The Grimmauld Place Irregulars (The Fine, Upstanding Families Remix) [Harry Potter; various]
Title: The Grimmauld Place Irregulars (The Fine, Upstanding Families Remix)
Author: magnetic_pole
Summary: Voldemort's supporters gather at 12, Grimmauld Place, the night Barty Crouch takes the Dark Mark.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Winky; Barty Crouch, Junior; Lucius Malfoy; Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Narcissa Black; Regulus Black; Bartemius Crouch, Senior
Warnings: Mostly gen with slash content
Notes: Enormous, heartfelt thanks to superbetas penknife and melandry
Original story: Untitled drabble by aillil
***
The night of the party at Grimmauld Place found Winky hiding under the stairs at home, imaging awful things. Young Master dead. Young Master estranged from his father. Old Master dead. (Though, admittedly, Winky couldn't quite work out how that would happen.) Winky herself dead, head mounted on a wall in a far away London townhouse. (She had heard that's what they did there.) Worst of all, the image that set Winky trembling, was Old Master leaning over and scolding her for letting this happen, disappointment clear on his sad, lined face. Young Master always said the world would end in a backlog of paperwork at the Ministry, but Winky knew it would end with a sigh and a pair of Old Master's mismatched socks.
Winky had hidden the invitation when it came as best she could, tucking it between the pages of Young Master's least favorite section of the Daily Prophet. She wasn't quite sure how he found it, but he did. She also wasn't sure how she knew she would be invited to go, too, but the morning of the party she was excused from dinner preparation and told to wait for Young Master in the front hallway shortly after he arrived home from the Ministry. Winky did as she was told; she always did.
As the clock struck eight, she heard the sharp sound of Young Master's shoes on the floor in the front hallway.
"Winky?" Young Master said impatiently, and Winky took a deep breath and came out from the shadows under the stairs to stand at his side. Winky would never let the family down, not until her dying day. (Which might come earlier than Winky would hope, if Old Master found out what was going on tonight.) Winky swallowed hard and lifted her chin.
"Bartemius Crouch, Junior," Young Master said to himself under his breath, sounding pleased with himself. He was fussing with his traveling cloak. "At your service, my Lord."
Winky thumped her head against the wall. Just once, softly, so that Old Master didn't hear; Young Master wouldn't notice.
"Barty?" It was Old Master's voice, hoarse and tired, coming from the next room.
"Just going out for a few hours, Dad," Young Master called out. "Party at the Blacks' this evening."
Old Master appeared at the doorway in his old red housecoat and slippers. (Poor man, exhausted from work; Winky wanted nothing more than to bring him a drink and rub his feet until he fell asleep.) Old Master smiled at Young Master, who was fixing his tie in the mirror.
"I thought they were in Cornwall over the summer," Old Master said.
"They're back in town again," Young Master said. "The war and all that. Not the time to be away from business."
"I like Orion Black," Old Master said quietly, leaning against the door, arms crossed. "So many hot heads at the Ministry these days, but Orion always listens to reason. Times may be bad, but we can count on him."
Young Master nodded as he ran a hand through his hair and checked his reflection again. "Good family. Pure blood, solid politics."
Old Master sighed. "There are too few fine, upstanding families like that these days. It should be a good opportunity for you, though, tonight. The Blacks don't invite everyone."
"No good opportunities these days, Father," Young Master said. "Not until we end the war."
"You'll do fine," Old Master said. "I have every confidence in you."
Winky could see Young Master's reflection smirking in the mirror, and she thumped her head against the wall again.
"Stop it, Winky," Old Master said, stepping forward and grasping Winky by her shoulder. Winky tried, she really did, but it was hard. (This night would end in clothes, she knew it.)
"What are you doing, Winky? Why are you hurting yourself?" Old Master asked, patting her head absently and turning to Young Master. "Why are you bringing the house-elf, Barty? The Blacks aren't that sort of family."
Young Master turned to his father. "Of course they're that sort of family, Dad," he said dismissively. "It's a formal party. Everyone of significance will have one."
(If Winky used that tone of voice with Old Master, Winky would have to iron her hands.)
Old Master just nodded, though. "If you say so. I'm going to do a bit more work before I go to sleep. Have a good time, Barty."
"I will," Young Master said simply, and he grasped Winky's shoulder so firmly it hurt. Winky shut her eyes tightly and imagined Old Master's hand on her head instead. No one was as loyal to the Crouch family as Winky was. No one.
"Don't wait up for me," Young Master added, and, with a pop! he and Winky were gone.
***
Barty Crouch arrived on the pavement outside a row of dilapidated grey stone houses, in a small, rubbish-strewn square he assumed to be Grimmauld Place. The street was silent and dark; all the streetlamps had burnt out, and the air was unusually chilly and still. He shivered involuntarily. Where was number 12? He glanced down at the invitation in his hand, looking for further instructions.
Orion and Walburga Black
request the honour of your presence
at home
on Saturday the thirty-first of July
Nineteen seventy-six
at seven o'clock
12, Grimmauld Place, London
Please Apparate. This invitation has been charmed to guide you and your servants to the correct address.
Nothing else was written there, but when he glanced up again, number 12 had appeared, door ajar. There was a thin line of golden light shining out from inside, and he could hear the quiet murmur of a party already in progress. As Barty climbed the steps, he could make out an ancient house-elf with tattered ears standing in the doorway watching him surreptitiously, head lowered.
"Welcome, Bartemius Crouch, Junior," the house-elf said. "Please let Pinny show you in."
Barty followed the house-elf into the front hallway, where a portrait of Orion Black's grandfather, seated casually at his desk at the House-elf Exchange, glowered at him from under thick eyebrows. Barty resisted the urge to glower back.
"The guests are all in the drawing room, sir," the house-elf said. "Please let Pinny know if there's anything she can do to help you."
Pinny shuffled off, leaving Barty alone with Winky. Smiling to himself, Barty took off his traveling cloak silently and held it out in his right hand. Winky's bulging eyes moved frantically between Barty and the cloak. She stood still, uncertain what to do, nearly quaking with fear.
"Never mind," Barty said, laughing inwardly; this kind of joke never got old. "You can stay in our service for a while longer." There was a coat stand near the door, and he hung his cloak there himself. The house-elf breathed a sigh a relief. He pretended to drop his gloves as he peeled them off, and the elf squealed and jumped away from him.
"Come, Winky," he said. "We have people to meet."
The interior of 12, Grimmauld Place was surprisingly grand, given what Barty knew about Orion Black's stark offices in Diagon Alley and his conservative business practices. There must have been a thousand candles floating just beneath the drawing room ceiling, illuminating dark, bulky furniture and rich textiles and the elaborate dress robes of several dozen guests. A small army of house elves milled about at knee level, and Barty congratulated himself; the Blacks were, indeed, that sort of family.
Barty's prized invitation had come from Orion and Walburga Black, but he was here tonight to see someone named Lucius Malfoy. He'd never met Malfoy, but Rookwood had said he was quite striking, tall, blond, slight build--ah, that must be him.
Malfoy must have seen Barty already, across the crowded drawing room, because he was at his side in an instant.
"Mr Crouch," Malfoy said, with the quietest, smoothest voice Barty had ever heard. He was dressed in a heavy, embroidered set of green dress robes, much more expensive than his own, and he had a languid, contemplative expression that was hard to read. His eyes flickered first over Barty's face and then his robes and then came to rest on the house-elf at his side.
"Mr Malfoy," Barty replied, "Pleased to meet you." Then, pointedly, "Drinks, Winky."
Malfoy didn't seem to have a house-elf of his own, and Barty was sure he wasn't imagining the look of envy in his eye as she departed. Good, he thought. Always better to deal from a position of power.
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the other guests, a mixture of Orion's business associates and various Ministry employees. A well-dressed, tasteful crowd, as respectable and conservative as Orion was himself. Truth be told, Barty had been surprised to find himself invited here; as he always said to Rookwood, it was these witches and wizards, so afraid of risks, so attached to compromise and negotiation, who were a large part of the problem.
Did Malfoy think so, too? Malfoy was scanning the room confidently, but Barty had noticed that no one else seemed to be paying any attention to them. Barty waited quietly, watching Malfoy for a cue. He'd learned nothing at the Ministry if not the ability to stay silent and let the other person show his hand first.
"You seem to be well-regarded," Malfoy said at last, gesturing at the crowd in the drawing room. "I asked about you, and all I heard about was your recent promotion and your loyalty to the Ministry." He looked at Barty, raising one eyebrow in question.
"Many a pureblood with greater ambitions got a start in life in the Ministry," Barty replied. This must have been a satisfactory answer because Malfoy smiled, a small, tight smile that played at the edge of his lips.
"Our public and private personas aren't always the same," Barty added.
"True," Malfoy replied, nodding. "Indeed, I wouldn't trust someone who claimed they were."
Winky had returned with two glasses of wine balanced on a platter. Malfoy took one for himself and passed Barty the other. "To the end of things as we know them?" he asked.
Barty smiled. "To the end of paperwork and excuses and Muggle-loving accommodation."
Malfoy snorted. "You sound as if you're not long for the Ministry."
Barty smiled and drank his glass of wine.
"To action," Malfoy said and drank his. "I hear we have friends in common?" he asked. "Augustus Rookwood, Department of Mysteries?"
Barty nodded. "Augustus is a good friend in times like these. He said you might introduce me to more," he replied.
Malfoy nodded and signaled to a voluptuous, dark-haired woman not much older than Barty. "Bellatrix Lestrange, Orion's niece," he whispered. "Bella has friends in the highest places. She might introduce you later tonight, in fact."
Barty was not sure what to think about Mrs Lestrange, a striking woman with bloodshot eyes and not one but three house elves and an older man accompanying her. Rookwood had said nothing about her, but then again, Rookwood hadn't been invited to Grimmauld Place, either.
"Mr and Mrs Lestrange," Malfoy said quietly. "Meet Bartemius Crouch, Junior. A friend of--"
"Hush, Lucius," Mrs Lestrange said, cutting him off abruptly. "Sirius is listening in."
Barty followed Malfoy's gaze to see only a dark-haired teenager nearby, who blushed and then looked away. Barty frowned, puzzled. Malfoy and Mrs Lestrange exchanged an unreadable glance.
"Why Sirius," Malfoy said, suddenly smiling brightly in the boy's direction. "Would you care to join us?" He pulled the boy into the small circle they had formed. "We can't risk Walburga getting cross with her anti-social heir."
"Who's we?" the boy asked suspiciously as he joined them. He was young, no more than fifteen or sixteen, but wearing the elaborate dress robes of a wealthy adult. The blush was fading, but he stood awkwardly, arms folded over his chest, glancing around the small group with a hostile expression on his face.
Malfoy glanced first at the Lestranges, then at Barty. "The Grimmauld Place irregulars, I dare say," Malfoy replied.
***
Lucius prided himself on his adaptability, but Sirius' appearance this evening had taken him by surprise.
"Look what the kneazle dragged in," Bellatrix was saying, though Lucius could hardly pay attention to her. "Rodolphus, my dear, I don't believe you've met my cousin Sirius lately, have you?"
No, of course not, Lucius thought, mind racing. No one had seen Sirius in public in years, not since his disastrous departure for Hogwarts. He was a bit of an embarrassment to the family, sorted into the wrong house, said to have acquired ill-conceived and foolish politics he discussed at length in public. In fact, Lucius was surprised to see him here this evening; he'd assumed Orion was sheltering the boy from society.
But here he was, blushing and smiling at Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius felt a surge of excitement course through his blood. Sirius had been watching him. Looking at him. It all made sense now, everything he'd heard over the past month, the rumors, the secretive arguments between Bellatrix and her sister, the Black family's abrupt departure from their summer house in Cornwall and their return to London. A shirtlifter; ah, the scandal. Delightful. Who was the other boy? A Mudblood? Worse yet, a Muggle? It wouldn't surprise him. Bellatrix clearly knew, but did the parents? This could work out to Lucius' advantage; he could see it already.
He summoned a house-elf and another glass of wine to clear his head. Sirius Black wasn't on his agenda for the evening as Barty Crouch had been, but the possibility of a recruit in Orion Black's own family was too good to resist. The Dark Lord was currently discussing spies within the Ministry, but how much better would it be to have a pair of eyes within one of the best, most reliable families? Tiresome Bella didn't count; she was known to have quarreled with both her own family and Orion's.
Two recruits, one in the Ministry, one in Orion Black's house. No one served the Dark Lord better than Lucius Malfoy. And Sirius himself had handed him the means by which to do this. A seduction. Lucius couldn't imagine anything more exciting. He hadn’t thought about boys since school, but this one was unusually pretty, and he was fairly sure Narcissa would turn a blind eye. Proximity to the Dark Lord had improved his life in all sorts of ways.
"Have you considered the future of your house yet, young Sirius?" Rodolphus was asking the boy, pompous as always, and Lucius cringed. This was no way to deal with Orion's son, not with small talk and platitudes.
He tried to catch Bella's eye, but she was ignoring him, already turning her attention to the new recruit. Very well then, Bella, Lucius thought. Keep an eye on him; Barty is yours to lose. Lucius would be the one to deliver Sirius.
Lucius cut in, slipping his arm around Sirius' shoulders and smiling at Bella's old imbecile. "Now, now," he said. "We don't want to bore Sirius, do we?"
A plan was forming in his mind already. Lucius led him away, toward the very edge of the room, where they had a clear view of the guests.
"See your cousin, the Icy One?" he asked, gesturing towards Narcissa, who was talking quietly with some of Orion's clients. "She'll by mine before the year's out."
This was not news to anyone, but after almost a year of courtship, he was almost past Cygnus Black's fatherly objections, and it felt good to claim his prize.
Sirius watched his cousin for a moment, silent, mouth twisted with dislike. "Evidently, early fatherhood robbed Uncle Cygnus of his common sense," he said tersely.
"Why yes, I believe it did," Lucius said, moving closer. Sirius shifted his weight from one foot to another and glanced at Lucius out of the corner of his eye. Lucius placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and rubbed his thumb in small circles.
"What a pity that Orion didn't suffer the same fate," Lucius added. He leaned forward and breathed his next words into Sirius' ear. "I'd have much preferred you to her."
The boy paled and shuddered almost imperceptibly, and the muscles in his jaw tightened. Lucius smiled to himself. Oh, this was going to be even easier than he'd anticipated, and much more pleasant.
"D'you like the idea?" he asked with a low chuckle. Of course the boy did. The question was only what he'd be willing to do in return.
"Come now, Sirius, you needn't hide it with me. I know what went on in Cornwall this summer, even if Orion and Walburga have no idea." He improvised madly, running his fingertips along the nape of Sirius' neck lightly, listening to the boy's shallow breath.
"I hope he's broken you in well, because virgins are no fun at all," he added slyly, unable to resist. "Far too much screaming for my taste."
At first Sirius looked so horrified Lucius wanted to laugh. Then he blushed furiously, and Lucius would have suggested moving to another part of the house right then had not Bellatrix re-joined them.
"Too much screaming? Why, prospective brother-in-law?" she asked, smirking. "Don't you Silence them?"
Lucius laughed out loud at that. This was too easy, too easy. He could almost imagine the look of gratitude the Dark Lord was going to bestow upon him when he delivered the boy. Surreptitiously, he reached behind Sirius and squeezed his arse.
"Let's go somewhere more private, shall we?" he whispered.
***
It was the pinch that did it. The smug smiles annoyed her, the ostentatious robes grated on her nerves, but the pinch was more than she could stand. That upstart Lucius Malfoy was cheating on Cissy before the engagement was announced. The insolence! The arrogance! Bellatrix was going to kill him, Dark Lord be damned.
She turned to her cousin. "The house elves just brought your brother upstairs to meet the guests in the dining room," she said to Sirius quietly. "Why don't you go join him?"
Sirius hesitated.
"Go do something, Sirius," she said. "Don't test me."
He glanced anxiously at Lucius, but Lucius shrugged, and Sirius departed.
"Follow me," she said to Lucius, gesturing toward a concealed door in the wall behind them.
They slipped through the door into a small, windowless room with a desk covered in ledgers and account books. Uncle Orion's office, accessible only to the family. Nowhere safer in the house for this conversation.
"Lucius," she said, pulling the door shut behind her, nudging an elf out of the way with her foot as she did so. "No."
"No?" he asked, sitting down on top of the desk and shaking out his dress robes. "I don't know what you mean."
"No. No Sirius. Not now, not later."
"Don't tell me about his blood-traitor politics," Lucius said. "He's young. He doesn't know what he's saying. He can be convinced otherwise."
Bella shook her head. "No, he doesn't know what he believes, not at this age. No one does. But you can't have him."
"Why not?" Lucius asked. "He's bright, he's well-connected, he has access to his father. You know how much the Dark Lord will appreciate my efforts." He smiled silkily. "Jealousy is a terrible thing in a woman, Bella."
Bellatrix snorted. "He's emotional, and he's weak."
"Exactly," Lucius said, looking surprised. "He's what, sixteen? Seventeen? It wouldn't take much to convince him. I could take him with us tonight, I'm sure. We've wasted six months courting Barty Crouch. This one would be easy."
Bellatrix shook her head. The man's arrogance was unbelievable. "And when he goes back to school in a month, to his blood-traitor friends? When Dumbledore hears rumors and calls him into his office? He'd collapse. What kind of plan is that?" Truly, she had no idea why her Lord had taken this man into such close confidence. His stupidity was astounding.
"You don't have much confidence in your cousin, Bellatrix," Lucius said.
"I'm a realistic judge of character," she said. "And Sirius is not good material for the Dark Lord."
"But-"
"No."
Lucius had the nerve to sulk. Bella closed her eyes for a moment, counting silently to ten. She was trying to save the wizarding world from Muggle-lovers and blood-traitors, and all this bastard-this bastard who'd had the audacity to ask for her sister's hand in marriage, for God's sake-all this bastard could think about was the possibility of an extra fuck along the way.
Bella slowly let out a long, deep breath and opened her eyes. Lucius was still looking put out.
"Rodolphus has made certain the Portkey's ready," she said after a moment. "Why don't you go first with Barty?"
It was a concession, letting Lucius act as if he were responsible for this new recruit, after all the work she'd done. Bella drummed her fingers impatiently, waiting for his response.
"Give me one more try with Sirius," Lucius coaxed. "I can do it. I can tell. Sirius is ready for guidance. I think he's willing to hear about our cause."
"You think Sirius is willing to suck your prick, Lucius," Bellatrix hissed. "That does not make him a potential Death Eater. You couldn't explain our cause if you tried."
Lucius laughed. "Why does this bother you so much, Bella? Are you afraid Sirius might challenge your place in our little circle?"
"He's not going!" Bella said, much more loudly than she'd intended. "Lucius, listen to me-"
She was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. "Bella? Is everything alright? Are you ready?"
Bellatrix opened the door no more than an inch and peered outside. It was Narcissa, forehead creased, her blue eyes wide and concerned. "What's going on?" Cissy whispered. "I thought Kreacher was setting up the Portkey in the kitchen? Barty is waiting for you."
"We're fine, Cissy. No need to worry," Bellatrix said. "Lucius and I are just making some last-minute arrangements. We're not ready yet. Give us a moment."
Narcissa smiled. "Oh. That's fine," she said. "We'll be outside, waiting."
***
Narcissa Black had never seen Bartemius Crouch's son before, she was quite sure; he was someone she would have remembered, even if they'd only met each other briefly. He was about as different from his father as one could imagine-blond where his father was dark, relaxed where his father was stiff, and attentive. In all of his visits to the two Black households, Bartemius Crouch, Senior, had never paid a fraction of the attention that Barty was now paying to Narcissa.
"Do you attend meetings?" Barty was now asking her quietly, as they sat at a table at the far end of the drawing room, as far away from the crowd as they could manage. Regulus was seated nearby, reading a book on Quidditch, plainly bored by the party and the guests.
"Of course," Narcissa said, nodding. "My Lord doesn't allow very many of us in the inner circle, you'll see, but he's interested in gaining supporters in unexpected places, like the Ministry, or the Black family." Narcissa gestured at Barty, then at herself. "We're valuable. He doesn't need the ideologues and the radicals at this point; he needs supporters in our bigger firms and in the Ministry. This is the only way to end the war and move on."
"Thus his interest in Orion Black's family," Barty said quietly. "Is that why the party is here this evening?"
Narcissa shrugged. "It works both ways. Eventually Uncle will either abandon his neutrality and declare support for the Dark Lord, or the Dark Lord will announce he's done some of his best recruiting at Grimmauld Place. Either way, he benefits from the association."
"But your uncle-and your parents-are in danger in the meantime," Barty said, frowning. "Surely you worry about that?"
Narcissa looked at him shrewdly. "Are you worried about your own?"
Barty flushed angrily, biting down his lip. Narcissa waited for a moment; men often spoke up if one gave them time.
"It's too late to worry about them," Barty said finally. "They've made their choices; they're too afraid of the Dark Arts to use them properly. Another generation of cowards like my father, and the Muggle-lovers will take over. The blood lines will be lost, and the wizarding world will be gone."
"That's what my father says," Regulus said suddenly, looking up from his book. "Too many Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers, and we're finished, that's what he says."
"You're in a position to do something, Barty," Narcissa said.
"I am!" Barty said fervently, leaning towards Narcissa. "I can see what we need to do. We need to take action. We need to purge the Mudbloods and the Muggle-lovers and end the war and get on with our lives."
"This war isn't helping anyone," Narcissa said. "If the Ministry would just embrace some of the ideas the Dark Lord has put forward…"
"Exactly! If we could just get back past the regulations and the endless debates and do something."
"It's a time for action, not debate."
"It is. People like Orion Black-" Barty glanced around the room. "Sorry, I don't mean to criticize one of our best families, but people like Orion Black are too afraid to lose what they have. They refuse to see that if we don't embrace some of the Dark Lord's proposals, the Muggles will take over."
Narcissa reached out and took Barty's hand in her own. "We have to move quickly," she whispered. "We're at a moment of crisis. Would you come with me and see the Dark Lord? Tonight?"
Barty suddenly looked anxious. "Is he here, at Grimmauld Place?"
Narcissa laughed. "No, silly, not here. But I can take you to him. He's waiting for you, in fact."
Barty sighed, and Narcissa nodded sympathetically and looked away.
She hadn't expected a quick response; men far older than Barty had struggled with this last, crucial step. Best to give him some time. She summoned a house-elf and poured them each another glass of wine, then passed a third glass down to Regulus. He glanced up form his book and grinned. She smiled back and turned her attention to the party. There was no point in putting any additional pressure on Barty; he had to come to this decision on his own.
"Look, Cissy," Regulus said suddenly, setting his book down. Narcissa followed his gaze.
Across the room, she could see Bella approaching Uncle Orion, eyes blazing, Lucius in tow. They had clearly continued arguing after Narcissa left them in the study.
"There's going to be a row," Regulus said, sounding worried. "Father hates Bella."
Indeed. He wasn't fond of Lucius, either. Narcissa watched with a kind of horrified fascination.
Uncle Orion had been talking to someone else from the firm, but Bella was persistent, and after a few moments they were deep in heated conversation. Lucius was gesturing frantically, as if he were trying to deny something. Narcissa sighed. Already, she could imagine decades of Lucius' excuses and prevarication and charming smiles; she just wished he didn't have to be troublesome in public. The man didn't understand what discretion was.
"Oooh, they're talking about Sirius," Regulus said, straining to hear. "Bet he's in trouble again."
Over the murmur of the guests Narcissa could hear the words "Cornwall" and "cocksucker" and "engaged."
"Oh, my," Narcissa said. "This is not good."
"What?" Barty asked suddenly, raising his head.
"Barty, are you ready?" Narcissa asked, touching Barty's arm. It was a risk, to push like this, but chaos was about to break loose. "We need to go."
Barty bit his lip. "I am, Narcissa. I'm ready."
"WHAT ARE YOU TELLING ME ABOUT MY SON?" Uncle Orion bellowed from the far end of the room. Narcissa could hear the nervous laughter of guests who hadn't yet realized the party was over. She winced. It was a crisis indeed when Uncle Orion got angry in public.
"Quick, Barty," Narcissa whispered. "We'll slip out the back door here. We'll return before anyone even notices we're missing."
"Right," Barty said resolutely.
"Come on, then," Narcissa said quietly. "We'll just-"
And then she had a flash of inspiration; she probably had an hour or more before anyone went looking for her, or for Barty Crouch, or for Orion's youngest son. "Regulus," she said. "Would you like to come with us tonight?"
Regulus beamed. "Really?"
"SIRIUS ORION BLACK! COME HERE THIS MINUTE!" Uncle Orion yelled, and the room finally fell silent.
Narcissa grabbed Regulus' elbow and steered them both toward the kitchen. "Quickly, both of you," she said, hurrying them past the house elves, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where the Portkey was waiting.
***
After all the fuss everyone had made about the Portkey-Kreacher and Pinny, Cousin Bella and Cousin Rodolphus-Regulus had imagined that it lead somewhere interesting, not the dining room in Cousin Bella's London apartment.
"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Regulus whispered to Narcissa. Cousin Rodolphus made mistakes like these sometimes; privately, Regulus thought he was a bit dim.
"Hush, Regulus," Narcissa said. "I'm sure. Stay here. Barty, come inside with me."
The dining room was dimly lit, but Regulus could make out a man in a traveling cloak sitting at the far end of the table. Was this the Dark Lord they always talked about, the one his cousins thought would bring the war to an end and save the wizarding world? Somehow Regulus had imagined he would be bigger, or older, more like Dumbledore. Instead, he was just an ordinary wizard, pale and dark-haired, with waxy, sunken face, as if he'd been stuck in the Floo and had been burned and melted, like a Muggle, or a candle. Regulus watched him carefully. He did have red eyes, though; that was interesting. Dumbledore's were just an ordinary blue.
"My Lord," Narcissa said. "Bartemius Crouch, Junior, Assistant to the Minister of Magic."
"My Lord," Barty said, gesturing expansively. "I-"
"Bartemius Crouch, Junior, at last," the man said, sounding amused. "I've heard a lot about you. Are you finally joining us?"
"Yes, my Lord, I-"
"Silence," the man said sharply, and instead of talking, the two men stared at each other until Barty shuddered and fell to his knees, holding his head and gasping for breath. Glancing at the red-eyed man, Narcissa helped him back to his feet and slipped an arm around his shoulders.
"Bartemius Crouch, Junior," the red-eyed man said again.
"What can I do for you for you, My Lord?" Barty asked, voice quavering.
"You don't need to do anything for me," the man said. "I might give you a gift, though, if you would like to accept it."
Barty nodded.
"Come here," the man said, and Barty approached him cautiously.
"Show him your wrist," Narcissa whispered.
Regulus leaned forward, trying to see what was happening. As soon as Barty had his sleeve rolled up, the man tapped his wrist twice with his wand, hissing like a snake. Regulus could see a dark mark spreading across his wrist, like spilled ink, but it must have been boiling hot or poisonous or cursed, since Barty jerked and let out a whimper.
"This world is ending and the next is ready to begin," the man said. "That will call you to my side when I need your help."
"Thank you," Barty whispered, but Regulus' nose wrinkled in bewilderment. That was all? He thought for certain there would be hexes or an Unforgivable Curse, or someone would turn into a snake. Bella and Narcissa made this man sound much more interesting.
"Time to go," Narcissa said gently to Barty, who backed away from the red-eyed man slowly. "My Lord, before we leave, I want to introduce you to someone."
"Your cousin?" the man said, looking at Regulus. "The Quidditch enthusiast?"
Regulus had forgotten he was still holding his book. He shifted to hold it behind his back.
"Regulus Black," Narcissa said. "Orion Black's son." To Regulus she added, "Come closer, Regulus. The Dark Lord would like to see you."
It was the most curious thing, standing in front of this man. A wave of memories washed over Regulus: his sorting; the time he was called into Dumbledore's office; a dinner party in Cornwall, earlier this summer; his father, talking to Regulus about the Ministry; Regulus himself, seated next to his father at his desk at work. It was exhausting reliving all these moments at once, and when the last faded way Regulus felt lightheaded and a little breathless. He gripped his book with sweaty hands.
"Can I ask you something, Regulus?" the man said.
Regulus nodded.
"If I gave you a wand like this one-" he placed his own wand on the table and pushed it towards Regulus. "Go ahead, pick it up. If I gave you a wand like this one and told you a spell that would rid the world of Muggle-borns and Mudbloods and blood traitors, all of them, instantly, would you be able to use it?"
Regulus picked up the wand. It was thinner than his, a little more flexible.
"Don't aim it at Bella's china, Regulus," the man said, half-smiling. "What would you do?"
Regulus tried a few experimental wand movements. "Would it be bad for business?" he asked. "That's what Father's always worried about, that war will ruin his business."
"No more Muggle-borns means no more war, Regulus," the man said, his red eyes fixed on Regulus in a way that made his skin crawl.
"I suppose so, then," Regulus said, jabbing the wand in the air, then returning it to the table. "That's what we want, right? No more war?"
The red-eyed man reached out and took his wand back, tucking it inside his cloak. "That's what we all want." He stood up and nodded at Narcissa, pulling his cloak about him as if he were about to leave.
"Are you going to give me something, too, sir?" Regulus blurted out. "On my wrist, like him?"
"Regulus!" Narcissa scolded. "Hush."
"Do you know what that was, on his wrist?" the red-eyed man asked.
Regulus shook his head.
"Come back when you know," the man said. "If you still want it. Your cousin will know how to find me."
"Well done, Narcissa," the man added, and with a pop he was gone.
***
"Is that you, Barty?" Bartemius said, getting to his feet slowly and shuffling out of his study. He must have fallen asleep over his desk hours ago; the house was silent and dark apart from a single light in the hallway and the sounds of young Barty kicking off his shoes and hanging up his cloak.
Hands tucked in his bathrobe, eyelids heavy, Bartemius joined his son in the hall. "Have a good night tonight?"
"Brilliant, Dad," Barty said. Barty's face was damp with sweat and his hair disheveled, but he had a fierce, triumphant look in his eye that his father recognized. Bartemius smiled. Like father, like son; the Crouches were known for their ambition.
"You made some good contacts, I assume," Bartemius said. "The Blacks are the kind of people who can help you get ahead."
"They are indeed," Barty said.
Behind Barty, Winky was knocking her head against the wall again, the sad little thing.
"Grab hold of Winky, would you, Bart?" Bartemius said. "She's trying to hurt herself again. Just hold her still for a moment, she'll stop."
Barty grabbed hold of Winky roughly. "Enough," he said. "Stop." The house-elf wilted in Barty's grasp.
Barty undid the top buttons on his robe and ran a finger under his collar.
"Go on to bed, Dad," Barty said. "I'm going to send a few owls before I go to sleep."
"Don't stay up too late," Bartemius said. "The world will still be there for you to conquer in the morning."
Barty smiled. "It will, Dad, it will."
Bartemius climbed the stairs slowly, his muscles aching from the hours spent dozing at his desk but his heart swelling with pride. He had trained Barty well, and a good thing, too. These were trying times, and the wizarding world was depending on people like them.
Truth be told, Bartemius thought as he climbed in bed, he felt a bit of pity for Orion, whose eldest son was said to be something of an embarrassment to the family. Perhaps there was hope for the second. Young Barty could take the second son under his wing, help him find his way. Bartemius fell asleep reminding himself to say something to Barty in the morning.
Author: magnetic_pole
Summary: Voldemort's supporters gather at 12, Grimmauld Place, the night Barty Crouch takes the Dark Mark.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Winky; Barty Crouch, Junior; Lucius Malfoy; Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Narcissa Black; Regulus Black; Bartemius Crouch, Senior
Warnings: Mostly gen with slash content
Notes: Enormous, heartfelt thanks to superbetas penknife and melandry
Original story: Untitled drabble by aillil
***
The night of the party at Grimmauld Place found Winky hiding under the stairs at home, imaging awful things. Young Master dead. Young Master estranged from his father. Old Master dead. (Though, admittedly, Winky couldn't quite work out how that would happen.) Winky herself dead, head mounted on a wall in a far away London townhouse. (She had heard that's what they did there.) Worst of all, the image that set Winky trembling, was Old Master leaning over and scolding her for letting this happen, disappointment clear on his sad, lined face. Young Master always said the world would end in a backlog of paperwork at the Ministry, but Winky knew it would end with a sigh and a pair of Old Master's mismatched socks.
Winky had hidden the invitation when it came as best she could, tucking it between the pages of Young Master's least favorite section of the Daily Prophet. She wasn't quite sure how he found it, but he did. She also wasn't sure how she knew she would be invited to go, too, but the morning of the party she was excused from dinner preparation and told to wait for Young Master in the front hallway shortly after he arrived home from the Ministry. Winky did as she was told; she always did.
As the clock struck eight, she heard the sharp sound of Young Master's shoes on the floor in the front hallway.
"Winky?" Young Master said impatiently, and Winky took a deep breath and came out from the shadows under the stairs to stand at his side. Winky would never let the family down, not until her dying day. (Which might come earlier than Winky would hope, if Old Master found out what was going on tonight.) Winky swallowed hard and lifted her chin.
"Bartemius Crouch, Junior," Young Master said to himself under his breath, sounding pleased with himself. He was fussing with his traveling cloak. "At your service, my Lord."
Winky thumped her head against the wall. Just once, softly, so that Old Master didn't hear; Young Master wouldn't notice.
"Barty?" It was Old Master's voice, hoarse and tired, coming from the next room.
"Just going out for a few hours, Dad," Young Master called out. "Party at the Blacks' this evening."
Old Master appeared at the doorway in his old red housecoat and slippers. (Poor man, exhausted from work; Winky wanted nothing more than to bring him a drink and rub his feet until he fell asleep.) Old Master smiled at Young Master, who was fixing his tie in the mirror.
"I thought they were in Cornwall over the summer," Old Master said.
"They're back in town again," Young Master said. "The war and all that. Not the time to be away from business."
"I like Orion Black," Old Master said quietly, leaning against the door, arms crossed. "So many hot heads at the Ministry these days, but Orion always listens to reason. Times may be bad, but we can count on him."
Young Master nodded as he ran a hand through his hair and checked his reflection again. "Good family. Pure blood, solid politics."
Old Master sighed. "There are too few fine, upstanding families like that these days. It should be a good opportunity for you, though, tonight. The Blacks don't invite everyone."
"No good opportunities these days, Father," Young Master said. "Not until we end the war."
"You'll do fine," Old Master said. "I have every confidence in you."
Winky could see Young Master's reflection smirking in the mirror, and she thumped her head against the wall again.
"Stop it, Winky," Old Master said, stepping forward and grasping Winky by her shoulder. Winky tried, she really did, but it was hard. (This night would end in clothes, she knew it.)
"What are you doing, Winky? Why are you hurting yourself?" Old Master asked, patting her head absently and turning to Young Master. "Why are you bringing the house-elf, Barty? The Blacks aren't that sort of family."
Young Master turned to his father. "Of course they're that sort of family, Dad," he said dismissively. "It's a formal party. Everyone of significance will have one."
(If Winky used that tone of voice with Old Master, Winky would have to iron her hands.)
Old Master just nodded, though. "If you say so. I'm going to do a bit more work before I go to sleep. Have a good time, Barty."
"I will," Young Master said simply, and he grasped Winky's shoulder so firmly it hurt. Winky shut her eyes tightly and imagined Old Master's hand on her head instead. No one was as loyal to the Crouch family as Winky was. No one.
"Don't wait up for me," Young Master added, and, with a pop! he and Winky were gone.
***
Barty Crouch arrived on the pavement outside a row of dilapidated grey stone houses, in a small, rubbish-strewn square he assumed to be Grimmauld Place. The street was silent and dark; all the streetlamps had burnt out, and the air was unusually chilly and still. He shivered involuntarily. Where was number 12? He glanced down at the invitation in his hand, looking for further instructions.
Orion and Walburga Black
request the honour of your presence
at home
on Saturday the thirty-first of July
Nineteen seventy-six
at seven o'clock
12, Grimmauld Place, London
Please Apparate. This invitation has been charmed to guide you and your servants to the correct address.
Nothing else was written there, but when he glanced up again, number 12 had appeared, door ajar. There was a thin line of golden light shining out from inside, and he could hear the quiet murmur of a party already in progress. As Barty climbed the steps, he could make out an ancient house-elf with tattered ears standing in the doorway watching him surreptitiously, head lowered.
"Welcome, Bartemius Crouch, Junior," the house-elf said. "Please let Pinny show you in."
Barty followed the house-elf into the front hallway, where a portrait of Orion Black's grandfather, seated casually at his desk at the House-elf Exchange, glowered at him from under thick eyebrows. Barty resisted the urge to glower back.
"The guests are all in the drawing room, sir," the house-elf said. "Please let Pinny know if there's anything she can do to help you."
Pinny shuffled off, leaving Barty alone with Winky. Smiling to himself, Barty took off his traveling cloak silently and held it out in his right hand. Winky's bulging eyes moved frantically between Barty and the cloak. She stood still, uncertain what to do, nearly quaking with fear.
"Never mind," Barty said, laughing inwardly; this kind of joke never got old. "You can stay in our service for a while longer." There was a coat stand near the door, and he hung his cloak there himself. The house-elf breathed a sigh a relief. He pretended to drop his gloves as he peeled them off, and the elf squealed and jumped away from him.
"Come, Winky," he said. "We have people to meet."
The interior of 12, Grimmauld Place was surprisingly grand, given what Barty knew about Orion Black's stark offices in Diagon Alley and his conservative business practices. There must have been a thousand candles floating just beneath the drawing room ceiling, illuminating dark, bulky furniture and rich textiles and the elaborate dress robes of several dozen guests. A small army of house elves milled about at knee level, and Barty congratulated himself; the Blacks were, indeed, that sort of family.
Barty's prized invitation had come from Orion and Walburga Black, but he was here tonight to see someone named Lucius Malfoy. He'd never met Malfoy, but Rookwood had said he was quite striking, tall, blond, slight build--ah, that must be him.
Malfoy must have seen Barty already, across the crowded drawing room, because he was at his side in an instant.
"Mr Crouch," Malfoy said, with the quietest, smoothest voice Barty had ever heard. He was dressed in a heavy, embroidered set of green dress robes, much more expensive than his own, and he had a languid, contemplative expression that was hard to read. His eyes flickered first over Barty's face and then his robes and then came to rest on the house-elf at his side.
"Mr Malfoy," Barty replied, "Pleased to meet you." Then, pointedly, "Drinks, Winky."
Malfoy didn't seem to have a house-elf of his own, and Barty was sure he wasn't imagining the look of envy in his eye as she departed. Good, he thought. Always better to deal from a position of power.
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the other guests, a mixture of Orion's business associates and various Ministry employees. A well-dressed, tasteful crowd, as respectable and conservative as Orion was himself. Truth be told, Barty had been surprised to find himself invited here; as he always said to Rookwood, it was these witches and wizards, so afraid of risks, so attached to compromise and negotiation, who were a large part of the problem.
Did Malfoy think so, too? Malfoy was scanning the room confidently, but Barty had noticed that no one else seemed to be paying any attention to them. Barty waited quietly, watching Malfoy for a cue. He'd learned nothing at the Ministry if not the ability to stay silent and let the other person show his hand first.
"You seem to be well-regarded," Malfoy said at last, gesturing at the crowd in the drawing room. "I asked about you, and all I heard about was your recent promotion and your loyalty to the Ministry." He looked at Barty, raising one eyebrow in question.
"Many a pureblood with greater ambitions got a start in life in the Ministry," Barty replied. This must have been a satisfactory answer because Malfoy smiled, a small, tight smile that played at the edge of his lips.
"Our public and private personas aren't always the same," Barty added.
"True," Malfoy replied, nodding. "Indeed, I wouldn't trust someone who claimed they were."
Winky had returned with two glasses of wine balanced on a platter. Malfoy took one for himself and passed Barty the other. "To the end of things as we know them?" he asked.
Barty smiled. "To the end of paperwork and excuses and Muggle-loving accommodation."
Malfoy snorted. "You sound as if you're not long for the Ministry."
Barty smiled and drank his glass of wine.
"To action," Malfoy said and drank his. "I hear we have friends in common?" he asked. "Augustus Rookwood, Department of Mysteries?"
Barty nodded. "Augustus is a good friend in times like these. He said you might introduce me to more," he replied.
Malfoy nodded and signaled to a voluptuous, dark-haired woman not much older than Barty. "Bellatrix Lestrange, Orion's niece," he whispered. "Bella has friends in the highest places. She might introduce you later tonight, in fact."
Barty was not sure what to think about Mrs Lestrange, a striking woman with bloodshot eyes and not one but three house elves and an older man accompanying her. Rookwood had said nothing about her, but then again, Rookwood hadn't been invited to Grimmauld Place, either.
"Mr and Mrs Lestrange," Malfoy said quietly. "Meet Bartemius Crouch, Junior. A friend of--"
"Hush, Lucius," Mrs Lestrange said, cutting him off abruptly. "Sirius is listening in."
Barty followed Malfoy's gaze to see only a dark-haired teenager nearby, who blushed and then looked away. Barty frowned, puzzled. Malfoy and Mrs Lestrange exchanged an unreadable glance.
"Why Sirius," Malfoy said, suddenly smiling brightly in the boy's direction. "Would you care to join us?" He pulled the boy into the small circle they had formed. "We can't risk Walburga getting cross with her anti-social heir."
"Who's we?" the boy asked suspiciously as he joined them. He was young, no more than fifteen or sixteen, but wearing the elaborate dress robes of a wealthy adult. The blush was fading, but he stood awkwardly, arms folded over his chest, glancing around the small group with a hostile expression on his face.
Malfoy glanced first at the Lestranges, then at Barty. "The Grimmauld Place irregulars, I dare say," Malfoy replied.
***
Lucius prided himself on his adaptability, but Sirius' appearance this evening had taken him by surprise.
"Look what the kneazle dragged in," Bellatrix was saying, though Lucius could hardly pay attention to her. "Rodolphus, my dear, I don't believe you've met my cousin Sirius lately, have you?"
No, of course not, Lucius thought, mind racing. No one had seen Sirius in public in years, not since his disastrous departure for Hogwarts. He was a bit of an embarrassment to the family, sorted into the wrong house, said to have acquired ill-conceived and foolish politics he discussed at length in public. In fact, Lucius was surprised to see him here this evening; he'd assumed Orion was sheltering the boy from society.
But here he was, blushing and smiling at Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius felt a surge of excitement course through his blood. Sirius had been watching him. Looking at him. It all made sense now, everything he'd heard over the past month, the rumors, the secretive arguments between Bellatrix and her sister, the Black family's abrupt departure from their summer house in Cornwall and their return to London. A shirtlifter; ah, the scandal. Delightful. Who was the other boy? A Mudblood? Worse yet, a Muggle? It wouldn't surprise him. Bellatrix clearly knew, but did the parents? This could work out to Lucius' advantage; he could see it already.
He summoned a house-elf and another glass of wine to clear his head. Sirius Black wasn't on his agenda for the evening as Barty Crouch had been, but the possibility of a recruit in Orion Black's own family was too good to resist. The Dark Lord was currently discussing spies within the Ministry, but how much better would it be to have a pair of eyes within one of the best, most reliable families? Tiresome Bella didn't count; she was known to have quarreled with both her own family and Orion's.
Two recruits, one in the Ministry, one in Orion Black's house. No one served the Dark Lord better than Lucius Malfoy. And Sirius himself had handed him the means by which to do this. A seduction. Lucius couldn't imagine anything more exciting. He hadn’t thought about boys since school, but this one was unusually pretty, and he was fairly sure Narcissa would turn a blind eye. Proximity to the Dark Lord had improved his life in all sorts of ways.
"Have you considered the future of your house yet, young Sirius?" Rodolphus was asking the boy, pompous as always, and Lucius cringed. This was no way to deal with Orion's son, not with small talk and platitudes.
He tried to catch Bella's eye, but she was ignoring him, already turning her attention to the new recruit. Very well then, Bella, Lucius thought. Keep an eye on him; Barty is yours to lose. Lucius would be the one to deliver Sirius.
Lucius cut in, slipping his arm around Sirius' shoulders and smiling at Bella's old imbecile. "Now, now," he said. "We don't want to bore Sirius, do we?"
A plan was forming in his mind already. Lucius led him away, toward the very edge of the room, where they had a clear view of the guests.
"See your cousin, the Icy One?" he asked, gesturing towards Narcissa, who was talking quietly with some of Orion's clients. "She'll by mine before the year's out."
This was not news to anyone, but after almost a year of courtship, he was almost past Cygnus Black's fatherly objections, and it felt good to claim his prize.
Sirius watched his cousin for a moment, silent, mouth twisted with dislike. "Evidently, early fatherhood robbed Uncle Cygnus of his common sense," he said tersely.
"Why yes, I believe it did," Lucius said, moving closer. Sirius shifted his weight from one foot to another and glanced at Lucius out of the corner of his eye. Lucius placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and rubbed his thumb in small circles.
"What a pity that Orion didn't suffer the same fate," Lucius added. He leaned forward and breathed his next words into Sirius' ear. "I'd have much preferred you to her."
The boy paled and shuddered almost imperceptibly, and the muscles in his jaw tightened. Lucius smiled to himself. Oh, this was going to be even easier than he'd anticipated, and much more pleasant.
"D'you like the idea?" he asked with a low chuckle. Of course the boy did. The question was only what he'd be willing to do in return.
"Come now, Sirius, you needn't hide it with me. I know what went on in Cornwall this summer, even if Orion and Walburga have no idea." He improvised madly, running his fingertips along the nape of Sirius' neck lightly, listening to the boy's shallow breath.
"I hope he's broken you in well, because virgins are no fun at all," he added slyly, unable to resist. "Far too much screaming for my taste."
At first Sirius looked so horrified Lucius wanted to laugh. Then he blushed furiously, and Lucius would have suggested moving to another part of the house right then had not Bellatrix re-joined them.
"Too much screaming? Why, prospective brother-in-law?" she asked, smirking. "Don't you Silence them?"
Lucius laughed out loud at that. This was too easy, too easy. He could almost imagine the look of gratitude the Dark Lord was going to bestow upon him when he delivered the boy. Surreptitiously, he reached behind Sirius and squeezed his arse.
"Let's go somewhere more private, shall we?" he whispered.
***
It was the pinch that did it. The smug smiles annoyed her, the ostentatious robes grated on her nerves, but the pinch was more than she could stand. That upstart Lucius Malfoy was cheating on Cissy before the engagement was announced. The insolence! The arrogance! Bellatrix was going to kill him, Dark Lord be damned.
She turned to her cousin. "The house elves just brought your brother upstairs to meet the guests in the dining room," she said to Sirius quietly. "Why don't you go join him?"
Sirius hesitated.
"Go do something, Sirius," she said. "Don't test me."
He glanced anxiously at Lucius, but Lucius shrugged, and Sirius departed.
"Follow me," she said to Lucius, gesturing toward a concealed door in the wall behind them.
They slipped through the door into a small, windowless room with a desk covered in ledgers and account books. Uncle Orion's office, accessible only to the family. Nowhere safer in the house for this conversation.
"Lucius," she said, pulling the door shut behind her, nudging an elf out of the way with her foot as she did so. "No."
"No?" he asked, sitting down on top of the desk and shaking out his dress robes. "I don't know what you mean."
"No. No Sirius. Not now, not later."
"Don't tell me about his blood-traitor politics," Lucius said. "He's young. He doesn't know what he's saying. He can be convinced otherwise."
Bella shook her head. "No, he doesn't know what he believes, not at this age. No one does. But you can't have him."
"Why not?" Lucius asked. "He's bright, he's well-connected, he has access to his father. You know how much the Dark Lord will appreciate my efforts." He smiled silkily. "Jealousy is a terrible thing in a woman, Bella."
Bellatrix snorted. "He's emotional, and he's weak."
"Exactly," Lucius said, looking surprised. "He's what, sixteen? Seventeen? It wouldn't take much to convince him. I could take him with us tonight, I'm sure. We've wasted six months courting Barty Crouch. This one would be easy."
Bellatrix shook her head. The man's arrogance was unbelievable. "And when he goes back to school in a month, to his blood-traitor friends? When Dumbledore hears rumors and calls him into his office? He'd collapse. What kind of plan is that?" Truly, she had no idea why her Lord had taken this man into such close confidence. His stupidity was astounding.
"You don't have much confidence in your cousin, Bellatrix," Lucius said.
"I'm a realistic judge of character," she said. "And Sirius is not good material for the Dark Lord."
"But-"
"No."
Lucius had the nerve to sulk. Bella closed her eyes for a moment, counting silently to ten. She was trying to save the wizarding world from Muggle-lovers and blood-traitors, and all this bastard-this bastard who'd had the audacity to ask for her sister's hand in marriage, for God's sake-all this bastard could think about was the possibility of an extra fuck along the way.
Bella slowly let out a long, deep breath and opened her eyes. Lucius was still looking put out.
"Rodolphus has made certain the Portkey's ready," she said after a moment. "Why don't you go first with Barty?"
It was a concession, letting Lucius act as if he were responsible for this new recruit, after all the work she'd done. Bella drummed her fingers impatiently, waiting for his response.
"Give me one more try with Sirius," Lucius coaxed. "I can do it. I can tell. Sirius is ready for guidance. I think he's willing to hear about our cause."
"You think Sirius is willing to suck your prick, Lucius," Bellatrix hissed. "That does not make him a potential Death Eater. You couldn't explain our cause if you tried."
Lucius laughed. "Why does this bother you so much, Bella? Are you afraid Sirius might challenge your place in our little circle?"
"He's not going!" Bella said, much more loudly than she'd intended. "Lucius, listen to me-"
She was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. "Bella? Is everything alright? Are you ready?"
Bellatrix opened the door no more than an inch and peered outside. It was Narcissa, forehead creased, her blue eyes wide and concerned. "What's going on?" Cissy whispered. "I thought Kreacher was setting up the Portkey in the kitchen? Barty is waiting for you."
"We're fine, Cissy. No need to worry," Bellatrix said. "Lucius and I are just making some last-minute arrangements. We're not ready yet. Give us a moment."
Narcissa smiled. "Oh. That's fine," she said. "We'll be outside, waiting."
***
Narcissa Black had never seen Bartemius Crouch's son before, she was quite sure; he was someone she would have remembered, even if they'd only met each other briefly. He was about as different from his father as one could imagine-blond where his father was dark, relaxed where his father was stiff, and attentive. In all of his visits to the two Black households, Bartemius Crouch, Senior, had never paid a fraction of the attention that Barty was now paying to Narcissa.
"Do you attend meetings?" Barty was now asking her quietly, as they sat at a table at the far end of the drawing room, as far away from the crowd as they could manage. Regulus was seated nearby, reading a book on Quidditch, plainly bored by the party and the guests.
"Of course," Narcissa said, nodding. "My Lord doesn't allow very many of us in the inner circle, you'll see, but he's interested in gaining supporters in unexpected places, like the Ministry, or the Black family." Narcissa gestured at Barty, then at herself. "We're valuable. He doesn't need the ideologues and the radicals at this point; he needs supporters in our bigger firms and in the Ministry. This is the only way to end the war and move on."
"Thus his interest in Orion Black's family," Barty said quietly. "Is that why the party is here this evening?"
Narcissa shrugged. "It works both ways. Eventually Uncle will either abandon his neutrality and declare support for the Dark Lord, or the Dark Lord will announce he's done some of his best recruiting at Grimmauld Place. Either way, he benefits from the association."
"But your uncle-and your parents-are in danger in the meantime," Barty said, frowning. "Surely you worry about that?"
Narcissa looked at him shrewdly. "Are you worried about your own?"
Barty flushed angrily, biting down his lip. Narcissa waited for a moment; men often spoke up if one gave them time.
"It's too late to worry about them," Barty said finally. "They've made their choices; they're too afraid of the Dark Arts to use them properly. Another generation of cowards like my father, and the Muggle-lovers will take over. The blood lines will be lost, and the wizarding world will be gone."
"That's what my father says," Regulus said suddenly, looking up from his book. "Too many Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers, and we're finished, that's what he says."
"You're in a position to do something, Barty," Narcissa said.
"I am!" Barty said fervently, leaning towards Narcissa. "I can see what we need to do. We need to take action. We need to purge the Mudbloods and the Muggle-lovers and end the war and get on with our lives."
"This war isn't helping anyone," Narcissa said. "If the Ministry would just embrace some of the ideas the Dark Lord has put forward…"
"Exactly! If we could just get back past the regulations and the endless debates and do something."
"It's a time for action, not debate."
"It is. People like Orion Black-" Barty glanced around the room. "Sorry, I don't mean to criticize one of our best families, but people like Orion Black are too afraid to lose what they have. They refuse to see that if we don't embrace some of the Dark Lord's proposals, the Muggles will take over."
Narcissa reached out and took Barty's hand in her own. "We have to move quickly," she whispered. "We're at a moment of crisis. Would you come with me and see the Dark Lord? Tonight?"
Barty suddenly looked anxious. "Is he here, at Grimmauld Place?"
Narcissa laughed. "No, silly, not here. But I can take you to him. He's waiting for you, in fact."
Barty sighed, and Narcissa nodded sympathetically and looked away.
She hadn't expected a quick response; men far older than Barty had struggled with this last, crucial step. Best to give him some time. She summoned a house-elf and poured them each another glass of wine, then passed a third glass down to Regulus. He glanced up form his book and grinned. She smiled back and turned her attention to the party. There was no point in putting any additional pressure on Barty; he had to come to this decision on his own.
"Look, Cissy," Regulus said suddenly, setting his book down. Narcissa followed his gaze.
Across the room, she could see Bella approaching Uncle Orion, eyes blazing, Lucius in tow. They had clearly continued arguing after Narcissa left them in the study.
"There's going to be a row," Regulus said, sounding worried. "Father hates Bella."
Indeed. He wasn't fond of Lucius, either. Narcissa watched with a kind of horrified fascination.
Uncle Orion had been talking to someone else from the firm, but Bella was persistent, and after a few moments they were deep in heated conversation. Lucius was gesturing frantically, as if he were trying to deny something. Narcissa sighed. Already, she could imagine decades of Lucius' excuses and prevarication and charming smiles; she just wished he didn't have to be troublesome in public. The man didn't understand what discretion was.
"Oooh, they're talking about Sirius," Regulus said, straining to hear. "Bet he's in trouble again."
Over the murmur of the guests Narcissa could hear the words "Cornwall" and "cocksucker" and "engaged."
"Oh, my," Narcissa said. "This is not good."
"What?" Barty asked suddenly, raising his head.
"Barty, are you ready?" Narcissa asked, touching Barty's arm. It was a risk, to push like this, but chaos was about to break loose. "We need to go."
Barty bit his lip. "I am, Narcissa. I'm ready."
"WHAT ARE YOU TELLING ME ABOUT MY SON?" Uncle Orion bellowed from the far end of the room. Narcissa could hear the nervous laughter of guests who hadn't yet realized the party was over. She winced. It was a crisis indeed when Uncle Orion got angry in public.
"Quick, Barty," Narcissa whispered. "We'll slip out the back door here. We'll return before anyone even notices we're missing."
"Right," Barty said resolutely.
"Come on, then," Narcissa said quietly. "We'll just-"
And then she had a flash of inspiration; she probably had an hour or more before anyone went looking for her, or for Barty Crouch, or for Orion's youngest son. "Regulus," she said. "Would you like to come with us tonight?"
Regulus beamed. "Really?"
"SIRIUS ORION BLACK! COME HERE THIS MINUTE!" Uncle Orion yelled, and the room finally fell silent.
Narcissa grabbed Regulus' elbow and steered them both toward the kitchen. "Quickly, both of you," she said, hurrying them past the house elves, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where the Portkey was waiting.
***
After all the fuss everyone had made about the Portkey-Kreacher and Pinny, Cousin Bella and Cousin Rodolphus-Regulus had imagined that it lead somewhere interesting, not the dining room in Cousin Bella's London apartment.
"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Regulus whispered to Narcissa. Cousin Rodolphus made mistakes like these sometimes; privately, Regulus thought he was a bit dim.
"Hush, Regulus," Narcissa said. "I'm sure. Stay here. Barty, come inside with me."
The dining room was dimly lit, but Regulus could make out a man in a traveling cloak sitting at the far end of the table. Was this the Dark Lord they always talked about, the one his cousins thought would bring the war to an end and save the wizarding world? Somehow Regulus had imagined he would be bigger, or older, more like Dumbledore. Instead, he was just an ordinary wizard, pale and dark-haired, with waxy, sunken face, as if he'd been stuck in the Floo and had been burned and melted, like a Muggle, or a candle. Regulus watched him carefully. He did have red eyes, though; that was interesting. Dumbledore's were just an ordinary blue.
"My Lord," Narcissa said. "Bartemius Crouch, Junior, Assistant to the Minister of Magic."
"My Lord," Barty said, gesturing expansively. "I-"
"Bartemius Crouch, Junior, at last," the man said, sounding amused. "I've heard a lot about you. Are you finally joining us?"
"Yes, my Lord, I-"
"Silence," the man said sharply, and instead of talking, the two men stared at each other until Barty shuddered and fell to his knees, holding his head and gasping for breath. Glancing at the red-eyed man, Narcissa helped him back to his feet and slipped an arm around his shoulders.
"Bartemius Crouch, Junior," the red-eyed man said again.
"What can I do for you for you, My Lord?" Barty asked, voice quavering.
"You don't need to do anything for me," the man said. "I might give you a gift, though, if you would like to accept it."
Barty nodded.
"Come here," the man said, and Barty approached him cautiously.
"Show him your wrist," Narcissa whispered.
Regulus leaned forward, trying to see what was happening. As soon as Barty had his sleeve rolled up, the man tapped his wrist twice with his wand, hissing like a snake. Regulus could see a dark mark spreading across his wrist, like spilled ink, but it must have been boiling hot or poisonous or cursed, since Barty jerked and let out a whimper.
"This world is ending and the next is ready to begin," the man said. "That will call you to my side when I need your help."
"Thank you," Barty whispered, but Regulus' nose wrinkled in bewilderment. That was all? He thought for certain there would be hexes or an Unforgivable Curse, or someone would turn into a snake. Bella and Narcissa made this man sound much more interesting.
"Time to go," Narcissa said gently to Barty, who backed away from the red-eyed man slowly. "My Lord, before we leave, I want to introduce you to someone."
"Your cousin?" the man said, looking at Regulus. "The Quidditch enthusiast?"
Regulus had forgotten he was still holding his book. He shifted to hold it behind his back.
"Regulus Black," Narcissa said. "Orion Black's son." To Regulus she added, "Come closer, Regulus. The Dark Lord would like to see you."
It was the most curious thing, standing in front of this man. A wave of memories washed over Regulus: his sorting; the time he was called into Dumbledore's office; a dinner party in Cornwall, earlier this summer; his father, talking to Regulus about the Ministry; Regulus himself, seated next to his father at his desk at work. It was exhausting reliving all these moments at once, and when the last faded way Regulus felt lightheaded and a little breathless. He gripped his book with sweaty hands.
"Can I ask you something, Regulus?" the man said.
Regulus nodded.
"If I gave you a wand like this one-" he placed his own wand on the table and pushed it towards Regulus. "Go ahead, pick it up. If I gave you a wand like this one and told you a spell that would rid the world of Muggle-borns and Mudbloods and blood traitors, all of them, instantly, would you be able to use it?"
Regulus picked up the wand. It was thinner than his, a little more flexible.
"Don't aim it at Bella's china, Regulus," the man said, half-smiling. "What would you do?"
Regulus tried a few experimental wand movements. "Would it be bad for business?" he asked. "That's what Father's always worried about, that war will ruin his business."
"No more Muggle-borns means no more war, Regulus," the man said, his red eyes fixed on Regulus in a way that made his skin crawl.
"I suppose so, then," Regulus said, jabbing the wand in the air, then returning it to the table. "That's what we want, right? No more war?"
The red-eyed man reached out and took his wand back, tucking it inside his cloak. "That's what we all want." He stood up and nodded at Narcissa, pulling his cloak about him as if he were about to leave.
"Are you going to give me something, too, sir?" Regulus blurted out. "On my wrist, like him?"
"Regulus!" Narcissa scolded. "Hush."
"Do you know what that was, on his wrist?" the red-eyed man asked.
Regulus shook his head.
"Come back when you know," the man said. "If you still want it. Your cousin will know how to find me."
"Well done, Narcissa," the man added, and with a pop he was gone.
***
"Is that you, Barty?" Bartemius said, getting to his feet slowly and shuffling out of his study. He must have fallen asleep over his desk hours ago; the house was silent and dark apart from a single light in the hallway and the sounds of young Barty kicking off his shoes and hanging up his cloak.
Hands tucked in his bathrobe, eyelids heavy, Bartemius joined his son in the hall. "Have a good night tonight?"
"Brilliant, Dad," Barty said. Barty's face was damp with sweat and his hair disheveled, but he had a fierce, triumphant look in his eye that his father recognized. Bartemius smiled. Like father, like son; the Crouches were known for their ambition.
"You made some good contacts, I assume," Bartemius said. "The Blacks are the kind of people who can help you get ahead."
"They are indeed," Barty said.
Behind Barty, Winky was knocking her head against the wall again, the sad little thing.
"Grab hold of Winky, would you, Bart?" Bartemius said. "She's trying to hurt herself again. Just hold her still for a moment, she'll stop."
Barty grabbed hold of Winky roughly. "Enough," he said. "Stop." The house-elf wilted in Barty's grasp.
Barty undid the top buttons on his robe and ran a finger under his collar.
"Go on to bed, Dad," Barty said. "I'm going to send a few owls before I go to sleep."
"Don't stay up too late," Bartemius said. "The world will still be there for you to conquer in the morning."
Barty smiled. "It will, Dad, it will."
Bartemius climbed the stairs slowly, his muscles aching from the hours spent dozing at his desk but his heart swelling with pride. He had trained Barty well, and a good thing, too. These were trying times, and the wizarding world was depending on people like them.
Truth be told, Bartemius thought as he climbed in bed, he felt a bit of pity for Orion, whose eldest son was said to be something of an embarrassment to the family. Perhaps there was hope for the second. Young Barty could take the second son under his wing, help him find his way. Bartemius fell asleep reminding himself to say something to Barty in the morning.