Chapter 9
Barty would have never believed that it would be possible to catch the famously paranoid Auror off-guard if he had not seen it with his own eyes. Moody didn't go down without a vicious fight, however, and given that he lived in a Muggle area and didn't seem to have had a single ward raised, the confrontation didn't go unnoticed by the Muggle neighbours.
Left alone to deal with the aftermath, it wasn't easy not to panic when he realized that he had only minutes before someone from the Ministry arrived to sort out the situation with the Muggles. Failure wasn't an option, however, so Barty forced himself to calm down and get moving.
He already had Moody under the Imperius, so he mentally commanded him to surrender his eye, leg and a few hairs before locking himself in his magical trunk. The defeated Auror obeyed meekly while Barty made some dustbins move around the yard as an excuse for the Ministry officials. He didn't completely trust the Polyjuice that Wormtail had brewed (the rat man didn't look very capable and even less trustworthy), but he trusted his master, so he dropped Moody's hair into a vial of it and drank it in one swallow.
Sirens could be heard right outside his door, so he just in case cast a locking charm and spelled the house in order while the Polyjuice made effect. Lacking a leg and an eye and knowing that he would have to live like this for months irritated him to no end.
Until he tried on the magical eye.
Barty decided right then and there that after he finished his impersonating job he would remove one of his own eyes and wear this magical marvel for the rest of his life.
He knew it would take him a while to adjust to seeing like this, but for the moment the eye allowed him to see what was going on outside Moody's house. There were numerous Muggle neighbours sniffing around, and also a few cars with blue lights and what looked like Muggle law enforcement officers. As he watched, several wizards appeared out of nothing and began talking to the Muggles and discreetly casting around what no doubt must be memory charms. Barty finished fixing the mess, silencing the Sneakoscopes and changing into some of Moody's night clothes just in time to receive the small squad of the Improper Use of Magic Division.
They all greeted him as if he knew them, and he grunted back. He might not have interrogated the Auror yet, but he had met him in the past and knew that grunting and growling was half his vocabulary. Of course no one seemed to believe his lame story about the dustbins intercepting some intruder, but hopefully Moody's famous paranoia and even delusional habits would help his case.
It wasn't helping. The Ministry morons seemed to intend to open him a summary or maybe even arrest him, probably because of his refusal to hand over his wand for inspection. Barty was pretty sure that Moody had cast at least a dozen Killing Curses and a lot of other nasty things in the last half hour, however, not to mention the Imperius that Barty was currently holding and all the spells he had just cast to fix the house and made the dustbins move, so having the man's wand checked wasn't an option. He cursed internally. The last thing he needed right now was to draw attention to himself, and he really couldn't waste the few hours he had before the Welcoming Feast dealing with the Ministry. He urgently needed to interrogate Moody and practice his role.
His salvation came in the form of a redhead wizard that he thought he recognized as Arthur Weasley, a low rank Ministry official and blood traitor. And one of Potter's supporters, according to Wormtail. Maybe Dumbledore had sent him to save Moody's ass.
"Morning, Mad-Eye," the man greeted him grimly.
"Morning, Arthur," growled Barty, hoping against hope that he had nailed the name correctly and that Moody usually addressed Weasley by his first name. "Good to see someone sensible dropping by, these morons are talking about arresting me for almost being murdered in my sleep!"
The Improper Use of Magic lot scowled at him. Luckily Weasley didn't seem suspicious at his words, the man simply began conferring with the others, and in no time at all he had convinced them of forgetting the whole business and leaving the matter to him.
"Well, Mad-Eye," said the blood traitor with a tired smile once the squad had Disapparated away after glaring at him one last time. "I will have to give you a caution because of the dustbins, and you really should avoid drawing your neighbours' attention if possible, but you are good to go."
"I appreciate it, Arthur," he rasped. "I could swear I heard someone outside. My dustbins are set to react to movement."
Weasley smiled in amusement.
"Maybe a stray cat?" he suggested. "I'm guessing you were lucky they didn't force you to surrender your wand."
"Yeah, well... I don't intend to be murdered in my sleep without putting up a fight."
The man laughed.
"All right, I have to get going, Mad-Eye. Good luck in Hogwarts this year!"
Barty breathed in relief when he was finally left alone. And then he almost had a heart attack when he saw that there was a foe-glass hanging in a wall, and that his true reflection was looking back at him from it. He hadn't known that foe-glasses could detect Polyjuice impostors. It was a miracle that neither Weasley nor the other Ministry officials had seen it. He would have to reset the thing for his own use or else keep it hidden.
After casting several powerful wards around Moody's house, Barty let himself fall into an armchair and took a deep breath. That had been too close. He could have easily messed it all up. If he had been mistaken about Weasley's name...
Could he really do this? If he succeeded, it would be the best deceiving job in the last hundred years, he was sure of that, but could he fool Albus Dumbledore, of all people? It was said that the man was a powerful Legilimens, almost as good as the Dark Lord, and Barty's Occlumency abilities left a lot to be desired.
"I don't think that will be a problem," his master had said in answer to his concerns. "Everyone knows that Moody is a moderately powerful Occlumens and Legilimens, so likely no one will try nor want to meet your eyes. It will also be expected for Moody to react defensively to any mental intrusion. And, of course, you will already have Dumbledore's complete trust."
If the Dark Lord thought this was a viable plan, it must be. Of course it was unthinkable to refuse, so Barty would do his best, but it was scary... And exciting. Barty was a nervous wreck, but he also felt more alive than ever before and anxious to prove himself valuable to the Dark Lord. He could do this, he had to!
He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift to his most precious memory.
"I have come to ask a service from you, young Bartemius," his master had said.
"Anything, my Lord," he had answered fervently, feeling almost choked with gratefulness.
Could he be more fortunate? Barty still feared that he might be dreaming or that he might have gone definitely mad. Maybe he had never left Azkaban and he had finally lost his mind. Because how could this be real? How could he have been granted the opportunity to serve his master again, to prove himself to him? This had always been his greatest ambition.
"Are you ready to risk everything for your master?" the greatest wizard alive had asked.
"I am, my Lord. Whatever you ask from me, I will do it or die trying."
The Dark Lord's eyes had shone with satisfaction.
"Good. First, though... I think your loyalty deserves to be rewarded." Barty's father's wand had been offered to him. "You may do as you please with your father, as long as he is not permanently damaged. The honour of killing him will be yours, you have Lord Voldemort's word, but not just yet."
His hands had been shaking when he had taken the proffered wand, his heart beating wildly. It had felt like too much. Not only his master had come to his rescue and to ask a service of him, he had also rewarded all his years of imprisonment and despair in the most beautiful way.
"Thank you, master," he had managed to say through his obstructed throat.
The Dark Lord had pointed his own wand at Bartemius Crouch Sr. to lift the Imperius Curse. Barty had seen his father's eyes clear, and then narrow. He hadn't seemed to care or fret about the Dark Lord's presence, his eyes had only held hatred for his only son.
"You were always such a disappointment," he had spat.
Barty had climbed to his feet, feeling his entire body shake with a lifetime's rage. He had wanted to yell at his father, to make him understand that he had always been the disappointment. Perhaps he had also wanted to cry, for the father who had never been there and who had never been proud of him no matter what he did. Who had sent him to Azkaban and then continued to despise him even while smuggling him out. He had wanted to scream and rant and howl.
"Fuck you!" he had just said. "Crucio!"
Barty was certain that he would remember that day as the happiest of his life. It was hard to say which had been the best part. Seeing his master returned to life had been just as glorious as hearing his father's screams of pain. And he had been promised many more happy days, one of them being the one when he would finally be allowed to kill his father. He was also confident that he would someday be proclaimed the Dark Lord's right hand. His most faithful subject. Like a son.
For now, he was beyond content. He had freedom and purpose, and the sweet memories of that perfect day burning inside him like a talisman.
After he had finished torturing his bastard of a father (the Dark Lord had had to stop him before he broke him), his master had began talking, and Barty had listened rapturously as a lot of things that had happened in the last few years were explained to him, mostly concerning Harry Potter and Dumbledore.
Barty had almost fainted in shock and embarrassment when he had been told by an amused Dark Lord that during the World Cup he had been sitting right next to Harry Potter and stolen his wand without knowing it, and that he had been only feet away from the boy when he had cast the Mark. He supposed that even if he had been able to break completely free of the Imperius Curse he probably wouldn't have recognized the brat, but it was still infuriating.
The Dark Lord had assured him that he wasn't angry at him for not killing the boy in the spot, though. He had more interesting plans for Harry Potter.
Now, sitting in Moody's armchair, Barty mentally revised his instructions. What he had to do regarding the Goblet of Fire seemed quite straightforward, easy to achieve as long as he managed to reach October without being discovered as an impostor. Barty was a powerful wizard. He had been the best student in his class, back in the day, obtaining twelve OWLs and seven NEWTs (all with Outstanding grades), and he had received additional training by the Lestranges. Thanks to his early release from Azkaban, his magic was in good shape despite not having practiced in over a decade, but it had definitely been good (and an honour) to receive a few advanced lessons in Confundment.
Barty also understood the importance of the second part of his mission, although of course he wasn't too happy about it. Useful as it might be to have such a well placed spy as Snape on their side, Barty was secretly hoping he would prove to be a traitor. Snape had been one of the Dark Lord's favourites, back in the good days, always sitting exactly across from the Dark Lord so they could both exchange private looks all through their councils. Bella had gone green with envy, and Barty more so.
If it turned out that Snape was not a traitor... No, that could not be. If Snape were loyal, he would have searched for their master long ago, or at the very least he would have murdered the Potter boy. Instead he had spent the last thirteen years comfortably sitting at Hogwarts sharing sherbet lemons with the old muggle-lover.
Somehow, Barty would find proof that Snape wasn't as great nor faithful as the Dark Lord obviously wanted to believe.
He wished his master had come for him earlier in the summer, so he would have had more time to interrogate Moody, but he understood why he hadn't. His father had been under a lot of scrutiny during the World Cup preparations. As it was, he only had around eight hours to get in character expertly enough as to be able to fool Albus Dumbledore and begin teaching tomorrow morning. Professors probably were expected early in the day, but he would need every available second before the Welcoming Feast.
Nobody, not even Snape, would be able to compare to him after this.