Observing a cornered venomous snake is an intriguing sight. It slowly retreats, coiling itself like a spring poised to snap. Its tongue darts out in rapid flicks, alternating between hisses and threatening spits, while its eyes assume a chilling calm. But that is only when it does not intend to fight; when it decides to kill, everything changes.
Just as a snake coils before striking, Narcissa appeared unnervingly still, her gaze fixed on her prey: Bartô Crouch, as if she were gathering venom in her fangs while patiently awaiting the perfect moment.
The audience in the courtroom watched her with rapt interest, murmuring whether she might reveal something about the Blacks. Some were outraged at the very idea of exposing the noble family; others merely found amusement, treating the court proceedings as if it were a shabby, low-budget circus. What would she say? Would she back down? Betray the Blacks? What sordid, compromising secrets about the members of the Wizengamot might Narcissa disclose? In the corner of the room, one man in particular silently hoped she would exercise discretion.
Cygnus Black, her own father. Watched his daughter standing defiantly, deliberately making herself more visible. His silence spoke volumes, and his rigid expression, coupled with a frosty stare demanding submission, left one question hanging in the air: Would she dare defy him? Feeling his steely gaze, Narcissa met it with a challenge of her own.
Determined not to flinch, she felt compelled to confront him and destroy everything he held dear, even as the love of a daughter still lingered in her heart. He was the father who had raised her, yet also the one who forced her to adhere to the rigid standards of the Black family. Above all, she despised the fact that she'd been robbed of any choice in her marriage. Not that Lucius was the worst of men; had he not betrayed her, she might have built a life with him and respected him, becoming the trophy wife he so adored. Without that marriage, she would never have suffered as she did, her daughter would have been spared danger, and no one would have had the perverse pleasure of watching her bleed in that damned public square.
She could have resorted to pettiness and exposed the Blacks, but some family matters ought to be resolved by other means.
After taking a measured pause, she drew a deep breath so as not to keep the audience waiting any longer." Your Excellency," she began in a clear, firm voice, " I shall refrain from making any statement regarding the Blacks. Although I am, without doubt, a Black by birth, and proud of my heritage. I did not reside with them during the tragic event that shattered our society.
I lived with Lucius Malfoy, whom I married in 1975. My interactions with my family were purely social, and I have no knowledge of any involvement on their part with Voldemort. Apart from, of course, the unfortunate public revelations concerning my sister, Bellatrix Black, who has already been condemned by this court to imprisonment in Azkaban. Therefore, I have nothing further to add on this matter."
Bartô regarded her with clear dissatisfaction. He knew he shouldn't expect too much, yet he had to take the risk. In an inquisitive tone he replied, " Very well, Mrs. Malfoy, but given your situation, you would be expected to provide this house with a far more refined testimony, in line with the Ministry's stance on your rather crude petition. I personally disapprove of that arrangement.
My sympathy for your plight might improve, however, should you offer any new, relevant information."
"Consider this," he continued, "what additional details could you share that might justify acquiring full rights over the Malfoy assets?"
Narcissa's eyes blazed as she glared at him. New information? That was not part of the deal. The head of the Aurors had already been a stumbling block in the negotiations, and now he wanted even more.
She despised these overly ambitious men who never knew when to relent. As she studied his face, thin, sporting a ridiculously short mustache just below his nose, crowned by a small round hat that did little justice to his large head, and a body with a belly comically disproportionate to his spindly legs, she couldn't help but feel a measure of superiority.
Calming her voice to a near-disdainful tone, she replied, "Yes, Your Magnanimous and Elegant Excellency, I believe we should adhere to our agreement. However, perhaps I do have something extra special to share with you and this noble court. Not now, though, the best things must come at the end."
Then, addressing the entire court, she raised her voice for the first time: " I guarantee that, if that is indeed the case, tonight will be unforgettable."
A murmur of indecipherable cacophonies swept through the room. Dumbledore offered a small smile, perhaps in silent agreement with Bartô's refined approach, while all eyes fixated on Narcissa, striving to grasp the implications of her words.
" Order!"
The minister banged his gavel loudly, demanding silence.Once quiet prevailed, he continued, " We accept that Mrs. Malfoy will make no further statements on the Black matter. I advise the Chief Auror not to pressure or provoke our guest and to ensure that her testimony remains within established guidelines."
" Yes, Your Excellency," Bartô replied softly. He took a moment to compose himself, erasing the trace of disgust from his face. Meanwhile, as Narcissa surveyed the courtroom. Bartô noted the crow perched on the back of narcisa chair and amid the guard Aurors: that his son, Bartô Crouch Jr., dressed in his Auror uniform and following the path laid out for him, was present. His pride nearly made him forget that he had already been warned.
"Continuing with the testimony, we shall stick to what was agreed between Mrs. Malfoy and the Department of Aurors, and I guarantee that no questions beyond that scope will be directed to you!
But if there is any new, relevant information, we remain at your disposal, feel free to share anything further, Miss Narcissa. Continuing…" Bartô prompted. "Tell us about the Lucius dossier, and about the associates Goyle, Crabbe, and Nott."
At the mere mention of those iconic Death Eaters imprisoned in Azkaban, tempers flared anew. Some protested, calling the act absurd and disrespectful; others sneered, referring to them as despicable Death Eaters, clain justice, arguing what had been done. Among those present was a distant relative of Mr. Nott, Joana Nott, who cradled her nephew Theodore Nott in her arms. As the boy's mother had died and his father languished in Azkaban, she was solely responsible for managing the family affairs. Though she remained silent, her discontent was unmistakable.
Dumbledore sat back, his interest evident as his sky-blue eyes glittered intermittently while he tenderly stroked his beard. What was he pondering so deeply? Only he knew. Bartô interjected once more,
"By Merlin's grace, behave yourselves! I kindly ask that you, ladies and gentlemen, cooperate with these proceedings.
Otherwise, I must insist that in this official hearing your rights to participate in any future court sessions will be revoked indefinitely for lack of decorum."
"Proceed, Miss Malfoy." With calculated composure, Narcissa reached for a white handkerchief resting on her lap. Her hands trembled noticeably, a detail not lost on anyone present.
Then she began, " My husband… ex-husband, Lucius Malfoy, was a suspicious, meticulous, and dreadful man, even with his own allies. He maintained detailed evidence and documents of these missions, including those involving his inseparable friends: Mr. Nott, Goyle, and Crabbe, who shared in most of the Dark Lord's assignments. Now, I shall read the notes Lucius left concerning his crimes."
"July 14, 1976: We undertook a mission to kidnap a Muggle-born Jacquelyn Lorenn, a recent Hogwarts graduate, retrieving her after she departed from King's Cross Station. Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott were even seen frolicking in the mud before we delivered her to our master. Although I find the whole affair repulsive, she was interrogated and killed, and then discarded in…."
At the mention of the fate of a student he had once cared for, Dumbledore's eyes betrayed a flash of sorrow, though he continued to listen in silence as Narcissa pressed on.
"August 23, 1979: We attacked a Muggle village in…."
"January 1, 1980: We made contact with a smuggler, opening a new route for magical materials for Nott, unicorn parts, Runespur…."
Narcissa's testimony continued for at least two hours, during which she recounted documents, titles, addresses, and the names of victims linked to the actions of her husband and other Death Eaters.
Drawing a cup and a bottle of water from her bag, she took a generous sip to soothe her weary vocal cords before finally concluding, " With that, I conclude my statement. All official documents have been turned over to the Ministry. Today, I have acted as a responsible magical citizen denouncing the injustice and malevolence of men like Lucius and his cohorts, affiliates of the Dark Lord. I also petition the Ministry not to commit further injustice against my children. Although they too are offspring of the criminal Lucius, I ask that their rights be safeguarded, and I request protection from the Ministry of Magic."
Bartô's face bore an almost mocking expression, as though to suggest that granting rights to Lucius's children was no true justice, after all, weren't these assets obtained through illicit means? The Ministry should confiscate everything. In a loud voice he continued, "We thank you, Mrs. Narcissa, on behalf of the entire court, for your declarations. They will help bring justice to many victims and ensure punishment for many criminals.As for your petition, I believe that the Malfoy assets should be confiscated and used to compensate the victims or their families. But due to…."
At these words, Narcissa's eyes reddened and the veins on her neck tensed, as if protesting that the agreed terms were not being honored. In a hurried yet audible tone she cried, " Mr. Crouch!"
"I believe I still have something relevant to share with this court, something that will undoubtedly lead to the arrest of a high-ranking Death Eater."
" You have interrupted an officer in mid-speech, Narcissa Malfoy. I ask that you speak only when addressed. Now, regarding your statement: if indeed this evidence has led to the arrest of a high-value Death Eater, we can reconsider your petition."
Dryly, Narcissa replied, " My apologies, Your Excellency, but please do not mention this information beforehand, it is extremely sensitive, and the evidence exists only as a memory. I request that you bring a Pensieve so that we may examine this memory. It occurred sometime before March, when Lord Voldemort held a meeting at the Malfoy mansion, a gathering attended by several members, during which one member received the Dark Mark."
"Bring a Pensieve!" the minister commanded firmly, directing his tone toward the Auror in charge of security. Moments later, the officer returned with the object in hand.Narcissa then approached the wide basin of the Pensieve.
With delicate precision, she positioned her wand at the side of her head and channeled her magic to extract a wispy, liquid, white vapor. Slowly, she guided the magical essence into the Pensieve." It is ready. Now, observe, you will certainly be amazed."
Bartô hesitantly advanced, pausing just before submerging his face into the enchanted liquid. Sensing the mounting anticipation, Dumbledore interjected, " Hmm… I have a suggestion.Having long been a user of Pensieves, I have encountered a limitation: one can only analyze one person's memory at a time. Therefore, I devised a spell that transfers the memory into a projection, allowing everyone to see every detail simultaneously. We would like the witnesses to share in this vision, of course, if you agree." Bartô considered this briefly, then glanced at the minister, who nodded in silent permission." Of course, Mr. Dumbledore, that would be most valuable."
Approaching the Pensieve, Dumbledore, with a solemn gesture, withdrew his wand: a unique piece of elder wood. Its symmetrical nodules, measuring roughly 38.1 cm in length, and its worn appearance testified to its age, as if each mark recounted a story. Yet more remarkable than its appearance was the aura of destiny, death, and power radiating from its core, a fragment of tresário hair. A mystery indeed: was it the wizard's intrinsic power, or the enchantment imbued within the wand itself?
With measured movements, he danced his wand in the air and, with a precise flourish, intoned the spell "–Mnemovisus–." A yellowish light burst forth from its tip, spreading throughout the room in formless, mutable shapes, sometimes human, sometimes animal, sometimes abstract, that brimmed with intense emotion. It resembled a visual ballet of red smudges interlaced with dark shadows, forming expressive waves that evoked deep, gray, chilling melancholy, or a serene calm that flowed as gently as a stream. This spell projected the images from Dumbledore's mind for all to see.
Then, he immersed his face into the Pensieve, and the visions in the air sharpened, coalescing into a new scene: a dinner. The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the soft glow of candles and the golden gleam of fine silverware upon a long, dark wooden table. The surroundings exuded luxury, rich gold, jade hues, and rare works of art, but all paled before the commanding presence of those assembled. At the head of the table sat a man of austere beauty, his penetrating gaze and red eyes unmistakable.
Everyone at the table recognized him as the sole one worthy of that seat: Lord Voldemort.
Surrounding him was his retinue, imposing figures draped in dark robes, many concealed behind iron masks. Well, not all of them. Before the Dark Lord knelt a young man. Though his face was initially hidden, his voice rang out firm and fervent, tinged with a note of despair.
"I swear to serve with all my heart and soul. I will bear your purpose throughout my life. I will do whatever it takes to achieve your goals. I beg you, grant me your mark, my Lord."
The hall fell silent. Voldemort observed the youth with an inscrutable gaze, unhurried as if savoring the moment. Then, a slight smile curved his lips, a smile devoid of joy, warmth, or true satisfaction. When he finally spoke, his low, sibilant voice contrasted sharply with his outward expression." Give me your hand, servant."
The young man obeyed without hesitation, extending his trembling hand. Voldemort's white, bony wand slowly descended to his wrist. From its tip emanated a sinister green light, and then… pain.
The skin burned, twisting under the force of the magic, and a black tattoo emerged like a freshly made scar, indelibly etched into his flesh. Voldemort studied the mark for a moment before lifting his gaze back to the youth.
"You are welcome in the Court of Walpurgis. I have observed your contributions. I have seen the deeds you have performed for our cause. You are worthy of this mark. For now, I am satisfied."
Then he turned to the others, raising his hands calmly as if poised to reveal an undeniable truth."If only the incompetent had the same devotion as this young man… our mission would have been accomplished long ago. But it wasn't. And I ask… why?"
A heavy silence followed, laden with unspoken implications. Then the Death Eaters responded with a formal salute, clapping in unison.The cold, rhythmic sound echoed increasingly throughout the hushed hall.
The young man stood and turned to face the assembled court. At last, his face was revealed, thin, pale, with eyes alight with a somber devotion. In an almost indulgent tone, Voldemort pronounced the name:
"Rise, Bartô Crouch Jr." And with that, the memory faded away.