Contort

BARTY CROUCH JR. stared at the dark figure in front of him, nervously licking his lips. He watched as Karas turned from her place at the window to face him, her eyes narrowing into slits. Her short black hair glistened even now, though there was very little light in the room.

“What would you like me to do?” Barty, disguised as Professor Moody, asked her, taking a few steps back out of habit.

You spineless pig, Karas thought to herself. She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. She let her eyes flicker to the door, but quickly returned her hard gaze to the death eater in front of her.

“I want you to direct Potter’s attention elsewhere. He’ll ruin everything if he’s so suspicious of me… And Ron.”

Barty furrowed his eyebrows, his hand twitching at his side.

“I thought you were supposed to befriend Potter”, he said quietly.

Karas let her hands ball into fists as a fire lit somewhere deep inside of her, burning to kill this man right at that moment. But she held back, fighting the urge to take out her wand. It simply wouldn’t be worth the trouble if she killed him now. She couldn’t kill him… Not yet. Not until their mission was complete. She sighed deeply, inhaling the musty scent of the abandoned classroom they were in.

“What I do and don’t do is none of your concern. Don’t you dare forget that.” She scowled at Barty, making sure that her face was as menacing as ever. “Learn your place, Barty Crouch.”

A heavy silence hung between them then. Karas continued to glare at Barty, and Barty then proceeded to stare at the dusty floor.

“Do you understand what I’m asking you to do?” Karas finally asked, breaking the silence.
She turned her back to him once more, walking toward the grimy window. She slowly brought her fingertips up to the clouded glass. The glass was cold, though she didn’t notice, for it was the same temperature as her own skin.

“You want a distraction”, Barty stated. It wasn’t a question.

Karas simply nodded her head and waited for him to reply.

“Already done.”

Karas raised her eyebrows. This wasn’t the answer she had been expecting. She swept her hand across the window, wiping away as much of the dirt that she could manage, and looked down upon the school grounds. She hated Hogwarts. She hated the students. She hated the teachers. But most importantly, she hated Harry Potter and his stupid friend.

“I’m impressed Mr. Crouch. What exactly have you planned for our dear Mr. Potter?”

HARRY nudged Ron’s side, trying his best to get his attention away from Karas who was currently sitting a few seats down. Ron muttered something under his breath, still staring intently at her.

“Ron, listen to me”, Harry said, finally catching his attention, or at least most of it. “You need to stop obsessing over her. She’s bad for you.”

Ron stared at Harry, his eyes wide at his friend’s words.

“How could you say something like that Harry? Where do you get off telling people what they should and should not do? You’re not my mum.”

“Ron-”

“No, I’m not going to sit here and let you run my life. I’m going to sit by Karas.”
Ron quickly stood up, walking over to where Karas sat. Harry shook his head as he stared at the two. I’m only trying to protect you, Ron. The lights in the Great Hall suddenly grew dim and Dumbledore took his place at the front of the room, standing next to the goblet. Its blue flames suddenly burned red, a small piece of paper popping up into the air. Dumbledore snatched it up, calling out the first name: Viktor Krum. Then came Fleur Delacour and Hogwart’s champion, Cedric Diggory. Harry smiled grimly at the sound of whining Gryffindors around him.

Just as the Triwizard Cup was revealed to the students, the blue flames of the goblet returned to their fiery red. A charred slip of paper fluttered around before landing in Dumbledore’s hand. Harry frowned at the headmaster’s troubled look, as if something was terribly wrong.

“Harry Potter”, he called, holding up the paper.

Harry, with a shove from Hermione, walked to the front of the Great Hall, staring disbelievingly at the paper on which his name was written in his own handwriting. Impossible. As he followed the other champions, a mass of teachers behind him, all thoughts and worries he had been having before were gone. In fact, he could hardly even remember anything that had happened before this point. He had new problems to face, much more dangerous, much more real, and much more immediate. Or so he thought.