lavanya_six | The Broken Masquerade -- Pre-Gold Beta Preview

STONE WALLS...

[Interlude]

Barty Crouch Junior was, above all else, a patient man.

His home for the past decade had been seven square meters of bare concrete and cold iron. He passed the time in his cell as best as he could under the circumstances – which were quite good, thank you. New Azkaban held amenities that the Old Azkaban lacked: hot water for showers, proper loos, and doctors to look after you if you were sick. They didn't keep Dementors at the New Azkaban. The Muggles didn't understand them, didn't trust them, and thought them cruel.

When you got down to it, Barty Crouch Junior decided, Muggles, for all their threats of guns and atom bombs, were soft.

He ate. He slept. He showered in a pen with all the other prisoners like livestock. He had his legally mandated hour of exercise each day, during which he made sure to keep himself fit and firm.

Somewhere, he mused with a grin, Mad-Eye Moody slept unhappily.

When he was tense, Barty would recite his favourite poems. When that didn't help, he relieved himself through masturbation. Barty didn't mind that somewhere, some guard was watching him through the cameras hidden in his cell (he knew they were there). Barty had long ago abandoned shame. It was at best a luxury, at worst a tool for his captors to wield against him.

He knew the guards believed they had broken him. Barty let them indulge in such delusions. He knew the truth. They would never break him. This "prison" was nothing more than a quiet hermitage.

His Lord would return.

When Barty was bored, he read. The one thing – the only thing – he would credit the Muggles with over the wardens of Old Azkaban was that they allowed him books. Muggle books, but books all the same: Steinbeck, Dickens, Sarte, Hawthorne, Shelley, Kafka, Byron, Camus, Donne, Chaucer, Shakespeare....

Shakespeare was the most acceptable. He was a wizard, after all, or at least that's what the proper historians thought. The Muggles disagreed but they were Muggles.

Barty's favourite play was Hamlet.

He wanted to organize a play; talk the Muggles into letting him put it on in the prison. Hamlet, preferably. He could do it. Oh yes. The only question was who would play Hamlet. Lucius was the obvious choice, the popular choice if one were to take a poll of all available prisoners, but Barty didn't picture him having the gravitas to portray Hamlet's moral struggle.

Perhaps... Rodolphus? He was aristocratic, yes, yes, and he had always been the one who didn't want to dirty his hands... save when it came to his wife. Oh, he did so many things to please her. Perhaps Rodolphus as Hamlet and Bellatrix as the King?

The subtext would be sensuous. 'In-sensuous', one might say.

Barty Crouch Junior laughed aloud.

He would talk with the warden to make arrangements, spinning some story about "human rights" that those ninnies from the Red Cross who visited were always gabbing on about. The only difficulty would lie in convincing Bellatrix to dress as a man. That would take some time, even if he appealed to her ego. That was all right though.

Barty Crouch Junior was, above all else, a patient man.

BLOOD MATTERS

25 July, 1991

As Labour's Shadow Secretary of Magical Affairs, Remus Lupin was entitled to a desk -- albeit a small, out-of-the-way desk -- in the posh office complex the British Government had thrown up around the old Ministry of Magic site. Most mornings, Remus hopped on the Underground from his apartment to work. It was safer and cleaner than using the Floo Network (not that he ever slept well in a house with a fireplace anymore). Apparition would have been ideal if it were still possible in London. The heavily shielded Null Commons, a fortress-like complex located on the outskirts of the city, served as the only location in the London metropolitan area not warded against Apparition. Remus tried to avoid the Null Commons whenever possible; its queues were brutal.

Beside the fact he could enjoy a scone and ink the Times crossword puzzle, Remus' inner politician recognised that taking the Tube to work played well with in the press. Cultivating a counterpoint image to Rufus Scrimgeour's officiating stuffiness certainly polled well with Remus' mostly lower class supporters.

This morning, the first after the full moon, Remus did not take the Tube. Instead, he slumped against the headrest of the passenger seat as Matthias, one of his personal aides, chauffeured. Normally Remus only did business in the evenings after 'moon days' but with Eastern Europe collapsing more and more each day and the UN's Dark Arts inspectors in Iraq being shot at, there was no time for rest -- however necessary. Wizarding Britain couldn't afford to stand by and let the future of her brethren be shaped by the hand of chance and crisis alone.

"...and so the Gringotts is back on course to reopen its Warsaw branch in October." Matthias stopped the car at a light. "Oh, by the way, you'll love this: the National Viewers' and Listeners' Association is mounting a joint campaign with the Heritage Society against obscenity on television."

Remus officially regretted getting out of bed now. "Mary Whitehouse sitting down at the same table as Amelia Bones? Merlin. Why?"

"They're going after Wanderings with the Lovegoods."

Remus blinked. "For what? Being barking mad and ambling through the backcountry, looking for Aquamaggots and other things that don't actually exist?"

"His wife did prove Nargles exist. Didn't you see that Children in Need special last Christmas?"

"Spare me, Matthias."

"Whitehouse is hot over them showing a Centaur's breasts."

"First the red triangle, now the Lovegoods." Remus snorted in derision. "What's next? Censoring potions textbooks for obscene diagrams of how to mince live snails? You know what th-this m-means--" He paused to cough violently. "Amelia Bones is running for Parliament against me."

Matthias brought the car around to the front of the Magical Affairs Office building and parked it. "As what, a Lib Dem? Scrimgeour's running Ogden. Everyone knows that."

"The chairperson of the Heritage Society joining a Muggle political party? No. She's running on her own ticket." Despite the weakness in his body, Remus unbuckled himself and stepped out of the car. The morning air smelled of rain. Overhead, the sky was dark and overcast. A small bit of luck for his vanity; no sunlight meant his pallor wouldn't be quite so noticeable.

Remus and Matthias made their way up to his office with little fuss. Most did not expect him to come into work so early on a full moon day, so he was left unmolested by constituents and well-wishers. Once the door was closed, Matthias quickly took his hat and coat. Remus collapsed into his desk's plush leather chair, sighing as his weary bones and burning muscles pooled against the chair's molding.

Delyth Vaughan, his personal secretary, swooped down on him. The pallid Welshwoman stuffed a cup of hot tea into his one hand and a small pile of color-coded phone messages into the other.

Remus glanced at the rainbow he now held. "Anything important?"

"Yes," the young woman said testily. "The red ones."

"Ah yes. Red." He paged idly through the notes. "The Times is requesting an interview for a piece they're running on the tenth anniversary of Redan Lane and the Unmasking." He grunted noncommittally. "Tell them we can work out the specifics after the full moon is over."

"Already done."

Remus sipped his tea. "Any word from Mr. Black?"

"He sent a Patronus ahead earlier. Harry has his letter."

That Remus already knew. A fringe benefit of his position was access to the Hogwarts rolls. "And the Dursleys?"

"They're allowing him to attend school."

To this bit of news, he smiled. There was no question of Harry Potter attending Hogwarts but if the Dursleys had caused a fuss it might have (would have, the pessimist in him insisted) caused problems. The law was on their side, even if the lawmakers weren't.

"Good. I'll have to s—Delyth, your face." Remus scowled at the thin, angry red mark split lengthwise across his assistant's left cheek. He glanced over the rest of her exposed skin, spotting small red ticks on her neck and hands. He was well acquainted with such injuries. "Who did that to you?"

The Welshwoman smoothed a wrinkle in her charcoal grey business trousers. Remus noted the oddity, as she was usually prone to wearing skirts. "I did. My potion wasn't prepared properly."

"Are you sure you hadn't accidentally eaten sugar?"

"I can barely keep down water on it as it stands, Mister Lupin."

"My apologies." Remus tore his thoughts away from the troubling implications of more diluted Wolfsbane Potion being produced by the National Health Service -- the NHS -- and asked, "Why are you here? You should be in bed."

"I'm fine, sir. Really." She smiled grimly. Remus made a mental note of the occasion. That made four smiles he had ever seen put on by Dora's dour friend. "I'm young, Mister Lupin. I can handle myself."

It probably wasn't a total untruth on her part, he mused. Even with the Wolfsbane Potion and the company of Padfoot, he still had to rest for several hours after the trauma of his transformation. That was mostly age talking, though. Delyth, even caged alone and out of her mind in a NHS Detention Facility cell for the duration of the full moon, was up and walking around without any stiffness in her movements. "Fine. I trust your judgment." She nodded politely. Her pallid features softened. "Any word from Grimmauld Place?"

"Draco Malfoy also received a letter."

"Ah, there's a lad."

"And on the note, may I direct you attention to the red-coded memo you obviously haven't read?"

"You may try." He picked the item in question off his desk. "However, I remind you I am a free man and... will not be...." Remus scowled and reread the memo in his hand three times. "Oh fuck." Despite his tiredness, he now sat up at attention. "How sure are you about the timing on this?"

"Very," she said. "It's Gallivan Macmillan's handwriting, though he's trying to disguise that by writing with his left hand."

"Macmillan," he repeated. "The Auror's Office Macmillan?"

"Passing on information is his way of flirting."

"Let's hope he doesn't like women talking dirty to him in Russian."

"I never said he was flirting with me."

As one, he and Delyth looked to Matthias. "Ugh," said the blond man. "Why do I have to be such a jammer?"

"It's your shoes, Matt," Delyth quipped. "Gucci loafers -- very posh."

"Treat Macmillan to a nice cup of coffee," he said offhand to Matthias, "and let him down gently." To his other aide, he said, waving the red memo, "Get Andromeda Tonks on the line. She might as well hear this from me instead of reading it in next month's Prophet."

..........................................

Draco's Hogwarts letter was exactly as he imagined it: green ink, fancy script, and a fancy Muggle stamp bearing Merlin's portrait affixed to the envelope. If it wasn't for the fact that they had appended 'Malfoy' to the front it would have been an ideal thing.

"Draco, there's a telephone call for you."

A moment later, the blond boy padded downstairs to the kitchen, Hogwarts letter still in hand. The telephone, which was installed on an outer wall and ran through a special iron pipe through Grimmauld Place, was being used by his Uncle Teddy. When he poked his head through the kitchen door, Draco noted that his uncle was talking animatedly with whoever was on the line.

"Ah," said his uncle, "here he comes now." Draco took the receiver and his uncle walked out of the kitchen without another word.

"Hello?"

"Wotcha, Draco!"

He grinned. "Wotcha, Dora!"

"So how's my baby brother?" Nymphadora Tonks asked, her voice tinged with static from the anti-magic insulation on the copper wiring. "And what's this I hear about a letter?"

"Well, I'm officially not a squib."

"Congratulations!"

"Thanks," he said. Draco eyed a platter of marzipan left conspicuously out on the kitchen's side table. The candy figurines were shaped into bite-size badgers, snakes, ravens, and lions. Obviously, his aunt and uncle were planning a celebration. He reflexively licked his lips. "So how's your day been, sis?"

"It's actually yesterday." She paused. "Or is it tomorrow? I've never understood the International Dateline. I am in Tokyo. That much I'm certain. Hold on a sec." At the other end of the telephone line, Draco faintly heard her talk to someone about something along the lines of 'sequins make me gag' and 'not worth changing my skin tone for'. He waited patiently for her. A half minute later, she came back on the line and said, "Anyway, the crew's doing the sound checks for tonight's gig and I wanted to congratulate you! My little brother is going to Hogwarts! Oooo! Are you excited?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Wow. Don't let it all come pouring out at once."

"I know. It's just..."

"Just... fill in the dramatic pause, please?"

Draco snuck a glance over his shoulder. He didn't sense his Aunt Andromeda or Uncle Ted nearby, but that didn't mean a thing. Unlike their daughter, the elder Tonkses weren't walking blasting hexes. His aunt especially could glide into a room with the ease of well-bred aristocracy. Cupping a hand over the mouthpiece, he whispered, "The Sorting."

"Ah." His sister-slash-cousin nodded gravely over the phone line. "Worried you're going to end up in the den of snakes?"

To that, he had no reply.

"Cool it, little bro," she said, the bubbly tone in her voice giving way to familial ease. "You'll be fine. Not everyone in our family tree ended up in Slytherin. Sirius went to Gryffindor, didn't he?"

"I'm not exactly Gryffindor material." He twisted the telephone receiver's extension cord around his index finger.

Tellingly, he noticed his sister didn't argue the point. "I was in Hufflepuff."

"Which explains a lot."

"Oi! There's nothing wrong with the 'puff."

"I really, really don't want to end up in S—"

"Don't sweat it, little brother. The Sorting's not for, what? A whole month? It's not worth losing sleep over – trust me. Even if you do end up in Slytherin, that doesn't mean anything. Mum was in Slytherin, and she turned out okay. Besides, the Houses are pretty much just dormitories these days. Honest. I know everyone always says otherwise, but the adults don't understand. Everything's too different now. The Hogwarts Houses really don't matter much anymore." She laughed. "I was in Hufflepuff, and am I some quiet little worker bee? Hell no! I get on a stage and rip my heart out in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans."

"I know," he said, his voice hush. "I just don't want -- "

" -- Yeah? -- "

" -- I don't want to be like those kids in the Prophet, another Slytherin orphan." Shutting his eyes, Draco took a deep breath and tried not to lose it. Despite his best efforts, tears started to peek out of the corner of his eyes.

"Draco," Tonks said, voice grave, "you are not your father. Or your mother. You're you, okay?"

"I know," he choked out.

"You are not your House. No one is their House. The course of your life will not be decided by what some ragged old hat says. You'll make your own choice, just like I did when dropped out of Hogwarts." Hastily, she added, "N-not that you're going to drop out too, little bro. Like Remus says, 'a well-rounded education is the key to any successful life'."

"Unless you're a Metamorphmagus."

"I'm well-rounded," she whined. "I'm just differently rounded than most."

"Uh-huh."

"Delyth finished Hogwarts! And three years at Cambridge! All while ripping off her skin three nights a month!"

"Didn't you tell me that Delyth irons her socks... by hand?"

"Didn't you tell me you thought she was pretty?"

He felt his cheeks flush. "That was a secret!" he hissed.

"Finish your seven years at Hogwarts and I'll take your little secret to the grave."

"...fine."

On the other end of the line, there came a loud bang. "Goddamn pyrotechnic charms! Ugh. Listen," said Tonks, "I gotta run and help put out a few fires. Give all my love to Mum and Dad, okay? And keep your chin up!"

"I will." And with that he settled the antique black receiver back into its cradle. A sudden knocking on wood startled Draco. Spinning around on his heels, he spotted his aunt standing in the kitchen doorway with a broad smile on her face.

"Dora had to run again, I presume?" When Draco nodded, his aunt sighed. "Well, I will just have to -- " The ringing of the telephone cut her off.

With a nod from his aunt, Draco picked the phone again. "Hello, Grimmauld Place speaking."

"Hello, Draco," came the reply from Remus Lupin. "How are you this morning, lad?"

"Good, sir."

"Congratulations on your invitation to Hogwarts, by the way."

"Thank you, sir."

"Is your aunt or uncle there?" He passed off the phone to his Aunt Andromeda. Draco took the opportunity to inspect the marzipan.

"I see," said Andromeda Tonks, behind him. She paused and moved to touch Draco on his shoulder. "Why don't you help your uncle check the anti-paparazzi wards?" Draco nodded at the polite signal and dashed off. "You were saying, Minister?"

"As I was saying," said Remus, "I'm afraid I have some bad news..."