Fairy Tale
Pain had a way of spreading like a disease.
She could feel it in her very soul - it disturbed her in her sleep, pulled her from the depths of her slumber, closer to the light that was shining above the surface as she floated above the yawning abyss. A part of her always wondered what it would be like to simply never awaken from her sleep, to slumber forever in between the light and dark. Would it be tranquil, or would she be constantly tempted by both to enter their embraces, to surge to the surface and consciousness, or to slip down into the inky abyss below?
She didn't really have a metric on how long she had been caught in this limbo, this endless sea within her mind, but she could tell it had been a while. She had seen flashes of distorted figures floating over - as if she were looking up to the surface from the bottom of a pool or a lake. A few had even tried to reach in for her, to grasp her and drag her out, but none had been successful. Not yet at least.
She probably could have reached for them too - but what was the point? She had been placed under the Cruciatus curse, she had been tortured to what felt like being within an inch of her life, of her mind, and then she had been rescued from it, only to be plunged into this endless ocean by the stunning spell.
It was probably a mistake, if she could be so judgemental of the Defence Professor - there was a reason that you didn't put people with concussions to sleep, and the nerve damage doubtless caused by the Cruciatus might do something similar.
Or she could be entirely wrong.
Her lack of medical knowledge aside, Steph was aware that the longer she stayed under, the better it would probably be for her body. It would give it more time to rest, more time to heal the frayed, strained, and wounded nerves that would be immediately aggravated the moment she awoke and started utilising them at all times.
The more she was active, the longer it would take to recover from the curse's effects.
And the curse left deep wounds. Wounds that would not ever truly heal. Scars on her psyche that would always remain, and scars in her body that would doubtless reopen if she was ever victim to it again.
No, it was best to slumber for as long as possible.
Although, perhaps it had already been too long - she could feel the disturbances in the water, could watch the grasping hands reaching down for her, breaking the surface and clutching for her as she floated just beneath their grasp. All it would take was a single thought, to reach up and meet the grasping hand, which she could only presume would lead her back to consciousness.
She could go back, but she would have to face the pain and the reality of the world.
Penny was dead.
The thought came strangely easily to her. It provoked a deep throb of guilt and loss, but the grief didn't drag her down - it was simply a.. Realised fact. It had happened, Penny had died right before her, but Steph didn't feel as if she were about to come crumbling down like a house of cards in a breeze. The girl she had come to view as an older sister wouldn't have wanted that, not now, nor ever. She would have preferred Steph to remember her as she was in life, and to lead her own, unburdened by the loss.
Perhaps it was her occlumency allowing her greater control over her emotions, or perhaps it was because she had this extended time in her mind to simply ponder over the facts of the situation, to privately mourn the loss of the girl. She didn't frankly know - nor did she wish to find out by picking at the emotional scab.
Another hand broke the surface, reaching for her with some urgency, and Steph regarded it with pensive curiosity. Was this enough time within her slumber? The urgency certainly seemed to indicate such, but on the other hand it would not only be better if she rested for longer, but it would also allow her to explore the limits of this state.
Then again, if she was given the chance to dissect her psyche and the inner workings of her mind, she might just lose the plot after all.
And so, she raised her arm and reached for the searching hand, and watched it seemed to dart right for her, grasping her wrist as she did the same, and pulling her sharply to the surface.
Her eyes opened and her lips drew a sudden breath, a soft gasp as the pressure on her wrist vanished in a heartbeat. Light assaulted her eyes, she flinched back into the pillow of the bed she was laying on, and the motion sparked sensation in the entirety of her body.
Gossamer strands of pain sang to life all over her body as muscles rippled with sensation - it felt as if she had the fading remnants of bruises all over her body, and each of them had just been pressed on by someone with their index finger. A soft groan of pain slipped from her lips, and she blinked once, twice, then thrice to adapt her vision to the brightness of the Hospital wing she was doubtless in.
"Steph!" Blinking furiously to force her eyes to focus faster, Steph stared at the boy who had called her name, dark eyes sharpening their focus until she was finally able to make out the figure.
"Neville.." The boy in question broke into a small smile, nodding his head and going to speak, before Steph interrupted him. "What's the date?"
The boy blinked at her, momentarily taken aback, but managing to find his words soon enough. "June Twelfth, we're all getting ready to head home in a few days, why?"
Steph let a groan slip from between her lips, and Neville's expression broke into something urgent. "What is it Steph? Do you need Madame Pomfrey? I can-"
Flapping her hand dismissively, she sighed. "No, not that.. I missed the exams again.."
Neville stared at her like she had gone insane - but who was he to judge her in that moment? He was a Hufflepuff, she was a Ravenclaw, the house that valued academic excellence. Skiving out of her exams once was something that some may consider good luck, but getting out of them two years in a row? Some might accuse her of searching for an excuse at that point.
"... Exams. You're worried about exams?" Neville's voice was cut with incredulity, but when Steph went to retort, she caught herself at the almost disappointed expression on Neville's face. It wasn't as if he was upset with her, but more distressed that she was being so callous with her own wellbeing.
A wince worked its way onto her face at that, and Steph wiped the disappointment from her face and reached out her left arm to grab Neville's hand, in the process becoming vaguely aware she was back in the same pyjamas that she had worn this time last year. A gentle squeeze of the boy's cool fingers brought his gaze up to her, and she gave him a gentle and apologetic smile. "Sorry.. I shouldn't be so worried about that, after what you went through to save me."
The boy turned an adorable shade of red, and he bashfully mumbled his reply under his breath as he looked downwards. "It's not like I did much... Professor Lupin did all the work."
Reaching over, Steph grabbed his shoulder, in doing so pulling his attention back to her as she mentally ran through her options - sure there was the social expectations she was supposed to keep as a pureblood Heiress, but then again, there was something so fairy tale and wonderfully cliché about the situation. Throwing caution to the wind, Steph leant over and gently pressed her lips to Neville's right cheek, watching at the red glow on his cheeks spread seemingly all over his face, even as a similar warmth crossed her own features, allowing a slightly teasing lint into her words. "Thank you, Nevv. My hero."
Of course, as Neville stammered and aborted no less than three replies, the Hospital wing Matron seemed to take that as her cue to reveal that she was simply waiting for the moment to pass, before getting involved. But frankly? For once, Steph didn't mind being fussed over.
"I do hope that's the end of the paperwork for the day."
"I can only imagine what Lucius would do if he could have heard you say that." At the wry response from the blonde man, Sirius Black gave a snort of amusement. A sigh followed it, as Sirius picked up the cup of tea and took a long sip, letting it settle in his stomach for a second before he looked across at Cyrus Greengrass again.
"I'm sure the peacocks would love to hear about what we've just signed. It'd take the wind out of Lucius' sails to lose such a valuable inroad to the Neutral faction to the DMLE." Cyrus tilted his head forwards, giving Sirius a look of faux disapproval.
"One would hope that Daphne's hand is worth more than that."
"Well, I'm sure that both she and Harry would prefer if we could reach a more equitable agreement for the rest of her then." The joke brought the corners of Cyrus' lips into a small smile, one that drew his eyes closed and a soft laugh from his lips.
"I suppose I should expect a quick retort from a Marauder of all people." A wry smile crossed his lips as he set the quill down upon his office desk. "Still, that should be everything. Enough to keep men like Lucius off my back until Daphne and Harry to grow old enough to choose for themselves."
"Frankly, I hadn't expected you to be so amenable to the idea of allowing them such a liberty." Sirius leant back in his chair and gave a small sigh, glancing over his shoulder at the grandfather clock stuck next to the door. "Good God its half three, have we really been in here for nearly five hours?"
"Mipsy did offer you lunch a while ago, but, if I am remembering correctly, you did refuse, saying that we were 'almost finished'." Cyrus gave a knowing smile as Sirius smothered a groan with an exhalation, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so.
"I know; however, I've never been party to a betrothal contract before." Standing, the Head Auror stretched his muscles and regarded the pile of papers on the desk with a mix of contempt and relief. "Never got around to that part of the whole 'Heir of the House of Black' shtick."
"I take it Arcturus didn’t get to the lessons on that, did he?" Sirius shook his head.
"No, old bastard died in '81, just as we were in the start of the clean-up post war. Never got the chance. And the less I saw Mother, the better, frankly." Cyrus' hum said enough - it was a sentiment that Walburga almost certainly shared, given that mutual loathing between Mother and Son was highly unlikely to have lessened once Sirius became head of the family.
"Indeed." Taking a sip of his own tea, Cyrus made a noise akin to a hum, but layered with enough emotion to convey a shift of the topic. Picking up his version of the stack of papers, he pulled out one of the desks draws and secured the papers within, locking it with a tap of his wand as he glanced out the window. "Now, what's this I hear about you and Dumbledore clashing, and Amelia being on the warpath?"
The Head Auror paused for several seconds, mid-stretch, arms behind his head and his gaze locked on Cyrus Greengrass with a mix of surprise and caution in his gaze. His tone was measured, yet audibly frustrated. "Now where in the hell did you get that from?"
"I have several sources who pass me things of interest. What I will note is that Bertha Jorkins is still quite nosy, and has been passing on rumours she's been hearing to just about anyone who wants to listen to her." Cyrus paused for a moment, staring into space as he thought - weighing his options on how much to reveal to the man whom he was now ostensibly tied to through the betrothal of their heirs. "I doubt she is a mole, but she is doubtless being used as a tool by a number of factions in the Ministry. I know Fudge's Undersecretary uses her as a way to leak uncomfortable rumours - and doubtless so do the Traditionalists - and that she was previously used by the DMLE under Crouch as a way to lure careless Acolytes of You-Know-Who into traps."
"I remember being warned about her in Auror School. How she has survived so long is beyond me.." With a grumble Sirius moved to the window, observing the gardens of Greengrass Manor from the vantage point afforded by the second story window, although his gaze was instead on one of the two figures riding brooms. "But no, you're not wrong. Dumbledore and I, and by extension, the DMLE are on quite poor terms... I trust you'll keep what I have to say entirely to yourself."
"Naturally. I am not oblivious to some of the Neutral Faction's... tendency to stray from the voting bloc. Some would like nothing more than to see Dumbledore crowned King of Wizarding England, whilst an equal amount would prefer his head to be stuck on a pike on Tower Bridge." Sirius gave a chuckle at the remark, and Cyrus gave his own wry smile at the somewhat morbid humour.
"Dumbledore took a.. Creative interpretation of the law when it comes to a child." Sirius paused for a moment as the figure of Harry Potter shot past on his Firebolt, closely followed by Neville, who was wildly waving a beaters bat, yelling something left unheard with the soundproofed windows. A sigh escaped the Head Auror as he looked over his shoulder. "I understand you only became Lord Greengrass in 1984, so you might not know of this, but what do you know of the proposed Niobe laws?"
Cyrus was deathly silent for a handful of seconds as the man's mind raced within his head, piecing together the puzzle even before Sirius could finish what he was to say. With a dark expression, Cyrus drew a heavy breath. "You don't mean to say that Dumbledore seriously went ahead with that? Despite the Wizengamot's backlash?"
Sirius gave a snort and responded with a grim tone. "I don't think the man expected to be told 'no' to his act, and had already taken the first one before realising he had been pre-emptive on doing so. I can't say I blame the public, but I would have liked to have been there."
"I'll agree on that much. Even when Gustav became a Death Eater, I never thought to take my nephew away from him. Not that the apple fell far from the tree in that situation, or that either of them would have lived long enough to complain, however." With a sigh, Cyrus stood and strode over to the window, standing beside the Head Auror. "So, whom did he take."
"A scioness of the House of Black, which is part of the reason I'm so invested in this case." The man next to Sirius went still for several seconds, before a soft groan escaped him.
"I can see why you asked me to be discreet with this. The child of a Death Eater would be bad enough, given the general standing of several of their members, but of a House such as Black? At the very least, he would essentially destroy his political career and forfeit his posts. At worst, he would be sent to Azkaban himself." Clearing his throat, Cyrus mumbled under his breath, and a heartbeat later a House Elf appeared between them, holding a silver tray with two full whisky glasses. In short order, both men had taken the glasses and sipped from them, letting the gravity of the revelation sit.
It was Cyrus who inevitably continued. "Doubtless, this will eventually come out. Someone will learn of it, like it or not. And it will almost certainly split the Wizengamot along new lines - those who think Dumbledore acted for the betterment of England, or those who find his action reprehensible."
"I got the impression that this Girl was the offspring of someone rather renowned. She’s a pureblood, naturally, with parents that almost certainly had considerable influence and gravitas. I'd go through her mind, but I doubt I'd find much, or that she would appreciate me doing so." With a hum, Cyrus drew another heavy breath and glanced sidelong at the Head Auror.
"So, who is she? The girl?" Sirius gave a noise of amusement, and raised his free hand, gesturing down into the gardens. Following his gaze, Cyrus observed the two girls sat at the table in the marble gazebo that took up a not insignificant amount of the lawn, caught in quiet conversation as their respective partners flew around on their brooms. Daphne had surprised him when she had told her father that there were several guests wishing to visit over the summer break, but he had been pleased that there was finally another girl her age for her to associate with that wasn't caught up in the house politics of Slytherin.
"She's sitting on your lawn."
"Your father and Sirius appear to be looking at us."
Daphne Greengrass regarded the girl sat opposite her with a light tilt of her head - she could feel much the same, but it was a difference in social circles that had led the girl opposite her to comment on it. Stephanie had truly surprised her when she had actually accepted Daphne's offer to visit the Greengrass estate during the Summer break, given her previous refusals, but Daphne had agreed with her father’s probable assessment that she would do well with some friendly female company.
As much as her father thought his thoughts were private sometimes, he had raised her to succeed him as head of the Greengrass family, and had taught her how to read people using the few analogues they had available. In short order, she was able to read her parents like books, and Astoria...
Well, she had learned what her sister looked like when she wanted food, but little more.
But like every skill, it had evolved and gained new range. She had been able to discern that her father was more relieved that she was expanding her group of female associates beyond Tracey, although Steph's addition did inherently display some more... Progressive leaning than anything else. Daphne’s imminent betrothal to Harry aside, House Longbottom and Scamander both stuck relatively close to the de facto lead of the Progressives, that being Dumbledore.
Perhaps, if she wished to carry on the tradition of House Greengrass riding the fence, she should include some more traditionally minded families in her circles - the Carrow twins would do nicely, and they would be unlikely to upset the balance that much. Although with how Steph was behaving nowadays, she certainly did carry a lot more Traditional views than her parents, much more in line with Daphne's own.
Although...
Hadn't Steph always been so traditionally minded? Private about her happenings, polite as a formality, not out of sheer politeness - and although open to Muggle advancements, held a very clearly superior opinion of Wizarding kind when compared to the non-magical population. The quiet rant that the girl had gone on after the Christmas break about how improperly some of the Muggles dressed had been somewhat out of left field, but on reflection, the only abnormal thing about it had been that she had actually said something.
She had certainly gotten far more traditional since being outed as a Parselmouth, which was decidedly unsurprising all things given. The Traditionalists were the ones most likely to accept her as one of their own, it was unsurprisingly that she had fallen back on their support and adopted some of their ways, which had inherently helped the project of Slytherin house.
"That's not unusual - they have been in Father's office for five hours now, one could reasonably expect they would take a break." Daphne raised her tea to her lips and took a sip, sighing in mild satisfaction as she allowed the floral sensation to wash over her tastebuds. It wasn't too hot, but it wasn't so cool as to be unpleasant, it was simply perfect. It made total sense that some Witch in history had come up with the Tea Cooling Rune.
Of course, a little kick to the tea wouldn't be missed, but it was still somewhat early in the day for that.
On the topic of traditional, Stephanie had forgone the usual attire of someone of her status for an event such as this, in favour of a black sundress that was relatively loose fitting. Had the context been any different, Daphne might have raised an eyebrow at the attire, but given the events of May gone, it should have been considered a miracle Steph was in such good form. Although being under in a medically induced coma for three weeks tended to accelerate the healing process.
Nevertheless, there had been some tells that the girl was not in peak condition. The slight tremor to her hands if she held them mid-air for any length of time, the slight rattle of her teacup when she set it back down upon the saucer, and that was all without mentioning how she had taken to gentle motions if possible. Easing herself into the chair, languid motions of her arms and even slow to change facial expressions - each of them betrayed just a twinge of discomfort that told Daphne that the girl wasn't nearly as recovered as she might have desired to present herself as.
Waiting until Steph had set down her own cup of tea, Daphne went for the polite, yet otherwise blunt approach. "How are you feeling, Stephanie?"
Glancing over the rim of her teacup as the ravenette fixed her with a stormy gaze, Daphne regardless kept a straight face as she sipped her tea, giving Steph a moment to choose her response before Daphne set the cup down, and thus gave the cue that she expected an answer. The ravenette did not disappoint. "Quite alright. The exposure to the curse was described as severe, yet temporary according to the Healers. Only the ghostly echoes remain."
"And I presume they've given you more than adequate instructions to aid your recovery?" Steph's stormy expression pinched in frustration, and Daphne concealed the small quirk of her lips behind the teacup - there it was, the chink in her armour. Steph's façade was perhaps one of the easier ones of the small group to find the crack in - Tracey was damn near impossible by comparison, because the girl was like a duck, in that just about anything you threw at her simply slid off.
"The Medi-Witches assessed that I should restrain myself from magical exertion unless necessary, at least until school goes back." Ah, that would do it.
"Hardly makes you any less of a Witch, Stephanie." Steph made a noise of displeasure.
"I made such no assertions." Well, that was clearly a lie, but it was solely betrayed by her brief frustration. "Is there a point to this?"
"Not particularly. I simply wondered how you were doing." Steph stared at Daphne for several seconds, before exhaling a breath and allowing herself to relax a little bit, much what the girl needed, frankly. "You could ask Mother for her opinion over dinner, if you so wished?"
"You'll have to excuse me if I don't. I've had enough of Healers fussing over me for the last few weeks." Daphne shrugged in acquiescence. That was fair enough, and her mother’s opinion would almost certainly fall in line with the rest - such was the issue with such a small community, second opinions tended to be first opinions with a new coat of paint. Steph's trailing remark, however, caught her briefly off guard. "I just wish I could practice. I hate feeling so useless."
".. This coming from the first Witch to fight a Death Eater in over a decade." Steph's expression was not pleased.
"I lost, Daphne." At this, the blonde girl rolled her eyes and set her teacup down, fixing the raven-haired girl with an unimpressed look.
"You are only fourteen-" At that assertion, which she knew to be correct, Daphne felt herself swallowing the sudden inhale, pausing awkwardly, and clipping her phrase. Giving Steph a pensive look as the blood rushed to her cheeks, Daphne asked the mildly embarrassing question. "When, exactly, is your birthday?"
The look Steph gave her in return, that slightly condescending tilt of the head that told her what she was telling herself - that this was a question that really should have been asked over a year prior - did little to help the flush on her features, and she took a second to school herself, before giving Steph a firm stare. The ravenette kept the expression for a few seconds longer, before dropping it and pulling her lips into a half smile. "October 31st. Samhain, Halloween - whatever you call it - I try not to make much of a deal of it."
"It's a good date as far as the old faith goes. A time of power, of spirits both light and dark." Steph openly groaned, rolling her eyes.
"Morgana, not you too." Pinching the brow of her nose, Steph closed her eyes and hung her head for a second, before looking up at Daphne. "I wish Tracey were here - she'd take the mick out of you for that."
"Well, I can safely say I share the sentiment - missing her presence that is. The teasing I get enough of during the school year." Steph's lips quirked upwards at that, and the raven-haired witch sat back a little further in her chair, briefly casting her gaze out of the gazebo and at the two boys who swooped past - Harry giving a small wave, an impish grin on his face as Neville chased him, yelling something about the other boy being 'Snitch Brained'. Daphne tilted her head at the fond smile growing on Steph's lips.
"And when did that start?" The other girl started for a second, before sighing softly and regaining the smile as she looked at Daphne.
"After I woke up. It was just.. A little too fairy tale for me to resist." Steph had a slight flush on her cheeks, and Daphne had to bite her tongue to stop herself from teasing the other girl. Steph didn't need her relationship being mocked so soon - instead, Daphne allowed the ghost of a smile onto her own lips.
"You'll be good for each other." Steph seemed to glow a little at the remark, and settled into her chair a little bit more relaxedly as Daphne watched Neville finally catch up to Harry, smacking him upside the head with his hand as the Boy-Who-Lived's laughed echoed over the Greengrass estate's lawn. It was a peaceful moment, broken only by a small thought in the back of Daphne's head.
Poor Tracey will be so disappointed...
Bartemius Crouch Junior was living what felt like a fairy tale.
The years under the Imperius Curse, trapped beneath his father's will, were over. Now his father was subject to the same hell that he had forced his son under, and at such a perfect time too - so perfect it was practically fate. His Master was back - it had been with assistance from Wormtail and Yaxley that Barty had managed to throw off the Imperius curse once and for all - and the Dark Lord had for Barty a special assignment.
Alastor Moody was to teach at Hogwarts - Dumbledore had seen to it personally that the paranoid Auror had been cleared by the school board.
Somehow.
It had been Regis Snyde who had tipped the Dark Lord off to the hiring of the Ex-Auror after Lucius' removal from the Board of Governors following the whole fiasco with the Chamber of Secrets. Regis' reinstatement to the board after his conviction in the Death Eater trials had been surprisingly quiet in the press, as was to be expected with the Nott family's stranglehold on the Prophet.
Regis had been tried and convicted as a Death Eater, but it had been a by-product of Avery's bribery that saw him walk free - the very little that the Ministry had on Regis Snyde was part of the Avery case's pivotal evidence. When Avery had that evidence ruled inadmissible, Snyde had filed an appeal contesting the judgement passed upon him, and had walked free within the week, and had returned to the board a month after that.
It was Yaxley who had then alerted the Dark Lord that Barty was not only alive, but also desperate to be free of his father's curse. It had been Corban and Wormtail who had turned up to Crouch Manor and bested his father in the middle of the night, and freed Barty from his father's control. And it had been Barty's pleasure to bow before the Dark Lord the same hour that he was freed.
And when brought up to speed on the situation and the happenings in Magical Britain, the fairy tale sensations had set in. Never could he have believed that there was such weakness in Magical Britain, a system poised to collapse if a few key points were pressed - and with men already standing by with their hands over most of the buttons.
What the Ministry had failed to understand was that the Death Eaters were not just a bunch of disaffected men from old houses with power and money to their names, seeking to cleanse the mudbloods and blood traitors from Britain, but it was an interlocking system supporting each other. Sure, many members didn't get along, but they were all acutely aware that the Death Eaters network would work for them as a collective, if they worked for it.
Lord Tiberius Nott, whilst not the most loyal to the Dark Lord, was tied to them by his son, Theoderick, whom had taken the Dark Mark. His loyalty was further ensued by his grandson attending Hogwarts with the children of several other Death Eaters, from whom he would doubtless pick a wife, or at the very least, gain some of their beliefs. Through the Nott's, the Dark Lord would always control the Prophet, and thus the flow of news to the wider public.
Lucius had always been more of a sly figure, he preferred backroom politicking - and Cornelius Fudge was little more than a puppet Minister at the moment, manipulated by men and women who were working high above their competence grade, but all of whom either shared the ideas of the Dark Lord, or were loyal to Lucius through coin or debt. The executive office of the Ministry had fallen without a wand raised, and it was being used to systematically dismantle Britain's ability to function without it.
Corban Yaxley had perched himself within the DMLE at first, but had lost that position to the restructuring post-war, and the accusations of involvement with the Dark Lord. But in doing so, he had been placed in the Legal Department, and the éminence grise of the Dark Lord had access to one of the most secure and valuable places in all of Britain - the records vaults of the Ministry of Magic. He was poised to collapse the legal system and shatter the sense of safety that Britain had finally managed to fool themselves into in the post-war years.
Augustus Rookwood was an inroad to the very core of the Ministry and its research - he offered a path into the Department of Mysteries, and was authorised to do just about anything by virtue of his employment there. Whilst he was still subject to the usual regulations of Ministry Employees, and was definitely subject to his overseer, Director Saul Croaker, Rookwood was a figure who would go entirely unnoticed in almost any location.
Pucey controlled every smuggling operation in and out of Britain, and his family had done since the nineteenth century. He was currently outside of the circle of the Dark Lord, but much like Lucius, he would doubtless bend the knee if asked to once more. Wormtail had confirmed that his son was no different - and indeed, the young Adrien Pucey commanded much respect within the noble house of Slytherin.
He could go on. MacNair, despite being the Head Executioner, had almost total control over the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures - he had the authority to deal with any creature and its disposal, or rather, its retrieval and preservation. As he had done last war, MacNair would doubtless be the Dark Lord's source of Giants and other magical creatures moving in and out of the British Isles.
Through Avery, the Dark Lord would have access to portkeys and the Floo Network, able to trap victims within their houses or control the Auror responses. Through the Carrows, the Dark Lord would have access to the Department of Education, and from that he could influence and source new recruits or those who would be amenable to the cause. Through Crabbe and Goyle, the Dark Lord would have access to every vagrant and miscreant who would kill for a galleon, who could strike terror and overwhelm the Aurors with their sheer numbers and presence across the country.
The only two institutions they had no control over were Gringotts – although an anti-Goblin war was both not in their interests to begin with, yet could be whipped up within a matter of weeks given Britain’s rampant xenophobia. The real issue was the other – the DMLE.
Straightlaced and led by two of the most capable heads in recent history, the DMLE would be a tough nut to crack. Sure, there were some Aurors would be doubtless easy enough to get on the payroll, but their loyalty would never be as good as those who would voluntarily join the Dark Lord. But he had a plan for them – once the war began, the DMLE’s ranks would have to swell, and its firm grip over its Aurors would doubtless slacken enough for some to slip through the cracks.
But every Death Eater had their part to play, and if one was picked off, there would be doubtless a dozen more who would be more than happy to fill their place. But there was one place that could never be filled.
His own.
Bartemius Crouch Junior was the Dark Lord's War Master. He had constructed this network, had practically built the inner circle up from scratch after the loss of some of the old guard. Canopus Lestrange and Ivan Mulciber's deaths at the hands of the Aurors in '73, quickly followed by Desmond Avery's passing of natural causes left the Dark Lord's inner circle empty of many of the functions needed to prosecute a war. And that's when Barty had left school, and entered the Dark Lord's service.
He knew his father, and he knew that their views on the world fundamentally clashed. His father had valued the institutions that were corrupt, decadent, and self-serving, and Barty had reviled their inaction and their hunger for more human suffering. Sure, he didn't entirely ascribe to the ideology of the Dark Lord at first, he had been one the naïve ones who had joined to change Britain for the better, to save her from destruction. But times changed, and so did he.
He became the War Master - he knew what his father did, knew every one of his plans, every grand blow he aimed to strike against the Death Eaters, and Barty had taken that information and made sure that the blow never landed too well. There would always be some complication, never a perfect execution. A fall man would always take place of the true target.
He mediated differences in personalities between Death Eaters, he made compromises, and he shared in the Dark Lord's glory as their plans worked out. Had it not been for the Dark Lord's sudden fall, Britain would have been theirs in a matter of days. But when his master vanished, the others grew cold feet - they panicked. They didn’t bow to his leadership, they disperesed into their factions once again. The volatile Lestrange's sought to lash out, Malfoy and his clique took their chance to try and flee justice. Evan Rosier and those of his mindset set about causing chaos, trampling the work that Barty had struggled for.
No more - he would not fail this time, not with the Dark Lord returning from the dead. They would all rue the day they tried to abandon him, and the day that they judged Barty incapable of winning the war for them.
And this time, with total stealth on their side? The one advantage they didn’t have before?
Britain would bow.