Parents believe that they live for their children. But at the same time, they consider us to be extensions of themselves. They try to instil their habits and views on life in us. It hurts them when we turn out to be different from what they want us to be. © Rebel Spirit
***When Harry was ready, we moved through the fireplace network to the Tonks' house. Although we had discussed it beforehand, I sent a message to my patronus just in case. My sister and her husband welcomed us warmly. Nymphadora-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was home for the Christmas holidays, which meant that dinner was practically a family affair. Harry was shy and timid, but the cosiness of the place slowly melted away the habits instilled in him at the Dursleys' — fear and dislike of holidays.
The cheerful fourth-year Hogwarts student helped a lot with this, showing the stunned Harry her pig's snout on her nose. Before I knew it, Harry was enthusiastically telling Dora about his flight to France and our trips to magical shops. Meda, by the way, gave me a reproachful look at that moment, but said nothing. Interestingly, she, as a product of a classic conservative family, and Ted, who was a Muggle-born, did not trust "iron birds" very much.
It was I, a child of the twenty-first century, when aeroplanes had become a common means of transport, who had managed to convince myself of their relative reliability. Now it was December 1988, and flying was no longer a luxury, but mistrust and aerophobia were still rampant even among ordinary people, not to mention magicians. However, Mada probably understood everything...
I lingered for a couple of hours, then left the baby in the care of the Tonks family, transgressed to Black House, and proceeded straight to my study, where a shallow stone vessel stood on a heavy oak table, encircled at the edge with carved letters and symbols. A bright silver glow emanated from its contents — the memory I needed was already there, but I hadn't dared to look at it earlier. The vial was labelled in familiar Russian handwriting: "To be viewed in extreme circumstances. Only if Crouch suspects something." It seemed I was about to find out what nonsense I had created this time.
***
Crouch's mansion, like its owner, was gloomy, sombre and infinitely old. Perhaps children had once played on the overgrown playground, and cheerful laughter had come from the black holes of the windows, but now the stone building resembled a prison. However, that was exactly what it was for one particular prisoner... Or perhaps two.
The head of the international department was as locked up in the dungeon of his terrible deeds as Barty Crouch Jr. was locked up within four walls. Organising the criminal's escape, hiding him for eight years, using the Imperius Curse on his own son. Even one of these offences would have guaranteed old Bartemius Senior a long stay in the warm company of Azkaban's guards, let alone all of them together...
Most likely, a Dementor's kiss would have been a more merciful option than life imprisonment in the lower levels of the prison. To be honest, poisoning the old hag would have been the best solution. After all, it was thanks to him that Sirius went on a long vacation by the sea, but the matter was complicated not only by the fact that I needed Crouch for the successful implementation of my plan.
Crowch's reputation as an uncompromising law enforcer, now in tatters, could serve as a starting point for a review not only of my case, but of all the sentences, including those of the most notorious Death Eaters. It was possible that many of them would then be able to get off, just like Malfoy. All it takes to figure out how to get around the law is time. And there's plenty of that in Azkaban. So I needed Crouch, and preferably with his hands tied behind his back.
After much thought on the matter, it became clear to me that in order to control the old man, I definitely needed Crouch Jr. And alive. Banal blackmail with "revealing the secret" would certainly make him nervous, but Bartemius always has the option of sending the younger one away, hiding him in a place unknown to me, or simply killing his not-so-beloved son.
It's a dead end, so to speak. After that, blackmailing Bartemius will no longer work, and when my case is reviewed, he can make sure that freedom waves goodbye to me. This means that the only option is to take Barty away and dictate terms to his father from a position of strength. I suspect that he is still dear to him in some way. Or perhaps he still hopes to continue the family line, since Bartemius himself is unable to conceive, as was written in the Prophet's short note: in one of his skirmishes with the Devourers, he was rendered sterile by a vile curse from an unknown Devourer.
Who, by the way, goes by the name Antonina Dolokhova. After the Dementors left, having once again fed on the prisoners, he often mentioned this in his delirious conversations with his cellmates. Apparently, the Dementors were unable to extract this somewhat happy thought from him. So, I suspect that Barty is keeping his son far from him for reasons that are far from humane. The only question is that under the influence of the Imperius Curse, which is far from a light spell, it is practically impossible to conceive a normal, healthy child. Both he and Barty Jr. know this. Judging by the fact that there have been no additions to the Crouch family for seven years, the younger Barty also understands that after the birth of his son, he will no longer be needed.
The plan to capture the former Death Eater was based on the fact that, according to the events described in the book, Crouch Sr. had begun to slowly loosen his control over his son in his later years, apparently alternating between the carrot and the stick, even taking him to the championship. Most likely, he doesn't stay at home all the time, at least occasionally going out into the sun, and I just had to wait for that moment.
***I chose the day for this after learning from the newspaper the date of the next Wizengamot meeting on the issue of "controlling the population of magical creatures." In reality, it was just another division of rare ingredients and free labour. As one of the sacred twenty-eight, Crouch had to be there. Knowing how much money was involved in this issue, I could say with confidence that I had a few hours to spare. They would argue for a long time.
All I had to do was wait for the right moment and, after stunning Barty, use a few disposable portkeys to get to Black House. It was simple. But I would only have a couple of minutes to do it, and then it would be quite difficult to leave the mansion grounds, as the main protective spells were cast on the building itself, while the courtyard was not protected in the same way.
While I was sitting in the bushes, I had time to figure out the spells cast on the property. Among them were standard spells against apparition, several types of warning spells, some kind of modification of interference spells, and a few more designed to detect and slightly delay an intruder in order to alert the inhabitants of the house of an attack. This was the first line of defence. The second line, the so-called "active defence," should activate within a couple of minutes, according to my calculations. That's exactly how long it takes to automatically "unseal" other stationary spells.
Unfortunately, I am not a curse breaker, and it was impossible to figure out what else had been cast without disturbing the alarm spells, but considering that the Crouch family had previously specialised in elemental magic, specifically water... Incidentally, interestingly enough, one of the rivers in Great Britain was named after the Crouch family, which flows into the North Sea. As far as I remember, it was the Crouches who, in ancient times, helped create the complex defences of Azkaban prison on the sea side.
Apparently, Bartemius used his knowledge of the prison's weaknesses to get his son out. In general, I can assume that something from the arsenal of water magic awaits me, and I'm not likely to like it. So, knock him out, take him away, cover my tracks — two minutes for everything. For now, I was wandering around the gate in the form of a dog. Dogs sense and feel everything differently, so I would at least be able to hear Barty under his invisibility cloak.
I had to wait about two hours, and it was almost sunset when the mansion doors opened and a short housekeeper came out, heading towards the garden. From the outside, it looked like she was just covering the flowers, but roses are only covered in October, before the first frost, and most of the flowers were already covered, so Barty was probably nearby. My keen dog ears picked up his slightly shuffling footsteps and ragged breathing. The time had come.
Then events unfolded at the speed of a mad hippogriff — I jumped over the fence in the form of a dog, turning around in mid-air and casting a series of deafening spells at the house spirit, as well as at the spot where I thought Barty was. Red beams from my magic wand pierced both the house spirit and Barty, who was standing next to a bush, tearing off his cloak and throwing it a little closer to the house. An alarming alarm sounded in the air.
For a few seconds, the space around me slowed down as the restraining spells took effect. Willpower and magic from the source poured into the surrounding space in a dark wave, washing away both the interference spells and several more binding and stunning rays that were firing from the carved bas-relief at the entrance. Without hesitation, I threw a reinforced Bombarda at it, which destroyed the bas-relief along with the gate.
"Mobilicorpus duo," — the spell beam hits the stunned Barty, causing him to fly towards me at cruising speed. I shielded myself with a reinforced shield and fought off a cascade of multicoloured beams that were firing directly from under the eaves of the house at the speed of a good automatic weapon. The shield rang, but held for now. I already had the portal ball clenched in my hand, I just needed to touch Barty and...
"HO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO How the fuck did she wake up?! With one hand, I try to throw the house spirit away, but it doesn't work. Losing my concentration, the shield becomes thinner and thinner, and the elf's thin fingers squeeze my throat until it turns blue. I grab one of his fingers and break it off at the phalanx.
The house-elf screams in pain, almost reaching ultrasonic levels, and loosens its grip slightly. That's all I need. The magical creature's hand breaks in my hand with a nasty crunch, and its small body flies straight into the protective rays of the house, giving me the respite I need to renew my defence. This time, the magic shield is replaced by an earthen wall, further reinforced with magic, and the House-elf's body is turned inside out and scattered in small pieces all over the yard. What a mess.
Stunned, Barty is already hanging next to me, but the portal ball has rolled a little to the side because of the house elf. I summon it with a beckoning spell, holding Barty's floating carcass by the collar with my other hand. A blue flash, and...
"Fuck!" The portal throws Barty and me right onto the edge of the blue dome that has appeared over the site. It feels like I've been hit by a dump truck at full speed. My whole body aches from the hard landing, but that's nothing compared to what happened to Crouch Jr. He's lying next to me, and a little further away are the stumps of his legs and arms. Damn it! I spent too much time dealing with the house-elf.
"Protego totalum, Vulnera Sanentur, Episkey... Stupefy, Stupefy Duo," — after casting a shield around us, which was once again being pounded by blue beams, I cast a spell on Crouch with a slight delay to stop the bleeding and stun him. The sudden movement revived him, and he began to scream. Better let him lie there for now.
The protection against movement had worked once, and there was no time left to get away. We had to get out from under the dome and move...
The shattered shield prevented me from finishing my thought.
"Bombarda Maxima, Stupefy Triа fulgari — the first beam of the spell removed the magical protection, the rest were apparently supposed to stun and bind me. — Black!!!
Crowch Senior, who had apparently just trespassed on the grounds near the house, was clearly furious. Here we go. Did he rush here straight from the meeting? I wasn't counting on that. Although, in general, it's obvious. Considering who is now lying unconscious next to me. He's not going to call the Aurors.
I rolled out of the way of the first spell and took the second one on another shield, immediately sending a couple of simple curses in the old man's direction to buy some time to strengthen my defences.
"How did you find out about my son?" Crouch clearly decided to stall for time when he saw the stump of Barty Jr. lying next to me. That's right. The longer I stay on the defensive, the less magic I have left. Only a few minutes had passed since my failed kidnapping, and I was already exhausted. With every second, my magic was dwindling, and the incessant spells from the house's defences forced me to pour more and more energy into my shields just to keep them up. Competing with a natural source in reserve is a losing battle. That means I either have to run or... "Decided to free your friend? I always knew, Black, that you were just as rotten as the rest of your cursed family. Psychopaths, mired in black magic. Voldermort's pathetic lackeys! How did you like the last eight years? Wait, you bastard, compared to what awaits you in the future, the past will seem like a resort. Well, why are you silent, Black, have you swallowed your tongue?
"No, Barty. I was preparing a gift for you for the trip you so kindly gave me. Look behind you, you'll like it.
"What, you thought you could fool me with such a childish trick?" Crouch didn't even flinch, continuing to gloat. On either side of him stood two water elementals that had emerged from the depths of the house. As I thought, Crouch had used water magic to protect the mansion. Two higher elementals, bound by the power of spells and tied to a magical source, are a truly formidable force. All simple and medium spells simply get stuck in their natural armour. Even if I were at full strength, it's not certain that I could defeat them, especially with the support of the old but still powerful wizard that is old Barty.
However, they have a weak spot. Namely, the old man himself. Deciding to lure them out of the house where they were bound by simple commands such as "kill all strangers, don't touch your own," Crouch tied them to himself. Now these two powerful but artificially limited spirits obey only Barty's direct commands. I decided to play on this.
As he racked his brains in front of me, Crouch was close to the truth in only one respect. My family really was "mired in black magic." There were quite a few interesting books in the family library. The kind that could drive you mad if handled carelessly or make you bite off a piece of your body. And dark magic is quite multifaceted. It's not just curses, the three unforgivable curses and hellfire, but also combat maleficia, shadow magic and necromancy, which can also create involuntary assistants for the mage. All you need is material, which could well be the remains of a house elf.
"Sekato ekulim muerto, sekatо ekukum tari" — symbols of a dead language, spoken without words, flashed in my head like green lights, filling me with power generously sacrificed from the source. While Krauch, feeling like the master of the situation, poured tons of his malice on me, I clenched my teeth from the tension and concentration and wove a spell belonging to the highest necromancy. Behind the mage, revelling in his superiority, a golem slowly gathered itself piece by piece.
It was a disgusting sight. The torn pieces of the House-elf gathered in one spot, connecting with each other with a familiar green fire. Then, clinging to the ground with twisted fingers, a thin hand slowly crawled forward. Part of a jaw with rotten teeth followed, propelled by a miraculously surviving tongue. The entrails slid together like worms, forming something like a torso, only inside out.
The steady ringing of my thin shield, which was still being struck by spells from the mansion, drowned out the sounds of the golem's formation. But if Krauch had been distracted for even a moment, if he had looked back, it would have been easy for him to destroy the unfinished, insane creation of dark magic in an instant. But he did not turn around.
"I already did that," I replied to Crouch's unspoken words, allowing myself a small chuckle. Now that the spell was complete, I felt as if a mountain had been lifted from my shoulders. All that remained was to give the command. "Winky, neutralise."
"What?" An expression of extreme surprise appeared on Krauch's face, and he decided to look back after all. But it was too late.
"Master..." With a guttural roar, the creature, which only vaguely resembled a house elf's body sewn together from pieces, jumped on the wizard, clamped its teeth into his face and began to strangle him. Mumbling something, Krauch tried to tear the creature off with his hands, then stumbled and began rolling on the ground. The elementals, apparently obeying desperate orders, decided to help their master, but couldn't hit the nimble undead, sometimes hitting Krauch himself.
At that moment, I lifted another layer of earth in front of me and sent it straight under the canopy. To the place where the spells were coming from. Following it, Barty Jr.'s limb whizzed through the air, under the spell of eternal adhesion. The mansion's defences were enchanted to prevent harm to the owners and targeted the aura of living beings.
Only the dome prohibiting movement had been reworked by the elder Crouch so that his son could not escape. In theory, traces of Crouch's aura should have remained in the recently severed limb, and the protection would simply be unable to hit me, bypassing Barty's leg. That's exactly what happened. When I broke the earthen tile, the spell failed because the aura of the protected object was right in front of it and simply stopped firing. Now that I had eliminated this obstacle, it was time to deal with Krauch. He was clearly suffocating, and the dead house spirit had managed to bite off his tongue, part of his cheek, and his nose.
"Imperio," I said, aiming the spell at Bartemius Crouch and putting the necessary commands into his head. The elementals immediately gave up their attempts to tear the creature away from its master and floated away towards the house.
"Let go," I said to the dead elf. She pulled away from the disfigured old man with obvious dissatisfaction and stood next to me. Looking closely at the creature, I shuddered. I would have to decide what to do with her next, but first, Legilimens...
Having learned everything I wanted to know, I healed Crouch a little. Then I thought about it. Since things had turned out the way they had, I should make the most of it. My plan underwent a slight change. Instead of the incompetent Lockhart, Crouch would catch the rat. That was decided. After all, the old man was still quite capable in combat, as it turned out. He even had a decent command of Occlumency. Unfortunately for him, Imperius breaks standard shields in one go. As I thought, he kept his son for the quite understandable purpose of having a grandson whom he could raise not to be as much of an idiot as his son turned out to be. In principle, it's a more or less worthy goal, and Reddla Crouche hates me even more than I hate him, so it would have been wise to bring him over to my side. But Imperius, Legilimency, and kidnapping a son are definitely not a guarantee of long-term cooperation.
Although... it depends on who did it. Perhaps it wasn't Sirius Black who attacked the mansion, but Peter Pettigrew, who was long thought to be dead. The attempt was unsuccessful, but he killed the house-elf and escaped, revealing his Animagus form. And his son wasn't stolen, but Crouch himself hid him in a safe place, removing his memories so that Pettigrew couldn't betray Crouch himself when he was captured. It all fits together nicely, doesn't it? And you, Vinky, will help me with this.
"Master..." the creature drawled in a ghastly voice, making me shudder. I glanced again at the bloodied face of the former house-elf. What a disgrace. I should send it to Dumbledore to give him a heart attack. But he'd guess whose it was, and then he'd be able to untangle the whole mess. I could always destroy it later. Let it guard its former master. Just quietly. Barty's death wasn't part of my plan. And his son would stay with me for now.
Having figured out the main points of my future actions, I set about editing the memories of Crouch Senior. There was a lot of work to be done.
***
"Kricher, whisky!" I emerged from the whirlpool of memories, dishevelled, and grabbed my head. It would have been so much easier to forget what I had done.
"Your whisky, master," the House-elf appeared with a bottle and a glass, making me jump, and his respectful "master" made me cringe. How I remember that creature I created...
"Kreacher, from now on, you will address me only as 'Lord Black,'" I said, collapsing into a heap in the armchair next to me and taking the short glass of light brown liquid from the elf's hands.
"As you wish, Lord Black," the house-elf nodded imperturbably, disappearing with a soft pop.
I took a sip of whisky and fell into thought again. Considering everything I had seen and done, there was no way Krauch Senior could have known that I was the one who had stolen his son. All memories had been erased and altered, so even if he managed to reach the depths of his memory, he would see himself leaving me in the care of his old acquaintance, and his son following the wizard into the portal... However, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had missed something. Something very important, connected to the battle at the mansion, connected to...
"Fuck," I leaned back in my chair, exhausted.
I remembered what I had missed. Krauch Jr.'s leg, which was still hanging under the canopy of the house, stuck there by some kind of eternal glue. And I was under the cloak, walking away on my own two feet.
"I'm such a fucking idiot!
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970