BARTY observed as Christine Lestrange bowed her head, a mixture of defeat and recognition evident in her posture. He allowed a fleeting sense of relief to wash over him, thankful that he hadn't killed her when he had the chance back in her residence, alongside the detestable Healer who had alerted the Aurors. His grasp on the witch's waist remained unwavering, as though he feared that any relaxation might allow her to slip away, disappearing into the shadows much like the elusive shadow walker she embodied – the demon that she was, the Dire Woman.
The sitting room of his family's secure abode provided a dimly lit setting, the play of shadows casting eerie patterns on the walls. Tension hung in the air, the silence almost unbearable as his master's penetrating gaze bore into Christine he held at his side. Even Barty could sense Lord Voldemort's intense scrutiny directed at Christine, as if the Dark wizard were dissecting her with his eyes, searching for something that might elude even his comprehension.
"Bartemius," hissed the voice of Lord Voldemort, a chilling whisper that caused shivers to cascade down Christine Lestrange's back. Barty sensed her muscles tighten. "It seems you have introduced a witch into our presence, a truly exquisite specimen judging by her appearance, although I must admit she's not someone I'm familiar with. Considering you're here with your house-elf, I presume you've managed to escape Hogwarts. Congratulations are in order, Barty; you've accomplished the task I assigned to you," spoke the Dark Lord emotionlessly, his words lacking any hint of sentiment.
In the wake of his master's words, Barty's heart swelled with an unusual mixture of trepidation and pride. To earn the acknowledgment of Lord Voldemort was a feat few achieved, and he knew the significance of this moment.
The tasks he had undertaken, the secrets he had safeguarded, and the meticulous precision with which he had executed his role in the elaborate scheme were not in vain. Barty's devotion had not only earned him the respect of his fellow Death Eaters but also the praise of the most powerful wizard in history.
"Your actions during the Triwizard Tournament did not go unnoticed, Crouch," Voldemort continued, his red eyes glinting with a semblance of approval. "Your efforts in ensuring Harry Potter's participation and subsequent challenges were... impressive. Due to your efforts, the boy was brought to me, and a new body was given to me. But what fate has befallen the Auror, Alastor Moody?" Lord Voldemort inquired, his tone betraying a hint of intrigue.
He cast an expectant gaze upon the dark-haired wizard, awaiting the response from the Death Eater.
Barty felt his lips twitch as with a subtle smirk of pride, he wasted no time in replying,
"My Lord, I took the liberty of performing a Memory Charm on Mad-Eye Moody's mind just before the Triwizard Tournament's third task. He is still alive, probably still locked in the bloody trunk I kept him in all those months, but his mind is stripped of any knowledge regarding me whenever the Auror is found. His fellow Aurors and Dumbledore, for that matter, will glean no information from that right old mental bit," he growled, gnashing his teeth together.
Voldemort's crimson eyes glittered with something akin to approval, a chilling smile playing at the edge of the Dark Lord's thin lips.
"Your resourcefulness does not go unnoticed, Crouch. Your contribution to my cause, to ensure my return, has been invaluable. If only more of my Death Eaters had your wits. With the Auror's memory now incapacitated, our secrets shall remain safe, and the path to Harry Potter remains clear. Continue to serve me with such dedication, and your rewards shall be beyond measure." Briefly, the Dark Lord's inquisitive gaze shifted towards Christine, his crimson eyes contemplating the young witch.
He couldn't help but wonder at the evident attraction Barty held for her. However, the more important matters at hand demanded his focus, and he returned his attention to Barty with an air of command.
As he stood there, the weight of Voldemort's recognition settled upon him, mingling with the weight of the Dark Mark etched upon his arm. Barty knew that he was an indispensable piece in the unfolding game, a player who had impressed even the grand puppet master orchestrating the chaos. And as he looked at the enigmatic figure before him, he felt a surge of determination to continue proving his loyalty, securing his place in the inner circle of Lord Voldemort's devoted followers. He felt Christine stiffen beside him, jolting him back to the present moment.
Barty's fingers on her waist tightened, the witch's very name etching itself into his consciousness until his one-track mind was stuck on her and her alone. Merlin, but she was a captivating vision.
His gaze remained fixated on Christine Lestrange, defying restraint, and logic. It wasn't just the fear dancing in her eyes that held him captive; it was the way the scars on her face told stories of battles fought and survived.
Those scars, raw and unapologetic, only added to her allure. It was a sick thought, but Barty thought he could love her that way. They painted a picture of a fighter, someone who had faced their darkness head-on and emerged with a ferocity that intrigued Barty on a level the Death Eater hadn't expected.
Barty remembered he owed the Dark Lord an answer and spoke, the words seeming to leave his lips automatically.
"Yes, Lord," he replied with a controlled tone, his voice betraying none of his emotions as he kept his gaze affixed on the witch he now had a vice grip upon.
Christine Lestrange's dark eyes flickered nervously, a mixture of fear and apprehension in her dark eyes.
The witch seemed acutely aware of the dangerous territory she now stood upon, surrounded by the malevolent aura of Lord Voldemort and the uncertain loyalty of Barty Crouch Jr. Lord Voldemort's slit-like crimson eyes bore deeply into Christine, seeming to penetrate beyond the physical and delve into the hidden recesses of her being.
"Explain, Barty," the Dark Lord commanded, his voice dripping with an authority that allowed no room for dissent. "For what reason have you brought her into our midst? What does she offer our cause, if anything?"
Barty could feel the weight of his master's inquiry pressing down on him, an unrelenting force that demanded his response. He steeled himself, bracing for what he was about to reveal. He began to unravel the intricate tapestry of Christine Lestrange's unique abilities. From the corner of his eye, he caught her pleading look, a silent plea that tugged at his conscience. He chose to ignore it, his jaw clenched as he directed his words toward the Dark Lord.
He knew that despite her resentment now, in the future, she might come to appreciate his actions. He was convinced of it, his thoughts drifting in quiet certainty.
"Lord," he started, his voice unwavering but carrying a faint undercurrent of unease. "This witch holds more significance than meets the eye. Not only did she intervene to save my life when my house-elf's reckless magic transported us into godforsaken woods during our escape from Hogwarts, but she also possesses a set of extraordinary qualities that could greatly serve our cause."
Christine's anxiety grew more profound, her restless eyes shifting back and forth between Barty and Lord Voldemort, the unease she felt becoming tangible.
Barty went on, "She isn't just any witch, my Lord. She's a shadow walker, a Dire Woman possessing the remarkable ability to inhabit bodies without relying on a wand. This grants her a unique edge in the arts of infiltration and manipulation. She's an asset, My Lord, but if she ends up in the wrong hands..." Barty's words trailed off, his anger rising at the thought of Albus Dumbledore and his group, the Order of the Phoenix targeting Christine Lestrange.
Lord Voldemort's intense gaze remained fixed on Christine, his curiosity stirred by Barty's revelations. "A Dire Woman, you say," he pondered, his tone reflecting deep thought. "Such talents do hold promise for our ambitions."
Christine's breathing quickened as the gravity of her darkest-kept secrets became the focus of their conversation. Barty's grip on her waist tightened, a silent reminder of the control held over her and she was not to speak unless spoken to.
Barty's voice trembled imperceptibly, his composure strained by a potent mixture of anticipation and trepidation. A weighty question danced on the edge of his tongue, demanding utterance. He permitted himself a brief moment to marshal his thoughts, the silence amplifying the cadence of his heartbeat.
Then, with cautious determination, he resumed, "Your words regarding a reward, my Lord, for the task executed under the guise of old Moody... successful infiltration of Hogwarts," he added, a fleeting smirk curling his lips as he reminisced about his masterful impersonation of the grizzled Auror.
In his mind's eye, the image of Moody's skeptical countenance briefly surfaced before he forcefully dispelled it.
"With all due respect, Lord, I propose a particular reward. If, by your gracious judgment, it could be possible for Christine herself to be that reward." He paused to flick his gaze towards Christine, who had gone pale, and her lips had parted as if to speak, though no words came forth, for which he was grateful. He continued before the witch could dare even think to interrupt him. "I hold the belief that her involvement in our cause would not only amplify our endeavors but also lend invaluable prowess to our cause now that you've returned to us. Naturally, my allegiance to your cause remains steadfast as ever, and Christine Lestrange's safety and well-being and even her happiness, in time, would be my foremost concern."
The room seemed to hold its breath, the unspoken implications reverberating.
Barty's stance, though faintly trembling, conveyed his earnestness and the depth of his request, as well as his steadfast allegiance to the Dark Lord's cause.
Lord Voldemort's listless gaze shifted to Christine and seemed to bore deeply into the witch's very soul, assessing her worth and considering the potential her unique abilities held for his grand design.
The air remained heavy with anticipation, awaiting the Dark Lord's pronouncement that would seal Christine Lestrange's fate and determine the path she must tread.
The silence that followed Barty's proposition was pregnant with tension, the room seemingly holding its breath as Lord Voldemort deliberated the one request his loyal follower had asked of him since joining his servitude years ago.
Christine could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his calculating eyes dissecting every nuance of her being, every single secret she harbored. She fought to maintain her composure, her heart pounding in her chest and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple as she waited for the Dark Lord's response.
A hushed tension hung in the air as Barty's proposition settled upon the room like a delicate yet volatile spell. The air seemed to thicken, and a palpable anticipation emanated from all present. Amid this charged atmosphere, Voldemort's crimson eyes bore into Barty's, their intensity piercing through the layers of the request.
"Are you, Barty Crouch Jr., bargaining with me?" Voldemort's voice, like an icy blade, cut through the silence. His words held a sense of authority that was impossible to ignore, and his gaze seemed to unravel the depths of Barty's intentions.
Barty's breath caught for a fleeting moment, his pulse quickening. Swallowing hard, he met Voldemort's gaze with a mixture of apprehension and fervor, his own eyes displaying a blend of loyalty and the anxious hope that characterized his proposal.
"My Lord," he began, his voice steady despite the turmoil within, "I would never dare to presume such an audacious act. My intent is only to place before you a possibility—one that could, I believe, serve both our aims and your desires." He paused, allowing a brief moment for his words to linger, his gaze unwaveringly fixed upon Voldemort. "If it pleases you, my Lord, to grant consideration to my suggestion, it would be an honor and a privilege beyond measure. My loyalty to our cause remains unwavering, as does my dedication to fulfilling your every command."
Barty's response held a careful balance between respect and conviction, acknowledging Voldemort's authority while also expressing the genuine desire to serve the Dark Lord's cause in the most effective way possible. The room seemed to hold its breath, awaiting Voldemort's response, which held the fate of Barty's proposal in its hands.
Finally, Voldemort's thin lips curled into a calculating smile, a sinister expression that sent a shiver down Christne's spine.
"Very well, Barty," he purred, his tone laced with intrigue. "You have presented an intriguing case for this Dire Woman's inclusion. Her skills may indeed prove valuable to our cause. She will remain in your care for the time being. I may have a use for her in the days to come."
Barty's hot dark eyes flickered with a mix of relief and satisfaction, his loyalty to the Dark Lord evident in his posture and demeanor.
"Thank you, Lord, you honor me with your decision. You will not regret it," he responded, his voice a blend of gratitude and professionalism.
Voldemort's gaze shifted back to Christine, his crimson eyes glinting with an unsettling mix of curiosity and something darker.
"Christine Lestrange," he addressed her directly, "you are now under the protection and tutelage of Barty Crouch Jr. Prove to me your worth, pledge your loyalty and fealty to me and my cause, and your place within our ranks will be secured."
Christine could only nod as she felt her eyes beginning to tear up, her throat dry as she realized the magnitude of the commitment she had just unwillingly made, that Barty had forced her into. She was now a pawn in this dangerous game, her fate inextricably linked with the ambitions of the Dark Lord.
As she met Voldemort's gaze, she understood that her journey into the shadows had only just begun and that the path ahead was fraught with uncertainty, and she could trust no one.
Voldemort's eyes, crimson and piercing, appeared to penetrate the very core of Christine's soul. It was as though he was evaluating her readiness for the impending challenges that awaited her.
At last, he spoke, his voice a deep, resonant whisper that reverberated through Barty's dimly illuminated sitting room.
"In the upcoming days, I shall summon both of you. Until then, I expect the witch to be well-rested and in a stable mental state. Can I trust that she will receive proper care under your watch, Bartemius?" he muttered.
"She will," Barty responded promptly, his tone unwavering, even before she had a chance to reply.
The intensity of Lord Voldemort's gaze eased as the Dark wizard affirmed his approval, though the gravity of the moment lingered. As the Dark Lord turned to depart, an overwhelming yearning for solitude washed over Christine, although she sensed that Barty had no intentions of leaving her side. Even after the Dark Lord had exited the room, vanishing with a resonant crack that filled the air, her heart continued to race uncomfortably in her throat.
She almost found herself entreating him, "Barty, please, I... I just need a moment alone. Could you please...give me this time?"
The instant the words escaped her lips, a wave of regret washed over her. She could practically see the remnants of color drain from the gaunt wizard's face, leaving him as pale as she had first encountered him stumbling out of the woods behind her home. Barty's patience snapped like a brittle twig, his once firm voice now sharpened and tense.
"Why? So you can just run away?" His words cut through the air like a whip, his eyes revealing a mix of disbelief and frustration. "Have you no gratitude for how I've just rescued you, Lestrange?" The bitterness in Barty's tone was undeniable, his words like a blade slicing through the atmosphere. "I am the reason you're still breathing, Christine. This is not something you can casually walk away from." His voice grew into a growl, his eyes widening as he regarded her as though she had lost her sanity. Barty moved closer, his features twisted with a blend of anger and wounded feelings. "Your lack of gratitude is astonishing, Christine. I can see it in the way you look at me, as though I'm nothing more than a monster. You have no clue about the stakes, about what I've given up. Escaping won't free you from the clutches of the Dark Lord. But if you remain by my side, I assure you, you will want nothing. You'll be safe with me," he spat out.
Her plea hung suspended, swallowed by the tempest of Barty's exasperation and her own tumultuous emotions.
The charged atmosphere seemed to thicken, and Christine's desperation intensified in response to Barty's rage.
She felt as if the walls of the room were closing in on her, suffocating her in a web of conflicting emotions. As Barty's intensity bore down on her, Christine fought to find her voice.
"Barty, please," she begged as her words trembled, barely audible against the tension that now hung in the air between them, even Kreela and Winky, both house elves still cowered behind her skirts and were seemingly too terrified and shocked into silence to speak, much less intervene on her behalf. "I…I didn't mean to be ungrateful, I…I just need some air, a moment to collect my thoughts. Please."
Her plea was tinged with sincerity, a desperate attempt to diffuse the situation and regain a semblance of control. Every fiber of her being ached for a reprieve, to escape the stifling pressure that surrounded her.
She met Barty's eyes, hoping the wizard could see the sincerity in her gaze, a plea for him to understand.
Barty's expression remained hardened, his anger etched into his hollow features. Yet, amidst the tumult of emotions, a flicker of conflict played around the wizard's eyes.
He seemed torn between his frustration and the realization that perhaps his anger directed at her now was only driving her further away. A heavy silence settled between them, tension thick as fog.
Finally, with a reluctant nod, Barty stepped back slightly, allowing her a small space.
"Fine, Christine, take your moment then," he conceded, his voice begrudgingly softening. "But remember, Christine, the world outside the walls of my home and even yours is more dangerous than you can ever imagine."
Christine gave a nod and a tight swallow as she maneuvered to get around him, feeling a blend of comfort and unease churning inside her. His cautionary words reverberated in her thoughts, a lingering echo of the risks that extended past their current chaos.
The decisions ahead of her were weighty, and the road forward was clouded by doubt. Hurrying out of the room, her need for fresh air overriding everything, she remained oblivious to Kreela scurrying to keep up.
As she brushed past Barty on the way out, Christine was wrapped in fear of the way Barty Crouch Jr.'s eyes followed her to the exit. Her feet appeared to be guided by their own minds. Stepping beyond the threshold of the Crouch family manor, an imposing and forbidding structure, Christine was suddenly immersed in unfamiliar territory.
With determination, she held herself together, confronting the vast panorama that lay ahead. The desolate beauty of the expansive landscape held both an eerie charm and a compelling allure.
Though the rain had ceased, the skies retained their ashen hue, casting a subdued illumination over the rough terrain that extended to the limits of her vision.
The wind rustled softly through the tall blades of grass, carrying an aura of seclusion that sent a shiver down her spine.
Her steps were cautious as she ventured further away from the safety of the manor. The ground beneath her feet felt uneven and foreign. Every sound seemed amplified in the stillness, from the distant rustling of leaves to the faint hum of insects. The weight of Barty's words continued to bear down on her thoughts.
The world beyond these walls, he had warned, was treacherous and full of dangers she couldn't fully comprehend.
The echo of the Death Eater's voice seemed to resonate with every step she took, reminding her of the path she had unwillingly chosen to save herself and the uncertainty of whatever future lay ahead in the coming days. As she walked, the tension that had been simmering within Christine began to ebb. The solitude offered her a precious chance to reflect, to sift through the tumultuous sea of emotions that had brought her to this crucial juncture.
The choices she faced were monumental, their far-reaching implications extending beyond the confines of her existence. Yet, as her contemplation deepened, an unexpected wave of dizziness overcame her. The air around her suddenly felt dense, her surroundings blurring at the edges as if reality itself were shifting.
Her heart raced, each beat pounding in her ears like a drum. The world around her seemed to spin and sway, and she stumbled, her strength evaporating faster than she could comprehend.
In those harrowing moments, the last thing that reached her ears were Winky and Kreela's frantic cries, their voices echoing like distant bells in her rapidly fading consciousness. The once serene countryside now transformed into a hazy, indistinct landscape as the fog of unconsciousness enveloped her like a gentle shroud.
The dense silence that had surrounded her was replaced by a strange, muted void. Christine felt as if she were suspended in an abyss, disconnected from the tangible world. Surrendering to the darkness that beckoned, her body sank softly to the ground, her awareness slipping away like grains of sand through her fingers.
In that final, fleeting moment, the echoing cries of the house-elves lingered, their urgency fading into a gentle lullaby.
As if carried by their voices, Christine slipped into a sleep-like state, the boundaries between wakefulness and dreams merging in a realm of shadows and tranquility.
Winky and Kreela exchanged frantic glances as Christine's body slumped to the ground.
Kreela hurriedly darted towards her mistress, with Barty's house-elf trailing closely behind Kreela, their tiny forms moving with surprising speed and agility.
"Winky, what's happened to Mistress Christine?" Kreela squeaked, her large eyes wide with worry as her large batlike ears drooped in fear and concern.
"Winky does not know, Kreela," Winky stammered, her voice trembling. She knelt beside Christine, placing a small, trembling hand on her forehead, which was quickly turning clammy and hot. "Mistress is like a ghost, gone pale and cold."
Kreela wrung her hands, her anxiety evident. "Kreela must do something, Winky! Kreela cannot let Mistress Christine slip away like this! Christine is all Kreela has left!" the hysterical house-elf wailed at the top of her lungs.
Just as Winky and Kreela were exchanging their anxious words with one another, the sound of a door slamming open startled both creatures, and both house-elves instinctively reached for one another despite their initial dislike for each other as an enraged voice pierced through the air, seething and irate.
"What is going on out here? What is the meaning of this?"
Both Kreela and Winky whipped around, wringing their hands, their anxiety evident as the pair of house-elves glanced at Barty Crouch Jr., who had emerged angrily from his house.
The wizard's sharp features were twisted in a scowl, and his dark brown eyes bore into the scene before him.
The wizard's voice was a mixture of fury and concern as he stalked forward, his wand drawn, a look of murder in the Death Eater's dark eyes, ready to take action. Kreela's large eyes quivered as the wizard approached and she looked up at Barty with trepidation.
"We is not knowing, Master Barty. Kreela's Special Miss Christine, she just collapsed, and Winky and Kreela are just trying to help her."
Barty's furious gaze darted between Kreela, Winky, and Christine's unconscious form. His anger seemed to momentarily falter as he took in the sight of the witch's condition.
A brief flicker of fear passed through his eyes, and his grip on his wand loosened slightly.
"What have you two done to her?!" he growled, the wizard's slender fingers twitching as if he itched to hex the house-elves where they stood trembling in fear of them for what they had done.
Winky's voice trembled as she spoke, her large eyes welling up with fresh tears. "We is doing her no harm, Master Barty! Kreela and Winky is trying to help, not hurt," she squeaked breathlessly.
Barty's gaze shifted from Christine to the two house-elves, his expression conflicted. He seemed torn between his anger and his growing concern for Christine's well-being. His body tensed as Christine gradually descended into a state resembling slumber. Her breaths took on a steady rhythm, and the strain on her face relaxed, as though she sought solace in the cadence of their voices and the realm between wakefulness and dreams.
Barty's anger seemed to waver as he noticed Christine's gradual change in demeanor. The Death Eater lowered his wand, his gaunt features contorted in a mixture of confusion and concern.
Barty's commanding voice snapped back into focus as he barked orders to the two stricken house-elves.
"The two of you, get inside and prepare a light dinner. If she's hungry when she wakes, she'll have something ready for her," the wizard instructed tersely, his suspicious gaze still flickering between the two house-elves and Christine Lestrange's peaceful yet fragile figure. Kreela and Winky did not need to be told twice.
With a furtive glance exchanged between the two of them for a moment, Kreela and Winky swiftly hurried away, their spindly forms disappearing into the depths of the manor.
Barty remained for a moment longer, his eyes locked on Christine. The fury that had ignited within him seconds ago was now replaced by a disconcerting mix of emotions he wasn't accustomed to grappling with.
She was his partner, his and his alone, she could not leave him, and the promise he had made to the Dark Lord echoed in his mind, a solemn oath to ensure the Dire Woman was well provided for, even in his own home.
With a decisive exhale, Barty knelt into a crouch beside her and gently gathered her limp form into his arms. The unexpected jolt of electricity that surged through his body immediately at the touch of her skin caught him off guard. His heart raced, and he blinked in surprise at the odd and unfamiliar sensation.
Barty had never considered himself one to be so easily affected by such things, but this unanticipated surge left him momentarily stunned, as though hit by a Stunning Spell.
Carefully cradling her, Barty rose to his feet, his muscles taut with the weight of his newfound responsibility to care for the witch. The vulnerability in Christine Lestrange's state was in stark contrast to his composed demeanor, exposing a side of him that he had kept well hidden from the world.
Barty's strides were purposeful yet measured as he gingerly carried the witch in his arms towards the grand entrance of his family's manor. The grandeur of the surroundings contrasted with the intimacy of the moment, the lavish décor a stark reminder of the dual worlds he occupied. As he carefully crossed the threshold, his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light within, and he walked through the hallways of his own home with uncanny familiarity.
A sense of detachment had always accompanied him, but now, holding Christine in his arms, that detachment almost seemed to waver. Her presence, even in her unconscious state, was a disruption to his carefully constructed reality. Gently, he pushed the door to a softly lit room, its ambiance more soothing than the cold elegance of the exterior. Barty carefully lowered Christine onto a plush armchair by the window, his gaze lingering on her peaceful expression. The tension that had gathered and settled in his shoulders eased slightly as he watched her, a peculiar tenderness tugging at his chest. Barty sharply turned away for a moment, allowing himself a moment of respite.
The events of the evening had unveiled a chink in his armor, revealing a realm of emotions that were almost foreign to him as Barty had long thought them to be buried and burnt and made history.
The anger still smoldered within him, but it was tempered by a newfound sense of complexity, of uncertainty.
With an almost reverent touch, Barty brushed a strand of hair away from Christine's forehead, Barty's gaze fixed on her as though searching for answers in the tranquility of her slumber.
As he watched, a mixture of determination and vulnerability flitted across his gaunt features.
The path ahead remained unclear, and as he grappled with his conflicting emotions for the Dire Woman that was now his responsibility and his alone to ensure her safety and comfort, the unassuming witch in front of him had already started to weave her way into his world in ways that Barty hadn't foreseen.