Disclaimer: All characters, proper names, and the world belong to J.K. Rowling
A/N: This will be the last chapter in this month, I'm going on holidays, so probably next update will be around at the beginning of october
IX. Chapter: Dance With The Devil
"…Any breach of the law will be severely punished!" — Barty Crouch roared, forcing his way through the ranks of Aurors as if his will could shatter not only the wall of bodies but the very space around him. His steps were assured, each one radiating a cold, almost icy determination that seemed to permeate everything in its path. Even the toughest Aurors flinched, subconsciously making way for him as if sensing the dangerous force hidden beneath the lawyer's mask. Standing before the newly captured suspects, Crouch was like a figure hewn from stone—emotionless, without a shadow of doubt, with nothing reflected in his eyes but an absolute and unyielding belief in the law. As if nothing else mattered.
Daphne observed him with a mixture of cool curiosity and distance. Her gaze, seemingly indifferent, registered every move Crouch made, every word he spoke that fell like a verdict. Though she was mostly perceived as a master of judgment, at this moment, she herself was trying to decipher the man she knew not only from her own observations but also from her father's stories. Jack Greengrass had always paid close attention to key figures in the Ministry, and Barty Crouch was more than just a bureaucrat in his eyes. He was someone who could shift the boundaries of reality, manipulating the law to fit his own vision of the world, regardless of the cost.
Her father had often spoken of those who truly ruled in the backstage political games, those who could, with a flick of their wand, destroy or create the fates of entire people. Crouch was no exception. He was a man without compromises, willing to use the law as a weapon, thrusting it mercilessly into those who opposed him. In Jack Greengrass's eyes, Barty was a strategist, ready to sacrifice everything on the altar of higher justice, whether it was moral or legal justice. The end always justified the means, and in a world full of shadows, it was people like Crouch who survived the longest.
Daphne knew that true power lay in those who could make decisions without a flicker of hesitation, who were willing to look into the abyss and not flinch, even when the world around them was falling apart. Barty Crouch embodied that approach, always vigilant, ready to react to any sign of dark magic. He was like a predator, sensing the faintest trace of its darkness, and his obsession with the law and order bordered on fanaticism.
Daphne couldn't help but wonder if beneath that façade lay something more—perhaps fear, perhaps inner demons driving him to control the world with such ferocity. Perhaps he was terrified by the thought that dark magic, if left unchecked, could even consume him, and he would do anything to prevent that. His unyielding stance was both impressive and unsettling.
In Daphne's eyes, his determination was admirable. She knew that in the political landscape, Crouch was someone who could be an invaluable tool—perfect for enforcing the will of those who played the power game skillfully. On the other hand, she saw how his ruthlessness differed from her father's approach. Jack Greengrass operated from the shadows, pulling invisible strings, while Crouch preferred overt brutality, slamming his law on the table like a sword meant to cut through everything in its path.
Daphne kept her wand at the ready, her fingers gripping the cold wood as if it were a blade poised for attack. Her body was tense, every muscle primed for action, and her gaze moved over the Aurors with detached attention. In her mind, one word resounded—vigilance. Every, even the smallest false move could be the spark that ignites another wave of violence. Daphne knew the taste of battle well, and her veins coursed with a mixture of adrenaline and cold calculation.
She waited. Not only for a mistake from the Aurors, whose eyes were full of tension but primarily for a signal from her father. She knew that Jack Greengrass would not allow a capitulation without a clear reason. His cold, iron will was like an anchor for her—providing certainty that everything was proceeding according to plan, even if the situation seemed chaotic. Daphne was ready for any order, like a soldier prepared for action. One move, one word from her father, and she would resume the fight with ruthless precision, as she had done many times before.
Her eyes gleamed with cold determination. She knew that when the moment came, there would be no room for mercy or hesitation. What might look like a moment of tension to others was, for her, the perfectly calculated calm before the storm. The wand she held seemed to pulse in her hand, as if sensing the inevitability of the clash. She waited. For the order, for the opponent, for the next opportunity to demonstrate her strength and loyalty to her father. In her eyes, the external world had been reduced to two things: Jack's command and the potential victims she might have to clear from the path, if necessary.
"You will immediately lower your wands, every move and word may be considered an act of aggression! Since you arrived at the Ministry, Greengrass, I always knew that sooner or later, I would catch you! And I was not wrong—old habits cannot simply be discarded!" — Barty Crouch roared with unrestrained satisfaction, his voice echoing through the cold, stone walls. In his eyes gleamed pure hatred, as if he had just seen his chance for ultimate victory over someone who had long been out of his reach.
Daphne felt the tension in the air thicken, her gaze following every move of the Aurors with cold precision. Her wand, though hidden in her sleeve, was within easy reach, ready to act if the situation required an immediate response. Crouch clearly wanted to provoke her father, and Daphne knew that Jack Greengrass would not react impulsively. He was too experienced and too cunning to be drawn into such a crude game.
Jack, still facing away from Daphne, slowly turned towards Barty Crouch. His reaction to Crouch's words was barely noticeable—he raised an eyebrow slightly, and his lips curved into a subtle, ironic smile. His demeanor was completely unmoved; there was not even a hint of agitation in his behavior. On the contrary—he exuded a calm that, in the face of such overt verbal attack, seemed almost unsettling. His composure was absolute, as if nothing that might happen could breach his cold, calculating confidence.
"Barty, you've always been prone to hasty conclusions," Jack replied in a frosty tone, his voice full of refined contempt, as if Crouch were nothing more than an annoying insect to be crushed with a single motion. "But, as you can see, your obsession with the law sometimes causes you to lose sight of what's most important—the truth."
Daphne felt a surge of pride as she watched her father effortlessly control the situation. Jack Greengrass was not a man who could be broken by words, and his ability to maintain his composure in such moments was impressive even to her, who knew him better than anyone else. She knew he would not allow Crouch to strip him of power or authority, especially in a situation he had under complete control.
Crouch, clearly infuriated by the lack of reaction, frowned, his face taking on an expression of rage. "Don't try to play games with me, Greengrass! Do you think you'll always be above the law? That your status and influence will protect you? This time, everything will change."
Daphne registered every shadow of emotion on Crouch's face, noting how his anger escalated as if the mere sound of his voice was trying to compensate for what he was losing in credibility. His venomous words, however, seemed not to affect her father, who maintained full control over his emotions. That was the key—Jack knew how to provoke others into action without losing his own balance.
"I'm not here to debate the law, Barty," Jack said calmly, each word delivered with the precision of a knife's edge. "I'm here to remind you that true power belongs to those who understand the game, not to those who try to control it with empty threats."
Daphne, watching the exchange, felt a mix of admiration and cool determination. Her father was always a master of subtle confrontations, and his composure in the face of Crouch's outburst was almost artistic. She knew that in this game, where every mistake could have catastrophic consequences, Jack Greengrass was the one who ruled from behind the scenes.
"Your audacity, Jack, knows no bounds, just as your arrogance does!" — Barty shouted, his voice vibrating with unrestrained fury. "Death Eaters are running out of hands, now they're even recruiting youngsters? What, have you already marked her with the Dark Mark?!"
At that moment, his wand pointed sharply at Daphne's face. Daphne, though accustomed to such intimidation attempts, felt the tension in the air intensify. Her eyes remained cold and impassive, and her face betrayed not the slightest sign of fear. Raised in the shadow of Jack Greengrass, she had learned to control her emotions, especially when others tried to break her spirit. She knew that any reaction, even the smallest twitch, could be seen as weakness.
"Roll up your dress' sleeve, girl!" — Barty roared, his voice echoing off the walls. Anger seemed to seep from his words, trying to break through the cool barrier Daphne had erected around herself.
Daphne lifted her chin slightly, her gaze meeting Crouch's with icy calm. For a moment, she let the silence hang between them, then slowly, with deliberate precision, she reached for the cuff of her dress. Her movements were graceful, as if she, not he, controlled the situation. When she rolled up her sleeve, revealing the pale, flawless skin of her forearm, her gaze never left Crouch's face.
"See for yourself," she said, her voice as cold as the steel of a blade, "and tell me if there is anything more than just skin here."
The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive. Crouch, unable to hide his growing frustration, stared at her forearm, expecting to see what he had imagined in his worst nightmares. However, to his chagrin, there was nothing there. Just a smooth, untouched surface — no Dark Mark, no trace of dark magic, only the reality of a young woman standing before him with an air of cool defiance.
Jack, standing beside them, observed the unfolding events with his usual stony expression, but there was more concealed in his eyes. He knew that Barty was trying to unnerve him, but Jack Greengrass never let himself be provoked by such cheap tactics. Seeing his daughter respond to the attacks with cold precision, his eyebrow lifted imperceptibly, as if mocking Crouch.
"Barty," he said quietly, but his voice cut through the air like a blade, "if you cannot distinguish innocence from accusations, perhaps you should not be in your position at all."
Jack's words were calm, but every sound was meticulously chosen to strike at Crouch's sensitive points. The arrogance that Jack had so often criticized was now his shield—unyielding and impenetrable.
Daphne, with a look of cool satisfaction on her face, slowly lowered her sleeve, never taking her eyes off Crouch, as if she had just won an unspoken war.
"Besides," Jack continued with a hint of refined sarcasm, "don't you think it's ironic that you suspect me of involving my own daughter with the Dark Lord when these accusations are coming from you?" His eyebrow arched, his voice cold and dripping with sophisticated sarcasm. "Isn't it interesting that someone with your past, Barty, holds such a high position in the Ministry? Hypocrisy in its purest form, don't you think?"
His words were spoken with almost grave-like silence, but underneath lay a distinct provocation, deliberately aimed at Crouch's ego. Jack knew he was in control of the situation. He felt the tension rising, but he was the one setting the terms. His gaze was inscrutable, almost lazy, yet his posture conveyed a confidence that irritated anyone who tried to force him into submission.
Daphne, standing by her father's side, felt a subtle triumph. Crouch had walked into a trap. His face tightened at the mention of his past, as if Jack had driven a pin straight into a long-hidden wound. Daphne could see a slight twitch of his eyelid—so subtle it was almost imperceptible, but for someone as observant as her, it was a clear signal. Every word from her father was precisely chosen, striking at the most vulnerable spots. And Daphne knew this was only the beginning.
"Perhaps you, Barty, should question whom you truly serve?" Jack continued with icy calm. "Because from what I see, your zeal in seeking culprits borders on obsession. Such people are dangerous… especially to those they serve."
At that moment, the tension in the room reached its zenith. Barty clenched his wand, his face flushed, and anger slowly replaced cold professionalism. Daphne took a deep breath, slightly tilting her head as if waiting for an outburst. But even now, in this moment of tension, she could not help but admire her father—his skill in manipulation was unmatched.
Jack, seeing Crouch's reaction, smiled slightly, though there was no warmth in his eyes. On the contrary—this smile resembled a blade, poised to deliver the final cut.
"Don't worry about my daughter, Barty. You should be much more concerned about yourself. In a world where everyone chases shadows, one can sometimes get lost... and end up on a darker side than intended."
Daphne felt the chill of those words, as if they had pierced the entire room. At this moment, Barty Crouch was on edge—and Jack Greengrass, with a smile full of refined superiority, merely waited to push him off.
"Let's assume… Let's assume for a moment that hiding behind your own daughter isn't just another one of your psychological games, Greengrass. Tell me, what are you doing here?" Barty Crouch asked, his voice slicing through the tense air. His eyes, usually full of icy determination, now burned with cold, unyielding fire, as if penetrating straight into the mind of his interlocutor and trying to extract every last concealed lie. Crouch, though trying to maintain composure, could not hide the tension radiating from his body. He was like a string stretched to its limits, ready to snap at the slightest false note.
His hand involuntarily twitched, tightening around the wand hidden in his robe, as if every second of hesitation threatened his control over the situation. Every muscle in his body seemed poised for immediate action, and the air was charged with a mixture of tension and uncertainty. Even though his words were precise and matter-of-fact, his stance held a brutal force—like he could stop speaking and move to action at any moment.
His gaze moved over Greengrass's face with cold, calculating precision. In that look lay not only hostility but also something more—a near-morbid fascination with what Jack Greengrass was planning. Barty knew he was treading on thin ice but was unwilling to retreat even an inch. For him, every word, every gesture had to make sense—there was no room for weakness in this game.
Even his breathing was shallow and controlled, as if trying not to betray his impatience. He felt that what he was about to hear might be crucial, but at the same time, he did not trust a single word that Greengrass might utter.
"Before I answer, might you kindly lower your wand?" Jack Greengrass began, his voice, though calm and courteous, carried a detectable note of mockery and irony that cut through the tense atmosphere like a dagger. His posture was impeccably composed, as if he paid no mind to Crouch's frigid glare or the wand pointed at his daughter. "I wouldn't want my daughter to be scarred for life by an overzealous official," he added, his lips curling into a barely perceptible, icy smile.
Jack's words were measured and precise, as if each was carefully chosen to strike at the core. It was clear that while he appeared to be asking for calm, he was actually provoking Crouch, testing the limits of his patience. He was like a chess player, smiling as he moved pieces on the board, fully aware that each move had more significance than it might seem. His gaze, full of cold calculation, never left Crouch's face, as if playing a subtle psychological game, trying to predict the opponent's next move.
Around him hovered an aura of unsettling calm, as if this dramatic moment did not concern him at all. Jack Greengrass was a master at maintaining appearances, and now, facing Crouch, his stance was almost demonstrative—indifference, confidence, and even contempt were like a mask he wore with skill. In his eyes lay cold, unyielding determination, as if conveying one unchanging truth to Crouch: "You are in my game, and I control its rules."
At the same time, his words clearly emphasized how little he valued Barty Crouch. "Overzealous official"—these words were like a poisoned blade, designed to wound not only Crouch's ego but also his reputation. Jack knew that every provocation was a risk, but he was ready to play for high stakes. He was confident in his position, sure that Crouch, though tense and ready for action, would not dare to make a hasty move.
In the background, Daphne observed her father with silent admiration, though not a single muscle on her face twitched. She understood the subtle game he was playing perfectly. The wand she held was slightly lowered but ready for immediate action. An inevitability hung in the air—a moment of silence before the storm, where every gesture, every word could trigger a cascade of events.
"Well, I'm listening," Barty said with clear impatience, clenching his jaw so tightly that veins pulsed on his temples. His eyes betrayed the tension he tried to hide under a guise of cool indifference. Instead of erupting in anger, as he seemed inclined to do, he slowly lowered his wand, though not enough to appear as a concession. The tip fell toward Jack Greengrass's chest like a blade that could strike at any moment.
Daphne, standing motionless like a statue, did not take her eyes off Crouch. Although the wand was no longer pointed directly at her face, she felt the tension had not diminished and perhaps even increased. Crouch, despite his apparent calm, exuded frustration as if the time spent on their conversation was a waste. Yet, another note lingered in the air—an undercurrent of desperation that Daphne could not ignore. With every movement of Barty's, the tension rose, and she knew that the game they were playing required not just precision but also willpower.
Jack Greengrass's chest rose and fell steadily, as if the entire tension was merely a fleeting inconvenience to him. His eyes, still full of cold calculation, rested on Crouch, analyzing every move, every word, as if assessing whether Barty was still worthy of his attention. Daphne felt a cold shiver run down her spine, but neither her face nor her posture betrayed anything that might give Crouch satisfaction.
"As you well know, or perhaps you don't, given that we're still standing here," Jack began with irony, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I am responsible for the French delegation. And as you might guess, I came here to ensure that none of them were harmed." He paused as if to emphasize his words, his lips curling into a slightly mocking smile. "Well, perhaps aside from a few of your Aurors," he added with feigned nonchalance, shrugging slightly as if it were a matter unworthy of his attention.
"Although," he continued with a hint of amusement, "I must admit, it's probably not my doing." He glanced at Daphne with fleeting curiosity, as if evaluating how much danger she truly posed. "Or rather, this young little chit here," he added, mocking her earlier term, which Barty had surely used with full contempt. His tone was laced with sarcasm, but beneath the surface, there was palpable tension—he knew that Daphne was not someone to be underestimated, and neither was her father.
"That doesn't explain why your supposed, bloodied daughter is here," Barty continued, his voice sounding like a frozen blade slicing through the tense air. His gaze was cold and piercing, as if trying to penetrate Jack Greengrass's mask of indifference. Barty allowed no signs of confusion, even as the scene before him grew increasingly chaotic and unsettling.
Jack, who had tucked his hands into his suit vest, his posture emanating calm and confidence, struggled to observe the situation. It seemed that his thoughts were far from what was happening around them, his face remaining inscrutable. Before he could respond to Barty's question, Daphne broke the silence.
"I was with my father when the Dark Mark appeared," Daphne said, her voice cold but resolute. "He took me with him because he claimed he would need someone more competent than a few men trying to touch a woman indecently at the first opportunity under the pretext of an inspection."
Her words were like a punch to the gut—sharp and direct. Barty's expression did not change, but in his eyes, there was a flicker of what could be called disdain, if one were to insist. His gaze shifted towards Jack, as if seeking confirmation or explanation. However, Jack, though still confident, now looked at Daphne with clear interest, as if assessing her ability to handle the situation.
Despite her bloodied appearance, Daphne now looked more like an authoritative figure than a victim. Her voice carried a force that could not be ignored. What she said was clear and filled with irony. A silence fell, with only the echoes of her words still lingering in the air. The atmosphere was thick with tension, as if everyone present was waiting for a move that could change everything.
"If you've received your answer, let at least one of us deal with what needs to be done," Jack said, his voice sounding like an icy wind cutting straight to the core. He drew his wand once more, but instead of aiming it at Barty Crouch or the Aurors, he held it at his side, as if it were part of his natural movement. His gestures were full of refined confidence, and every step he took was carefully considered, as if each had its own significance.
Daphne followed her father, her footsteps almost inaudible against the rising tension. The farther they moved, the more apparent the sensations accompanying the situation became. At that moment, Daphne could have sworn she heard Crouch's curses directed at both her father and the entire Greengrass family. His words were full of rage, and their sounds filled the air with a malicious buzzing.
Jack continued walking, his demeanor composed, and his personality—cold and unyielding. Daphne felt that the situation she found herself in was not only complicated but also fraught with traps. Although she tried to remain calm, the tension building within her seemed to take on tangible forms, making every decision now extremely significant. Her awareness that what they were doing now could have far-reaching consequences added weight to every action they took.