THE crisp air of the English countryside welcomed Barty as he stepped outside, escaping the musty confines of his home, if only for a moment. The desolation that surrounded his family's manor nearly made him cringe. The once-proud estate now stood in disrepair, a decaying relic of a bygone era.
The gardens, once meticulously manicured by Winky and Mother combined, had succumbed to neglect following Father dismissing Winky, their former splendor now obscured by overgrown weeds and tangled vines. The moon struggled to pierce through the thick canopy of leaves overhead, casting feeble rays upon the dilapidated grounds.
Barty's footsteps echoed in the eerie silence as he navigated the uneven path, a stark contrast to the grandeur his home had once exuded. As he traversed the neglected grounds, the echoes of his conversation with Isabella reverberated in the still air. The promise he had made to the witch inside hung heavy, a haunting specter in this forsaken and wretched place.
Her plea for help felt more ominous in the shadows of decay, its weight magnified by the desolation that surrounded him. Barty's troubled thoughts were accompanied by the creaking of rusted gates and the distant howl of the wind.
The moonlight struggled to reveal the landscape's sorry state, casting long shadows that seemed to mirror the uncertainties in Barty's mind.
Amidst the ruins of the once-grand manor, Barty found his thoughts drifting to the Obscurus within the walls of his home, ensnared by the remnants of Isabella Black's beauty. Her image, like a faded portrait, haunted his thoughts, a stark contrast to the crumbling world around him. He grappled with the gravity of his promise and the unknown fate that awaited her once her purpose had been served.
Taking a seat on a crumbling stone bench, Barty let out a frustrated sigh and looked around, though seeing nothing in particular that captivated his attention.
The burden of his commitments pressed upon him, amplified by the melancholy of the derelict surroundings. The quiet decay of the manor bore witness to his internal struggle, as the once-stately residence crumbled alongside the unraveling threads of his convictions.
His body ached, still trembling from the recent encounter with Isabella. Though only moments had passed, the ordeal felt like an eternity. The coat he had nicked from Alastor Moody clung uncomfortably to his weary frame. The stolen garment's heavy fabric weighed on him, his body fatigued and weakened from the near brush with the Dementor's Kiss.
In the quiet solitude of his desolate home's gardens, Barty sat in silence. The seconds ticked by, morphing into minutes, and the oppressive stillness enveloped him. Running a heavy hand down his face, he sought to dispel the lingering anxiety.
This was... his home. Silence enveloped the surroundings.
He remained motionless, and then, a sudden "pop!" disrupted the quietude. The unmistakable sound of Apparition disrupted the eerie stillness, causing Barty to jolt to his feet and pivot on his worn-out heels. Instinctively, his hand hovered over the handle of his wand, securely tucked into the holster on his belt. The overgrown vegetation seemed to shudder in response to the sudden intrusion, casting elongated shadows that danced in the moonlight.
Tension gripped him as he strained to discern the source of the intrusion. The dilapidated manor, a silent witness to his internal struggles, seemed to hold its breath. The creaking echoes of the desolate surroundings served as a backdrop to the approaching footsteps.
Relief washed over Barty as he caught sight of the figure materializing from the darkness. A silhouette emerged, and the moonlight revealed the familiar sallow features of Severus Snape.
The tension in Barty's shoulders eased, and he allowed himself a measured exhale. Severus, with his customary air of mystery, stepped forward into the moonlit clearing.
His dark eyes held a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, as if he, too, bore the weight of secrets. Barty's hand relaxed its grip on his wand, but the gravity of the unspoken conversation still yet to be had between them lingered in the air.
"Barty," Severus intoned, his voice low and measured.
The night seemed to bend to the authority in the slightly older wizard's words as if the shadows themselves acknowledged the fellow Death Eater's presence. Barty acknowledged Severus with a nod, the lines on his face etched with the weariness of the night's revelations.
"Severus," he responded, the name carrying a weight of its own.
The two wizards, bound by a complex web of alliances and loyalties, stood in the desolate garden, a tableau of crumbling elegance and fading moonlight.
The sound of leaves rustling in the wind became a subdued symphony as the men exchanged a glance that held more than mere acknowledgment.
"I trust your endeavors have borne fruit. I suppose congratulations are in order, Barty. You've succeeded in ensuring the Dark Lord's return, and no doubt will be well rewarded for your efforts. Though you owe me a year's worth of Polyjuice Potion for seeding from my stores," Severus remarked coldly, his gaze penetrating the layers of Barty's composure.
Barty hesitated, the gravity of their shared predicament settling between them like an unspoken truth.
"You've felt the Mark, just as we all have, Severus. My efforts were successful," he admitted, his eyes meeting Severus's with a mixture of pride and resolve, his earlier vulnerability as his mind remained consumed with thoughts of Isabella temporarily settling to the back of his mind.
Severus arched an eyebrow at Barty's admission, his expression unreadable. "Success, indeed, Bartemius, well done, your efforts are duly noted, though, in truth, it is your house-elf you should thank for your escape. You are fortunate the creature remains so fiercely loyal to you," he drawled, the corners of his mouth barely twitching in a semblance of a sardonic smile. "However, it would be wise for you to remember, Barty, that success in our line of work is often a double-edged sword."
Barty stiffened and shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of Severus's penetrating gaze. The weight of the Dark Mark on his arm was a constant reminder of the choices he had made and the sacrifices he had endured.
"I am well aware of the risks, Severus," he replied, his tone firm, trying to mask the tinge of uncertainty that lingered beneath the surface. "The rewards though, are worth the price."
Severus studied him for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing slightly.
"The pursuit of power tends to blind even the best of us to the consequences," he remarked cryptically. "And what of your consequences, Barty?" The atmosphere shifted and became even more tense as Severus continued, his tone becoming more serious. "I came at the Dark Lord's command. Alastor Moody is currently under close observation at St. Mungo's. The extent of your…' thorough interrogation,' has left him in need of treatment from Healers beyond what our Head Matron at Hogwarts was capable of. It appears your methods were rather ruthless." Severus paused, allowing the weight of the situation to settle before delivering the next piece of unsettling news. "Given Moody's current state, there's a high probability that the Ministry's entire Auror department will be mobilized for a manhunt. He is contemplating coming out of retirement solely to find you. You've placed yourself squarely on his warpath, Barty."
Severus's gaze remained steady, conveying the severity of the situation.
Barty's expression darkened, and a low growl escaped his lips.
"Moody should have met his end when I had the chance. I regret not slitting that piece of dragon shit's throat when I had the opportunity." Barty's eyes burned with frustration and regret. His mind raced with thoughts of missed opportunities and the consequences of sparing Moody. "I should've left his wretched body to rot in his bloody stupid trunk in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office just before the Third Task. A mistake I won't make twice if he comes for me."
The gravity of the situation hung heavily in the air as Severus observed Barty's conflicted emotions. It was clear that the repercussions of his actions were beginning to dawn on him, and the looming threat of Moody's retaliation added an extra layer of urgency to their predicament. Severus maintained his cool demeanor, studying Barty closely.
It was another moment or two before he spoke. "Moody is not one to be underestimated, especially when provoked, Bartemius. Surely, you don't need me to explain further, you are intelligent enough to know for yourself as it was you who apprehended the Auror originally."
A flicker of doubt crossed Barty's features, but he quickly masked it with a defiant resolve. "Moody will not deter me. I have my reasons, as do you, Severus. We all make choices in this war, and I am prepared to face the consequences of mine."
Severus sighed, a hint of weariness in his voice. "Choices, indeed. Just be mindful, Barty, that the path you tread is fraught with peril. Your success may bring its own set of challenges, and the consequences may not always be to your liking. The past cannot be undone, Barty. Dwelling on regrets will not change our current circumstances. For now, focus on the present and plan your next move carefully." Severus took a measured breath before continuing. "Adrian Lestrange appeared in my office earlier, summoning me to the Dark Lord's side shortly after his return. It seems that you're now tasked with looking after Bellatrix and Narcissa's distant cousin, Isabella, the Obscurus. Is there any truth whatsoever to these rumors?"
Barty's eyes narrowed as he absorbed this unexpected revelation that word of his new assignment delegated by the Dark Lord was already spreading fast amongst their inner circle.
"You know?" Barty echoed, a touch of surprise and suspicion edging into his tone.
A flicker of something inscrutable darted across Severus Snape's countenance, leaving Barty with an uneasy sense that Severus possessed more knowledge about Isabella Black than he was revealing.
Severus continued, unfazed by Barty's scrutiny, "Indeed. It seems the Dark Lord has singled her out for a specific role in his unfolding plans. Adrian made it quite clear to me that her well-being is now under your watchful eye."
Barty's expression tightened, a blend of weariness and jealousy surfacing as he recalled how Adrian Lestrange had eyed Isabella when he and Antonin had brought her to him earlier.
"How do you know about her?" he demanded. Suspicion lingered in Barty's gaze as he awaited Severus's response.
Severus met Barty's gaze evenly. "You know as well as I do, Barty, that the Dark Lord's motives are shrouded, but the witch inside your home holds a pivotal role in his designs. As for my knowledge, we need to be fully informed. Suspicion and mistrust between us will only hinder our progress."
Barty's skepticism lingered, and he snapped at Severus through gritted teeth, "Cut the dragonshit, Severus, you and I are in too deep not to trust one another wholly. There's more, Severus. I can sense it. Something you're keeping from me. What is it you're not telling me?"
Severus hesitated briefly, contemplating the delicate balance between revealing information, and maintaining control.
Eventually, he decided that disclosing a careful portion of the truth might serve his interests.
"Fine," he sighed, looking away for a moment to collect himself, and when he seemed to, he returned his full attention to Barty, who was glaring at him expectantly and waiting for him to elaborate. "A few years ago, I was summoned to Isabella Black's home. Her father sought me out, knowing of my reputation and expertise in potions. The Obscurus that feeds on the witch, causes her excruciating physical pain and is slowly poisoning her from the inside out. He wanted something to ease her suffering. Isabella Black is dying." He paused, gauging Barty's reaction before continuing. "I don't know how much time she has left—perhaps a year, maybe more so."
The color drained from his face, leaving the Death Eater as pale as a ghost. Barty's shock quickly transformed into fury, his eyes narrowing as he demanded, "Why was this kept from me? Why didn't Isabella tell me this herself, Severus? And more importantly, before she was given to me, why did the Dark Lord say nothing about it?"
Severus met Barty's gaze with a steely resolve, "The Dark Lord has his reasons for withholding certain information. You should know that better than anyone, Bartemius. As for Isabella, she likely chose not to burden you with her affliction, fearing distraction or weakness in the ranks."
Barty's anger intensified, "Distraction or weakness? We're supposed to be allies, Severus! Keeping such a critical matter from me undermines our trust."
Severus acknowledged the gravity of the situation, "Isabella may have thought she could bear this burden alone. She did not want it to affect your commitment to the cause. The Dark Lord values her role and believes her condition should remain confidential for strategic reasons."
Barty's frustration manifested in clenched fists, but he pressed on, "And you? Why reveal this now?"
Severus's expression remained composed, "Because knowing the truth about Isabella's condition is essential for our collective success. We cannot afford discord among ourselves, especially when the Dark Lord's plans depend on our unity."
Barty, though still seething, reluctantly nodded, recognizing the strategic importance of the revelation. The weight of Isabella's condition now bore heavily on their alliance, overshadowing the shadows of mistrust that had been cast between them.
Barty's anger subsided slightly, replaced by a weariness that etched lines on his face.
"She almost lost control tonight," he confessed, "something I said upset her, and she struggled to contain the Obscurus. I managed to calm her down, but this can't keep happening, Severus."
Severus, taken aback by this revelation, raised an eyebrow. "Upset her? What did you say?"
Barty hesitated before responding, "I told her that there surely exists a way to learn to control her Obscurus and I questioned her loyalty, Severus. I needed to know where she stood and she didn't take it well."
Severus frowned, contemplating the implications. "If her control over the Obscurus is slipping, it poses a significant risk to all of us. We cannot afford such vulnerabilities."
Barty's frustration surfaced again. "That's why I need to know if I'm meant to be the one keeping her in check. Am I her support person, then, Severus? The one who's supposed to be able to prevent her from losing control completely?"
Severus fell silent for a moment to consider the possibility. "It's not unheard of for individuals with Obscurials to have a support person, someone who anchors them. If that is the case, you need to ensure her stability, for the sake of our cause, Barty."
Barty clenched his jaw, grappling with the weight of the responsibility. "If that's the role I play, then so be it. But we need to find a more permanent solution if I can't be at her side every moment, especially with the times ahead of us still, Severus."
Severus nodded in agreement, "Agreed. We'll explore ways to strengthen her control over the Obscurus. The Dark Lord won't tolerate any weaknesses, and her condition must not jeopardize our plans."
Severus, ever adept in Legilimency, decided to probe deeper into Barty's thoughts as a hazy cloud formed in the younger Death Eater's dark eyes. As he delved into the recesses of Barty Crouch's mind, he expected resistance, an instinct to shield one's innermost thoughts.
To his surprise, however, Barty did not put up any defenses; his fixation on Isabella Black was laid bare. An intrigued expression crossed Severus's face as he navigated through Barty's thoughts. The intensity of Barty's emotions for Isabella was undeniable, and the lack of attempts to conceal it puzzled Severus. He could sense the depth of Barty's feelings, a complexity of emotions that went beyond mere duty or alliance.
Barty, aware of Severus's intrusion, met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. "If you're looking for loyalty, Severus, you won't find a shortage of it from me. But this…this is personal."
Severus withdrew from Barty's thoughts, a contemplative look in his eyes. "You harbor personal feelings for this witch already, Bartemius. This could complicate matters. The Dark Lord values loyalty but not at the expense of our objectives. Keep your emotions in check, Barty. We have a mission to fulfill, and it's been said that love is the death of a wizard's duty."
Barty's jaw tightened, his gaze unwavering. "I'll do what needs to be done, Severus. But don't mistake duty for indifference. Her survival matters to me."
Severus, though taken aback by the raw honesty in Barty's admission, maintained his composure. "Survival, yes. But sentimentality can be a liability. We tread carefully, Barty. The Dark Lord demands our unwavering commitment, and personal attachments may be our downfall."
Barty, still locked in Severus's scrutinizing gaze, couldn't help but let his frustration surface.
"Isabella is beautiful," Barty asserted, a note of defiance in his tone. "And I can't help but wonder if I deserve a witch like her in my life."
Severus, known for his acerbic responses, replied curtly, "Deserving or not, her time in this world is fleeting. Sentimental musings won't change that reality." He sneered, his black eyes narrowing as he regarded Barty with thinly veiled disdain. "Ah, Barty, I should have known. How...predictable. Your fascination with fleeting beauty is as transparent as your feeble attempts at brewing potions." He drawled out each word, savoring the opportunity to belittle his colleague.
Barty, undeterred, shot back, "At least I appreciate beauty, Severus, unlike some who are too busy wallowing in their bitterness." His eyes flashed with a defiance that seemed to fuel his determination to stand up to Snape.
Severus, however, remained composed, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "Appreciate all you want, but don't mistake it for substance. Isabella Black is but a passing fancy, a mere distraction in the grand scheme of things."
Barty's frustration simmered beneath the surface, but he pressed on, "And what, Severus, do you find worthy of your time? Sulking in the dungeons, nursing old grudges? Is that the grand scheme you speak of?"
Severus's lip curled into a half-smile, half-sneer. "Unlike you, Barty, I don't need distractions. I have more pressing matters to attend to, matters that require intellect and foresight. Beauty, as you call it, is an ephemeral indulgence."
Barty, feeling the weight of Snape's condescension, clenched his jaw but held his ground. "Perhaps, Severus, you're just afraid to acknowledge that there's more to life than your potions and perpetual scowling."
Snape's dark eyes bore into Barty's with a chilling intensity. "Foolish sentimentality will only lead to disappointment. You would do well to focus on what truly matters, and it certainly isn't the fleeting allure of Isabella Black or any other fleeting fancy of a witch you may encounter."
The tension between them hung in the air, a silent duel of words and wills, each man convinced of the superiority of his perspective.
The clash of their ideologies echoed through the cold stone walls of the castle, a reminder that even in the magical world, some battles were fought with words instead of wands.
Barty's anger flared at Severus's matter-of-fact dismissal. "Don't speak of her like she's some expendable pawn in the Dark Lord's game. She's more than that. And I won't stand by while you diminish her significance."
Severus's expression remained impassive. "I speak in terms of practicality, Barty. Sentiment clouds judgment. We have a mission to accomplish, and personal feelings should not compromise our focus."
Barty, however, wasn't easily placated. "Is that all she is to you? Another piece on the chessboard? She's a person, Severus, not just a means to an end."
Severus's gaze hardened. "I am well aware of the distinction. But in the grand scheme of things, personal attachments can become liabilities. You must remember that."
Barty, seething with frustration, nodded tersely. The tension between them lingered, a stark reminder that their dilemmas could have profound consequences in the unfolding war.
Barty's anger, simmering beneath the surface, finally erupted into a torrent of pent-up frustration. "Would the Dark Lord have us be stripped away of every single ounce of compassion until we're nothing more than cold, calculating machines?"
Severus, unyielding, responded with a measured tone, "Emotions can cloud judgment and lead to weakness. The Dark Lord values strength above all else."
Barty, however, wasn't ready to back down. "Strength isn't synonymous with cruelty. Isabella's suffering, and you want to reduce her to a strategic asset? She's a person, damn it!"
Severus's patience wore thin. "Our personal feelings won't alter her fate. We must focus on the bigger picture."
Barty, seething with a mix of anger and despair, spat out, "Maybe I'd rather live with the consequences of my choices than become a puppet in a heartless game."
Severus, unmoved by Barty's outburst, attempted to reason with him. "Barty, you've known the witch for a precious hour at best. You're letting yourself become consumed by an idea, not the reality of the situation. Your emotions could cloud your judgment and compromise everything we've strived to achieve."
Barty, however, was in no mood to heed Severus's counsel. His frustration escalated as he retorted, "This isn't about how long I've known her, Severus. It's about the principle of it all. I won't stand idly by and treat her like a pawn in a game."
Severus maintained his composure, "Principles can be a dangerous luxury in our line of work. You risk jeopardizing not only your well-being but the success of our mission."
Barty, his anger unabated, snapped back, "I'd rather be true to my principles than succumb to the heartless pragmatism you so readily embrace. Leave, Severus. I need time to think."
Severus, recognizing that further discussion would be futile for the moment, inclined his head in a curt nod. "Think very carefully, Barty. The consequences of your decisions may be more profound than you realize. Go carefully, and I will say no more on the matter."
As Severus turned to Disapparate, the gardens seemed to crackle with the weight of unresolved tension, leaving Barty alone to grapple with the clash between his loyalty to the Dark Lord and the cause he had dedicated his life to, and the beginning burgeoning of emotions that threatened to pull him apart.
Barty rose to his feet from the stone bench, his mind still swirling with conflicting emotions. As he looked around, a sudden movement caught his eye. Turning back to face the manor, he saw what seemed like the flutter of a curtain in Isabella's bedroom. His heart skipped a beat.
Their eyes locked for a brief moment before she darted behind the curtain once more.
The encounter sent a peculiar shiver through Barty. A strange seeping pressure and tightness in his chest, sensations he was unfamiliar with, gripped him.
For a moment, he hesitated, torn between the intensity of the conversation with Severus and the enigmatic connection he felt with Isabella. As if drawn by an unseen force, he started moving towards the manor, an inexplicable urgency compelling him.
The evening air was heavy with tension as he approached the entrance. Barty's gaze lingered on Isabella's bedroom window.
As he studied the curtain, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety gripped him. The feeling in his chest intensified, an unspoken link between them that defied rational explanation.
The events of the evening unfolded in a surreal dance, and as he stood there, a sense of foreboding settled over him, intertwining with the complex web of emotions that now bound him to Isabella Black.
Isabella's serene gaze lingered in his memory, an unexpected catalyst for emotions long buried. He never fathomed that a woman could stir these forgotten sentiments.
Yet, here he stood, shattered, marked by scars, and bruised, yet still feeling.
These emotions, though new, carried a peculiar blend of familiarity and strangeness, akin to a distant, cherished memory. However, an internal struggle persisted within him.
Despite the light and breathless nature of these newfound feelings, an unsettling darkness simmered beneath the surface—a disconcerting, "wrong" sensation.
It wasn't just a sense of feeling "wrong"; a serpent-like voice whispered in the recesses of his mind, taunting him.
"Do you honestly believe that Bella and Narcissa's cousin sees beyond your facade?"
The voice mocked him, a cynical laughter echoing in his mind.
"You're a bastard, a fool. If you allow any harm to befall the witch in your home, the Dark Lord could discard you without a second thought, stripping away everything you hold dear. He cannot afford to fail. And neither can you."
Barty felt the weight of his resolve press heavily upon him at that moment. Failure was not an option; the consequences were too dire. The looming threat had been searingly evident, yet the realization struck him with renewed intensity. He couldn't afford to falter, not now, not ever.
The heat of impending consequences had already been burning at his heels, but the prospect of all hell breaking loose spurred him to fortify his determination.
The memories of the day danced in his mind, a swirling mix of confusion and utter loss.
Yet, amidst the chaos, something good came out of it. Casting one last glance over the imposing manor's front door as he stalked towards the entrance of his home, he gave the door a once-over before pulling on the robust handles and vanishing into the shadows beyond.