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Prelude: The Minister and the Prefect
Harry Potter is summoned to the Headmaster's office. While his path is long enough to consider and re-consider any infractions or offenses which might have merited a conversation with the Headmaster, the moment he opens the door all those thoughts evaporate like water drops on a frying pan.
The room is full, packed even, with wizards and witches - tense and decidedly unfriendly. All eyes turn to him, like a pack of hounds catching whiff of a fox. Before the Headmaster even opens his mouth, a heavy-set man summons Harry's wand, while two of his companions grab the boy by the arms. A spell, another spell, one more spell, a poke to the ear with something that looks like a golden stick with a sharp end, a wave by something Harry can't even see... and a god-damn bucket full of some suspicious liquid being emptied on his head!
"My apologies for this... abrupt appointment, Mister Potter," finally says the Headmaster, thankfully performing a drying spell on Harry, "and the security measures you have been subjected to, but I'm afraid this couldn't wait. You have been summoned by the Minister. These ladies and gentlemen are your escort."
"Do you know what's this all about, sir?" Harry tries to keep his cool and not sound peeved.
"You'll see for yourself soon enough, Mister Potter," comes the kind of non-answer which Harry finds only slightly less annoying than being manhandled by Ministry thugs out of the blue. Hit Wizards already move - first group disappears in the Floo before Harry's eyes, then his... escorts drag him (very roughly) through the fire and finally the rearguard depart from the office, leaving Pius Thicknesse to his usual business of running Hogwarts.
It takes the teen a second to re-orient himself, but he recognizes the building. This not the Ministry at all! It's Saint Mungo's and Hit Wizards are already making way through the usual crowd of patients with terse yells and rough shoving for those who don't move fast enough. Being dragged through flights of stairs and corridors gets very uncomfortable quick, but Harry is smart enough not to argue.
The group comes to a halt. Harry can't quite see what's happening from behind Hit Wizards' backs, but it seems like they have met another group of Ministry guards. After a short exchange, Harry is finally let go - only to be grabbed by the shoulder a second later and dragged into a small room.
"Sir, Harry Potter has arrived," reports tall wizard - an Auror, Harry thinks - to the lone patient lying in the bed.
Minister of Magic, Barty Crouch Senior, is not the man Harry remembers. Gone is the powerful wizard, the imperious leader with impeccable appearance and sharp eyes. The Minister seems much older now, frail and tired. His eyes are half-shut, he is obviously in pain and not quite there.
"Leave," finally whispers Crouch.
"Sir?" questions the Auror.
The Minister closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he finally opens them and turns his head to Harry, he looks a bit like his old self, pained grimace replaced by a stern expression of a self-confident official.
"Leave us," he commands in a tone which allows no room for discussion. The Auror nods and closes the door behind him. The Minister of Magic and Hogwarts prefect are now alone.
Crouch takes a piece of parchment and quill from a nightstand near his bed. With some effort, he writes - and then stretches out his hand. When Harry takes sick man's bony palm into his, Crouch gives him the parchment.
"Carrow Manor can be found at number fourteen, Long Road, Market Bosworth"
The note burns up instantly. Harry feels his hand burning, magic twirling around him, something definitely happening, is this...?
Unfortunately, the Minister isn't in the mood to answer any of Harry's questions. Instead he gives brief, almost curt instructions - although this may have something to do with him losing breath when he speaks in longer sentences.
The matter is of utmost importance. Breath. Harry is not to discuss, divulge or otherwise disclose the information - breath - or the topic of this meeting to anyone. Breath. Not to friends, not to Hogwarts staff, not even to the Ministry officials. Breath. If questioned, he should say that they have spoken about Harry's inheritance - breath - as per the Minister's last will and testament. Breath. One thousand galleons, as fitting given Harry's contributions to magical Britain. Breath. He understands Harry's confusion, everything will be made clear to him in a few weeks.
Crouch finally releases Harry's hand and falls back on the pillow, eyes closing. The meeting is obviously concluded. Harry feels annoyed, curious, a little bit scared, but most of all - out of place. He should not be here. Whatever this is, it should have been smart, brave young man with straw hair standing before the Minister, not him.
"Get better, sir," he blurts out. There is no false pretense in his words. No matter how Harry feels about the Minister, nobody should die like that, cringing in pain, trapped in a lonely room surrounded by minions and subordinates instead of friends and family.
The Minister snorts and opens his eyes again. "I'm sorry to drag you into this, Mi- Harry," he sucks in another portion of precious air, "but you'll get it right. You will."
Perhaps the Minister wants to say something more, but his strength fails him. Harry calls for a healer and in a minute the Minister is surrounded by magical doctors, while Harry is being dragged back to Hogwarts.
1991
First year Harry Potter doesn't care about Carrow twins.
Oh sure, he knows they exist - like everyone else, they dine in the Great Hall - but that's the end of it. They are in their second year, both in Slytherin and don't play Quidditch, which means that in Harry's world they might as well live on the Moon. Plus he has his own hands full to say the least, so Harry has no reason to spare the twin girls a second glance, let alone a second thought.
1992
Second year Harry Potter doesn't care about Carrow twins.
Can you blame him? Hogwarts becomes a damn madhouse and if Harry's unexpected fame was a mild bother last year, then this year's unexpected infamy is a disaster. Dobby's unhinged attempts to "save" him, voices in the walls making him feel like he is going mad, people being attacked again and again, half the school suspecting him of being the Heir... It's just too much. You can't expect Harry to start thinking about strangers when everything just goes to hell.
So when Harry finally enters the Chamber of Secrets and sees two black-robed figures laying at the feet of Salazar's giant statue, he keeps his cool. At least until Tom Riddle, smug and self-assured, starts mocking his puppets. The tall boy tells Harry how he preyed on their worries and woes, on their loneliness and fear to disappoint their mother, boasts of great secrets stolen... Voldemort does love the sound of his own voice, after all.
Fortunately, all is well that ends well - with basilisk dead, everyone waking up, Dumbledore's speech and House Cup secured for the second year running. Or so does Harry think when he boards Hogwarts Express...
It begins at the King's Cross, when a group of stern men and women approach Dursleys' car and brusquely inform uncle Vernon that Harry is not coming with him after all. Vernon is none too pleased about driving all the way for nothing, but the sight of wands being drawn quickly disabuses him of any illusions that anyone might care. Dursleys scurry away and Harry is dragged to the place where Mister Weasley works - the Ministry of Magic.
The following week passes like in a haze. Harry tells his story - again, again and again. He tells his story to an understanding elderly gentleman, to a group of wizards in mantles, to another group of wizards, to some creepy pink witch, as if re-telling the story somehow makes it better. He lives a small room under guard and while it still beats living with Dursleys, he can't wait until someone comes to pick him up.
The second week is worse. Harry finds out fist hand how many magical ways to confirm the truth there are, from foul-tasting potions to some weird humming devices. The questions continue, the interrogators now want to know about Quirrel and Philosopher's stone as well. They demand names, dates, details, they ferret out inconsistencies. Come Sunday and Harry is scared out of his wits. He remembers Hagrid, brave Hagrid trembling at the thought of going to Azkaban. Is this what they have in store for him? When he closes his eyes and tries to picture Azkaban, his hands start trembling too.
And then Arthur Weasley comes and whisks him away to the Burrow, and Harry has never been happier since Hagrid has taken him from Dursleys. Surrounded by rowdy clan of redheads, Harry wishes for nothing more than to forget about this whole business - but he needs to understand what's going on.
"It's Lady Carrow, Harry," explains the family patriarch in quiet, serious tone. "She is an old ally of the Minister's. When her daughters have returned from Hogwarts and told her everything... They say she is out for blood."
"But we've saved her daughters, haven't we? And everyone else has recovered. Isn't it enough? Can't she just leave it be?"
"I'm afraid not," answers Mister Weasley's in a strange voice, rubbing his chin as he does.
Of course, Harry's freedom is not really free. After two weeks of talking to all sorts of Ministry officials, Harry has learned quite a bit about who is who. The three guards loitering in shifts outside the Burrow are Hit Wizards. Arthur knows many of them by name and sometimes one or two drop by for a quick cup of tea after the shift is over - talking work and complaining about their bosses. They seem like decent folks, but it doesn't make Harry feels any better. Decent or not, some hag can screech into Minister's ear and then these grunts will just do as they are told.
The resolution comes in August, when he is summoned once again to the Ministry. Harry can't remember the day all that well - Mister Weasley's reassuring hand on his shoulder, a large room full of wizards and witches and what seems like an eternity of questions, questions, questions. But he remembers the Minister, a forbidding figure towering in his throne-like seat, speaking in a voice of unchallenged authority. And Dumbledore, of course, the only person in the entire room Harry has any trust in, calm and humorous even as the tide turns against him.
And so in the end Harry Potter destroys the Headmaster. Not intentionally, he would never, but his testimony is used to bury Dumbledore. The Minister accuses the old man of negligence, failure to protect Hogwarts and all sorts of other things, all rubbish in Harry's opinion - not that anyone asks for it. Albus Dumbledore is dismissed from his posts in the Ministry and sacked from his position at Hogwarts. Some witch named Rosier is found guilty of giving Carrow twins the diary and sent to Azkaban, but Harry is too shocked to care. Dumbledore is chased out of school - and it is all his fault.
The (former) Headmaster assures Harry that he'll be all right. Always wanted to visit some of his old friends on the continent, apparently. But if Harry needs him, he can write any time - Dumbledore promises to check the mail regularly.
Snape is sacked too, but the boy wouldn't care if Snape was eaten by the giant squid.
Harry Potter is awarded the Order of Merlin, second class for his "outstanding contributions" by Minister Crouch himself, who behaves like this is a great honour he should be grateful for. Harry doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry, but this summer has left him a little bit older and wiser to the ways of the world. So he accepts the order, he smiles and nods and moves on.
If there is a lesson in this whole debacle, it's that the world is much bigger than twelve-year-old Harry could imagine. Hostile relatives, school friends and bullies, obedient Ministry grunts and enemies like Voldemort - it's a world Harry can touch (and stab, if need be). But beyond this world there is the next, the world of real power and authority, where invisible figures like Lady Carrow can just turn people's lives upside down and even the most powerful wizard alive is powerless to stop them. It's the world Harry knows better than to expect anything good from, so he intends to avoid it as well as he can.
Thankfully, in Hogwarts this merely means avoiding Carrow twins - something he is more than happy to do.
1993
Third year Harry Potter glances across Slytherin table during Welcoming Feast, his mouth already full - and perhaps for the first time ever actually looks at Carrow twins. Same face with high cheekbones and thin nose, same dark hair, same robe, same emotionless expression. Then two heads pivot as one and he is met with two unblinking stares. There is no nod of recognition, no smile or frown, just two pairs of hollow grey eyes seemingly content to gaze at him all day long.
As the brave Gryffindor hastily looks away and chokes on his pie, his resolve to give them a wide berth strengthens tenfold. Fortunately, it proves to be rather easy because this year is shaping up to be the best one yet.
The new Potions master, Horace Slughorn, may pay a bit too much attention to him to Harry's liking, but in the end of the day he is a jovial man who is ready to actually teach instead of pursuing a personal feud against Harry. Lokhart's successor Emeline Vance (Dumbledore's friend, Ron whispers) is another pleasant surprise - although after the man who tried to leave Harry a drooling moron almost anyone would be a step up.
He takes Professor McGonagall aside and quietly asks whether the twins have actually recovered after the diary. This doesn't constitute caring - it's just a sound practice to make sure that people previously brainwashed by the Dark Lord won't have a go at Harry at breakfast, or something. The tall witch looks at him - a lot like she did a few months ago when Harry and Ron lied to her about wanting to visit Hermione - and assures Harry that the twins have been checked and looked over many times. Their manner may be unconventional (McGonagall would never say "creepy"), but apparently it's their usual manner, for which they're somewhat notorious in Slytherin dungeon.
A potential threat to life and limb thus cleared, Harry dives head-first into studies, Gryffindor team's inexorable march towards the Quidditch Cup and illicit trips to Hogsmeade, courtesy of Fred, George and their very strange (but also very cool) map.
Welcoming Feast incident aside, Carrow twins seem to be just as willing to stay out of his way as he stays out of theirs. A few times Harry can swear he feels unblinking stares drilling into the back of his head, yet each time he turns around he sees the same expressionless faces, always looking elsewhere.
Maybe all the crazy of previous two years is finally getting to him.
New Headmaster shows up in the Great Hall regularly, but Harry doesn't have a single conversation with him through the entire year. Even the students appear to have finally grown accustomed to Potter's presence - treating him neither as a celebrity nor a villain. Harry is warily waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to happen - but it never does.
With no running mystery to uncover, Harry's mind returns to the last summer. It does pay to know who is who, so he starts a little fact finding mission of his own - without attracting the attention he does not need, of course. And so with some trips to the library and carefully worded letters to the people he trusts, Harry tries to solve the riddle that is Lady Carrow.
Genealogy books in Hogwarts library confirm that Lady Carrow and her daughters are the only surviving members of the family. In Mister Weasley's reply about post-war trials, he lists the Carrows among suspected followers of You-Know-Who whose names were cleared by the Ministry. Dumbledore's letter summarizing Voldemort's supporters mentions the Sacred Twenty-Eight - a registry of pureblood families where the Carrows hold a place of honor. While there is no book detailing recent family history, Hermione diligently works through newspaper archive until she strikes gold: the Prophet's report on the tragedy at Carrow Manor just a few days after Voldemort's fall.
According to the article, several prominent Death Eaters have sought to find and restore their master. The Carrows hosted a party celebrating Voldemort's demise when the Dark wizards struck. How attacking them was supposed to help Voldemort the article doesn't explain - Harry isn't sure the authors know themselves. But the article tells how unsuspecting guests were brutally slaughtered, almost extinguishing the entire family in a single moment. It speaks of Lady Carrow, grievously injured, fleeing from the murderers with her infant daughters. And most of all, it speaks of a brave young man who has survived the initial attack and valiantly fought to let her escape, eventually drowning himself and the Death Eaters in magical flames: Bartemius Crouch Junior.
The Minister's son.
Editors chose his graduation photo as a picture: Barty Crouch is a smiling, lanky boy in his late teens with a Slytherin badge on his robe. Straw-colored hair is all over his face, freckles dot his milk-white skin - he couldn't look less hero-like if he tried.
And yet he is.
Although uncharacteristically solemn, Ron deftly points out that then-DMLE head Bartemius Crouch was elected Minister just a few weeks later. Prophet articles speak of huge outpouring of support for young hero's father whose staunch stance against Voldemort and his followers is well-known to the public.
In later years Lady Carrow is mentioned regularly as a contributor to this and that, so obviously she has some money to spare. She supports Crouch's initiatives which isn't much of a surprise either. Even though she is close to the Minister, she appears rarely in public and when pictures are taken, she is usually at a distance or out of focus. Harry sees occasional muted references to her ill health and can't help but make his own conclusions.
He pictures Lady Carrow - a scarred and deformed figure slipping out of her concealment charms as she shambles towards her daughters. He imagines the Minister glancing at Barty's photo on his desk as he reads her letter. Fifteen years ago, the Dark Lord's minions murdered his son - and now the lives he had died protecting were nearly snuffed out by another of Voldemort's tricks. Harry doesn't think Minister Crouch a kind or sentimental man, but this... this could move even a heart of stone. Suddenly he sees the last summer in an entirely new light.
Harry is no fool. No matter what Lady Carrow's story is, in the end of the day she's more than willing to step on him and his when it suits her. She isn't his friend. Third year Harry Potter still doesn't care about Carrow twins.
But when their eyes accidentally meet during Leaving Feast, he doesn't choke either.
1994
Fourth year Harry Potter is too exhausted to care about anything.
It's like the universe has woken up after a year-long nap and hastily tries to catch up on Harry's misery quota. The Dursleys don't let him go to the Quidditch World Cup. He sees weird dreams and his scar hurts. The Goblet of Fire pitches in and now he is forced to participate in Triwizard Tournament. The entire damn school thinks he is a cheating glory-seeker. Rita Skeeter and her ridiculous lies. "Potter Stinks" badges - although thankfully, that was a short-lived fad. And Ron.
Well, since Ron has finally come to his senses, that had to be balanced out. Now it's the damn Yule Ball - and he is supposed to open it. He doesn't even dance! When Harry reads a neatly written note left for him, his first urge is to just throw it away. But he remembers a smiling boy with straw hair and feels a tinge of shame. It's not Lady Carrow writing, her daughters haven't done him any wrong. Nothing bad about a quick meet with them, is there?
"Hello Harry," chorus the twins as they gracefully slide off the desk. Fifth years, they are a couple inches taller than him. No smiles, no gestures - just the same unblinking stares and empty tones he has grown to expect. They look virtually identical; how the hell do professors tell them apart, he has no idea.
Unless they don't and the twins just play along.
"Flora, Hestia," he answers in a voice which he hopes would qualify as measured. They are alone in an empty classroom and while Harry doesn't fear the Carrows, he still feels pretty uncomfortable.
"She is Flora," says the girl to the left.
"She is Hestia," says the girl to the right.
"What's this about?" Harry asks, perhaps somewhat rudely, but he just wants whatever this is over and done with.
"We are leaving Hogwarts for Christmas break," say the girls in unison. Strange, Harry thinks, this year every girl in Hogwarts wants to stay in the castle for the ball. But Carrows press on: "Here is your Christmas present."
Flora produces a modest wooden box, a bit smaller than a potions cauldron, and offers it to Harry. No wrapping or ornamentation of any kind, not exactly how he would pack a Christmas present. Not that there is anything normal about two strangers offering him a Christmas present in November. Harry throws a cautious glance, yet the twins just stand there, patiently waiting for his reaction. He puts the box on the desk nearby, careful not to turn his back to them, and opens the lid.
"POTTER STINKS"
He reaches into the pile, but it's damn badges all the way to the bottom. He feels the heat rise in his face and neck. Is this their idea of a prank? But the girls don't point and laugh, they just keep standing like gifting people with piles of insulting badges is a perfectly normal thing to do.
"That's a lot of badges," Harry says snidely, "don't think I'm gonna need them all."
"One hundred thirty-two," says... Hestia, yes, she is the one on the left.
"Every single badge in the castle," picks up Flora.
Harry feels like he is missing something. If this is a prank, it's a pretty stupid one, even by Slytherin standards. And he doesn't the think twins are so out there to actually believe he'd want the badges.
So he tries to keep conversation going: "Unless whoever made them makes some more,"
"She will not. And she sold us all she had," states Hestia confidently.
"She?"
"Patricia Stimson, Hufflepuff, sixth year," brings him up to speed Flora.
Harry just can't help himself: "Why not? Seems like good business, now that you're buying the things in bulk."
The sisters lock eyes for a moment and turn their head back to him.
"As one of the major parties behind restoration of Triwizard Tournament, the Ministry of Magic is responsible for its fairness and integrity," drones on Hestia in tone compared to which even the most bored Ministry official would sound heart-felt and sincere.
"Any public allegations of cheating, bribery and lack of sportsmanship, particularly with the implication of Ministry's complacency or involvement, may be considered an attempt to discredit the government and the Minister personally," sums up Flora.
That's... something, Harry thinks to himself. But he'd be delusional to think that Minister Crouch cares about Harry Potter's problems in Hogwarts.
"It does not matter if he does," explains Flora, as Hestia continues: "Only whether Patricia's aunt believes it and owls her a letter."
He picks up a badge from the box and idly twirls it in his fingers. There's something he is very sure wasn't a part of the original design. A name on the back: Ernie Macmillan.
"And Ernie cares about what Patricia's aunt wants?"
"Hogwarts students are easily frightened. The first such letter is ignored," explains two-headed Slytherin hydra. "The second raises concern. After a third student gets one, everyone is ready to sell for a knut".
Harry is at loss for words. Lady Carrow's daughters indeed... How could he miss this? Then again, he thinks soberly, he was as isolated from other students as it could get recently. Hermione was probably too caught up in her studies, SPEW and trying to play a peacemaker between him and Ron. And it's not like he has any close friends outside Gryffindor... Suddenly a thought strikes him. Harry waves his wand and sure enough, a badge with "Draco Malfoy" emerges from the pile.
"Can't imagine Draco parting with that one for a knut," he says, amused.
"There was an accident," Harry can swear he sees Hestia blink. "Unfortunately, Draco lost his robe and badge."
"He tried to produce new ones. He failed," echoes Flora.
"Well, that's a very nice present," tension and confusion abate and Harry feels a genuine smile spreading across his face, "Thank you."
There is an awkward pause. It's all very weird even by Harry's standards, but also... flattering? He just has no idea how to finish this conversation without offending the girls - especially after he just saw how of foolish of an idea it would be. Not that he would actually want to offend. Fortunately, Flora throws him a lifeline.
"Have you chosen a dancing partner for Yule Ball, Harry?" she asks, as if they didn't just talk about terrorizing three Houses worth of students into submission.
"No. It's a stupid idea anyway, I'm supposed to open the ball and I don't even dance," Harry eagerly accepts an opportunity to change topics. And maybe to vent a bit of his frustration to someone.
The girls silently lock eyes again. Whatever kind of conversation they have is brief and conclusive.
"We can teach you," they chorus.
Harry attempts to refuse - he already got one present and he wouldn't want to be a bother, but the girls press on. Champion's dancing reflects on the school as a whole and the staff like it when the students put it an effort to maintain Hogwarts' prestige. This is as much for their benefit as it is for his.
And so they return to the empty classroom - evening after evening. Delicate pale hands reach out and music starts, one sister suffering through his clumsy stomping on her feet (for which he apologizes profusely), the other calmly pointing to his mistakes (of which there is legion). Harry can never hope to rival the twins' dainty movements honed by years of practice, but a little bit of their skill rubs off on him. When the time comes for Harry to dance with Parvati before all the students and guests, he doesn't embarrass himself at very least.
Carrow twins do not awaken Harry's hidden passion for dancing or anything like that. But he learns to appreciate the flow of music, the casual grace and those subtle, almost imperceptible differences between two girls who may pretend to be identical.
And when in a few weeks Harry's life completely goes to hell in a handbasket, when events just keep slapping him in the face, when Voldemort's right-hand man escapes from Azkaban, when the Pyramid turns into a slaughterhouse, when a dog turns into a deranged man who throws himself at Harry's feet and begs for his forgiveness, when Ludo Bagman's wand points to his temple even as his mouth continues to blabber about bets, when the swarm of Dementors is floating towards him, when Voldemort is laughing, when he and his godfather flee into the night from Ministry wizards... he still remembers two girls who could express themselves much better with a dance than with their faces.
1995
Fifth year Harry Potter feels guilty about Carrow twins.
When Harry grabs Sirius' hand and disarms the first Hit Wizard, he accepts that he'll never return to Hogwarts or magical society. After a few weeks on the run, they hole up at Sirius' abandoned family home - which is fortified like a damn fortress. If not for Dumbledore, that's all they have look forward to - a life hiding from the law until someone gets wise and puts them under.
But Dumbledore returns to set things right. He negotiates with the Minister, spreads the word, vouches, pleads and makes the impossible a reality. Harry Potter and Sirius Black get their day in court, even though Harry dreads the Aurors would drag both of them to Azkaban as soon as they show up.
They are acquitted.
The way Dumbledore explains it, this is a huge embarassment to the Ministry, but thanks to Harry there is just enough evidence after the Tournament to make them suspect something is really wrong. Ministry heads may not be ready to say that Voldemort has returned, but they accept that there is someone rallying Dark Lord's old allies to his banner. Crouch wants the only wizard Voldemort has ever feared to come in from the cold and is willing to use Harry and Sirius as bargaining chips to make it happen.
Hogwarts owl brings a prefect badge to Grimmauld Place and Harry laughs. A few weeks ago he was a fugitive from justice, an accomplice to the notorious Dark wizard and Voldemort's right-hand man Sirius Black. And now Thicknesse makes him responsible for maintaining order and rules in Hogwarts, what a joke!
He feels guilty about Hestia and Flora though. Sure, he sends them letters and Christmas presents before Yule Ball - that's only right and proper after everything they've done for him - but that's as far as it goes. The next nine months are just consumed by whirlwind of insanity, torn between Voldemort's plot and Sirius' arrival and while Harry feels he should follow up with something, maybe get to know the strange girls better, he just doesn't get a moment to catch his breath.
As his fifth year begins in September, Harry thinks his window of opportunity is basically over. "Hey, remember that thing almost a year ago, let's catch up" sounds very lame even in his own head. So he puts the Carrow agenda on hold and definitely doesn't avoid their stares in the Great Hall until he can come up with something better.
And then Harry is summoned to the Minister's sickbed and gets dragged right back in. It's a surprise to see Bartemius Crouch in such bad shape - there were muted mentions of illness, but the man looks likes death warmed over. And with Voldemort on the loose, it's really a bad time for a succession fight around the big chair. Harry desperately wants to grab Hestia and Flora after classes and talk it all out, but the Minister's words were pretty clear - he is not expected to go out there and find things out for himself. At any other time Harry would summarily disregard such order and do it anyway, but if Fidelius charm on Carrow Manor is somehow a part of this (he can think of no other explanation), he might be threatening the safety not only of the twins, but their mother as well.
They deserve better than his reckless curiosity.
Young Barty Crouch, incinerated alive before his twentieth birthday, deserves better.
So he crushes his every instinct, waits for almost two weeks, until he is woken up at night by a sharp burning sensation. It's not the scar - it's lines forming on his hand, building a pattern familiar from a half-forgotten Charms homework, visible only to him. He was right. Crouch has made him a successor secret keeper for the Carrow Manor, which means that...
The Minister is dead. Thicknesse announces the news in the Great Hall the next morning. The lessons are canceled for a day and he is summoned to the Headmaster's office almost immediately, where Harry is met with a familiar pair. Now sixth years and still a bit taller than him (as Harry notices to his annoyance), Hestia and Flora exchange glances before bringing their patented blinkless stare to bear upon him, coupled with the usual neutral facial expression.
Whether this is their way of saying "Could've written something during summer holidays, asshole" or "Who are you, we can't quite remember" he doesn't know, but Harry still offers a polite smile in return. The Headmaster is not in a smiling mood though.
"...with the Minister's passing, Lady Carrow wishes her daughters to support her in her moment of grief. Misses Carrow will be allowed to take a break and settle affairs at home before returning to Hogwarts," says Thicknesse solemnly. "This is where you come in, Mister Potter. As a prefect, you shall escort Misses Carrow and make sure they return safely and in appropriate time."
That's the biggest load of dung Harry has ever heard, and he had to read Rita Skeeter's articles. Hestia and Flora are in their sixth year, if they need someone escorting them, it shouldn't be a student a year below them. Not that he has ever heard of Hogwarts prefects doing something or having any authority outside the castle. And even if it is a thing, there are twenty-three other prefects in Hogwarts, plus a Head Boy and a Head Girl, six of them in Slytherin, whom he'd expect to deal with Slytherin students.
"Of course, sir," Harry says instead. Whether it's the late Minister or Lady Carrow giving Pius his marching orders, it matters not - he'll have his answers soon enough. Not even half an hour later a portkey brings the three of them from the edge of school grounds to the ivy-covered gates in Market Bosworth. A house in the distance looks sufficiently posh to qualify as a proper "manor" in Harry's mind.
Hestia and Flora flank him and proffer a delicate pale hand each. He is a guest here, it won't do to refuse, or so does Harry tell himself as he takes their hands and the girls steer him forward, trodding an obviously familiar path towards... well, that was pretty obvious by now.
Escort Misses Carrow, right.
"Listen, about last year," starts Harry uncertainly. The twins' heads swivel towards him without losing a step. "I'm sorry about not catching up, but things were..."
At the most inopportune moment, he can't find proper words and uncomfortable pause lingers. Harry half-expects the girls to let him stew in his shame, but thankfully that's not the case.
"You were busy," finally says the girl on his left in a placid tone, painfully tightening her grip on his hand. He is almost sure it's Hestia.
"There was a lot going on," absolves almost-certainly-Flora, but without abusing his other hand.
All right then.
A large fireplace, gentle light falling through windows, soft green carpets - the room is spacious, but still comfy. Above the fireplace is a large portrait, depicting a young woman in a lightly-colored summer dress, looking intently at Harry. This is the first portrait in the manor which actually depicts anyone, since every single one of them seems entirely deserted. It's like all the portraits decided to have a party elsewhere.
The Lady Carrow sits in a large armchair, staring somewhere past Harry and her daughters, which he finds mighty rude. She looks not as much unkempt as poorly aged - more of a slightly younger Miss Figg than a shaker and maker of magical politics. Harry studies her face for a few seconds and looks up. Yeah, it's her own portrait all right, probably made in her twenties. Not exactly a classy choice of decoration, if he may say so. Still, Harry reminds himself, this is a woman who chased Dumbledore out of Hogwarts - something even Voldemort couldn't do.
Definitely-Hestia lets go of his hand and steps forward, while certainly-Flora makes a step to the right.
"Mother, may I present to you this year's Triwizard Champion, Harry James Potter," says the girl formally, as if speaking to a stranger. Then again, Harry considers, these are the Slytherin purebloods who live in an actual magical manor, so maybe that's how it is for them.
He isn't as much of a champion as a slaughterhouse survivor, but somehow Hestia manages to make it sound rather impressive.
Lady Carrow slowly turns her head towards Hestia, but still doesn't deign her own daughter with an answer. Is she deaf or something?
"Behold the mighty Hogwarts champion," comes a respectless reply from above, the portrait deciding to enter the conversation. "What are you, boy - fifteen? Truly, Barty knew how to pick'em."
Lady Carrow is still silent. Is this some kind of mind game of hers, have the portrait start a quarrel to feel the guests out? No matter, Harry isn't interested in being jerked around, least of all by her. She wanted him here, she is under his protection as her secret keeper, she better find her manners - and answers - and right quick.
"I was under the impression that you wished to speak with me, Lady Carrow," states Harry with as much dignity as he can muster, purposefully ignoring the portrait.
"Oh dear," the portrait covers her mouth in mocking shock even as Lady Carrow still stares at Hestia, "if you truly are the best and brightest Hogwarts has to offer these days, we have fallen low indeed."
"I have come here to speak with Hestia's and Flora's mother, so unless Lady Carrow asks you to speak on her behalf, I suggest you stay silent," Harry says touching his wand, "or I'll put a silencing charm on you myself."
"I AM Lady Carrow and the mother of my daughters," says the portrait with unexpected authority, before sliding back to snide: "But if you wish to converse with this expired bag of flesh before it starts leaking again, you can do so at your leisure."
Harry turns to Hestia, to Flora, and both girls nod in affirmation. He swallows. This is crazy. Did the twins go mad from isolation? Are they having some kind of shared delusion with the portrait of their ill mother? But if the real mother is ill, who is running the show here?
"What happened to La-... to her?" decides to hedge his bets Harry. Better not provoke anyone until he knows exactly what's going on here.
"Fourteen years ago she drank something which did not agree with her," says the portrait without an ounce of compassion for her real self. "And the late Minister was not gentle with his use of Imperius, so I'm afraid that she's quite gone in spirit, if not body."
Minister Crouch used Unforgivable curse on Lady Carrow while her portrait (and daughters, says a tiny voice in the back of his mind) just sat there and watched? Harry didn't think Crouch a good man, but even Sirius spoke how Bartemius stood firm against the Dark arts and Dark wizards. What could possibly possess him to do such a thing? And the years, fourteen years ago-
"Yes, Harry James Potter, it all began fourteen years ago. Judging by the look on your face, you know our unfortunate history? The party, Death Eaters attacking, Junior's valiant last stand?" asks the portrait and Harry nods. "I guess old Barty made our bed and now we all have to lay in it. Well then, it might terribly surprise you after all those Skeeter articles the Prophet published last year, but everything you read about that night is a big fat lie."
The portrait's story begins with a young pureblood witch, a decade older than his parents, who marries into a prominent pureblood family fresh out of Hogwarts. Very pleased with her newly found status, she commissions a portrait - the portrait dramatically points to herself - to memorialize the occasion. This is also the time of You-Know-Who's rise to power and many purebloods join his cause, including Carrows and young Lady Carrow among them.
"Wait," objects Harry, "if what you are saying is true, then why would Death Eaters attack them after Voldemort's fall?"
The portrait twitches at the sound of Tom's favorite pseudonym, but quickly recovers: "Because, my dear boy, they never did. There was no party celebrating your... triumph over the Dark Lord. Bellatrix, Rabastan, Rodolphus, they didn't break into the manor, they came invited to a meeting of Death Eaters who didn't turn tail and run the moment the news of You-Know-Who's fall broke."
Harry's head is spinning. This is crazy, why would anyone create such a deception? He remembers a young straw-haired hero of whom he thought on occasion, whom he admired and even likened to his own parents...
"And yes, Barty Crouch Junior was there as well. He was a Death Eater and just like Lestranges, he sought to return his master to power," the portrait's words sound like a court sentence. He feels dirty, soiled and utterly disgusted.
"Are you saying... the Minister was a Death Eater too?" he blurts out.
"No, you silly goose, the Minister was never a Death Eater. He hated You-Know-Who... like any other competition for power, I suppose," smirks the woman. "He simply was a very bad father who should have gotten out of his office once in a while, got to know what his baby boy got up to. Alas, he never did."
"So what happened?"
"I killed them. Not all of them - that waste of blood and flesh couldn't die, or every owner of a decent lineage tome would know the truth. But I had the house elves poison the guests and torch the manor to imitate a Death Eater attack."
"But... why? Why would you do something like that to them, to yourself? And why would the elves obey you?"
Before the twins come along, the war is in full swing. The older Carrows have passed away, the younger ones spend most of their time out there on Death Eater business. Lady Carrow, who has grown quite enamored with the cause, delegates her duties as the lady of the manor to... herself, or rather her portrait. It is the portrait who keeps the manor running, it is the portrait who orders house elves around. And when two bothersome distractions from Dark Lord's crusade finally arrive, it is the portrait who looks after them while their mother returns to You-Know-Who's good works.
"They are my daughters. I raised them, I fed them, I bathed them, I taught them how to walk, how to speak. She was nothing. For her they were just more kindling for Dark Lord's fire."
Harry suspects that it was the house elves who did the feeding, bathing and most of other things, but that's basically an attitude he has come to expect from the pureblood Slytherins.
"I didn't know the portraits could become so... invested."
"You of all people should know that there is nothing a mother can't do for her children, Harry Potter."
Before the war's end the portrait is already fearful for Hestia's and Flora's future when Voldemort finally wins and their mother returns to become a regular part of their lives. But then Voldemort falls and Carrows turn out to be some mighty sore losers. Instead of fleeing or pleading with the Ministry, they summon the fanatics to strategize, to keep the cause afloat and to bring back Voldermort, whom they believed to be still alive.
"One way or another, they would get my daughters killed."
And so the Dark wizards and witches, too proud of themselves to suspect a portrait and her house elves of treachery, are sentenced to death. Barty Junior's appearance is nothing less than a divine providence, a beneficent sign by Fate itself. With him, everything falls perfectly into place. Lestranges and Carrows die, leaving the portrait in control of the estate (and her sleeping fleshly original). Bartemius Crouch, DMLE head and front runner for the next Minister, is blackmailed into helping the new Lady Carrow. Barty Junior dies in flames along with the rest - much more useful to his father as a fake martyr than a real traitor.
A story about tragic attack on Carrow manor is used to dismiss any allegations that the Carrows were themselves Death Eaters. Minister Crouch proves to be quite adept at puppeteering human original of Lady Carrow for various events, even if her mind breaks down completely somewhere along the way. By means fair and foul (but mostly foul), the portrait painstakingly builds a web of political and business contacts, allies, servants and informants. Assets to her alliance with the Minister and an insurance in case he decides to turn against her.
"I can work twenty four hours a day, after all."
And most importantly, Hestia and Flora are safe and with their real mother.
The story is over. The room falls silent. The girls still stand there like living statues, their flesh-and-blood mother stares into nothing, their real mother looks down upon them from above - having proudly admitted to her lies, murder and betrayal. It's quite a lot to take in.
"What do you want with me then?" Harry asks dejectedly. "I'm neither a politician nor a businessman. I'm not a powerful wizard like Dumbledore. And I've never used Imperius in my life."
"Don't sell yourself short," the portrait's tone is much more amiable. "Barty made you our secret keeper for a reason. He may have been a vile, power-hungry asshole, but he upheld our bargain honestly. Whatever your differences were, he respected you for standing up for your godfather even if it meant fighting Hit Wizards."
Lady Carrow motions and Flora approaches... Lady Carrow, rolling up her sleeve. The Dark Mark was clearly visible, jet black on pale skin. Neither of three Carrows seem even the least bit perturbed by what would send most wizards running. They have seen it before.
"The Dark Lord is rising again, his mark shines like it did twenty years ago. This manor may be safe under Fidelius, but we can't hide from what is to come forever. With Barty gone we need real leadership in the Ministry, not some ancient Wizengamot prop or a wooden soldier. And for that we need to move - soon."
"We?"
"Of course. I can't exactly leave the manor or cast a spell, can I? And unlike Hestia and Flora, you have the advantages of fame and reputation on your side," Harry thinks that the twins would have no issues building a reputation outside Hogwarts, just not the kind of reputation they might need. "You have challenged You-Know-Who several times already - and lived to tell the tale. Like it or not, when the war gets hot, you will become a symbol and a standard for everyone who stands against him. We should use this resource against the Dark Lord while we still can."
He is not particularly enthused about dealing in fame or delving into the sharkpool of politics, but he can see the point. Dumbledore saved him and Sirius by cajoling and backroom dealing, did he not? Perhaps it is time to do the same. It is certainly preferable to seeing more people die around him.
"Stay the night. Clear your head. Consider what's at stake. And we may begin tomorrow."
Just like that, Harry thinks. No long-winded speeches, no riddles, no sugar-coating, no apologies, no attempts to pretend that he is a regular Hogwarts student who should be doing regular Hogwarts student things - just straight to the chase. Hestia and Flora look to him expectantly.
He nods. He has his boundaries. He is not going to give up the Order to Lady Carrow, no matter how reasonable she might sound. He'll still listen to the counsel of those outside the manor. But after everything that has happened, he sure as hell isn't trying to find out anything about Voldemort with extendable ears ever again.
"There is one other thing, Harry," Lady Carrow's voice is way too nice and considerate.
Here comes the catch.
"Given the circumstances, it behooves Lady Carrow to make a few public appearances in the near future. To shore up support and show the Death Eaters that she is sticking to her choices," Lady Carrow's voice becomes almost as even as her daughters'. "Unfortunately, Barty is dead and my girls... try as they might, they have shown no talent in the field."
This is such a bad idea. That's Azkaban if anyone finds out. Sirius won't approve. Dumbledore... Harry doesn't even want to imagine what the old man might do if he catches wind of this.
"Please, Harry?" ask Hestia and Flora in unison.
Those hollow grey eyes have no business doing the things they do to him.
Harry gulps. That's probably how good wizards go bad.
THE END