“Father! Father, I wasn’t involved! No! No! Father, please!�
- Barty Crouch Junior, GOF chapter thirty.

The sun was still shining happily over London’s crowded and noisy city streets, not as brightly as it had done in the early afternoon but its presence couldn’t be ignored yet. Down below a boy in his late teens wiped his sticky and damp, straw-colored hair out of his freckled face before closing the front door of a dark and shabby-looking pub.

Bartemius Crouch Junior was glad he could leave the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley behind him and instead walk in the Muggle world. Not even the tiniest little breeze had been able to reach the built up alley crammed with its many magical shops. Not to mention the crowded, stifling hot pub with its many sweating visitors and even more disturbing smells.

He walked a few paces through the broad and busy street, took a few deep breaths and felt a welcoming gust of wind sweep past his overheated body.

He wished that he’d already got his Apparating license, but he knew he wasn’t the only one who had applied for the test at the beginning of the summer holidays. With a bit of luck he’d be allowed to Apparate after next week though. Not that he really minded the twenty minutes walk from the Leaky Cauldron to his parents’ house: it gave him some time to think things over and besides, he was already way too late for dinner anyway, so twenty more minutes wouldn’t really matter.

Nevertheless he felt a bit guilty, realizing that his mother had lovingly prepared a delicious meal for herself, her husband and their child, only to serve dinner just for herself, as his father would undoubtedly be too busy at the office to notice that dinnertime had come and passed, and he was still over here, outside the Leaky Cauldron.

In a way it was her own fault that he’d spend the afternoon in Diagon Alley, as she’d been kind enough to slip some Galleons in his pocket while whispering: “Here you are love. Why don’t you go out and buy a nice present for yourself? You shouldn’t stay around the house every single day of your holiday and you know you deserve something after these seven years of hard work.� He really appreciated those words.

If only his father would praise him or say some nice words. But on the rare occasion that they did have a conversation, his father acted rather detached and he never showed any sign that he actually liked his son or was pleased with anything his son had achieved. Barty had given up hope and had long ago accepted that he should just learn to live his life with, or rather without, a father who had an important and very demanding job.

And so he’d spend this afternoon visiting shop after shop, looking for a suitable present to reward himself with. He was never much of a Quidditch player, so he’d skipped Quality Quidditch Supplies, and he already had more than enough books and clothes. Nevertheless he’d wanted to buy something useful, so in the end he’d decided to buy an owl. Not a large one, but a tiny, fluffy, grey-colored owl, accompanied with a minute cage, exactly the right size for its occupant. He had named his new companion Lyra, and right now she was hooting happily in her cage.

He set of towards his home, blending in easily with the Muggle crowd as he, unlike some of the witches and wizards he’d met today who stubbornly insisted on wearing cloaks regardless of the type of weather and temperature, was wearing a plain white t-shirt and khaki shorts.

He was thinking of letting Lyra out of her cage, but decided to wait until the next block, because he spotted a black cat crossing the pavement a few feet ahead of him. A few minutes later he let her out and watched for a moment as she soared through the cloudless sky. He kept walking with the metal cage in his hand, lost in thoughts and only taking heed of the traffic around him occasionally, when he had to cross a road.

While he was moving along with the crowd, he thought about the words his teachers at Hogwarts had spoken when his NEWT results had been announced and the words his family and friends had spoken ever since. They were all convinced that he had a bright future full of golden opportunities ahead of him. But apparently these opportunities were shining so brightly that he was blinded by their light and he didn’t know what to do now that he’d graduated from Hogwarts, despite all the career advice and offers from wizarding firms and institutions.

He knew he’d have to choose before this holiday was over and he’d better choose sooner than later, because he hated the uncertainty and craved for a new goal in his life now that his old goal, receiving top NEWT’s, had been accomplished.

And then it happened. As he was pondering on what he wanted to do with his life, paying no attention to the people behind and in front of him, he suddenly collided with an oncoming pedestrian, who probably wasn’t paying much attention to where his feet were carrying him either, and they both fell backwards onto the stony ground.

Barty unsuccessfully tried to break his fall with his arms, letting go of the cage. He gazed the palms of his hands and his elbows when they made contact with the solid pavement. He got to his feet and wanted to apologize to the person he’d knocked to the ground, but he couldn’t speak because of fear when he met the foul gaze of the obviously very annoyed man in front of him.

It wasn’t so much the emotion on his face that scared the living daylight out of him as it was the face itself. He’d recognized the face from many advertisements and posters he’d seen almost weekly during the last eight months. This face belonged to Rabastan Lestrange, a wanted Death Eater who hadn’t been sighted ever since the fall of He Who Must Not Be Named last Halloween.

Before he could say or do anything, the man had jumped to his feet, wiped the dust of his black cloak and continued his journey. Barty heard him spit the reproachful words: “Watch where you’re going boy, or someone might get hurt next time,� at him, evidently mistaking him for an ignorant Muggle.

Barty realized that he could do either two things: He could go home and pretend that nothing had happened, or he could follow the guy to wherever he was going. He didn’t need to think long and chose the latter one.

It wasn’t difficult for him to spot the thin man in his black cloak who didn’t blend in so well with the summery and airily clothed mass. All he really had to worry about was not moving too close to this Death Eater, lest he would notice that he was being shadowed.

Rabastan Lestrange moved faster than most Muggles around him and at the next crossroad he turned left and out of sight. Barty walked swiftly towards the corner and as he poked his head around it, he was relieved to see the black cloak still moving ahead of him at a brisk pace.

The shock of finding himself face to face with a criminal had by now almost completely worn off. He was actually quite enjoying himself, following this Death Eater from a safe distance. This was the kind of stuff Aurors were trained to do.

True, he had already considered becoming one, but he’d quickly discarded the idea at the time because it would mean working under the supervision of his father. Some people might think that this would be unfair as he’d probably be favored by his colleagues and superiors, but he knew for sure that the exact opposite would happen. His father would see to that.

But did that really matter? He knew he had the brains and the determination. Surely that would be enough to negate his father’s presence.

Yes, before he knew it he had made up his mind. He was going to do something useful with his life: he was going to become a dark-wizard-catcher, an Auror. All he had to do now was find out where the suspect was going and then alarm the authorities. But how was he going to do that?

He searched the sky but Lyra was nowhere to be seen. “Shit,� he cursed under his breath. He’d totally forgotten about his pet and her cage in all the excitement. He’d forgotten to pick up the cage after the collision and he had no idea where his bird had gone to.

What else could he do now? Again he checked whether Rabastan Lestrange was still ahead of him and when he’d spotted the dark cloak he began to examine the neighborhood. This street was distinctly less crowded than the street they had left behind them. He saw a paperboy placing his bike against a signpost reading: Mortimer Street, and around half a dozen other people walking along the way. They were walking along a road surrounded by rows of old, stately houses on either side, green and flowery gardens in front of every building.

Barty and the Death Eater were walking along the even side of the street and when Rabastan had almost reached the end of it, he suddenly turned right and disappeared into a garden. Barty moved towards the place where he had disappeared and hid behind the neighbors’ fence at number fourteen. His heart was pounding in his chest as he heard the front door open and close. He risked a peek around the fence but found that he couldn’t see much of the front door due to the excessive amount of large and wild-growing plants that covered most of the garden of number twelve Mortimer Street.

He edged forward slowly over a moss-covered, barely recognizable path, sheltered by all the vegetation. Before he knew it, he was standing before the wooden front door. He tried to look through the large window next to the door but the curtains were closed. Clearly inside something was going on that couldn’t endure the daylight.

Should he enter or should he stay outside? He still didn’t know what this Death Eater was going to do and how long he was going to stay here. If he wasn’t much mistaken, the Ministry for Magic was situated close by this part of London. What if he raced to the Ministry, raised the alarm and came back here with half a dozen Aurors only to find an empty house. He couldn’t do that. No, there was only one proper thing to do. He drew his wand and muttered: “Alohomora.�

“I can’t say too much about this because it touches too closely on the prophecy and how many people knew about it, but the Lestranges were not in on the secret.�
- J.K. Rowling on her website www.jkrowling.com

The lock clicked softly and the door opened smoothly inwards. Barty slipped inside and found himself in a low-lit, roomy entrance hall. The walls were covered with light-green and white striped wallpaper and a brown coloured carpet was stretched across the floor. On one side of the wall a couple of coats and cloaks hung neatly from a hat-and-coat stand and on the other side a large mirror was attached to the wall over a radiator. Apart from the front door Barty counted three other doors and one staircase, and here and there a number of large cardboard boxes were stacked on top of each other, out of the way against the wall.

He heard voices coming from the first door on his left which was situated between the mirror and the staircase, so he silently crept towards it. He didn’t dare look through any of the four small, square-shaped window-panes, curious though he was, and instead kneeled down next to the door and listened carefully.

“Now then, where were we before our belated, fourth companion finally showed up?� A male voice spoke briskly.

Barty’s eyes widened in shock as he realised what these words implied: There were four companions, four Death Eaters behind this door!

“Better late than never, don’t you agree?� The voice continued mockingly. “Ah wait. Now I remember. We were talking …� but a female voice interrupted him impatiently before he could finish his sentence: “Cut the crap, my dear husband. They won’t speak without a little persuasion.� She put a lot of emphasis on the last word.

Now a second male voice spoke urgently: “You can do with us what you want but we won’t say anything because there simply isn’t anything we can tell you. We know as much about what happened to He Who Must Not Be Named as you do.�

Barty’s curiosity won over his fear and he risked a quick peek through one of the lower window-panes. There were four black cloaked figures standing in the gloomy living room, their backs to the door and he saw two other shapes sitting on wooden chairs, their bodies tied to the back of their chairs.

“That’s bullshit, Frank Longbottom!� The woman spat back. “You must know something important about our Master, or Dumbledore wouldn’t have hid you so well and for so long. So speak up, and tell us why you were going into hiding.�

“We’ve already told you.� The man named Frank said wearily. “Alice was expecting a baby, for goodness sake. We needed to spend some time away from the frontline. And besides, we went into hiding well before your master disappeared.�

“Fair enough,� the first man spoke again. “If that’s the way you want to play the game, you leave us no other choice. Go ahead my dear.�

Right now, Barty was feeling slightly dizzy. His head was spinning and he moved his back, which was clammy with cold sweat, against the wall, dreading what would happen next.

“You should have chosen the easy way out.� The woman said disapprovingly. “Though if truth be told, I knew you wouldn’t tell us the whole story straight away.

“And in fact, I prefer to get the desired information this way. “ She added excitedly. “Let’s see if a little shock therapy will refresh your memory. Crucio!�

Barty put his fingers in his ears but the man’s agonizing, ear-splitting cry still penetrated deeply into his head. His legs failed him, going numb with shock, and he slumped onto the ground and remained sitting there, rooted to the spot as the seconds lengthened and the torturing continued.

He heard the female Death Eater laugh cruelly and another woman open her mouth for the first time. Her voice wasn’t cruel or harsh like the other woman’s, but hurt and helpless, as she shrieked pleadingly: “Stop it! Please, stop it!� The evil woman paid no attention to the other woman’s words but eventually, after what seemed like an hour, she lifted the curse.

The chilling silence that hung around the room, only broken by the silent sobs of the second woman and the heavy breathing of Frank Longbottom, was perhaps even more disturbing than the violent sounds that had filled it only moments before, as echo’s of the sickening screams seemed to reverberate inside Barty’s very heart and soul. Horrified, he wondered how on earth one human being could possibly do something so vicious and evil to a fellow human being. Sure, he had heard some nasty stories about Death Eaters, but to actually witness one of their foul deeds: that was a whole different experience.

His feet still didn’t seem to be able to carry him, so he rolled sideward and started to crawl towards the exit. He needed to leave this house as soon as possible and find help for these two poor hostages who were probably kept captive in their own home. While he made his slow way to the front door, the talking in the living room continued.

“So, have you found some new details you want to share with us, or do you want another dose?� The first Death Eater inquired calmly as if he were offering a second cup of tea.

“I-I c-can’t help y-you.� The mangled husband answered joltingly.

“P-Please, Frank,� his wife begged through her tears, “I can’t take this any more. Tell them about our meeting with Albus and the Potters about the Pro-…�

“No Alice,� Frank interrupted her before she could let anything important slip, “I’m not worth that.�

But their captors had smelled blood.

“Speak up!� the first Death Eater demanded forcibly, but the woman didn’t speak again.

“We can go on for hours and neither I nor any of my companions would mind doing so.But I think you two would; the Cruciatus Curse isn’t very beneficial for your health and I’m sure you don’t want to suffer any lasting damage.� He threatened. “Perhaps you’re under the illusion that, in time, the Cavalry will arrive at your doorsteps. Let me save you from suffering that particular disappointment: there are very, very few people who know about your sudden remove to your old house. By a lucky chance one of us happened to hear the wonderful news this morning, and he made sure that no one else at the Ministry would find out in a hurry.�

Meanwhile, Barty tried to push himself upwards against the radiator. His trembling hands, white as a sheet, were gripping the cold radiator tightly, and slowly, inch by inch, he was able to raise his body until it was more or less in a vertical position. His feet were still barely supporting him and he took a moment to rest before he’d try walking. He looked into the mirror in front of him and he saw his own frightened face, his freckles much more present than ever before, against his paler than usual skin.

“And if I were you, I wouldn’t count on any of the Muggles outside hearing you scream as we’ve placed a very powerful Imperturbable Charm on this house; not a sound is going out. No, there’s just you and us and the whole….�

A sudden flapping noise at the front door made the man stop his soliloquy and made Barty jump. It was amazing how Barty was suddenly able to muster the strength to duck and meanwhile sprint to the door at the other side of the room, quickly open it, ran into what turned out to be the kitchen, and quietly close the door behind him, in less than a second. Adrenalin was pumping through his body as he waited with bated breath for the Death Eaters’ reaction.

“Nothing to worry about, brother,� a third male voice reassured the others after a few seconds. “It’s just some local weekly Muggle newspaper that was shoved into the mailbox.�

Barty exhaled with relief: for the moment he was safe. A quick glance around the kitchen showed him that this room provided no real escape route, as the two windows in this room could only be opened a few inches and the only other door led almost certainly to the large living room, towards danger. He had no choice but to turn around and retrace his steps back into the hall.

Apprehensively he opened the door and tip-toed forward. He was startled to hear the voices from the living room more clearly, where the Death Eaters were still threatening the Longbottoms. With a shock he realised that the Death Eater who’d collected the newspaper, had left the door to the living room wide open so that its occupants now had a clear view of a small piece of space between the front door and the staircase.

This meant that all exits downstairs were either beyond his reach or being watched, so this left Barty with only one last option if he wanted to leave this place soon. He slinked towards the bottom of the staircase and started his way up, praying desperately that none of the steps would creak.

When he was halfway up, he heard the female Death Eater cry: “Crucio!� again and this time it was Mrs. Longbottom who was screaming beyond control. Barty almost slipped but regained his balance just in time and made it safely to the top, even though he was trembling worse than ever.

He staggered blindly into the first room to his right, his heart sickened with disgust and despair. He had no eye for the contents of the dark room as he moved swiftly to a curtained window, where he roughly pushed the purple curtains apart, and frantically tried to open the window. First the window didn’t budge, but after a few desperate seconds the window started to move outwards, its hinges creaking rustily.

When he looked outside he was greeted by a pleasant and welcoming surprise: his faithful pet Lyra was hovering a few feet away from the window and as soon as the window was open wide enough, she flew onto his left forefinger.

Quickly he conjured a piece of paper, an inkbottle, a quill and a small cord out of thin air and hastily began writing his rescue note. He tried to be as short and terse as possible, as he wrote about the four Death Eaters, the Longbottoms and the address. Without rereading his words he attached the paper to the bird’s tiny leg, who took of eagerly when the note was tied securely to its leg.

Waves of relief were spreading through his body as he watched Lyra disappear behind the rooftops. He turned around and examined the room, immediately spotting an occupied bedstead he’d overlooked when he’d so hastily entered this bedroom.

Cautiously Barty edged forward, careful not to wake the little fellow who was sleeping so peacefully in his comfortable bed, oblivious of the horrible things that were happening to his parents downstairs. The boy couldn’t be more than two years old. One of his fragile hands was clutching the edges of his blanket, a content smile on his innocent face.

Barty longingly wished he could turn back time, or swap places with the boy, so that he’d be able to dream happily, play undisturbingly and live a simple life, yet without grown-up worries.

Suddenly a low, unfamiliar voice behind him shouted: �Petrificus Totallus!� Before Barty could react, the curse hit him and he felt his arms snap to his sides and his legs spring together as he felt down helplessly, stiff as a board.

“It’s a Remembrall!� he explained. “Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there’s something you’ve forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh …� His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, “… you’ve forgotten something …�
- Neville Longbottom, PS chapter nine.

The man marched purposefully forward as the boy hit the fluffy floor with a muffled thud and remained there motionless on the carpet. He took off his mask and discarded his dark cloak as the unbearable heat was almost suffocating him and prevented him from doing the two things he needed to do right now: think coolly and act swiftly.

“Who the hell are you and what on earth are you doing here?� the man asked not expecting an answer from the rigid body in front of him. He knelt down and peered at his victim’s face.

“I think I recognise you, but that still doesn’t explain why you’re here and how you got here in this cursed place.� the man mused after staring intently at the face for a few seconds.

“There’s only one way to find out,� he added dryly, without loosing eye contact, his wand at the ready, “Legilimens.�

After the spell had struck the defenceless body, the man’s calculating look changed into a penetrating stare, and immediately vivid and clear images started to play before his alert eyes. It was a piece of cake to penetrate this mind, especially for an expert Legilimens like him, as the boy’s mind was still very much affected by the dreads and horrors he’d just experienced. Add to that the fact that he was looking for a recent memory and not one that was buried deeply inside the immensely complex and unfathomable amount of brains, covered by many different memories over time, and it’s no surprise that the man found the images he was looking for without much effort.

He cursed loudly when he saw the ignorant Rabastan who apparently hadn’t had enough sense in him to move about inconspicuously, let alone properly watch his own back. And he swore a second time when he saw Barty Crouch Junior open the window and the bird flying in. He watched the owl disappear out of view and he realised they were doomed.

He was about to lift the curse when he remembered something he’d just seen: a seemingly insignificant detail the boy had overlooked in his haste to send the message. He quickly replayed the part where the boy was writing the letter. His senses sharpened with every word written on the parchment. Now the boy was again tying the paper to his owl’s leg and now the owl flew away again.

But the Death Eater had seen enough. He lowered his wand and grinned victoriously because he knew that the boy had made a tiny, but nevertheless fatal mistake: The note told the Ministry that there were four Death Eaters torturing the Longbottoms at number twelve Mortimer Street. However, it didn’t say who sent them this note as the boy had been foolish enough not to sign the damned thing.

Yes, he would have a good chance of getting out of this unharmed, as long as he’d be able to convince the others. The only factor that was really against him right now and could negatively influence the outcome was time. He’d always been an exceptionally quick thinker on his feet and within seconds, he had formed an almost flawless plan inside his head, providing everything went as planned

But not everything was going as planned as he would all too soon find out.

Oblivious of what was going on inside the bedstead next to him, the man took a purple handkerchief out of his pocket and began to mop all the sweat out of his face with his left hand, while pointing his wand towards the boy in front of him with his right hand.

“Obliviate!� he cursed, showing no sign of any emotion whatsoever as he modified the boy’s memory and consequently erased the only direct evidence that could contradict that he himself had send the letter.

With a satisfied smile on his face he turned around, but he stiffened and stopped halfway through his motion, when he stared into the face of a wide awake, two year old toddler. The child stared back curiously, his large eyes taking in every detail of the face of this stranger in front of him, whose smile evaporated like melting snow in the sun.

“Damn. I should have remembered Murphy’s law.� He muttered under his breath. He could curse himself for being so careless for the second time this day. Firstly, he should have guarded the front door more carefully and secondly, he should never have taken off his cloak and mask.

“I’m sorry kid, but I’m not going to risk Azkaban or worse for this.� He apologized before also modifying this boy’s memory. He knew fully well that at this young age a memory charm, even a light one like this, could do permanent damage, but he had no other choice.

Afterwards, the man cautiously tucked the now docile infant back into his bedstead, before putting on his cloak and mask. He glanced backwards at the child who was gawping at the ceiling with its eyes out of focus only once before magically lifting the still body of Barty Crouch Junior two feet into the air.

Silently praying that he hadn’t lingered too long in the bedroom and that there was still enough time, he left the room and paced down the stairs, Barty floating after him like an inanimate balloon. He entered the confined living room with his wand at the ready, whereas the floating body remained in the shadowy hall, hovering unsupported over the same spot some two feet above the ground. He walked wordlessly past a turned over table, a heavily damaged and smoking sofa that had been placed roughly in front of a smouldering fireplace, and past his surprised partners in crime.

“I thought we agreed that you would go and fetch their son. Where is he?� Rudolphus demanded. Yet their comrade showed no sign of hearing Rudolphus’ question. Indeed, he continued his walk quite unconcerned and halted in front of the two tied up hostages.

“Hey, wait a moment! What do you think you’re…� Rudolphus unsuccessfully warned him, but he was already too late. With two curt flicks of his wand and speaking the word imperio twice, he hit both Frank and Alice Longbottom, who both, almost simultaneously, lost conscience and as a result hung limply in their chairs.

“Why did you do that?� Bellatrix asked bewildered.

“That’s why.� He answered dryly, tilting his head backwards, indicating at Barty’s body which had just glided into the room. His three fellow Death Eaters turned around as one and moved towards their new visitor, each of them clearly flabbergasted.

“Who? What? How?� Rudolphus exclaimed utterly perplexed, unable to decide which of the many burning questions he wanted to have answered first and therefore stammering these three words.

“That,� the fourth Death Eater stated, �is the one and only son of our beloved Bartemius Crouch. I’m sure none of you invited him to this party, but I must inform you that we owe his presence to the fact that this dim-witted twit of a brother of yours,� he pointed his index finger accusingly at Rabastan, while addressing his words to Rudolphus, “did not realise that he was being dog trailed by a teenager during his long-winded travel towards this place.�

“W-what do you mean?� the accused whimpered weakly, after the three of them had stopped abruptly in their tracks.

“You heard me, Rabastan.� The man replied as Bellatrix advanced menacingly upon her unfortunate brother-in-law.

“You fool!� She bellowed. “You retarded, ignorant son of no witch! You’re a disgrace for your brother and his family, which includes me.� She waved her wand viciously, and for the second time that day Rabastan had to bite the dust. This time he didn’t get up so easily and it took a while for him to get back on his feet. Meanwhile Bellatrix and Rudolphus were provided with more details about the critical situation they were in.

“Listen carefully to what I’ve got to say, all right.� The fourth Death Eater began calmly and clearly. “I came too late to prevent the boy from notifying the Ministry about the whereabouts of us four Death Eaters.� The couple tried to interrupt him, but he continued, only raising his voice slightly. “But not all is lost.�

“What are you waiting for then?� Bellatrix asked. “Let’s get the hell out of this place!�

“Stop! Hold your horses.� the man warned them, while putting his hands out, trying to restrain the panicking couple who were getting ready to Disapparate. “You don’t understand. It’s too late to run. By now they’ll have all our escape routes covered. Think before you act! They have the freaking address of this house. They’re monitoring the Floo Network, all Portkeys, and any Disapparating activity in this area.� He ticked off all magical means of transportation with his fingers as he spoke.

“I know what I’m talking about. I work for them, remember? Go ahead and flee if you don’t believe me or think I’m wrong, but I can guarantee you they will know where you are. Eventually they will find and corner you, and then what? You don’t think you can fight a battalion of pissed off Hit Wizards and Aurors, do you? That would be suicide.�

“So what are you saying we should do?� Rabastan rejoined the conversation. “Wait for them to show up and surrender?�

“Yes and no.� Was the man’s ambiguous answer. “I’m afraid the three of you’ve got to be taken and I’ll be able to walk free and finish our noble quest and find out what meeting they were talking about.�

“Oh yes, brilliant.� Rabastan told him cynically. “And what makes you think they’ll let you off? You just told us they know there’re four of us.�

“I know. You’re perfectly right. However, you forgot about our uninvited guest. The Ministry knows there’re four of us, but they don’t know our names. And they also don’t know who sent them the note.�

“So?� Rabastan asked confused.

“Oh come on, you imbecile!� Bellatrix shouted, clearly exasperated by Rabastan’s lack of intelligence. “Even you can do the maths. The Ministry will think that he sent the damn letter and Crouch’s son is their fourth suspect. Brilliant!�

“Look, I know I’m asking you to make an enormous sacrifice.� He seemed to address Bellatrix in particular. “You’ll be sent to Azkaban for God knows how long, but you must remember that you’re not doing this for me, or for yourselves, but that you’re doing this so that one day the Dark Lord will rise again. And when He does return, you will be rewarded. Keep that in mind.

“And I swear to you with all that’s dear to me, that I will find the information they’re hiding for us.� He vowed while pointing dramatically at the unconscious witch and wizard next to him. “I will get it out of them. I will do my part. Will you do yours?�

Bellatrix and Rudolphus edged closer towards each other and took their partner’s hands. “We will.� They promised solemnly, with a determined, almost obsessive glint in their eyes.

“Hey. Won’t I get a say in all this?� Rabastan asked indignantly.

“You’ll bloody well do as you’re told.� Bellatrix shot back in a whisper more lethal than a Basilisk’s stare. “You’ve no right to speak as you’ve already caused enough damage.�

After hearing these aggressive words, Rabastan shrunk back into a dark corner, trembling slightly out of either fear or anger and he hold his tongue. Meanwhile, Rudolphus took control of the situation, now that he’d come to terms with his new, unexpected fate.

“I think you should go back to the boy’s bedroom, get away from the action, and we’ll take care of the rest here downstairs.� He ordered the fourth Death Eater. “Give me your cloak and mask and I’ll see to it that young master Crouch here will be ready to face the Aurors he ordered himself. He’ll be under my personal control until they’re here.�

The man did as he was told and handed his black cloak and matching mask over to Rudolphus before shaking his hand vigorously.

“Too bad we couldn’t finish this job together, my friends. Goodbye and good luck.� He said before he departed.

“You too, my dear friend. You too.� Rudolphus spoke after him as his companion slipped out of view.

The man rushed back upstairs to Neville’s bedroom and he left the door standing open, so that he’d be able to hear when the Ministry would arrive. Neville, he saw, had gone back to sleep, curled up safely under his blanket as if it were a cocoon.

After about a minute or so he heard Mrs Longbottom scream again at the top of her voice. Apparently Bellatrix was trying to make the most of her last minutes as a free witch. After another minute he could hear a large number of popping sounds in very quick succession. A few seconds and some dangerous shouting and other loud noises later Mrs Longbottom’s screaming stopped.

His pulse quickened as he opened his mouth and shouted: �I’m up here with the boy.� He heard the sound of feet, thundering up the stairs and he breathed out confidently. He knew he was ready to face and fool them all.

“Malfoy was cleared! A very old family – donations to excellent causes – �
- Cornelius Fudge, GOF chapter thirty-six.

Dear Mr Malfoy,

It is with the greatest urgency, that I send you this letter and I urge you to read on carefully and act immediately afterwards, as it is, as you will soon enough find out, to both our benefit to aid each other.

Knowing as I know that you are a man of high esteem, who takes pride in being up to date with the Ministry of Magic and all its major affairs, and you being someone who’d be informed instantly, whenever events occur that can drastically change the current or future political situation, I assume that you’re well aware of the fact that earlier this evening four people suspected of being Death Eaters have been caught in the act of imprisoning and torturing Mrs Alice and Mr Frank Longbottom.

Just in case you do not know any, or more probable, all facts concerning this most unfortunate event, I will tell you all that the Ministry’s aware of and some subtle details that they don’t, but I do know. I’m afraid I can’t give away my sources, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that they are completely accurate.

Somewhere in the late afternoon or early evening of this day, four Death Eaters, whose names should be familiar to you, entered number twelve Mortimer Street in London and swiftly overpowered its residents. Messrs Rudolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Mrs Bellatrix Lestrange and Mr Bartemius Crouch Junior, for I’m afraid those were their names, were undoubtedly hoping to find information about the current whereabouts of their former master, the Dark Lord. When they found out that Mr and Mrs Longbottom were either unable or unwilling to give them the desired information, they started, to no avail I must add, to use the Cruciatus Curse on their victims, until they were arrested by the combined forces of Aurors and Hit Wizards of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. For a Ministry official was fortunate enough to follow them into the house and notify the Ministry.

Unfortunately, help came too late for Mr and Mrs Longbottom, for both of them had been tortured most viciously and relentlessly, resulting in insanity for both of them. Unable to speak a coherent sentence, their value as witnesses is lost. Unless of course they miraculously regain their wits before the trial, which will probably take place this very night. So the only witness accounts that can and will be used as evidence to present for the Wizengamot, are those of the Aurors and Hit Wizards who arrived at the scene to stun and arrest the suspects and of course that of the man who was there before them and raised the alarm. All of these witnesses are respectable and honest people, whose words will surely convince the majority of the Wizengamot, even though their accounts fail to complete and solve the whole puzzle. Both the people and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement want to see some punishment and so they will.

The failure of the Ministry to thoroughly examine all details and extensively interrogate all suspects, victims and witnesses, due to the pressure of time, gives us the opportunity to carry on the plan these four Death Eaters had. Because the Longbottoms’ brains aren’t damaged at all and it is very likely that they do know something that will be valuable to our cause.

Don’t worry, because I’m not trying to blackmail you or anything of that sort, but I just want to stress the fact that both you and I have our secrets. I must congratulate you for successfully talking your way out of Azkaban by saying that you were kept under the Imperius Curse. This leads us back to my request, for the Longbottoms are kept under the Imperius Curse by me and I need to be able to visit them occasionally, away from prying eyes.

I don’t know how much influence you have over Saint Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, but surely some generous donations will help you with finding a nice, quiet ward, supervised by either some dense, incompetent nurse, or one who can be bribed, so that I can operate undisturbedly.

The risks for you will be minimal; the benefits substantial. Charity work for an institution like St. Mungo’s will help you to regain some of the trust and respect you’ve lost since the investigation of your history as a Death Eater, and if the information the Longbottoms have in them will lead to the restoration of the Dark Lord, who will ever say that you renounced the Dark Lord to save your own skin?

Another consequence that will be likely to increase your influence in the Ministry is that with the conviction of his son as a Death Eater, Bartemius Crouch Senior’s chances of becoming the next Minister for Magic when Millicent Bagnold resigns, have just dropped to zero. This clears the path for new candidates who’re on our side or can be influenced by our suggestions.

I’ve provided you with all the information and all the arguments I have. There’s nothing more that I can do at the moment. I just hope that you’re willing to assess the sacrifice your sister-in-law and her companions have made in order for us to continue the quest of finding our Master. Just to show that I really am a Death Eater and that I can be trusted: The incantation Morsmordre must be spoken in order to create the Dark Mark in the sky. And all Death Eaters have a tattoo of the Dark Mark somewhere on their body and we were to report instantly at the Dark Lord’s side whenever we felt the Mark burning on our skin.

Yours sincerely,

A former Death Eater and friend who nevertheless wishes to remain anonymous.

“Crouch’s fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial and, by all accounts, it wasn’t much more that an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy … then he sent him straight to Azkaban.�
- Sirius Black, GOF chapter twenty-seven.

The golden grilles slit shut with a crash behind the two men and the lift descended slowly out of their view, chains rattling, while the two men strolled through a corridor lined with doors.

The rattling noises faded away into the distance and they moved onwards through the lamp-lit corridor, as the enchanted windows mirrored the sultry but nevertheless dark evening sky that hung currently over the London streets somewhere above them.

One of the men, a tall black bloke, his hairless head smooth and shiny like a billiard-ball, asked the scarlet-robed wizard next to him with a deep voice: “Do you think our written statements will suffice for the Wizengamot, or do they insist on an oral explanation by each of the witnesses?�

“I recon they might desire to interview us, but I really don’t think Barty’d let them do it.� The scarlet-robed man, whose pony-tailed hair-dress couldn’t have contrasted more with that of his colleague, answered. “He wants the four of them into Azkaban as soon as possible and in his mind every extra minute of needlessly chatting about the evidence is one too many.�

They turned the corner and walked through a pair of heavy oak doors and emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles. The room was full of activity as witches and wizards moved to and fro, while others were either discussing something with one of their neighbours, their heads visible over the top of their cubicles, or deeply emerged in their work behind their desks.

“It hasn’t been so busy this late in the evening since last Halloween.� The man with the long pony-tail remarked incredulously.

“You’re right, Williamson,� the black Auror agreed, “though I imagine most of them are just here at the Headquarters to find out what happened with Frank and Alice and what will happen with the four suspects.�

The Auror named Williamson craned his neck and scanned the whole room. After a few seconds he said: “I can’t see Barty anywhere in this place and he isn’t in his office either.� He pointed at a door with a large window next to it at the other end of the room. �What do you say, Kingsley?�

“He’ll be there soon enough, don’t worry.� Kingsley assured his colleague, absent-mindedly fidgeting with the large golden hoop in his ear. “Which gives me the chance to drop something off at my desk.�

Williamson followed his fellow Auror and waited restlessly outside Kingsley’s cubicle, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the wooden panels behind his back. He heard Kingsley rummage through a number of drawers and half a minute later his black, bald face reappeared in the open space between the two wooden panels that marked the front of his private cubicle.

“Do you want some chewing-gum?� He asked, waving a couple of bright-coloured wrappers in his massive hand. Williamson spun around and eagerly accepted the offer so Kingsley tossed one of the sweets towards his colleague, who deftly caught it with one hand.

Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum is known to be an essential part of any Auror’s basic daily survival kit, because chewing gum has some distinct advantages over other activities that are more commonly used across the world to kill time when working on some tedious and boring case. Unlike smoking, for example, it is not bad for your health, nor smelly for people around you who’re not addicted to nicotine. And unlike drinking gallons of tea or coffee every day, it does not lead to the inconvenient urge to empty ones bladder every half an hour.

“Do you remember that day when Frank proved to me and many others that he could stuff no less than twenty-four of those pieces of chewing-gum in his mouth?� Kingsley suddenly asked, a bitter-sweet smile on his face, as he stepped out of his cubicle. The cubicle’s interior consisted of a couple of filing cabinets, a chair and a large desk, stacked with high, messy piles of paper and a few personal items like amongst others a picture of an elderly black couple with grey hair and wrinkled faces, almost buried between the many reports.

“Hell yeah! Of course I do.� Williamson replied enthusiastically. “He nearly suffocated, but he did pull it of. He earned himself a nice sum of money with that trick that day, betting against all these people, especially Ludo Bagman.�

Both men were laughing louder and louder, Kingsley with a deep, booming laugh and Williamson nearly swallowed his chewing-gum.

“It’s a good thing Alice never found out about that particular joke,� Williamson chuckled, “or she would have skinned him alive.�

“He was quite the character, our Frank.� Kingsley said, shaking his head, having finally overcome his fit of laughter, yet still smiling more broadly than a Clabbert, revealing a magnificent set of ivory-white teeth.

He heaved a deep sigh before confessing: “I’ve missed them these past months and I really wish they get better soon.�

“I hadn’t seen nor spoken to them in ages until this evening,� Williamson said, a note of bitter sadness in his voice,� but if I’d known the circumstances under which I’d be reunited with them, I would have gladly chosen never to see them again. I just can’t get their faces out my eyes, no matter how hard I try.�

“I just felt so completely helpless and sad when those Healers tried to revive them.� Kingsley told his colleague, his toothy grin all but disappeared. “And when they carried them away on stretchers after their attempts proved to be in vain.�

“I just hope those four evil bastards will pay most dearly for their foul deeds.� Williamson spat revengefully, a cold but nevertheless furious fire radiating from his keen eyes.

“I’m sure they will be punished most severely, if that’s any comfort for you.� Kingsley replied.

“Ah, look who’s here!� He added loud enough for the wizard who was approaching the two of them. “Good evening, Dawlish.�

A tough-looking wizard with very short, wiry hair walked towards them and joined the conversation.

�Evening Shacklebolt. Evening Williamson.� He greeted curtly, before asking if any of them had any idea when the head of their department would show up.

“He should’ve been here right now, shouldn’t he?� He added uncertainly, “Or did he change the time of our meeting?�

But before either of them could answer the sound of the two heavy oak doors being opened, announced the arrival of a new person at the Auror Headquarter and every face turned towards the doors. Each witch and wizard ceased to walk, work or talk and for a moment all of them stared in total silence at the stiff, upright figure that’d just entered the room.

Barty Crouch Senior closed the doors and stood there, staring at the silent people in front of him with a mildly curious expression on his weary but watchful face. And when he remained standing there, slowly, one by one, the Aurors continued with what they were doing before, as if nothing had happened. A few of them cast an awkward glance at the head of their department, unable to restrain themselves.

Mr Crouch with his gaunt, grey hair and narrow moustache beckoned the three Aurors who were standing together in front of Kingsley’s cubicle to follow him and he strode quite unperturbedly towards his office at the other end of the room. The three wizards obliged immediately and made their way wordlessly through the bustling crowd. Barty Crouch was the last to enter his own office and he shut the door and the lamellae that hung in front of the large window with a wave of his wand, effectively shielding them from inquisitive stares from outside.

“Good evening, gentlemen.� Mr Crouch began. His office couldn’t have been more different from Kingsley’s cubicle with its crisp clean interior, its neatly put away papers in filing cabinets and other drawers, and its total absence of personal items, not even a family portrait. “Please take a seat for this meeting which I intend to keep as short as possible.�

“Good evening, sir.� The three of them murmured before sitting down.

“Frankly I don’t have much time to reflect on the things that have happened today and the consequences of the actions I have undertaken.� He continued seriously, gazing intently from one wizard to the other with his sharp eyes. “Therefore I’d like to hear what you three, as Aurors and as witnesses, think about it.�

“I know it’s virtually impossible for any of us to judge and act totally objectively, because this case involves people we know well and care about.� Kingsley voiced slowly. “But under these stressful circumstances I think you’ve probably done the right thing.�

“I think you’re showing those four filthy rats too much mercy than they deserve, by giving them a fair trial.� Williamson spoke passionately, banging his fist on the table to strengthen his statement. �I would have sent them straight to Azkaban, like you did for example last year in the Sirius Black case.

“No offence meant of course.� he hastily apologized, having realised that he’d just called his boss’ son a filthy rat and implicitly accusing Crouch Senior of showing favouritism. “But like Kingsley just said: we’re all emotionally affected.�

“No offence taken, Williamson.� Bartemius Crouch assured him. “I asked you to speak your mind and you just did.�

“I’m afraid I have to partially agree with Williamson, sir.� Dawlish stated softly, without looking his boss straight in the face. “There were two different roads you could have taken. One way of dealing with them was by putting them in jail without a trial, which is of course highly justified, given the crimes they obviously committed. I mean they were caught red-handed.

“Or you could have started an extensive and time-consuming investigation, which would have meant verifying every statement and scrutinising every single detail, which might have lead to the arrest of more Death Eaters who might have been involved behind the scenes. But you chose to do something in between by giving them a trial too swift for my taste.�

“There’s no evidence whatsoever that suggests any involvement from people other than the four who’ve already been apprehended.� Mr Crouch remarked sceptically, with raised eyebrows.

“It’s impossible!� Williamson sneered.

“Improbable.� Kingsley added thoughtfully.

“It’s three against one, so I don’t feel that we should unnecessarily expand or intensify our investigation and let the Wizengamot decide with the evidence we’ve so far gathered.� Bartemius Crouch said sternly, hoping to settle the matter with that.

“But you’re talking about the life of your own son, for goodness sake!� Dawlish argued desperately, in a last attempt to change his boss’ mind. “What if we found out that he was hardly involved? What if he had no idea at all about what the other three were going to do? He can hardly have been a Death Eater for a long time. Look at his age!�

“I will hear no more of this nonsense!� Barty Crouch shouted furiously, having nearly upset his chair in his haste to stand up, now towering over the unfortunate Auror who’d braved to argue with the head of his department. �Do I make myself clear? I’ll treat him like any other Death Eater. All the time he was in the same room as his three companions and yet he did nothing to prevent the others from their despicable deeds. This makes him just as guilty as the others. Even if he did somehow, as you claim he did, not know what he was getting himself into.�

Barty Crouch’s eyes were now bulging with rage and a nerve was twitching in his temple.

“It’s your decision.� Dawlish muttered timidly, his face flushing bright-red. “You’re in charge.�

Mr Crouch started pacing up and down his office, until he suddenly paused to check his watch and asked: “Is there anything else any of you three wants to say before I declare this meeting to be over? My wife will be here shortly after and both Dumbledore and Fudge want to have a word with me before I go to the courtroom down in the dungeons.�

Both Williamson and Dawlish shook their heads, but Kingsley replied: “Is our presence required at the trial or can I go home now? You must understand that it has been a physically and emotionally very draining day and I’m utterly exhausted.�

“If you’ve all signed your statements,� all three men nodded, �then I see no reason why you can’t go home.�

“I’ll see you all tomorrow then.� Kingsley spoke as he and the others headed for the door.

“I’m staying here for the trial, Kingsley.� Williamson said as he opened the door and walked out of the office.

“Me too.� Dawlish spoke before leaving the office, which left only Kingsley and Bartemius Crouch in the room.

“I realise this must be a very difficult time for you and your wife.� Kingsley told his boss calmly as they both stepped out of the office after which Mr Crouch locked the door with his wand, “I wish both of you the strength to live through these rough times.�

“Thank you, Shacklebolt.� He replied gravely before moving past him and immediately starting a new conversation with Cornelius Fudge, who apparently was standing behind Kingsley.

Kingsley turned around and the last thing he saw before he Disapparated from the Auror Headquarters was Mr Crouch shaking hands with the short, portly wizard who was somehow looking rather smug.

“Muggle borns are not allowed to be Death Eaters, except in rare circumstances.�
- J.K. Rowling at the Edinburgh book festival on 15th of August 2004.

Kingsley stepped from the empty and - apart from the click clacking noises made by his shoes - silent corridor, into what the words on the door announced to be the Janus Thickey Ward. He was having quite some trouble with closing the door again, owing to the enormous vase that he was carrying with him, which was filled with loads of different coloured and smelling flowers. The vase was way too heavy to carry with less than two hands and it greatly restrained both his vision and his movements.

“Why does this freaking door have to open outwards?� he cursed under his breath. “And why did I not buy a smaller bouquet?�

After a few fruitless attempts he finally managed to twist his elbow between the door and the latch and hunched up like an ape, he was able to edge slowly and clumsily forward until the door was shut. He straightened up and checked, for so far as possible, whether or not too many flowers had been damaged by his awkward manoeuvres. When he’d assured himself that this was not the case he set off, treading carefully up the aisle between the beds, lest he’d trip and fall now that he was so close to his destination.

“But my leg’s still feeling very painful, Miss Healer.� A wheezy voice complained from somewhere in front of him. “You must inform my wife and tell her that I won’t be able to leave the hospital for another month, so she’ll have to manage the housekeeping all by herself for another month.�

Unable to see what was going on in front of him, the beds lining against either wall came into view as Kingsley moved past them.

“Are you sure, Mr Marchbanks?� A motherly voice coming from the same direction doubtfully asked, “Our latest tests clearly show that the effects of the curse have worn off completely. And don’t call me Miss Healer. My name’s Miss Strout, remember?�

Most beds were empty, but as he skipped past the third bed on his right, Kingsley noticed an ancient and rather ugly-looking witch with a hairy lip and a huge wart on her crooked nose, sleeping peacefully with her wry mouth opened, soft snoring sounds escaping from her hairy lips.

“Then your tests must be wrong, Miss Strout,� the man insisted obstinately, “because my arm’s still hurting like hell. I’m staying here.�

The man’s voice now sounded very close by and sure enough when the next bed on his left came in to view, he saw an old small-sized warlock propped up on several pillows, sitting with his face set, staring stubbornly at a witch dressed in lime-green robes.

“You’re confusing me now Mr Marchbanks. Is it your arm or you leg that’s still hurting?� The Healer who was wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair asked, frowning dubiously.

Kingsley stopped to see how the man would talk his way out of this.

“Well, err…� he stammered uncertainly, his face turning a bright shade of crimson, “both actually.�

Yes, now that you mention it. Both of them are hurting me really badly.� He told the Healer with regained confidence.

“We’ll continue this discussion later, Mr Marchbanks.� She spoke sternly. “And your wife will be here tomorrow so you can inform her about your proposal to stay here another month yourself.�

She then abandoned the wizard who was now looking a bit frightened with the prospect of being with his wife again tomorrow and she approached Kingsley with a satisfied smile on her face.

“Can I help you, sir?� She asked kindly, peering past the sea of flowers standing between her and the visitor.

“I’m looking for Mr and Mrs Longbottom.� He replied. “They were moved to this permanent ward only yesterday, or so I was told.�

“The last two beds on the left side for you. They already have a visitor.� The witch pointed out.

“Thank you.� Kingsley said while he walked forward with a bit more pace than before, curious as he was to find out who this other visitor might be.

But when he reached, what he guessed to be the last two beds - he couldn’t make out the back wall with the portable jungle in his hands - he found that flowery curtains had been drawn around those two beds to give the occupants and their visitor some privacy.

He cleared his throat and called politely: “Excuse me.�

“Is that you Kingsley?� A familiar voice greeted anxiously.

The curtains were partially drawn back, revealing Williamson the pony-tailed Auror.

“Jeez, surely we don’t need these curtains anymore. We can easily stand behind your real flowers and nobody will be able to spot us.� He joked as he further opened the curtains so that Kingsley could safely walk through them.

“Let me make some space for them.� He offered helpfully, clearing one of the bedside cabinets. “I think the surface’s just large enough, but I’m more concerned that it’s going to collapse under the weight of your modest gift.�

“Thanks.� Kingsley puffed, taking a purple handkerchief out of his pocket after putting the large vase down and starting to mop the sweat from his shiny, bald head. “I thought it might cheer Alice up a bit, with those green fingers of her.�

Kingsley put away his purple handkerchief and both men turned their attention towards their two friends and colleagues who were laying lethargically, half covered under their bed sheets while still in their nightgowns, their slightly overlarge and baleful eyes wide open. Frank was apparently staring upwards at something only he could see. The occasional blink of his eyes and the quivering of his lips were the only evidence that he was actually alive. Alice on the other hand was constantly moving her restless head from side to side, her eyes evidently trying to focus on the two visitors but neither of them perceived a spark of recognition or any other reaction from within either of those faded eyes.

“I also brought a present with me. Though it’s less heavy and expensive than yours, I might add.� Williamson pointed at a small box filled with Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum lying on the other bedside cabinet without taking his eyes from the sorry sight of Alice’s plump face and her wispy hair. “I thought maybe a familiar face combined with something they knew from work could perhaps trigger some improvement, but as you can see…� His voice trailed off, his head drooping in grim defeat.

“It was worth a try.� Kingsley consoled his colleague, patting him on the shoulders. “I might follow your example next time and take some chewing gum with me. Even though it doesn’t make them better, it would definitely make the journey to this place less tiresome. And maybe the Healers will be able to patch them up if they’re given some time.�

“Surely you don’t believe that?� Williamson replied slightly agitated. “They’ve hardly been here for more than two days and they’ve already transferred them to this permanent ward. It’s not unlikely that they’ll never recover.�

“You mustn’t abandon hope so readily, even though the odds are against them.� Kingsley soothed. “Miracles do occur from time to time, as long as you have faith.�

“Yeah right.� Williamson sneered grimly before turning to leave. “My only comfort is that the people responsible for this will rot away in Azkaban until the end of their miserable days.�

“Are you leaving already?� Kingsley asked while examining the numerous get-well cards that were papered more than three rows thick on the wall, a sign of the Longbottom’s immense popularity amongst the wizarding community.

“My lunch break’s almost over. Duty’s calling.� Williamson hastily explained before Disapparating with a loud cracking noise, without bothering to say goodbye.

Kingsley now moved between both beds. First he stared intently at Alice’s peaky face, especially her eyes, and then he repeated the same procedure with Frank. His stance relaxed, but his eyes remained watchful. Everything seemed to be in order, though he hadn’t really expected any problems this soon. They were still way too weak to even attempt to fight off his curse.

In a few weeks time he’d drop by again to check their condition. It would be foolish to break into their minds now. In fact he was quite sure that he was already at risk by showing up here today, so soon after the incident. He knew Dumbledore and his henchmen were watching his tracks. As if he didn’t know why that old crippled crook of a Mad-Eye had been having a casual chat with him this morning. He’d show them how honest, law-abiding and decent he could be.

And who knew what could happen in due time, when he’d won Albus Dumbledore’s precious trust. Kingsley smiled triumphantly, dreaming of all these golden opportunities, all within his reach.

He glanced indifferently at the two broken people next to him, their fates resting in his hands. He didn’t feel any compassion, pity or remorse. Why should he? They’d known bloody well what they’d risked by joining Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix. The same counted more or less for Barty Crouch Junior, who thought that he could sneak around dangerous Death Eaters and meddle with their affairs without getting caught.

However, he did resent having to modify the little boy’s memory. But then again, as his old man used to say: if you want to make an omelette, you have to be prepared to break some eggs. Likewise he hadn’t always agreed with the Dark Lord’s actions and ideas but he’d respected His decisions, because he was for ever in dept to Him and His cause.

The Dark Lord demanded eternal loyalty and implicit obedience and in return He’d given him the rightful opportunity to see to it that true justice was done over those who deserved it so much, but who would otherwise walk freely and upright as if nothing had ever happened. The Dark Lord had granted him the means to avenge his parents’ brutal death and punish the ones responsible.

The Muggle police with their inefficient methods of solving crimes had been unable to find any conclusive evidence even though they knew they were dealing with an ethnic motive, because his father’s wallet had still been in his pocket and his mother’s body had shown no signs of being raped. Furthermore the guns the murderers used were never found and all members of the Skinhead group - incidentally being the only one in the entire region - got their alibis ready and their backs covered. Kingsley, who at that time had been but a Junior Auror, hadn’t even bothered to ask the Ministry to act as he knew it was part of their policy not to interfere in Muggle affairs whenever possible.

So Kingsley was forced to offer the Dark Lord his services in return for revenge. The Dark Lord had accepted, seeing the potential of this angry and disappointed wizard whose commitment and dedication outweighed his Muggle parentage and whose true nature - even on this day - was unknown to few but the most intimate followers of the Dark Lord.

First he’d killed the group of Skinheads who’d murdered his harmless parents. The van they had all been sitting in had tragically driven of a cliff. But he hadn’t stopped at that. By now he’d killed quite a few of them, those foolish youngsters, those sick racists with their short-sighted minds their bald heads and their disgusting swastikas. He’d beaten the shit out of them; broken their necks; cracked their skulls; or burned them alive, but never had he used his wand, so that none of the murders could be traced back to a wizard.

They believed they were superior compared to others. While as a matter of fact the only thing that really mattered was magical ability and not skin colour, which meant that they themselves were part of an inferior race. Kingsley - like the Dark Lord and his followers - believed that the wizarding race should rule the Muggles. But unlike his Master, he didn’t believe it mattered how pure your blood were, as long as you were able to focus your spells and use magic.

Kingsley suddenly snapped out of his deep reverie. He vaguely wondered what had caused his sudden mental shift back to reality, when he heard a startled voice apologize from behind him: “I’m sorry sir. I thought you were already gone.�

“That’s all right madam.� He replied gracefully, as he turned around towards the voice which he recognized as being the voice of the Healer. “I was about to leave anyway.�

“Well, goodbye then, sir.� She said, while pulling the curtains apart completely. “I’ll look after the flowers. They’re absolutely beautiful.�

“Thank you, and goodbye.� He said before walking towards the exit at the other side of the ward.

He looked at his watch as he moved past the timid warlock who was deeply emerged in his Daily Prophet and realized that he still had half an hour before he had to be back at the busy headquarters. The headquarters where Barty Crouch Senior - having intensified the hunt for more Death Eaters - was acting like a vicious slave-driver. As if he’d be able to make people forget his son’s fate by catching all the other Death Eaters who were still at large.

Remembering the floor guide at the reception desk, he decided to eat something at the tearoom on the fifth floor. When he walked through the door he saw a formidable-looking old witch, wearing a long green dress, a brand new fox fur and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakably a stuffed vulture, walking towards him behind a push-chair.

“Can you keep that door open for me?� She asked loudly.

Kingsley stiffened, recognizing the small boy who was squirming inside the push-chair, before saying: “But of course.�

He bowed politely as she manoeuvred the push-chair through the door, accidentally riding over the toes of his left foot. He closed the door after her and set off limping slightly and with an annoyed grimace every time his left foot touched the floor, in search of a sandwich and a cup of tea to fill his empty stomach with.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles to the north on a rocky island situated way off from the mainland somewhere on the ever chilly North Sea, Barty Crouch Junior’s empty stomach was one of his least pressing problems.

True, he was both hungry and thirsty, but also sick, tired, chilled to the bone, scared, miserable and most of all totally alone in the middle of this cramped, gloomy, pestering cell, deprived from direst afternoon sunlight, fresh sea air and his freedom. Abandoned by hope, forsaken by his family he lay there, shivering uncomfortably on the mercilessly cold floor between dirt and decay, weeping desperately overcome by dread and fear, or otherwise trapped inside his own spinning head, haunted by his worst memories. All because of the sinister effects caused by evil presence of the Dementors that were guarding him.

And then the whispering started.

Soothing voices coming from the surrounding cells, speaking at first words of comfort, calming him down, gaining his trust. And later powerful and persuasive. Blaming his father for everything, cursing the Ministry. Until they had successfully poisoned his mind and corrupted his not so long before stainless and pure soul. The voices found in Barty a ready ear, an easy prey, who had nothing left to loose and who was, driven by the obsessive desire to murder his father and destroy those who shared his father’s beliefs, eager to embrace the Dark Lord as his new master.

Thus Bartemius Crouch Junior became the first Death Eater without a Dark Mark etched on his skin. Ultimately leading not only to the second rise of the Dark Lord, but also to the tragic demise of both his father and himself.

The End.