A/N: Making up some random pureblood family history here (Rowles and whatever). Would also like to note that I have never entertained the thought of the cursed child and that anything from that will probably be ignored.

Chapter 18

When Malin Stenberg entered the Great Hall, she found it to be incredibly quiet. It was nearing the end of the time allotted for dinner and there were only a few groups of students still at each table. Malin did not often eat in the hall, but she still naturally gravitated towards the Slytherin table before having to stop herself. Her attention moved to the Gryffindor table next, and she found herself running a hand through her raven locks while she observed the table in thought. Obviously, the movement was far more attractive than she had intended, because a boy no older than thirteen dressed in casual muggle attire openly gawked at her as he passed on his way out of the hall.

Apparently, no matter where you are in the world, some things never change.

Even so, Malin had grown used to the attention. Her younger self had even soaked it all up once upon a time. Now, however, it was slightly annoying but not unbearable to live with; she could not find it within her eighteen year old self to be sad about nature blessing her with insane beauty. Speaking of beauty, there was no sign of her new crush. Most unfortunate, really, but at least Malin recognised the honorary Lady Rowle. Hermione Granger was seated on the left bench, picking daintily at what looked to be a chocolate cupcake topped with hundreds and thousands as she scanned a book that she had propped up against a cup.

Malin inhaled deeply, holding all of the tension in her shoulders as she strode elegantly towards her target. She paid no mind to the ogling group of Ravenclaw fifth years as she passed through their line of sight, and took a careful, graceful seat on the bench across from Hermione. Hermione – nose deep in a book as per usual – did not notice the additional presence at first. Malin cleared her throat softly. The reaction was immediate; Hermione's tilted head whipped upwards to see a bloody model sat across from her, seemingly requesting attention. Doing her best to be polite, Hermione closed her book and straightened her posture slightly as she observed the young woman across from her with a gut feeling of curious dread.

"Good evening, Lady Rowle," Malin said calmly. Hermione's expression suddenly looked rather pained and an incredulous groan slipped from between her lips. Malin couldn't help it; her immaculate eyebrow twitched in amusement and a couple of her perfect teeth popped out in a knowing smile.

"Just Hermione, please," said the younger witch.

"Sorry, but I do not fink I could say dat right," Malin responded apologetically. "I could just call you Rowle's lady, if you vould like?" Hermione cringed at the thought. It was cute that they could say they were each other's, but to be referred to as 'Rowle's lady' in wizarding society was not the same. If anything, Hermione felt the urge to be a little insulted by the insinuation. She was not a possession; she would not be owned or seen as such.

"My friends sometimes call me 'Mione." Hermione stated. "Honestly, I think I'd rather you butcher my name than have to hear lady this and lady that."

"I vill try dat," promised Malin. "I am Malin Stenberg, by de way – I am sure Rowle has not talked of me."

"No, he hasn't."

"Vell, I do not blame him. Dis vill probably make you uncomfortable, but Rowle told me I vould need to tell you everyfing if I came to you for help, so I vill," said Malin. She took a slightly nervous pause and Hermione could feel dread explode like one of Neville's cauldrons in the pit of her stomach. Obviously, this girl was hesitant to say what she was going to say. Hermione had a good idea though. This girl was beautiful. If any witch was to be one of his past exploits, it would be her. Sometimes the most attractive people seemed to just gravitate towards one another, and Hermione could certainly see that being the case when it came to her Thorfinn and this Malin. "Dere is no easy vay to say dis, so… I had sex with Rowle last school year. Before you say anyfing, dat is not vhy I am talking to you. Rowle and I did not speak after and ve are still not really friends. But… he is de only one dat knows about me, so I asked him for help vith somefing and he said he did not know how but finks you might."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked bluntly. She felt woefully inadequate seated across from a witch that Thorfinn had once been with intimately. Honestly… did all of the girls back at Durmstrang look like Malin? How many of them had Thorfinn slept with? She knew he had experience… but did she even want to know anything more?

"I had sex vith him because I needed the experiment," explained a patient Malin. "And after, I just knew, dat I did not like men how I vas supposed to…"

"Oh," muttered Hermione as she began to catch on. "Oh!" she repeated slightly louder. This was incredibly unexpected. Could you really blame her for her reaction? Hermione was not aware of any students in her year batting for their own team, though there had been a rumour or two about Justin Finch-Fletchley liking boys the previous school year. While she possessed absolutely no prejudice at all, Hermione had to admit that she felt rather uneducated when it came to the topic that Malin had alluded to. Then, of course, there was the fact that Malin went against every stereotype she had ever heard out on the primary school playground. Hermione did not think she had ever seen a woman exude such exquisite femininity and appeal without the assistance of veela allure.

"Your boyfriend is not bad in bed, by de vay," assured Malin. "Vhat ve did just confirmed vhat I had felt in my heart for a long time."

"Oh," coughed Hermione, feeling her ears burn at the first comment. "Well, that's good to know, I suppose. Though, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to help you in terms of your sexuality…"

"Dere vas this girl in de library," Malin began calmly, her voice at a low volume. Hermione could understand why Malin wished to keep such a personal matter quiet. Bigotry and prejudice ran through the veins of both Hogwarts and wizarding society as a whole; discrimination because of blood status was the most prevalent, but Hermione imagined a young woman from a magical family that attended the Durmstrang Institute would not be treated well if it was known that she had the audacity to be gay. Not at all. The wizarding world remained 'traditional' as the muggle world continued to move forward. Hermione thought it was a shame, honestly. "I have a big fing for her, but I do not know her name. Rowle said you could help me, because you vear the same colours as de girl."

"Well, I can try my best," said Hermione, looking and sounding friendlier than earlier. Knowing that a ridiculously gorgeous girl was not out to steal your boyfriend and had no interest would take a weight off of anyone's shoulders. "Could you describe her for me?"

"Of course," grinned Malin, proceeding to give a very lengthy description of the mystery girl's appearance. By the end of it all, Hermione determined that the Gryffindor in question was most likely Alicia Spinnet. Though she had initially thought it to be Angelina Johnson, Malin's intricate depiction of the girl's hair was all she needed to hear. Definitely Alicia Spinnet. "Alicia?" Malin repeated once Hermione had vocalised her thoughts. "Vhat do you know about her?"

"Not a whole lot, I'm afraid," admitted Hermione. "She's a few years above me and she's usually with her friends Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell – the three of them are all chasers on the Gryffindor quidditch team. I don't know a lot about quidditch, personally, but I do know that Alicia is a very good player."

"Quidditch?" Malin repeated with a delighted smile. "Dis is vonderful – I love a lady dat does sports." Her happiness seemed to fade away quickly, however, and Hermione immediately felt the change in mood. "Do you… do you know if she vould give me a chance?"

"I'm sorry, Malin, I haven't seen her that way with any girls," Hermione said softly. "Although, if she were to take an interest in a girl, I have no doubt that it would be you. You are stunning – honestly, just before a boy walked past and almost tripped over his feet while looking at you – and you seem like a good person who deserves happiness. Look, I don't know anyone here that is out of the closet, but I do think that it's highly probable that there are at least a few people that'll go both ways. Maybe one of those is Alicia – you'll never know unless you try."

"Fank you, 'Mione," muttered Malin, her eyes glossy while the rest of her face remained stoic. The pronunciation of Hermione's nickname was far from fantastic, but it certainly could have sounded worse.

"You don't need to thank me," replied Hermione. "I'm glad I could help… a bit, at least. I thought Thorfinn was being really stupid telling you to tell me everything about the two of you, but I can see why he did now. I think he did the right thing. My best friends are boys, but even I will admit that sometimes you just need a bit of girl chat! I have Ginny for that most of the time, but if you need someone that you don't have to explain your business to, I'm free to talk if you need. You're welcome to send me an owl whenever."

Malin smiled sincerely and was about to accept the offer when she noticed Thorfinn lingering around the entrance to the hall. It was clear that he had no intention of joining their chat, but the way in which he was fidgeting made her curious.

"Rowle is hovering," Malin said to Hermione, and the Gryffindor's neck snapped round with the speed of an owl.

"Looks a bit on edge, doesn't he?" commented a concerned Hermione. Nothing more needed to be said between the two, and they rose from the bench with Weasley twin synchronicity. Thorfinn quickly led the two to the kitchens without a word and the three were immediately seated at a small table by Dobby. Somehow, Thorfinn had ended up sitting across from the both of them; he was a little sore about not being able to sit closer to Hermione. Drinks had magically appeared in front of them within moments and they all sipped awkwardly from the casual goblets.

"So," Thorfinn started, looking carefully at the duo, "have I missed much?"

"Not much at all," retorted a mischievous Malin. "I vas just telling 'Mione how shit you are in bed." Hermione promptly choked on the mouthful of pumpkin juice that she had just consumed.

"Malin…" he said in warning, offering Hermione his goblet of water as she cleared her throat a few times to try and get rid of the burning.

"Sorry, 'Mione," Malin said guiltily, patting the other girl on the back a few times.

"It's fine, don't worry," replied Hermione. She coughed lightly into her elbow when she noticed how croaky her voice had sounded. "Anyway, Malin told me all about the library and we've determined that she fancies Alicia Spinnet – she's a sixth year and a chaser on the Gryffindor quidditch team."

"So do you know if this Alicia would… you know…?"

"Just say it, Rowle!" snapped Malin. Thorfinn looked at her with a mild frown.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Malin, forgive me for trying to avoid offending you for the second time today," he responded sarcastically. Hermione rolled her eyes at his attitude and it appeared as though Malin was tempted to do the same.

"I don't know if Alicia would like Malin in that way," Hermione said, redirecting the conversation before an argument started. The last thing anyone needed was Thorfinn's magic popping off in the kitchens. "But I'm sure we'd be able to come up with some sort of plan to find out."

"Yes," Malin smiled gratefully. "Ve can do dat."

"If your plan involves socialising, I'm sure you'll be able to handle it without me." Thorfinn stated.

"I fought you vere talking more now," said Malin. "Or do you only talk to vizards dat call you Lord Rowle?"

"Who called you Lord Rowle?"

"Dat little Malfoy," Malin answered on Thorfinn's behalf. "He is vhy Rowle vas late to meet us."

"You were speaking with Malfoy?" Hermione hissed incredulously. "What on earth would make you want to be cordial with him of all people?"

"He was arse-kissing," shrugged Thorfinn. "Started banging on about his father and his fellow purebloods – do you know they've not given me stick about taking you to the ball because Draco Malfoy called them off? Naturally, he called you some unsavoury names and I had to fight the urge to curse him beyond recognition, but other than that it was not an entirely intolerable discussion. Malfoy was actually quite useful."

"What did he say?" asked Hermione. She couldn't help but be curious. Draco was always a gigantic, entitled brat when she was around, and the closest she had seen to a respectful Draco was a potions class Draco.

"He said the Malfoys and their sort saw me taking you to the ball as a power play against Potter and the like. I didn't correct him – having an endless stream of enemies is problematic and if I can avoid it I will." Thorfinn then took a tiny object out of his pocket and used his wand to charm it back to original size. "He also presented me with a letter from his father."

"Of course he did," grumbled Hermione, rolling her eyes once more. Malin simply remained silent, but would admit that she was rather curious about the contents of the envelope. "I take it you haven't opened it yet?"

"No," said Thorfinn. "I was going to make sure it wasn't cursed while you two carried on about whatever."

Hermione agreed wholeheartedly that the envelope required caution. Thorfinn began casting every charm that he could think of while Hermione and Malin resumed their earlier discussion. When he was confident that there were no signs of foul play, Thorfinn split the Malfoy seal with ease and peered inside the envelope. There were two items within; the first was a typical pompous letter handwritten by Lord Lucius Malfoy. It was short and to the point, as it predominantly covered the general invitation to Malfoy Manor, though there was also an offer of mentorship on traditional British wizarding society should it be required. Thorfinn huffed in annoyance when he finished reading, sliding the letter back into the envelope so that he could take time to decide whether to reply or not. Then, he plucked out the second item. It was a far cry from the pristine parchment that had possessed Lucius' elegant scrawl. Instead, it was an older brown, and in the centre of the rectangle were flowing, graceful words that looked decidedly more feminine.

Remember who you are

Frowning at the statement he assumed to be from the Lady Malfoy, Thorfinn turned it over. It was an old photograph! From the seventies, by the looks of it.

"Holy SHIT!" Thorfinn yelled suddenly, surprising the two young women.

"What is it?" asked Hermione. She and Malin were looking at him in both confusion and alarm, but they did not get a response.

Thorfinn's eyes were insanely wide as he brought the picture closer to get a better look at the faces. He noticed, then, that the names of those in the photograph were listed in tiny writing along the bottom border. Looking back to the faces, it was clear that the list was in order from left to right. On the far left was a short man with a slightly hunched posture and eyes that were too small for his face. Apparently, it was Amycus Carrow, a name Thorfinn had heard a couple of times in passing. Beside Amycus was his sister, Alecto Carrow, who had a similar stocky physique and her hands clasped firmly in front of her. While Thorfinn did not see them to be physically threatening in the slightest, their cold expressions told an entirely different story. The emptiness in their gazes were a warning that they were not to be trifled with. Though, Thorfinn still did not feel massively uncomfortable; they were his mother's cousins, after all. Inbred society and all that. Everyone was related to everyone.

Speaking of his parents, next to Alecto stood a towering Damocles Rowle II. It was clear to Thorfinn that he had inherited his height and size from his father, who was quite obviously the tallest and strongest person in the photograph. Damocles possessed a sharply squared jawline, thin lips, and a hooked nose. At the time of the picture, his father had also been the owner of light, shoulder length hair. One of his arms was not in view, as it appeared to be securely placed behind the back of his regal wife.

Thorfinn's mother was pretty in that elegant sort of way. Victoria Rowle did not look to be extremely comfortable – judging by her tense stance and the way in which her eyes darted to the right repetitively – but she did well hiding her unease regardless. Her hair was pinned up in a royal do and her robes were clearly the best that money could buy. Thorfinn had never expected any less based on the way that Karkaroff described his mother; in fact, he was of the mind that young death eater Igor had had a little bit of a thing for her. Seeing Victoria in a moving photograph only confirmed Thorfinn's suspicion.

He finally moved to focus on what had drawn his mother's attention at the time. Beside Victoria was a man sat confidently in a throne of a chair. In his arms was a small bundle, and Thorfinn rightly assumed that it was himself as a new born. The man had simply been listed as THE DARK LORD and Thorfinn admitted to himself that he had expected something a little more sinister. Lord Voldemort in 1977 was not what Thorfinn had anticipated at all. He looked to be slightly inhuman but still maintained some rather average qualities, no doubt as a response to the impacts of an extensive exploration into the darkest of magic. Voldemort held the child casually in his spindly hands, hardly acknowledging it as he stared forward with an unwavering dark gaze. It was strange to see the Dark Lord in such a domestic position, surrounded by death eaters who looked to be nothing more than respectful peers in that moment.

On Voldemort's other side was a young Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix appeared to be the only energetic participant, as her hands were clasped firmly in front of her but her middle fingers were twitching cyclically. She was grinning manically and looked to be revelling in the close proximity to the Dark Lord. Next to her were the Lestrange brothers: Rodolphus and Rabastan. The two men were rather similar in terms of looks, though Rodolphus did seem to possess more of an insane glint in his shaded gaze. The final members of the photograph were Lucius Malfoy and his wife Narcissa. Lucius looked to be just as arrogant and irritating as Thorfinn had envisioned. Narcissa, on the other hand… well, if she still looked anything like she had done, then she was a straight up MILF! Not that Thorfinn would say that out loud in the company of Hermione, of course.

All in all, it was a very surprising photograph, but not entirely unexpected. Karkaroff had mentioned things sporadically over the years but seeing such a clear image was a little jarring in all honesty. Thorfinn glanced upwards to see both Hermione and Malin watching him with varying levels of concern. It may have been slightly selfish reasoning, but he did not wish for Hermione to see the picture; it would undoubtedly remind her of just who exactly he was to wizarding society and he hated the thought. She did not see him as anything other than just Thorfinn and in a perfect world it would have been kept that way.

"Here," muttered Thorfinn, tossing the photograph towards the two. Hermione's curiosity knew no bounds and he figured it would be best to let her see it before she began to nag. Malin looked over the image for a moment before watching him with sharp eyes; Hermione gasped when she noticed baby Thorfinn tucked calmly in the arms of Lord Voldemort.

"Does dis not vorry you, Rowle?" questioned Malin.

"Not really," he said plainly. "I mean, most of the people there are either dead or locked up, aren't they?"

"They are." Hermione nodded in confirmation, still looking at the photograph. "I'm glad you didn't get your dad's nose," she joked. Apparently, they were all purposely ignoring the elephant in the room: the implications of the apparent fondness from the Dark Lord.

"Yeah, so am I," Thorfinn scoffed. "Guess I was just lucky enough to get the best from both parents."

"Your moder vas very pretty-"

"Ew, Malin, that's my dead, death eater mum," he cut in with a dramatic gag. "Honestly, I could've gone my whole life without hearing that. Thanks."

"You are welcome, Rowle, dat is vhat I am here for… dat Lady Malfoy is a vision too, I mean look at her-"

Thorfinn sighed in response, then quietly murmured…

"No comment."

Hermione, while a respectfully good sport, still booted his shin under the table.

As the Easter holidays came to a close and April faded into May, Thorfinn found himself back following a strict routine. All in all, he was feeling stronger than he ever had. He was at his happiest, too, as he had just returned to the ship following a long snogging session in the library with Hermione. While finding time for each other was not the easiest task, every single kiss was more than worth it. They still had not gone much further, though, as he had been letting Hermione set the pace. It was hard for Thorfinn. Both figuratively and literally.

Thorfinn was not the only person with a busy timetable. Hermione had added helping Malin Stenberg to her always extensive to do list. Thorfinn stayed out of their business for the most of it, though Hermione had seen it necessary to update him on occasion. Apparently, Hermione Granger was now playing cupid or matchmaker or whatever. Who would have guessed?

Anyway! Thorfinn had returned to the ship to find Professor Karkaroff waiting for him.

"Where have you been?" Karkaroff growled furiously, grabbing the large young man by the collar of his casual t-shirt. "The champions are supposed to be down at the quidditch pitch for information about the third task! You are late."

"Isn't being late supposed to be fashionable these days?" Thorfinn wisecracked, pulling himself away from his headmaster forcefully. Karkaroff's look of anger soon bled into one of brass arrogance.

"You know," started Karkaroff, "one day that attitude of yours will get you killed – and I will have no sympathy whatsoever." Thorfinn scoffed.

"I'd rather die telling a man to choke on his own cock than die whining and begging for mercy like a little bitch."

"Sneaking around with a mudblood has made you a fool," sighed Karkaroff. A nearby lantern flickered vivaciously; a result of a certain someone's irritation. "Go down to the quidditch pitch, boy, before I begin to lose my temper and you start childishly breaking things."

Thorfinn departed the ship once more feeling far less happy than he had been minutes prior. By the time he joined the gathering, Ludo Bagman was finishing up his explanation of the final task. It appeared to be a rather explanatory maze and Thorfinn felt rather empty in response to this discovery. There would undoubtedly be magical obstacles involved, but even then he was very much confident in his abilities. In all honesty, the tasks so far had been no more than a slight challenge.

"Alright, Potter?" Thorfinn said to Harry, noticing the stress on the face of his girlfriend's best mate when Bagman tried to pull him into a discussion. "Do you fancy going for a chat?"

"Yeah, all right," said Harry, slightly surprised. Bagman looked perturbed by the interruption.

"I'll wait for you, Harry, shall I?"

"No, it's OK, Mr Bagman," said Harry, suppressing a smile, "I think I can find the castle on my own, thanks." Thorfinn patted Harry on the shoulder nonchalantly and began to lead him away from the pestering judge. They ended up near the forest before they came to a stop, far away from Bagman so that he would not be allowed another chance to pounce on the unfortunate boy who lived. "Thanks for the help," Harry told Thorfinn with a sigh of relief.

"Yeah," replied Thorfinn, "let Hermione know I've been a good boy, will you?" he continued mischievously.

"If, uh, that's what you want," said Harry, frowning up at the taller young man in confusion. "Would you like me to use that exact phrasing? Is this one of those relationship things?"

"Say whatever you want – so long as it gets the point across."

"Yeah, sure," nodded Harry. "I take it you and Hermione are doing well, then?" The smug little grin on Thorfinn's face was the only response Harry required. He wasn't sure he wanted to go further with his questions; Hermione was like a sister – there were some things that Harry just did not need to hear. "OK, well, did you need-"

Something moved behind Thorfinn in the trees and Harry, who had some experience of the sort of thing that lurked in the forest, instinctively grabbed Thorfinn's awfully large arm and pulled him around.

"Manhandling is not something I appreciate, Potter." Thorfinn snarled as he pulled his arm free, his mood altering in a blink of an eye. Harry shook his head, staring at the place where he'd seen movement. He slipped his hand inside his robes, reaching for his wand. A man staggered out from behind a tall oak. For a moment, Harry didn't recognise him… then he realised it was Mr Crouch. It took Thorfinn a few more seconds to realise what exactly had managed to spook Harry.

"Wasn't he a judge?" Thorfinn asked quietly, his cautious blue eyes glued to Mr Crouch as he pulled out his wand also. Harry moved to approach Crouch to check on him and Thorfinn reluctantly followed. While he wasn't massively curious about what was going on as something felt tremendously off about the situation, Thorfinn felt obligated to watch out for Harry. The things he did for his girlfriend. "Can you tell what's wrong with him?" he asked from a bit further away.

"I've got no idea," Harry muttered. "Listen, you'd better go and get someone-"

Crouch cut him off, rambling incessantly. As Harry tried to make sense of what was being said, Thorfinn remained fixated on the surroundings. Something was really, really off. He took in a deep breath, focusing on summoning and radiating the colder magic within him; hopefully, it would scare off anything in the nearby vicinity. Harry – shivering at the small and sudden dementor-like drop in temperature – narrowed his eyes accusingly at Thorfinn. The veins within Thorfinn's left palm were glowing a distinct, deathly white.

"What are you doing?"

"Scaring off the creatures," was the firm response Harry was given. "I don't know about you, Potter, but I'd like to go to bed tonight with all of my limbs intact."

"Well can you stay here with him?" Harry asked, pointing at Crouch who was now talking to a tree. "I'll get Dumbledore – I'll be quicker and you can just keep doing whatever it is you're doing."

"You want me to stay with his psycho?" hissed Thorfinn, electric eyes flashing dangerously. "He's tapped!"

"Just stay with him," said Harry, starting to get up, but his movement seemed to trigger another abrupt change in Mr Crouch, who seized him hard around the knees and pulled Harry back to the ground.

"See!" Thorfinn snapped as Crouch continued to babble on. "If that isn't tapped, I'm not a wizard."

"Can you keep him here or not?"

"Of course I bloody can – you really think Hermione would pick an incompetent boyfriend?"

"OK," said Harry, pulling himself free of Mr Crouch while doing his best to avoid commenting on the impatient tone that was directed his way. "I'll be back with Dumbledore."

Thorfinn sighed roughly through his nose, listening to Harry's footsteps sprinting off in the direction of the castle. He looked down at Crouch in disdain, struggling to believe that he had been relegated to the role of a babysitter. Lord Rowle who?

The sudden cliché echo of a twig snapping in the silence of the night made Thorfinn's anger screech to a halt.

"Lumos," he muttered under his breath, using the bright light at the tip of his wand to search for a disturbance. Nothing looked to be out of the ordinary, but he was certain that he was not hearing things. The back of his neck began to prickle violently and Thorfinn turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees with insane speed, flourishing his wand silently and creating a firm shield as he did so.

Before he had even completed his turn, a stunner bounced right off and collided with a nearby tree. The wood splintered on impact, sending small shards of the bark flying off every which way. Thorfinn felt a livid growl building up deep within his throat. How dare someone shoot at him while his back was turned!

"Some expertly trained reflexes you've got there, kid – constant vigilance!" said the perpetrator. Remaining wary and prepared for another attack, Thorfinn used his wand to light up the forest once more. There was a man leaning up against a tree not too far from him. At first, judging by the clothes and repetitive phrase, Thorfinn had assumed that it was Mad-Eye Moody. But then the man stepped forward slightly, and Thorfinn's eyes widened dramatically when he realised that the man did not have the face of the professor. In fact, the perpetrator had somewhat of a strange likeness to Mr Crouch in a… I've been to Azkaban but I swear we are related sort of way. Thorfinn desperately tried to rummage through his brain, going over all he had heard from Karkaroff and seen in library texts over the years. He felt like he should know this man.

"Who are you?" Thorfinn questioned firmly, keeping his wand set and ready. "What are you doing here?"

"I was a… friend of your family, back before…" the man explained. When his tongue shot out of his mouth to brush over the corner of his lip very suddenly, Thorfinn nearly let off a spell. "Name's Barty." It all clicked then, and Thorfinn internally berated himself. He should have known.

"Crouch?"

"Unfortunately," snarled Barty, glancing over at the utter state that was Mr Crouch contemptuously. "You're lucky to follow in the footsteps of Damo – brilliant man, was Damocles – knew what needed to be done; was one of the only men to have the full confidence of the Dark Lord."

"You were very close to my father?"

"He offered guidance," admitted Barty, "I respected him. I don't respect a lot of wizards." The tongue darted out of his mouth again, but this time Thorfinn did not flinch. "Question now is: should I respect you too? Capable kid, aren't you? Very strong magic, very good reflexes. But then… there's the mudblood rumours. To taint such a reputable line… unforgiveable actions warrant unforgivable curses!"

"I will not be tainting the line," Thorfinn said calmly. Having to lie to gullible blood purists seemed to be becoming a reoccurring theme. Of course, the extra effort that he expended on lying was preferable when he considered alternatives. This man had obviously been a loyal death eater; there was no need to rile him up by expressing an unwavering commitment to his muggleborn girlfriend.

"You look a lot like your father, you know?"

"I'm aware," replied Thorfinn. "The Malfoy family saw it prudent to send me a family photo."

"Slimy git, that Lucius Malfoy – that son of his is no better and I had the time of my bloody life turning him into a ferret," chortled Barty. "But that Lucius… Imperious Curse my arse! The Dark Lord is very displeased with him." Thorfinn felt his shoulders knot at the phrasing.

"Is?"

"Didn't think he'd be gone forever, did you?" Barty cut himself off with a harsh, scratching laugh. The strangled noise was very much worthy of a wince. "You've got a lot to learn kid… suppose it wa'nt your fault though, was it? Don't have your family to guide you – such a shame, that. But you don't have to worry! The Dark Lord will be understanding. Trust me."

"Trust you? You shot a stunner at my back and you're dressed as Mad-Eye Moody," deadpanned Thorfinn. He looked over the man in front of him once more, noticing a flask dangling in his free hand. There were multiple theories going around Hogwarts about just what exactly was in that flask. Some people said it was something very mundane – pumpkin juice, for example – while others had presumed it to be firewhisky or muggle vodka. Well, Thorfinn was not stupid. Moody was always drinking. And polyjuice was an hourly administration. It all fit into place with spectacular ease. "You're polyjuicing yourself as him as well, aren't you?"

"Have been all year," Barty answered with ease. The casualness just made Thorfinn even more uncomfortable; it would not be illogical to presume that Barty was going along with his questions with the intention to alter memories once Professor Dumbledore and Harry were on their way.

"You've been teaching?" asked Thorfinn, and Barty nodded in confirmation. There was a brief silence as Thorfinn considered the information he had been given. "Wow, that's actually rather impressive now that I think about it. Impersonating an Auror and teaching seven school years' worth of lessons…"

"Yeah – awfully smart, aren't I?" Barty smirked evilly. "Father didn't seem to think much of me though – he never understood me." Thorfinn's attention moved to the struggling Mr Crouch. Had Barty messed with his father's mind out of spite? Was this what he and Harry and accidentally come across?

"So what are you doing with him?" questioned Thorfinn, momentarily jabbing his wand towards Mr Crouch.

"What do you think?" laughed Barty. "Thought he'd end up killing himself after I drove him bonkers with too many crucios! Obviously that's not worked, since he's almost found the castle…" Barty tucked his flask back into Moody's jacket and pulled out a wand. While he seemed to be proficient with Mad-Eye's weapon (which he held in his other hand), the wand was clearly a firearm of his own. "Avada Kedavra!" he said quickly, and a fearsome green light shot out of the wand and connected with the side of Mr Crouch's head. Thorfinn recoiled as he watched Mr Crouch drop lifelessly to the ground. Then, Barty swiftly moved to point his wand in Thorfinn's direction and the young wizard felt the muscles in his jaw pulse. If Barty fired, he would not go down without a fight.

"Well?" Thorfinn bit out when Barty did not immediately shoot.

"I'm not gonna kill you, kid," chuckled an amused Barty. "Be stupid of me to end such a respected line. The Dark Lord has plans for you anyway, no doubt – he liked your father a lot, even tolerated your mother too. Killing you'd be a death wish."

"Comforting thought, I suppose." Thorfinn stated coolly, refraining from lowering his wand.

"Still need to take you out though – be suspicious if I didn't."

"Well, go on then," said Thorfinn. "I'm not one to go down without a fight though – it'd be suspicious if I did." Barty seemed to take utter delight in his audacity, tossing Moody's weapon towards the dead body of his father that he intended to move once Thorfinn had been taken down.

"You'll stay silent?"

"If you beat me."

"Oh, kid, Bella's going to bloody love you," chuckled Barty. "Stupefy!"

"Bombarda!" Thorfinn responded fiercely as the two moved to silent casting. They flung formidable curses at each other, shielding and dodging one another's attacks with what looked to be a professional precision. Barty behaved himself, avoiding the use of unforgiveable curses. Some unknown spells did seem capable of causing a large amount of damage, however, and Thorfinn did his best to get out of the way of those ones. They went at it for over five minutes straight, both seemingly working up a sweat, before Barty tricked him into blocking a string of spells while sneaking an awfully powerful slicing hex in there.

"Bollocks," Thorfinn gasped under his breath, feeling the blood begin to seep out of the large wound beneath his right ribs. Suddenly, he felt his anger begin to rise in response to the pain. He fired off spells even faster than he had been doing previously, and the duel was making an awfully loud amount of noise at this point. Surely someone would be able to hear the disturbance soon. Barty continued to shield Thorfinn's onslaught expertly, only to be bested by a sneaky curse that shattered the bones in his dominant hand. Barty quickly switched to his unharmed left hand, resuming his earlier attacks and forcing Thorfinn to enter a defensive stance once more.

"Ha!" Barty yelled over the snapping and cracking off the spells. "You're good. Bella's definitely gonna love you – as will the Dark Lord!" Thorfinn did his best to ignore the commentary, focusing on the battle while trying to remain in control of his raging emotions. Blowing up the nearby vicinity and damaging himself by accident was not preferable. Barty continued to attack and Thorfinn begrudgingly admitted to himself that he was out of his depth here. He was duelling a death eater who had been torturing wizards while he had still been a baby, after all. No amount of training compared to real life experience. While he likely contained more magical force than Barty, the realistic battle situation was the main hindrance.

Barty managed to shatter Thorfinn's right knee and the large wizard found himself forcing his teeth together to prevent himself from yelling out in pain. Thorfinn used a nearby tree to support his weight, still shielding and firing. Unfortunately, after losing the ability to dodge as well as block, it was only a matter of time. After taking a few more slices (one to the shoulder of his wand arm and one dangerously close to his heart), Thorfinn fell to the ground, using the base of the tree to keep him in somewhat of a seated position. Barty grinned maniacally, breathing heavily as he stalked over towards his fallen opponent. Thorfinn was struggling to catch his breath; his grip on his wand was limp, and his left hand was pressed to the mighty cut below his ribs.

"You're a pretty good fight, kid," praised Barty, standing over him. "I respect that – Damo would be proud."

"Thanks," mumbled Thorfinn, watching as Barty pointed his wand directly at his already wounded chest.

"Stupefy!"