July 1979

‘Greetings.  I am Augustus Rookwood and I am responding to a Letter of Recommendation written by Professor Horace Slughorn on your behalf a short time ago.   I wish to express my gratitude to both him for his time as well as yourself.

You come highly commended by both your Head of House, as well as several other members of the Ministry who work closely with your father however I will be conducting my own investigations.  Rest assured that I will contact you when I have concluded them.  Thank you again for your time.’

The young man leaned back into the plush seat aboard the Hogwarts Express, his heart pounding with excitement.  His fingers rubbed over stiffness of the parchment as he read and re-read the note, still unable to believe that he had received it shortly after NEWTs were done and over with.

Bartemius Crouch Junior couldn’t help but smile again, getting even more comfortable and casting his eyes outside.  The sun was high in the sky and there were only a few clouds.  By his estimation as well as the warmth of the sun on his face it had to be around three o’clock in the afternoon, usually the hottest part of the day.   The Hogwarts Express travelled along the rails with barely a sound, the landscape that stretched out before him seemed to blend and shift into a variety of unnaturally beautiful scenes as the train passed by.  It was breathtaking and relaxing.  Many a student were enjoying the ride home; however for the Seventh Years, having recently completed their education it was bittersweet for it was their last ride—his last ride.

Being the son of Bartemius Crouch Senior, who was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had both its advantages and disadvantages, one of which was that it afforded the younger Crouch a certain level of respect and protection from being bullied.  However, those that were foolish to try found themselves readily silenced by a touch of blackmail, sometimes true sometimes false,  or a little bit of both but always hitting right where he intended.  He would sometimes do it in front of his classmates, mostly to humiliate them.  Admittedly, it both amused him to no end not only to see the looks on their faces but also the subsequent embarrassment as to either quietly admit the truth of what he said, or the total shock at a possible revelation.  Either way, it got them to leave him alone and that’s all he wanted.

What especially bothered him the most were those who would make the attempt to apparently remind him of how easy it was going to be for him after school given who his father was.  It was for these in which he reserved his most embarrassing machinations, the most humiliating of consequences.  If there was anything he couldn’t stand was such insinuations.  He was most certainly not his father, and he didn’t have to prove that to anyone, least of all them.  His hopes and dreams were so far on the other end of the spectrum that one would think they weren’t related at all. 

He wanted to be an Unspeakable. 

He had dreamed of this for many years and worked very hard toward this end.  Because of what it was no-one (not even his father) knew the exact NEWT requirements.  There were, of course, hints and rumors as to what they could be and those were the subjects in which he focused on the most intensely.  The Mysteries had always fascinated him and he knew that was something he’d be quite happy dedicating his life to in its’ exploration.  Then there was of course the nice little side bonus of the fact that he wouldn’t have to answer to his father like most of the Ministry did.

Of Augustus Rookwood himself he knew very little, save for what his father has said and what he had heard growing up:  he was one of the more prominent Unspeakables, as well as perhaps the most visible.  Father spoke very highly of him in fact, most of the Ministry did as he had a rather affable nature and was quite congenial, always willing to help and very good at making connections, so much so that people treated him with respect as well as caution for that in addition to his work. 

He remembered when he received that letter and told no-one, with the notable exception of his Head of House Professor Horace Slughorn, who had originally assisted him in making the connection.  It was a rather intriguing conversation.

“Heh if you’re hearing from the man himself, that is a good thing—ah heh a very good thing indeed as it means that he is taking it seriously.”   Slughorn said before popping another sugared pineapple candy into his mouth.

“What’s he like sir?”  he asked his Head of House, running his thumb and forefinger absently on the parchment.

“Oh he’s quite a pleasant fellow!”  Slughorn answered, dusting off the sugar from his stubby fingers on his jacket.  “He was a brilliant student, attentive and dangerously good at potions!  I heh dare say one of my best students in a long while.  But he was also very kind---he wasn’t a Prefect or anything mind you, but he assisted me on several occasions for Remedial Potions, had no problems helping other students.  I believe he also had a knack for Arithmancy but I don’t remember right well.”

Barty smiled as he listened and sipped his tea.  “Was he a Slytherin?”

“Ha! He should have been but no, he was in Ravenclaw.”

“Should have been?”

“Ah yes, ‘should have been’.” Slughorn acknowledged with a sigh.  “He was brilliant and indeed ambitious and determined.”

“He sounds fascinating.  To be honest, I’m rather nervous though.”

Slughorn had chuckled as he grabbed his handkerchief and dabbed his lips.  “Oh that’s quite natural to be my boy—this is for your future we’re talking about so I’d expect nothing less.”

“Not just that sir it’s---I mean being an Unspeakable, um I’m sure they have ways of contacting people that others wouldn’t have thought about yet.”

“Have you been reading Rita Skeeter again my boy?”  Slughorn laughed.

Barty smirked and tightened his lips in slight embarrassment. “Um…a little maybe.”

“Barty Barty Barty!  Unspeakables may be called that for a reason, but I can assure you that they communicate just like everyone else.  That scroll in your hand for instance.” 

Point taken.

“And believe me, you have nothing to worry about.”  Slughorn reassured him.  “Something else about Rookwood is that he’s quite trustworthy:  he was always able to make friends easily and if he says he’ll contact you when he’s ready he most certainly will, just be patient.”

Being patient wasn’t the issue, if anything he had had plenty of time to learn that given his experiences at school as well as at home.  No it was the entertaining of the unknown, those assorted variables that would no doubt come into play aside from his scores, those variables that Rookwood was presently ‘investigating’—enough to cause anxiety in any normal human being only days away from actual, bonafide adulthood.

An actual, bonafide adulthood that included a war with no end in the foreseeable future.

‘Oh yes one more thing:   don’t forget to exploit your connections Crouch.’  He remembered Slughorn saying to him as he looked back outside, watching the world blur past him in high speeds.  ‘I mean look who your father is, use it to your advantage.  After all, that is also part of being Slytherin.’

Barty growled softly to himself.  Even his own Head of House couldn’t dissociate him from his old man.  Just like his classmates, it seemed impossible for the Potions Master of Hogwarts to separate the two.

But that was alright for he would be his own man:  free and remembered for his achievements by his merits and no-one else’s, most especially his father.