Barty Crouch sat quietly on the sofa in the sitting room. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, doing their utmost to keep out the summer sunlight.
No lamps were lit either. He simply sat there, alone in the dimness.
Perhaps hiding his face in the darkness was the only way to keep himself from losing control.
So it had finally been discovered.
Unable to withstand his wife's desperate pleas, he had gone to immense lengths to replace his son and extract him from Azkaban.
It wasn't that he'd never considered the possibility that this secret would one day be exposed. He had only tried, as best he could, to delay that day's arrival.
But the peaceful, uneventful years that followed had made him careless. Careless enough to let Bertha Jorkins discover Barty Jr.
Even after casting an exceptionally powerful Memory Charm on her, even at the cost of damaging her mind, the unease in his heart had only grown stronger.
Until yesterday, when it finally broke loose.
"To Mr. Barty Crouch: Regarding your son, Barty Crouch Jr., we have certain matters we believe you will find of great interest."
"We will arrive at your residence tomorrow afternoon at precisely two o'clock. Please do not refuse this meeting."
"Some things, once set in motion, cannot be stopped by resistance alone."
In the faint light, Barty read the letter again.
In truth, there was no need. After staring at it all night, every word had already been carved deep into his mind.
"Master, would you like me to light the candles?" A house-elf named Winky crept in timidly.
Startled out of his thoughts by her voice, Barty ignored the question entirely.
"What time is it?"
His voice was hoarse, the result of not having had a drop of water for hours.
"Five minutes until two," Winky replied, watching him with concern.
"Shall I prepare some bread and milk for you? You haven't eaten since last night."
"No!" Barty said sharply, pushing himself up by his knees, which felt weak from sitting too long.
"Go stay with him. Watch him carefully. Without my orders, you are not to come out."
"Young Master has been very well-behaved. If you would just—"
"Are you questioning my orders?"
Winky flinched, her whole body trembling.
"...Yes, Master," she whispered. Her large, watery eyes blinked sadly as she left the sitting room, glancing back again and again while heading upstairs.
Almost the instant she was gone, a knock sounded at the door.
"Knock, knock."
Barty's body gave an involuntary shudder. His grip on the parchment tightened, though it was already crumpled beyond saving, so it hardly mattered.
He drew in a deep breath, and the sharp, composed look returned to his eyes.
Barty strode toward the front door and yanked it open, only to find a young man just about to knock again.
"Ahem." Tver withdrew the hand that had nearly collided with Barty's face.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Barty Crouch. I'm Tver Fawley, currently the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts."
"I know who you are. Fudge has been mentioning you quite a lot lately, but I never imagined it would be you," Barty said, his brow knitting tightly.
When his gaze shifted past Tver to the equally young man and woman standing behind him, his sense of unease deepened further.
"Cynthia? So you're the one who sold me out."
Cynthia didn't respond, merely offering a polite smile.
"In my view, that's not selling you out. It's revealing the truth," Tver said as he stepped forward, brushing past Barty and walking straight into the house.
Marvolio and Cynthia followed immediately, the group strolling in and casually looking around as if Barty weren't even there.
"Having a house-elf really makes a difference. The place is spotless," Marvolio said, running a hand along the shoe cabinet by the entrance.
He usually stayed at Dawlish's place, partly for cover and partly to keep an eye on Dawlish, who was under the Imperius Curse.
These days, Jeff only cleaned the Fawley family estate and Cynthia's house. To keep his own place tidy, Marvolio had no choice but to learn a bit of household magic and occasionally clean alongside Dawlish.
Tver, meanwhile, had fixed his attention on a portrait of a woman hanging in the sitting room. Even in the dim light, her elegance was unmistakable.
There was also a trace of melancholy between her brows.
"I assume this is your wife, Mr. Crouch?"
Barty approached with a dark expression, glanced at the portrait watching him with concern, then sat down without answering.
"Since you're here to 'reveal the truth,' I suppose there's no need for tea?"
Marvolio let out a cold snort, but Tver merely shrugged and sat down opposite Barty, meeting his deep, probing gaze.
He was deliberately trying to provoke him with small jabs, hoping to claw back a bit of initiative despite being at a disadvantage.
Unfortunately for him, Tver had no intention of giving him that chance.
Tver calmly took out a bottle of pumpkin juice and poured himself a glass.
"Of course not. I think a celebratory drink is more appropriate."
The faint smugness on Barty's face vanished at once, replaced by an odd, unsettled look. After a moment, he quickly suppressed it.
"Enough games. What do you want from me? To have Cynthia take my place?"
"Half right," Tver said, setting his glass down in midair.
"I never intended to threaten you. On the contrary, we're here to help you. To help you become the next Minister for Magic with honor, standing at the very peak of power in Britain."
Barty froze.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Ever since receiving that letter yesterday, he'd replayed this meeting in his head countless times.
And not once had it played out like this.
"Why… wait. You plan to prop me up first, then replace me once Cynthia has built up enough credentials?"
Barty thought he had finally seen through Tver's intentions.
Even if they truly helped him become Minister, he would probably end up as nothing more than a puppet, a stepping stone destined to be discarded.
Tver wasn't surprised in the slightest. In fact, he found conversations with clever people refreshingly efficient.
"Supporting you is correct, but Cynthia won't be replacing you. What I want is for you to stay in that position for a very long time."
"In truth, we're partners. I can guarantee that we won't expose anything about Barty Jr., and we'll even help you distance yourself from the matter entirely."
Barty's breathing grew noticeably quicker.
To say he didn't want to be Minister would be a lie. But ever since his son had been sent to Azkaban, that desire had quietly died out, leaving him to simply go through the motions at the Ministry.
If given the chance, who wouldn't want greater power?
"And why should I believe you?" he demanded.
"Fudge may be behaving oddly right now, but he's still firmly in the Minister's chair. Why would he ever step aside for me?"
Seeing the desire clearly stirred in him, Tver smiled in satisfaction.
"What if Fudge had no choice but to step down?"