The air was thick with screams and the scent of smoke as Harry and Barty Crouch Jr. stood with their wands at each other's throats. Neither of them so much as twitched. If they had, the other would've reacted, starting a duel in earnest, and both of them knew as much.
"Are you enjoying playing lord, Harry?" Crouch asked. "Sitting in your house, looking down the hill at muggle filth and spineless wizards, crawling in the muck. But at least they worship you. At least, when you sweep in to save them in the middle of the night, they'll pull at the hem of your robes and prostrate themselves before you."
"My enjoyment has nothing to do with it," Harry said. "Our master bade me rule this place. That's all that matters."
"And that's why I like you!" Crouch said.
Despite his warm, fervent tone… he did not drop his wand.
"Your priorities are straight," Crouch said. "You follow our master's cause with all that you have, not just when it's convenient. You don't slink away to play politics, spitting on everything he stands for just for personal comfort!"
Harry resisted the urge to wipe away spittle as it landed on his cheek. Crouch's anger was raw and apparent, but not directed toward him. The emotion disappeared as quickly as it arrived, replaced by another easy smile.
"You know, I've always related to you," admitted the man. "Lord Voldemort raised you. He practically raised me, too. When I was even younger than you, I was lost, Harry. He's the one who put me on the right track! He showed me what true mentorship could be, the way my father — flobberworms eat his soul — never could. In a way, you could say that Voldemort became my new father… Much like he was yours."
Harry considered informing Crouch that Voldemort never considered himself the father to anything. To be frank, Harry doubted he was even capable of such feelings toward anyone. But he did treat useful tools well… and perhaps that did make him more father-like than Barty Crouch Senior had been.
"Don't you get it, Harry? That makes us brothers. Or something like it. So please… we can do this without the wands don't you think?"
Slowly, Harry lowered his arm. So did Crouch. Harry began to prowl around him, circling the man with wary eyes, Crouch watching with a more easygoing air, all while voices screamed spells at each other not so far away.
"This village was entrusted to me," Harry said. "If Voldemort is truly like a father to you, listen to his words. Leave this place: now."
Crouch clicked his tongue. "It's not bad, that line of thinking. Doing exactly as he says should earn his approval. I see why you're doing this, Harry… But how often has he called for you since the end of the war?"
Harry watched Crouch in stony silence, still moving in circles, forcing the man to turn just to keep his eyes on him.
"It's hardly at all, right? You've barely seen him. I've barely seen him too. Because, Harry, what Voldemort wants is not obedience alone… it is initiative. Sometimes, to please him, you must do as he wants, not merely as he says."
"A dangerous game."
"But one we must play, to feel his attention shine upon us! We have been busy, Harry. Not all of his forces are content to play government, eating fine food, and growing fat. We've taken back the wizarding world, yes, but should we live like this, hiding for the rest of our lives? No! Muggles fall before our might like flies! They're dirty, stupid, weak things, only useful for their plentiful numbers." He began to laugh. "We will use those numbers, Harry. We'll turn the rivers red. We'll stack the bodies one on top of the other, and when the job is finished and we stand atop the mountain of our work, Voldemort will have no choice but to notice us! And he will hold us close, and cherish us, because while the rest may have forgotten our original purpose… We alone did not!"
As Harry circled the man, he did so with his left side forward, while his wand was clutched in his right. His robes swished out with his steps, blocking the man's sight. The sound of spellfire still roared nearby, yet the screams had become few and far between.
"It's too reckless," he said softly.
"No!" Crouch insisted. "It is a risk — of course it is — but that is precisely why we must be the ones to take it!"
"And what of half-breeds? Magical creatures?"
"Some can live," Crouch said casually. "So long as they acknowledge their place. The rest can join the Muggles."
"And which of those do I fall under?"
"You're different," Crouch said, as if it were obvious. "You're good enough for Voldemort. Of course you're good enough for me too. You've already proved yourself— first with that Bones Manor business, and even recently. Excellent work with Greyback. You did that job even better than I planned to."
"I did that for myself. Not for anyone else's benefit."
"But you did do it, and you could do so much more! Enough stalling, Harry. Join us!"
"I refuse," Harry said.
Before Crouch could recover from the rapid rejection, someone screamed, this one carrying a very different tone to the fearful pain-filled ones earlier.
Barty Crouch stilled. He strained his ears— and only now realized that the night had turned quiet. No more shouted spells. No more wailing muggles. Two cloaked figures swept toward them from the town, both grabbing Harry's collar with a fist each.
"You!" snarled Amycus Carrow.
"How dare you ruin our fun?" spat his sister Alecto in the same tone.
They both wore Death Eater robes, but without the masks that usually completed such outfits. They wanted their victims to see the look in their eyes as they killed them. Harry knew of them, and how they lived. Their greatest pleasure was causing pain, and there was nothing they hated more than their fun being interrupted.
When they grabbed him, they forced him back a step, revealing his wand which had been shielded by his body from Crouch's view. It had been flicking in intricate patterns the entire time, weaving spells. Crouch's eyes widened. He sent a pulse of magic out, and watched many visible bodies inside the town break apart into thin air— nothing more than illusions.
"You—" he said.
"I won my war," Harry said, turning his head to look directly at Crouch, despite the livid Carrows invading his personal space. "I have no interest in picking a second one."
He wondered how many in the village died tonight. Though his spells helped some escape… these three and their allies would not have been kind. It was such a waste. Harry couldn't see where they got the motivation for such things.
Watching strangers squirm didn't get his rocks off like it did for the Carrows, and Barty Crouch, for all the thought the man had put into it, was wrong. His efforts would never bring him the relationship he truly wanted. And even if it did, Harry was perfectly content to continue letting Voldemort ignore his existence. There were worse fates.
"You will not get off easily for this!" Amycus Carrow hissed.
As he started to raise his wand, Harry turned his attention to him. A brief burst of Legilimency punched inside of Amycus's head, filling Harry's mind with brief flashes of horrible acts and mutilated victims. The force of Harry's probe made Amycus's grip weaken, and in that opening, Harry grabbed his throat. He held the man much tighter than his own collar had been gripped.
"You cannot defeat the three of us!" howled Alecto.
"Perhaps," Harry said. "But I will not lose easily, either."
In the end, they never followed through. The sound of Apparition sounded all across the village. Voices barked, "Auror's office! Lower your wands!"
The Carrow's allies who had continued the attack were driven away, though not with spells. Green-robed Aurors, dressed exactly like Dolohov had been, swarmed the streets. One with a shinier badge approached Harry and the Carrows, who had released his collar at the sight (though they still glared as if they hoped a duel might break out). Harry let go of Amycus's throat too, leaving pink marks across the man's flesh.
"Pleasant night, wouldn't you say?" asked the newcomer.
He had sharp eyes and a sharper nose, while great care appeared to have been put into styling his dark hair. He smiled at Harry and the others as if stumbling into old friends outside Diagon Alley, rather than as an on-duty Auror arriving at an active scene.
"Mulciber," Crouch greeted sourly.
"It's Head Auror Mulciber now, actually," said Mulicber. "Even got a shinier badge to prove it." He tapped his finger against the metal affixed to his robes. "The position has me ever so busy. That's why I'd like to do things efficiently, if possible. There's no reason to fight on a nice night like tonight is there?"
"In the habit of protecting Muggles, Mulciber?" Alecto spat at him.
"Merlin, no!" said Mulciber. "I'd much rather be asleep in my bed. But here I find four purebloods, about to come to blows over a couple of dirty little Muggles." He laid his hand on Crouch's shoulder. "There's plenty enough of them to hunt all over the country, isn't there? You should know. I've seen how busy you've been. But these ones, in this village? They belong to someone else."
He glanced toward Harry, offering him a nod. Around the village, Aurors seemed to be giving similar speeches to the other Death Eaters. One by one, the attackers were beginning to apparate away. Crouch saw this too.
"Think over what I told you, Harry," he said. "If you come around, I won't be hard to find."
He Disapparated. So did the Carrows, a moment later, after giving Harry a hateful look each. Mulciber sighed, clapping his hands and looking up toward the sky.
"Thank Merlin that went smoothly!" he said. "I really thought you all might start dueling, and then what's a guy like me supposed to do then? Say… were you really going to take all of them on alone, Harry?"
"I was willing to try," said Harry. "If it came to that."
"I know you're a hell of a wizard, but do be careful," Mulciber said. "There's no shame in asking friends for help. And there are those who desperately want to be your friend, Harry. A few favors here, a few votes there… Well, I don't want to get ahead of myself, but I'd say you'd be set for life!"
Harry nodded without answering verbally. The Aurors had been helpful, and they'd shown up in the nick of time. It was all very precise… as if they knew Crouch would be here with his helpers. That meant organization. It meant a different kind of power.
"Tell Yaxley that I'll keep his advice in mind," Harry said.
Mulciber chuckled, making no move to deny who the friend in question was. He apparated away, and Harry was left alone, feeling the night air, experiencing a sudden sense of quiet. There were still a handful of Aurors about, though they weren't likely to offer the Muggles here any real solace. But the wizarding residents who survived the attack were seeing to their neighbors, obliviating when necessary to keep them from panicking. Harry considered helping them.
Then his ears caught something, distant enough that it had been covered up by the sound of conversation. From the top of the hill, a dog was barking.
He turned on the spot.
O-O-O
At the sight of the figure in the doorway, Fleur felt a sense of revulsion strong enough to make her want to vomit… and a sense of anger distinct enough to make her want to aim said vomit all over the visitor. Not that it could've made him any uglier. In fact, it probably would've mixed into his hair without showing a difference.
"Hello there," greeted Peter Pettigrew, smoothing the front of his robe, as if such a thing were capable of making him more appealing. "Weren't expecting to see me so soon, were you?"
"Non," Fleur said. "After you fled from my buyer, I did not think I would ever see you, in fact. Especially not here."
Peter's smile failed.
"Well that buyer is not here, is he," said Pettigrew. "It's just us now. Like it should've been that night."
Fleur recoiled in her seat, glaring. She had seen the way he looked at her. Lust was an emotion she'd been able to recognize easily ever since puberty first sunk its fangs into her, but she had never seen such a disgusting strain as the way Pettigrew eyed her. It was like lecheros vermin, desperate for a chance to crawl across her skin.
"And who is this?" Pettigrew asked, his eyes (for once) managing to move away from Fleur. Of course the only thing that could do that was another gorgeous girl.
Susan Bones acted like she had not heard him at all. She was still eating dinner. As if Harry had never been called away. As if Pettigrew didn't exist.
Somehow, this aloofness enticed the rat-like man, so much so that he scurried across the room, sliding one of the empty chairs between Fleur and Susan, but closer to Susan. He sat beside her, and to Fleur's rising anger, grabbed the redhead's wrist, running his thumb along her smooth skin.
"You don't know me, but I'm quite the powerful wizard," Pettigrew bragged. "I made over twenty-thousand galleons a few days ago. I'm not sure how Harry values you, but I'm sure I could match it and then some! Or, if you like, he won't have to know a thing. We can just disappear together in the dead of night, just like that…"
He released her wrist, dragging his fingers up her arm. Susan had stopped eating. She watched his fingers move up and up, until they had reached the rolled-up sleeve of her robes part way up her bicep. Pettigrew leaned in, his fat cheeks bulging as he smiled.
Susan started to laugh.
The grating cackle made Pettigrew flinch. Although his greedy fingers remained against her arm, his smile faded, while Susan continued to laugh.
"Do it," she said. "Please, do it! Touch me! Defile me to your black heart's content, you fat piece of spat-out troll lard! I'm begging you, just try and lay your hands on me any more than this! Because he gets to you, there won't be anything recognizable left! I'll still piss on your defiled remains, and keep them in my room for a week, just to do it again and again!"
Pettigrew jerked his arm back and scooted his chair away. He seemed torn between wanting to keep up appearances, and fear of this unhinged girl. In the end, fear won.
He turned away from Susan as if she didn't exist. Susan returned to eating.
"I didn't want to sell you," he told Fleur, switching targets with embarrassing speed. "Even for as much as you would go for, I was so tempted to keep you for myself."
"Then I am glad you are not just a pig, but a greedy pig," said Fleur.
"Even your jokes are funny." Pettigrew was getting glassy-eyed now. "This may surprise you, but I fell in love with you at first sight."
She tried to lean away, but he just kept leaning forward. When she ran out of space in her chair, his hand reached across, grabbing her knee and holding her in place.
"You'll get killed that way, too," Susan said casually. "Whyever it was that he brought her home, you won't get off any lighter touching her than me."
She delivered her words without a hint of doubt. But Pettigrew was no longer capable of thinking rationally about things. He had gotten too close to Fleur, drunk off her scent and looks. Nothing would stop him from coming after her now.
So Fleur kicked him in the gut.
She raised one leg and buried it in his paunchy underbelly. Pettigrew's face bulged as he released his grip on her. She scrambled up— but no sooner she taken two steps than Pettigrew had snarled out a spell, making her body stiffen.
Susan began to rise, only for the wand to turn toward her. Pettigrew was not thinking clearly anymore, if indeed he had been at any point. He would not hesitate to cast, nor would he hold back any curse… until he had taken what he wanted.
The large dog burst into the room, appearing from the hallway. Its barking became even louder, carrying further, as it charged Pettigrew. He aimed a spell at it, something orange and nasty-looking, but the canine was too quick. It dodged, charging to bite him, before Pettigrew booted it in the snout.
Fleur watched, paralyzed, as Pettigrew hurled himself for her immobilized body. She was so sure he would reach her. Instead, he grabbed hold of something else.
Harry had appeared seemingly from nowhere. Pettigrew collided with him the way that he intended to land on Fleur— including his puckered lips landing on Harry's neck.
Harry didn't even bother with a spell. He grabbed the man by the collar and threw him, sending him across the room and into the wall. Pettigrew hit with as much force as if he'd been banished.
"I warned you, did I not?" Harry asked quietly.
As his head hit the wall, Pettigrew regained some of his senses.
"It's not my fault!" he begged, raising his hands. "I was just here on an errand, I swear! But that woman! She bewitched me!"
Harry glanced at Fleur. He undid the bind on her, letting the French witch draw in a deep and relieved breath.
"One reason," Harry said. "If you have one good reason to be here… then I won't kill you now."
"Yaxley sent me!" he said. "You know how close we are. He wouldn't want me to die here. He— He— He wanted you to know that he helped you! Tonight, those Aurors were his doing!"
"Which Mulciber told me already. That was a decent reason. It was not a good one."
Harry raised his wand. Before a spell could be fired, Pettigrew shrunk, growing fur. He became a miniscule target, darting speedily from the room. Harry aimed a piercing curse at the literal rat, missed, and watched as he escaped the room, darting between the dog's legs on his way out.
Pettigrew escaped into the hallway and out the front door, into the night. By the time Harry had begun to follow, it was already too late to catch up.
He scowled in a rare show of emotion, stowing his wand clumsily, using only one hand.
"I apologize," he said. "I didn't realize that my rat problem was this severe."
"You wouldn't," said Susan. "After all… you're a rat yourself."
He ignored her and began to leave, limping speedily from the room.
"Stop," Fleur told him.
For some reason, he listened, just as he always seemed to. He looked back expectantly, but jumped slightly when, instead of speaking, Fleur strode closer and grabbed hold of his hand.
She clutched his left hand in her fingers, the one which threw Pettigrew with so much strength. Her delicate fingers slid up his palm, tracing veins until they reached his fingers…
Two of which were bent the wrong directions, badly broken.
"And what," she said, "might this be?"
Harry looked away.