Delaying the Inevitable

By Any Means Necessary

31 October 1985

Bartemius Crouch Sr. was a realist. As such, he refused to lie to himself about his predicament. His popularity was waning just as that of Cornelius Fudge's was rising. Fudge had Lucius Malfoy, Philip Parkinson, and Tristan Nott behind him, which meant be had the likes of Goyle, Crabbe, and Greengrass as well. Others who, under normal circumstances would've backed him, were keeping their distance.

He should've killed them when he had the chance.

Everything had gone as planned. Successful Auror, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Judge on the Council of Magical Law, beautiful, smart wife, intelligent heir.

His life would've been better had the boy trickled down his mother's leg.

But he could correct this. He could steer the ship back on course. He just needed a little help.

At this moment there were two people more popular than he: Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter.

Dumbledore. He wasn't about to go beg him for assistance. The man was tight-lipped, insufferable, and as ambitious as he. No, he had nothing to give the cunning, old lion and he wasn't too keen on taking from him if he had anything.

Harry Potter, however, was prime for the taking.

He had watched the boy and even helped him out. Pulled some weeds, washed the car, and kept his cousin at bay.

He was, as always, honest with himself. He knew it cruel to take advantage of a child, but it would be to Harry's benefit as much as his. He didn't know what Dumbledore played at, but even he knew the fool was making a terrible mistake where the child was concerned. A child with too much power…

Some clothes, some food, some toys…Harry Potter would be in his pocket. He'd take the boy out. Maybe to a Quidditch game or two.

He knew the muttering. He knew they believed his lack of attention drove his son to be a Death Eater. He could revive that with Harry Potter. He, not Dumbledore, would be the boy's mentor.

He could admit, if only to himself, Junior existed for an image. And because the name had needed continuing. He had never been too fond of him. He cried too much. He had always been soft. A pitiful boy had grown into a pathetic man who had begged for mercy after torturing a man and woman into insanity.

He would never take responsibility for that.

And now he had to look at that waste of oxygen instead of…

He cracked his neck and exhaled. A few minutes passed as he stared at a picture of his wife. She had been lovely. Long, brown hair and a rosy complexion in her youth. He liked to look at pictures of her before the boy. She had wasted away weeping for him. Never would he be able to sit at her grave and grieve.

The boy had taken her from him. He wouldn't give him this, too.

There was a knock at his door. He was in his office, which had polished, cherry wood floors and navy blue walls. The upholstery was gray and velvet and so very soft. He sat behind his large desk of cherry wood, leaning back in his seat. He had no portraits in here and only one picture. He liked his solitude.

He touched the desk. He had but a few more years in this office. Either he would be Minister or that petty fool would move him.

"Yes?" he called at last.

Lauren Higgs, a pretty, young blonde who he was pleased to see was exceptional at her job, poked her head in. "Emmeline Vance to see you, sir."

He nodded. "Send her in."

A moment later, a svelte brunette with a triangular-face and pouty lips dressed in periwinkle blue entered the room. He was not so old or so cold to be unable to recognize Vance's pleasing figure.

She raised an eyebrow, so he pointed to a chair opposite him. "Have a seat." It was a frosty order. She needed to feel fear. He was pleased to see some of it spark in her hazel eyes. She had seen the logs. She had to know what this was about.

He leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. He knew his face was hard and unwelcoming. After a few moments, he said, "Do you enjoy your job, Vance?"

She raised her chin. A Burke. Pride 'til the last. "Yes, sir."

"You have an exemplary record," he said. "Regardless of what happens at the beginning of the next decade, you should be head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. The question is, will you have a job at all by the end of the hour."

She had long nails painted white. They tapped against the arm of the chair. He could tell she was taking slow, deliberate breaths. "I am…uncertain as to why that would be a question, sir."

"Are you?" He hummed. "I visited Harry Potter yesterday, but you know that. Or, at the very least, you knew I was in his vicinity. He has a very recognizable face. You could not call yourself a member of an old family if you could not identify the hair and face of a Potter." He crossed his arms. "Why did you ignore his plight? A blind person could see it and I am no fool. You or…Podmore had to handle every incident of accidental magic."

Her shoulders appeared to droop for a moment, but when she exhaled she was as prideful as ever.

"Lily. His mother," she said, "she was, according to Albus, given a choice to live or die. She chose death. That choice saved her son – "

He waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes Dumbledore has already told me the story, but this does not explain your actions."

She shook her head. "What was I supposed to do? Go to the Child Wellness Office? File a complaint with Elizabeth Wilkes?"

"Have I died?"

She smiled at him, but was as cold as his tone. "Why did you visit, Harry, sir? Was it to his benefit or yours?"

"Careful, girl."

"I have not much to lose," she replied with a lightly. "I have been stuck between Albus Dumbledore and giving fodder to blood supremacists for four years. If I thought I could trust you to not use his misfortune to your advantage, I might have come to you."

He stared at her for a bit then said, "I am not so desperate or foolish as to spread it around." He had weighed the pros and cons of it and had found the bad outweighed the good by a large margin. "Harry Potter is being abused," he announced as if either didn't already know that. "Something must be done about it. Tell me what…how does it benefit him to live there?"

"It keeps his mother's sacrifice alive. I believe it lasts until he is a man."

"So he must see it as a home." He nodded. "Tell me, Vance, how much are you willing to help Harry?"

She closed her eyes. "It depends on what you ask of me."

"Who watches him? I know he is not in the neighborhood alone."

She sighed. "A squib."

He smirked. "Of course. Squibs are not required to tell the Ministry where they live. I admire Albus so very much." He laughed his low, deep laugh. "I need you to tell me all that you know of Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore and everything you learn hereafter. You do that and you keep your job. I will even allow you access and all this will be swept under the rug."

She closed her eyes and did not answer for some time. After several moments of silence, she spat, "Fine."

"Very good," he said. "I hope this is the beginning of a worthy alliance."

Vance just stared at him coolly. He thought to tell her such a look did not belong on a pretty face, but he knew better.

"Well, Vance?"

She sighed. "He is…a quiet child. Asocial, but craves a friend or two…"

xXx

Dealing with Devils

1 November 1985

The next day he opened the gate to Four Privet Drive. It was bland, but it fit with the entire neighborhood. Identical houses with manicured lawns and luxury cars in the driveways. Dursley drove a Jaguar. Bartemius was unimpressed.

He knocked on the oak door. A moment or two passed then it opened to reveal a small, pale boy with messy, black hair and bright green eyes. His glasses, which were round and black, were much too large for his thin face and the clothes on his back were too large for his thin frame.

Harry ogled him.

"It is rude to stare," he said. The boy stiffened and lowered his eyes, though he couldn't keep himself from stealing glances. "Good morning, Harry."

Harry looked back up at him. "Hi."

He held out his hand, not knowing exactly what to do with a five year. This might be harder than he'd considered. "Bartemius Crouch Sr."

The child shook his hand. "Harry Potter," he announced.

"May I come in, Harry," he said. "I wish to speak with you and your guardians."

Harry shrugged then stepped aside. It was a good thing his location was kept secret. Harry was allowed to open the door yet had no concern for anyone's safety. Not that the muggles deserved it. "They're in the kitchen."

"Show me to the sitting room then go get them."

Harry nodded then led him threw the house, which had peach colored wallpaper with white accents and a warm, brown wood floor. Many pictures were nailed to those walls, but Harry Potter was in none. You wouldn't know another child lived there if you weren't privy to that bit of information.

Harry showed him to the sitting room. Here the walls were salmon colored and the upholstery was pale gray. There was a muggle television and a fireplace that appeared to be electric and everything smelled of lemon.

"I'll be back," Harry said. "Err – you can sit, I guess."

He sat down in the armchair, which faced, what he assumed was, the kitchen door. He thought to twirl his wand, but that was unnecessary at the moment. He wasn't there to bully the muggles needlessly.

A fat, purplish man with a thick, black mustache and beedy, blue eyes stepped from the kitchen first. He wore a navy blue suit and brown shoes and a watch sparkled on his arm. From what Bartemius could tell his attire was of fine quality.

The man, Dursley, sized him up. Bartemius had worn the best of his black suits and his shoes had been polished so well he could almost see his reflection. He wore subtle gold. The ring on his finger, his watch, the eyelets of his boots. Vernon Dursley saw everything that shined on him and his eyes lit up.

How Bartemius would enjoy this.

A long-necked, horse-faced brunette stepped through next in a peach colored dress. Unlike her husband, she narrowed her gray eyes at him. Harry must have said his full name. Either her sister had spoken of Crouch or 'Bartemius' had put her on guard.

He stood and shook the muggle man's hand. "Good morning, Mr. Dursley. I hope you will forgive me for dropping by uninvited – "

Harry stumbled through the door with a fat, blond boy behind him. The boy had a nasty grin on his face as he grabbed Harry by the skin of his neck.

"Err – Dudley," Vernon said. "Go outside. Boy to your room." He cleared his throat when Bartemius raised his eyebrows. "Punishment. He is not too well behaved. We do our best."

Bartemius crooked a finger at Harry. "Come." When Harry was at his side, he stared at Dudley, until the pink-faced child waddled from the room. When it was just the four of them he reached into his pocket to pull out a tiny object. The other three watched as it grew into a rucksack.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked.

Staring Vernon Dursley down with his most amused grin, he said, "The same way you managed to fly onto your school roof: magic." His eyes slid to Harry. "I will explain it after I speak with your aunt and uncle." He tilted his head. "Go enjoy what's inside."

Bartemius watched as Harry looked at his uncle then left the room. His eyes spied it when he walked into the cupboard under the stairs. Despite his purpose their it snatched his breath. Who knew Harry Potter would have been better off with Lucius or Walburga or hell Bellatrix?

"How could you not give a child a bedroom?"

Vernon, who was now the shade of puce, swelled up. "He has been provided with food, clothes, and shelter – "

"The bare minimum and nothing of quality." There was no frost in it as he had forgot himself. He was confused and concerned and neither was rarely the case for him and only once had he been so at the same time. "For what reason?"

"We never wanted that unnaturalness in our home."

The woman stepped forward. "We were promised you people would leave us alone if we took him in."

"Albus Dumbledore made you that foolish promise. I am held to no such agreement." He looked at the man. "Un-nat-ur-al-ness," he sounded out. "So bold to be so helpless."

Petunia clutched her husband's arm. "We will call the police."

He curled his lip. "I am Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. As such, I am the police." He sat back down and crossed his legs. "Why?"

"That unnaturalness needs to be stamped out of him."

Bartemius tutted. "Fool. The best outcome for you would have been that he learned and grew afraid of his own magic. It would have internalized itself and killed you all one day. However, he is functional. So he might just let you die when the time comes or kill you and every muggle in your vicinity himself." He took out his wand and stroked it.

Vernon stiffened, but remained quiet.

"Many of my people resent muggles. They wish to subjugate you. For once, I understand it." He tilted his head. "You are not so bold now, Vernon, are you?" He curled his lip. "Sit."

The two adults sat, holding onto each other. He could taste the fear; the apprehension. Delicious.

He stared at them for a minute or so. They squirmed. How delightful. "I came here to bribe you. To hand you money in exchange for giving Harry to me and a friend on the weekends and some weekdays. Now, I shall just threaten." He laughed at the disappointment in Vernon's eyes. "What do you think your neighbors will think if you are arrested for child abuse?"

Petunia shook her head. "He said Harry needed Lily's blood to stay safe. If I go to prison, he dies."

He laughed softly. What a vicious, cunning cunt. If she had any beauty he'd find her lovely. "His mother's blood. Or rather, blood from his mother's family. In other words, you have a son." He smirked. "You, muggle, are expendable."

She paled.

"Marge would never take him," Vernon blustered.

"I am ignorant of who Marge is, but, as I said, I am the police, but with magic. Only my kind can stop me. However, not a soul would lift a finger to save Harry Potter's abusers."

Petunia moved her mouth until she was able to say, "Albus Dumbledore – "

"Will use your son as I have already suggested." He sighed. "So what will it be?"

"You can have him," Vernon spat.

Bartemius shook his head. "No, no, no, as your wife has already pointed out, he must stay with her or your son. However, that does not mean he will continue to be treated the way he is. I will not allow it."

Vernon turned maroon. "This is my home – "

"And you are at my mercy," he said. "You will give him proper house room and all the food he wants." He could provide the clothing. "You will cease allowing your son to…bully him. Or he will face the consequences of his actions. I will teach Harry to do it myself."

Silence reigned for a few minutes. The muggles were red-faced and seething, but they knew their position. At last the woman said, "He is not to be here on the weekends."

"That was what I said, no?"

The woman gave him a hateful glare. He stared back at her. She was fueled by hate, unlike her husband who operated on fear, though, through his worthless mind, he could see an incident with James Potter.

How he would have liked for James Potter to have been his son.

He felt the woman then fully understood her. He stood then, planning to find Harry. Before he left, however, he said, "Your sister is dead and you will never be a witch."

Vernon snorted. "She does not want to be one."

Bartemius smiled. "It seems I know more about your wife than you do. Tell him, Pet, of your first letter exchange with Headmaster Dumbledore."

He turned on his heel and left the room with a single question on his mind: was that Severus Snape he saw?

With his eyes closed, he knocked on the cupboard door. When Harry poked his head out, he said, "Come, sit on the step with me."

Harry stepped from the cupboard clutching Picture! Transfiguration. It was a picture book for children his age that identified basic transfigurations. Vance had purchased the series. Forever a Ravenclaw.

The pair sat on the steps it was a well kept thing, but it creaked. He wondered if that was his alarm clock in the morning.

"This is all real?" Harry asked. "You can do all this with that stick?"

"Wand," he corrected. "Tis a wand and yes, I can and so much more. One day, you shall be able to do all that and more as well."

Harry looked at the book. "How?"

"The September after your eleventh you will journey to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where you will spend the majority of the seven years thereafter."

Harry's eyes widened like saucers. "And I can get a s-st – a wand?"

Bartemius inclined his head. "But we must speak of the here and now. I will begin telling you to erase whatever it is you were told of your parents from your mind. They were a witch and wizard as you and I are a pair of wizards."

Harry nodded.

"Almost five years ago this Halloween, your mother and father were murdered." He said it with as much compassion as he could muster. He realized he was speaking with a small child. "They were killed by a Dark wizard."

Harry frowned. "Dark?"

"A wizard who enjoys the pleasure of magic created with the sole purpose of hurting, killing, or controlling." He sighed. "We are getting off topic. He…" Bartemius exhaled. "Voldemort was his name."

He paused for a moment, but nothing happened. He wanted to laugh at himself. He had never said it aloud, never wanting to give Dumbledore the satisfaction.

"The Dark Lord had waged a war in the name of blood purity; he loathed people born of muggles, non magical folk. Ten years and you and your mother ended it. A muggleborn and a half-blood. The irony of it all is…delicious." He cleared his throat, remembering himself. "You are very famous in our world, Harry."

Harry frowned at him, but did not speak for moments. Bartemius supposed he had rambled too much and the boy was sorting through it. At last, he asked, "What was the green…spell?"

Bartemius blinked. He was, admittedly, at a loss for words. Well, not entirely. "The Killing Curse," he managed. Dumbledore didn't have the sense to explain any of it to him. No covert meetings. Nothing. He didn't understand it. He never thought Dumbledore capable of such callousness towards a child He reached over to push Harry's fringe back and touch the famous scar that lay there. It looked very much like a lightning bolt. "This will remain forever. It is the mark of a Dark curse. Those cannot be healed or removed."

He removed his hands and Harry brought his knees to his chest.

"In a few days time, you will meet a colleague of mine. You will stay with her every weekend hereafter," he said. "She may even collect you on weekdays or take you on holiday." He was not so hard-hearted as to not notice the happiness his words caused. "And you will spend a lot of your time with me."

Harry nodded. "Okay, but for what?"

"I need your help, Harry, and I will give you all that I have to offer." He held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Harry, brimming with excitement, readily took his hand. "Deal."

xXx

Brave as any Lion

9 November 1985

Seven days. That was how long it took for Dumbledore to come to him.

Bartemius had started by taking Harry to lunch in London. The child was precocious and curious; fascinated by the world he was being introduced to. A well mannered and polite boy who learned how to eat as well as he could in public.

A good child in spite of the muggles.

Dumbledore would be pleased.

At first, only people who recognized the Potter face stopped and spoke, wondering if the child with Bartemius Crouch Sr. was, indeed, Harry James Potter; the Boy Who Lived. Pleased he was to say, yes, it was.

Word spread. It had been a slow fire.

Amelia had knocked on his door first.

A tall, square-jawed woman with short cropped, reddish-brown hair and pretty, cornflower blue eyes. His one and only protégé. If he failed, he wouldn't be disappointed if she succeeded in his place. Far too fair and not as deceptive as he, but he was still proud to say she was an impressive woman, duelist, and politician.

She had sat across from him wearing royal blue robes. "I am told you found yourself in the company of Harry Potter?" She had stared him down as only those unafraid of him dared to do. "Why?"

"The Minister for Magic's Office."

"You will use an innocent child for your own personal gain? I thought better of you, Barty."

He had smiled at her. "You are not such a fool, Amelia. It has been some time since you thought better of me. Why lie?"

She had pursed her lips. She was nothing like her brother and yet everything like him. Bold, loyal, and daring. Booming personalities, but she lacked Edgar's cunning; his cruelty. She was nastier than he had been with a wand. All her life she had been, but kinder with her words and actions.

She'd had no answer for him, so he filled the silence with the tale of the state he found Harry in.

"Fine, Barty," she'd said at last. "But I will keep in touch with Vance about the boy."

"Is that all you wish to discuss with her, dear Amy?"

She left his office red-faced with him cackling behind her. It was a genuine, hearty laugh. It had felt good.

Bagnold visited him next. She was a hard-faced blonde with thin lips always painted red. The woman was lazy at her job, allowing him and Dumbledore far too much free reign, but he did not complain. He gained popularity as a wartime leader. As Dumbledore did not behave like a man who thought this peace would last, he knew Sirius Black would not be last thing he contributed to the war against the Dark Lord.

He told her the boy's story as well then assured her, "I will deal with Dumbledore."

She nodded. He would only reach out to her if, and only if, he needed a higher authority, but he didn't think he would.

Not even as he stared at Albus Dumbledore. In that moment, Bartemius knew he was as brave as any Gryffindor claimed to be. Maybe as brave as Godric himself. Maybe a Hogwarts house ought to be named for him. At least a staircase to honor this moment.

Dumbledore, normally a kind, genteel man, radiated power. His eyes seemed to thunder and spark. He had never seen such an unhappy look on his face. He understood why the Dark Lord had chosen to send stooges and cower behind his followers. He had, of course, seen Dumbledore at his meanest, but that had been directed at the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, the Dark Lord. Never at him.

The boy would do damn well to appreciate him for this. Maybe there would be a Bartemius Potter in the future.

"Is there a reason you disturbed Harry Potter's peace, Bartemius?"

Bartemius smirked. Most people called him Barty or Crouch, including Dumbledore. If his old Transfiguration Professor thought he'd be cowed by the use of his full name, he was losing his touch.

"If that is what you describe as peace, I should hate to see what discord you could create. How could you be so cruel, Albus? Even I treated my own son better once upon a time and always disliked the boy so."

Dumbledore was, momentarily, short of words. Only for a moment, though. "I am at a loss as to what you mean."

"Are you losing your mind? Or are all your followers incompetent?" He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "They either failed to tell you Harry Potter was being abused or you ignored it. Which one is it, Albus?"

There was a spark of something – concern maybe – in the piercing blue eyes of his companion. Still, he said, "Certainly abused is an exaggeration."

"So you ignored it," he said. "Scoffed at it. All the rumors and half truths surrounding your family and this is what you do to an innocent child who had lost everything. It's my job to ruin the lives of boys, Albus, not yours. You are the enabler. I don't appreciate usurpers."

The fires around the room flickered. He licked his lips and kept his bored façade up, even if he knew he'd jumped over the line.

"I'll thank you to leave me family where they are, Bartemius, lest we compare notes."

He smirked. "I always know how to make you speak with candor. Such a talent. I shall have to teach my new protégé that skill." He laughed in the face of Dumbledore's anger. "Why, Dumbledore? We both know the dangers of little boys growing up with hatred in their hearts. You and I know it intimately. So why did you leave Harry Potter in the possession of muggles who hated magic?"

"To keep him alive and away from the likes of you."

"Good that you are being honest. Bad," he drawled, "that this is your truth." They stared each other down. "They did not give him proper house room or adequate clothing."

Dumbledore looked away from him.

"He tended to the garden, washed their car, cleaned the dishes, served them dinner. Two muggles treated the second most famous wizard in the world like a Black house elf all because the woman was jealous of her sister and James Potter mocked the muggle man about a broomstick. And you ignored it."

He sat up. "You and I know this could have ended in a very bad way. Why could you not offer him respite? Why could you not take a Sunday to have lunch with him? Why did you not make certain he had a bedroom? He couldn't eat when he wanted to."

There seemed to be pain there. A spark of emotion, but he was learned in the ways of Albus Dumbledore. He was capable of emotion; of empathy, but he did what he must. The necessary. Had Harry Potter landed in front of him one afternoon, he would have looked at the boy's broken glasses and rags then walked him back to the muggles with a sad smile on his face.

He and Albus were two sides of the same coin. He was honest with himself, so he could admit the tale of Harry Potter could still end in a very bad way with he, the Dark Lord, and Albus Dumbledore being the biggest players in his life.

"I feared they would throw him out if I pushed too much," he confessed softly. "My goal remains that he live. So long as he arrived to Hogwarts alive and whole I would have met my goal."

"Whole is a broad term, Albus. As I have been told the bruises of words last longer than that of punches. He will never forget the neglect. We can only hope he forgives it."

The unspoken 'you' hung in the air.

Silence reigned for a few moments. "What would you have done had he not arrived to you whole? What would you have done had Harry Potter come to Hogwarts a hateful little shit and not a kind, well-mannered child looking for a friend?"

He asked the question, but he knew the answer as he knew Dumbledore would not answer. Dumbledore would do what Bartemius hated the most: watched and waited.

A powerful man, but Dumbledore was not a man of action. He did not move as he chose to watch. He was the ultimate chess master. He planned the long game, but sometimes things needed to be done or changed in the here and now.

And that's where Bartemius stepped in in.

He had long understood he and Dumbledore were a team of sorts. He won the battles while Albus Dumbledore won the war.

"He must always see it as home."

"He will know it as a home, Albus. It just won't be a hell for him, too."