Collected

The first couple of days went just as any other start of term did. It held little to no interest save for a few happy accidents involving Gryffindors and Blast Ended Skrewts. Hagrid was the Care for Magical Creatures teacher again, which was both a hardship and a relief. Isola wasn't particularly fond of him, but his class was usually very easy if she listened to his warnings.

Everybody slipped into their stereotypes, as they did every year. The Ravenclaws were studious, the Hufflepuffs passive, the Gryffindors all about having a grand ol' time, and the Slytherins just stuck to themselves, others avoiding them in the corridors.

It wasn't as if Isola didn't understand, and, if anything, she preferred it this way. She knew that people thought that the snake house was full of disgusting elitists, and they weren't off on the elitist part.

They were raised like that, though. They were taught from a young age to be proud, to look down on those who were less than them, because that's what half-bloods and muggle-borns were; they were less. They survived off of luck. They were lucky to be blessed with their magical powers whereas Purebloods worked to keep their bloodlines clean. All they wanted was a pure Wizarding World, to keep the magical race superior because they were. Muggles were born without magic for a reason. They were the forsaken humans, unworthy of the power, and because of this, they were weak.

These were the ideas that had been planted in Isola's head at a very young age, by Barty, the Carrows, the Malfoys, even the Dark Lord himself, and she was not ashamed of thinking the way she did. Lord Voldemort would reward her for staying true, like so many other Slytherins, when he came back.

And, he would come back.

The thought that she had been so close to being raised as a blood-traitor made Isola grit her teeth. Hopefully, if that had been the case, she would have been smart enough to see the light and follow the right leader.

Isola had just finished an essay for Transfiguration, finding that dinner was about to start. She shut her textbook and slipped her shoes back on, leaving her robe on the mattress and slipping out of the common room just in her button up, skirt, and tie.

The corridors were mostly deserted, save for a few stragglers, like herself. Her stomach rumbled, and she looked forward to meal time for the first time in days, willing to put up with Weiss and Malfoy as long as it meant she could eat. As she neared the Great Hall, however, there was a loud commotion, and Isola quickened her pace to find out what exactly was taking place only for the thin figure of Minerva McGonagall to run into the large room far ahead of her, shrieking.

Apparently, Mad-Eye Moody had turned somebody into a ferret.



Infiltrating Hogwarts had been easier than expected for Barty Crouch, Jr. He had learned of Alastor Moody's teaching position for the year and snuck up on him at his own house. Taking him down had also been surprisingly easy. After that, all the Death Eater needed was some Polyjuice Potion, and he was set.

What made it even simpler was the fact that Moody had been a famous enough Auror to be in wizard media, making it much easier to imitate him. Barty could change his voice and gait, though one leg took some getting used to.

Of course, he could have gone without the extreme entrance the first night in, but he figured it was passable as something Mad-Eye would do.

Since, teaching had been a piece of cake, as Barty was quite familiar with the Dark Arts. He had only had Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh years, but all of them seemed to warm up to him, convinced that he was brilliant despite how insane he was. He took on an unorthodox method of teaching, another Moody-esque move. The Slytherins were naturally weary of him, and he didn't blame them. Moody had put many of their parents and relatives in Azkaban. If only they knew who he truly was. He was on their side!

In all of it, though, the start of term rush, Barty had yet to see her, not even a glimpse of Isola, or maybe he had and just had no idea it was her. Still, he believed he would know. Surely, she would still possess some of the features she had at such a young age.

He had, however, caught sight of Harry Potter many times, and the boy's face made his stomach churn. This skinny, bespectacled child had vanquished Lord Voldemort? It was sickening. Unfortunately, he did have to keep an eye on the boy for Dumbledore, lest he blow his cover, and it was because of this that Barty found himself transfiguring a mocking Draco Malfoy into a small, white ferret one evening just before dinner.

The blonde boy had actually never quite sat well with Barty, so he didn't mind doing it very much. He had always been a little prick and obviously still was, making fun of the youngest Weasley male and threatening to curse Potter when his back was turned. None of it was going to get past Barty because one, the boy was going to have to grow up soon, and two, cursing someone when their back was turned was low even for Death Eaters. It was disrespectful and cowardly, and had Lucius known about it, he would have been extremely upset with his son.

The hall was in an uproar as Barty, or Moody, as they thought, tossed him around, letting him scuttle on the ground in a panic but stopping him before he could make a run for the dungeons. The Gryffindors found it particularly amusing, but their head of house did not.

"Professor Moody!" came a shocked voice, and Barty recognized it as the severe woman.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall."

"What--what are you doing?" Her eyes followed the white rodent as it flew through the air.

"Teaching," he replied calmly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Teach--Moody, is that a student?" McGonagall basically shrieked it, dropping the books that she had been carrying.

"Yep!"

"No!" She ran toward him, pulling out her wand, and with wide eyes and a large flourish, she turned the Malfoy boy back into a human. He was in a heap on the floor, cheeks pink, and Barty would be damned if there weren't tears in his light eyes.

"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment! Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

He didn't mind getting scolded, and the fact that he was acting as someone else probably played into that. Still, Barty had the decency to act a tiny bit remorseful and scratched his chin casually. "He might've mentioned it, yeah, but I thought a good sharp shock--"

"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"

Barty thought to himself that the old bat wouldn't be nearly as panicked had she known what Malfoy had been trying to do, curse her and Dumbledore's golden boy.

He turned his stare to Draco, then, expressing his dislike for the Fourth Year with his good eye and grunting, "I'll do that, then," and the boy had the audacity to mutter some kind of threat about getting his father on the case.

"Oh yeah?" He limped forward threateningly. "Well, I know your father of old, boy... You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son... you tell him that from me..." Lucius would be none too proud to hear what had happened, especially from Barty's actual mouth, and he had no problem divulging the information that he had raised a prat of a son. "Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"

"Yes," he responded in a haughty voice.

"Another old friend. I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape!" He almost grinned to himself. "Come on, you."

Barty grabbed Malfoy by the arm roughly, marching him to the entrance of the Great Hall, intent on having this little talk with the raven-haired Potions Master, but the two barely made it past the threshold before knocking into a petite form.

The girl stumbled backward a few steps, dark hair falling into her face for just a moment before she pushed it away and looked up at her offenders with large green eyes.

Barty's heart almost stopped in his Polyjuiced chest.

Oh god, she's grown up to be so beautiful, he thought, and he felt his lips lift, scarred face stretching. She glared at him, though, a mean look that could probably serve the same purpose as the Killing Curse, if she really wanted it to. There was a green and silver tie around her neck, making pride well up inside of him, but before either could say anything, the blonde boy in Barty's grip spoke up, confirming everything.

"Isola, thank Merlin you didn't see that. You wouldn't believe what this oaf just did to me," he spat, trying in vain to yank his arm out of Barty's hand.

Both teens looked to the supposed Auror, glowering at him for some time before their expressions dissolved into that of confusion. Why wasn't he reprimanding them?

Barty barely even heard anything. Just the sound of her name, knowing that yes, this was her, this was his Isola, almost overwhelmed him. It had been so long, eleven years. He didn't even register his nervous tick kicking in, tongue darting to his upper lip.

She watched him with a weary eye, though she looked to Malfoy, breathing out, "Honestly, whatever he did to you, you probably deserved it. You shouldn't look so offended."

The Death Eater had to swallow a laugh. "And you," she looked back to the scarred man. "You need to watch where you're going. Aren't Aurors supposed to be the stealthiest wizards around?" She didn't give him time to respond, just walked past with an irritated, "If you'll excuse me."

And, Barty couldn't even pretend to be upset with Malfoy anymore, just let go of his arm and shoved him forward a bit with a gruff, "Watch yourself, boy," before turning and limping toward his private quarters with what was sure to be a frightening smile on his face.

Isola was here, and he had seen her, and she was a Slytherin and beautiful and harsh, and he couldn't have possibly been any more proud of the girl she'd grown up to be.



Isola would have been lying if she said she wasn't at least a little shaken up over her run in with Moody. The way he had stared at her, it was like he was happy to see her. There was no way he could have known about her or her history, and even if he somehow did, was he really already so eager to throw her into Azkaban?

She had recalled the incident to Moria over dinner that same evening, who agreed that it was very strange and a bit creepy. In the end, her friend had told her just to watch out. He was probably on high enough alert just knowing that she was in Slytherin. There was no reason to go hexing any Gryffindors in front of him.

In the common room later that night, Draco approached her, finally done sulking about the entire occurrence.

"So, that was really weird earlier tonight," he commented casually, taking the seat next to her on the leather couch.

"Are you referring to the bit where you got turned into a rodent, or the bit where Moody stared at me like I was a piece of meat."

The blonde seemed torn between frowning and chuckling, so he did both while shaking his head. "The second part. That was very... Odd."

"Yeah, it was. People say he's completely mental, though, so I'm not gonna let it faze me."

"I don't know, Is," he started, leaning back and possibly a bit closer to the girl. "It was like recognition or something, like he knew who you were."

"That's impossible. I'm not high profile." She smirked, looking at him sideways, and he seemed to share her thought, also smiling a bit. "Yet."

"Still, people know of the Carrows, and don't even get me started on Crouch, Jr. What if he knows, like, who you really are?"

It felt like ice suddenly replaced all of the food and acid in Isola's stomach, but she did her best to shake it off. "I don't think anyone knows that the Death Eaters actually stole the Fenwicks' child. Everyone believes that Iris Fenwick, like many others, died in the war." She stood, shutting the book in her lap, and smiled grimly at Malfoy. "As far as I'm concerned, she did."