Collected

Little Hangleton

"Wormtail, if you would open the door for our guest," a cold voice hissed out, stronger than the last time he had heard it. The chubby, fearful man scurried over to do as he was told, admitting Barty into the room.

He was himself for the first time in months, had his own flesh, his own hair, his own eyes (both real), his own everything, and it felt great.

The crumbling house in Little Hangleton was strangely welcoming, just knowing that he could show his true face. He had apparated in the dead of night, feeling his left arm burning as he slept. Barty was sure the others would feel it, too, but it was likely they would think nothing of it, or just be too cowardly to follow their gut. No one else knew that the Dark Lord was alive. It was just him and Peter Pettigrew.

Barty walked over, boots thumping on the wooden floors, then knelt in front of the chair in which his master sat. Voldemort looked a bit fleshier, but he was still so weak, like a skinny, sickly child.

"What news have you, Bartemius?"

"The boy, he's been entered in the competition and is well on his way to winning."

"I do not see how this benefits me," He hissed. "All you have done is ensure that all eyes are on him."

The brunette man flinched, knowing well the wrath of Lord Voldemort, and he quickly explained himself. "My Lord, I have a plan. The tournament is the only time that people aren't able to see him. He's either flying out of view on his broomstick, or hidden underwater, or what have you. It'll be easiest to isolate him while he's competing rather than going after him while he's in the dormitories, or off on vacation."

The serpent-like man stayed quiet for some time, shifting and blinking his bleary, red eyes. It took effort not to cringe at the sight of him, but Barty was strong.

"I see," He spoke. "Yes, I do see. You have put thought into this."
Barty nodded, "I have, My Lord."

"In that case, it is fitting. We must take the proper measure to ensure I am strong enough to face him when the time comes. As much as it pains me to admit, if I saw him right here and now, I would surely die at his hand."

Wormtail nodded and ran over, kneeling next to Barty. "Yes, My Lord, I will do everything in my power to make sure you are strong and healthy."

Voldemort somehow made exhaling seem threatening, and Peter backed away ever so slowly. Barty didn't know who to feel more sorry for, Wormtail, for having to live in fear of his master, or the Dark Lord for having to rely on such an irritating man.

"Now, then, I assume you would like to report something else, as well?"

He could read his followers so well, mostly because he was an expert Legitmence but also because their thoughts were usually etched into their features.

Barty nodded eagerly, scooting closer on his knees. "The girl, Isola, she is everything we hoped she'd be, a Slytherin through and through with the traditional Pureblood outlook." Voldemort nodded and motioned weakly for him to continue. "She... She is skilled in every subject, specifically Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, though I believe the latter is because of her knowledge of the Dark Arts themselves. She is careful in her trust, an eye always on Dumbledore and myself, but she isn't blatant in her beliefs. Only those closest to her know of her true upbringing and her beliefs, though she does have a dark reputation within the Hogwarts walls. My Lord, please."

Voldemort just breathed for some time, contemplating.

"You are not wrong. If she possesses all of these qualities, we will be lucky to have her on our side. I would like to wait, however. Let her prove herself further." He saw Barty's face fall, but did not feel his heart drop. "Forgive me for not trusting this teenage girl, and believe me when I say, when I meet her, if she is everything you say, she will be rewarded as thoroughly as yourself when I return."

The brunette swallowed and nodded, trying to mask his disappointment with eagerness. "Yes, my Lord. Of course I understand. It is still early in the year-- would be foolish to rush into something to important."

"Precisely. Now, tell me what you know of Igor Karkaroff."

"He keeps to himself," Barty answered. "I've seen him talk to Severus on occasion, but I believe he's feeling frightened. My Lord, the marks are darkening. The tattoos are coming back on everyone's arms." He lifted his sleeve and displayed it so that Voldemort could see the faint ink. They had all but disappeared when he had, but as of late, they had been making themselves known, both in appearance and itching.

"You think he fears me."

"The man gave many of us away when in Azkaban, myself included," he almost spat. "He has reason to be afraid. If you don't kill him, I'd like to myself."

The Dark Lord let out an icy cackle, and Barty figured that if he could clap in amusement, he would. "Perhaps I will let you, just one of your many rewards."

The Death Eater bowed his head, humble. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Now, morning is fast approaching. I believe you have a class to teach in just a couple of hours," he laughed again, almost mockingly, but Barty knew that he was doing a good job.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Then, you are dismissed."

He nodded and stood, leveling a glare at Peter that said something along the lines of "don't you dare fuck this up, you idiot" before he left the room, a resounding crack echoing throughout the house moments later.



Isola almost fell asleep in Ancient Runes Thursday morning. The days were beginning to blend together, holding all the same events, the same people, the same gossip.

A paper ball hitting the back of her head is what actually snapped her back to reality, and with a heavy sigh, she bent down to retrieve it from the floor. She already knew what was scribbled inside, just didn't know who this one was from.

Will you go to the ball with me?

Gregoir Loranger

She rolled her eyes, crumpling it back up and levitated the parchment to the nearest trash bin. Hopefully, that would be enough of an answer for him.

Moria wasn't waiting for her after class, which was odd. In her place, though, was Alexei Pavel, leaning against a wall in the Durmstrang uniform. His hair was slicked back, and his thin lips were pulled into a surprisingly friendly smile.

"Isola," he greeted, and she found it odd that he was there for her. It had been a couple of weeks since she had first met him and, incidentally, last spoken to him.

"Alexei, hello," she said, gripping her textbook in one arm as her opposite hand clasped her wand. "How are you?" She began to walk downstairs, and he easily fell into step with her.

"I am vell, thank you. And, yourself?"

"I'm fine, would be a lot better if I didn't have to go to Divination."

He barked out a laugh, "A subject for the veak-minded."

"I agree. What's brought you here, anyway?"

"I vonted to find you, of course."

She glanced at him sideways. "What for?"

The smile had yet to leave his face. "To ask you to eat lunch vith me today."

Isola laughed, a little more scornfully than she had intended. "Are you propositioning me?"

"No," he chuckled. "I just think you are a very intriguing young vitch. I vould like to learn more about you." He referred to her in a way that led Isola to believe he was older than her, and he looked it, too, probably in his sixth or seventh year at Durmstrang.

The brunette stopped walking and turned to face him, eyebrows raised. "This isn't just another attempt by a boy to ask me to the Yule Ball? Because I'm getting rather sick of it."

Alexei shook his head. "No, this is a simple, innocent request for you to eat vith me."

It was strange, especially considering they had only spoken that one time. Still, it would give her a chance to find out how much he knew about her, how much that traitor Karkaroff had passed on to him. Plus, being seen with him might keep the other males of the schools at bay.

"Fine."

"Yes?" His grin widened, and she nodded.

"Yeah, I'll eat lunch with you." He looked a little too excited for it to be such an 'innocent request', but she went with it.

"Vunderful. I shall meet you in the Grand Hall at half-past noon."

She agreed, and the kid basically skipped down the stairs, leaving Isola to shake her head. Boys were ridiculous, even the foreign ones who were supposed to be more attractive, according to Moria.

Isola had an hour break after Divination, then was off to Defense Against the Dark Arts which was an odd class to sit through. Everybody had expected her to spit and curse at Alastor Moody, to hate his Auror guts, and while she wasn't exactly fond of him, he acted like she was his favorite student, always calling on her and clapping her on the back whenever she'd answer correctly or demonstrate a spell.

She enjoyed the attention, as anyone would, but who it was coming from made her skeptical. She still had no idea what he was playing at, but just watching him as he watched her was getting her nowhere.

This lesson, like many others, was focused on curses, Fiendfyre, to be precise. It was dangerous, and Moody made sure not to call on Neville, Crabbe, or Goyle.

It was difficult to control, even for Isola, and Moody had to step in to extinguish many attempts. The Gryffindors looked a little horrified that he was even teaching them about cursed fire. It was a very dark weapon, but none of them said anything about it. Isola was uncomfortable for a different reason, and that was that he was basically teaching the students of Hogwarts how exactly to defend themselves against the Death Eaters, going through their entire arsenal and instructing the students on how to counter it, right down to the incantations and wand movements.

And, that brought up an entirely different question. Why was he so damned good at them? Sure, he caught Death Eaters and threw them in Azkaban, but did he constantly practice their spells? Did he use their own curses against them?

She stayed after class, shooing Weiss and Draco out of the room with the others. Mad-Eye only acknowledged her once the door was shut again, and Isola cast Muffliato over the room, something she doubted went unnoticed by the man.

"Can I help you with something, Miss Crouch?"

"Yes, actually, why are you teaching us about all of these curses, and how do you even know about them?"

"I catch, or caught, Dark Wizards for a living," he said, sitting down at his desk and massaging the area just above his fake leg. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"A bit, yeah," she nodded, folding her arms over her chest. "As well as the rest of the class, but I'm more concerned with how good you are at them. Most of them were Death Eater specialties, were they not?"

He looked up, smirking, and laughed. "Why yes, they were. Like I said before, though, Auror," he pointed to himself to reiterate.

"Right, well, as a warning," she started, gathering her bag from the ground. "All your knowledge about these curses make you seem more like one of Lord Voldemort's followers rather than the bloke who's trying to catch all of them." She looked at him with raised eyebrows before walking out of the room, not waiting for a response.

At Moody's desk, Barty swore, wondering if he was coming off as obvious to everyone or just Isola. Maybe she was picking up on it simply because she could somehow remember how secretive the Death Eaters were about their weapons and attacks. It wasn't just common knowledge.

And, there Barty was, just handing it out. It was what he was most familiar with, though. It was what he could actually teach the kids and come off as believable.

Isola was right, though. He was going to have to tone it down a bit.



Isola met with Alexei in the Great Hall, nodding to Moria who was sitting at the Slytherin table with a confused look on her face. She was a little surprised, though, when the Durmstrang boy piled a bit of food onto a napkin and encouraged her to do the same.

"We aren't eating here?"

He shook his head. "I'd like to valk, if that is alright vith you."

She nodded and grabbed a bit of the House Elves' creation, exiting the hall and ultimately the school with this boy she barely knew.

"Tell me about yourself, Isola," he said as they stepped outside.

She smirked. "Tell me what you already know about me."

Alexei regarded her with a raised eyebrow but nodded. "Very well. I have heard that you vere orphaned as a child and picked up by some Dark Vizards." Isola reached for her wand almost absentmindedly. "You vere raised learning the Dark Arts, and it shows in your current schooling. Slytherin House, as founded by Salazar Slytherin, yes?"

She nodded curtly, watching him closely. He was being too vague for her liking, but she didn't know if it was because he was hiding what he truly knew about her, or because he really only knew the vague ideas.

"Yes," she finally answered. "Is that it?"

"More or less," he smiled a little sheepishly, but Isola didn't like it. "There may be some little bits I have forgotten. Karkaroff has only told me small things and only since ve have arrived to this school."

Her grip was still tight on her wand, though she wasn't sure what she even wanted to do. She couldn't just curse him right there for possibly knowing too much about her, but the threat was still there.

She would be able to live if someone found out, in all honesty. Nobody would kill her, but it would be a big mess to clean up, too big for her liking. She had been told as a very young child not to tell anyone her previous name or the names of the parents, or how she had been placed in Barty's care, and maybe that had just been for his own protection, but it had stuck with her, and as she grew older, she realized the bigger consequences.

She could get pumped for information about the Death Eaters, possibly put into St. Mungo's rehabilitation center, seen as being brainwashed from a young age, or as a danger to society. The Ministry would also have a new reason to put Barty away (again), and everyone would know her true purpose as another one of Lord Voldemort's weapons.

If it got out to anyone-- Alexei, Karkaroff, Moody, Dumbledore-- a new investigation would open up, and she would get taken away. As far as legal records went, it looked like she was a Crouch, but surely, someone had caught on that she was unclaimed by everyone in the family. Maybe she had been passing as a distant relative all this time, or maybe they all just gave up and decided to mark her down as one of the many mysteries of the Wizarding World.

Whatever the case, Isola didn't want anyone finding out about her infancy or how she had originally belonged to that blood-traitor scum. She was not that child. She had been saved, and she was better because of it.

"Okay then," she said, trying to look as calm as possible. "What about you, then? What's your story?"

She and Alexei were walking toward the lake, neither of them actually eating.

"Vell, I started attending Durmstrang ven I vos just ten years old. Ve stay there all year save for Vinter Holidays and other family celebrations. Karkaroff and the professors there are like parents to all of us."

"And, what are your outlooks? I know Durmstrang doesn't admit muggle-borns. Do you feel the same way?"

He spit on the ground in front of them, almost glaring at her. "I vould never vont to valk the same halls as those filthy creatures."

Isola smiled, lifting her eyebrows and motioned back to the castle. "I'm sorry to tell you that that's exactly what you're doing here."

He rolled his eyes. "There is a reason Albus Dumbledore is head of your school and Igor Karkaroff is head of mine."

"If I could go to yours, believe me, I would," she mumbled, glad to know they were on the same page. Of course, he could have been faking just to get her to trust him, but he seemed very genuine about his hatred, and admirable quality.

"My parents are the same vay," he continued. "I vos raised the same way as what I am lead to believe you vere, being taught that ve are superior, that the vorld as it is, is impure."

"You'd make a fine Death Eater," she murmured, barely even realizing it left her lips as she stared out at the Black Lake.

"Is it true, then?" Alexei asked, voice suddenly louder, almost excited, and she turned to him, finding he was staring at her with hard, dark brown eyes. "Is the Dark Lord returning?"

Isola's heart suddenly beat in her chest, and she raised a hand to the tiny spot on her neck, well aware of the fact that it had been itching for the past several days, weeks even.

She didn't know how to answer his question, whether or not she should reveal herself to him, so she settled with a general but true, "I have no idea, honestly," and turned back to the lake.