was shivering, and with the realization that the nights could get cold even in the throes of late summer, he pulled his coat tighter around her slender shoulders. Before she could utter a word, he stopped her, his face as solemn as a graveyard.
"Be silent and do as I tell you," Barty commanded Anya sternly.
She nodded, still taken aback by his unexpected show of compassion, and struggled to keep up with the tall Death Eater's long strides as he spirited her away from the middle of the street and towards Alastor Moody's home.