Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin

Chapter 35: The Month of January

1 January 1994
Nott Manor

Barty Crouch, Jr. ("Mr. January," to the other members of his somewhat notorious social club) rose from his comfortable bed in his guest room at Nott Manor. After a quick bath and other ablutions, he threw his meager belongings into a bag. He did not toss in his Death Eater robes and mask, as there was a non-negligible chance his bag would be examined by a foreign customs agent in the near future. It was bad enough he looked like a dead man walking (literally), though he was confident of not being recognized where he was going. Once dressed, the Death Eater made his way down to the dining hall where Nott's decrepit elf already had breakfast ready.

When he'd first arrived, the old windbag had tried to subtly bully him into eating a half a grapefruit every morning, but Barty put a stop to that quickly. Even among the Death Eaters, Mr. January had a reputation, and a hearty appetite was the least unpleasant thing about it. Mr. Nimrod, on the other hand, brought nothing to the group save wealth and basic competency as a dark wizard. Which was enough to get him in the door, but Mr. January knew who was a real Death Eater and who was a poseur with a tattoo. Nott was definitely in the latter category.

That didn't stop Narcissa from flirting shamelessly with the old bore since, after all, they did need lots of money at the moment if they were to proceed with the Master's plans. On some level, Mr. January knew he should be jealous, as he remembered (empirically, at least) the pleasure of sharing a bed with Miss Direction and all the veela-stolen allure she could bring to bear. He didn't think Mr. Nimrod had enjoyed such pleasures yet, but it was still a possibility. If it happened, January thought it would be the end of Mr. Nimrod – some men weren't built to handle such stress. As for jealousy, he'd lost such a capacity years before along with any interest in (or indeed, belief in) love.

"I do wish you didn't have to go, Narcissa," said the besotted old wizard to the object of his increasingly obsessive desire. "It's like you've only just gotten here!"

"I know, my precious, I know," she purred. "But our Lord has tasks for us all that must be fulfilled. Tasks for all of us. Dear Barty and I have business abroad that will take us away for some time. You, my sweet, have business closer to home."

She reached out to stroke his cheek, and his entire body shuddered.

"What ... what does our Lord command?" he stammered.

She stepped back. "Despite the best efforts of our valiant Auror corps, no one has thus far found out whatever happened to the brave members of our circle who were removed from Azkaban prison. Among them are my beloved sister and in-laws, as well as our dear friend, Mr. Nemo."

Her face assumed a contemptuous glare. "And last ... and also least ... is my cousin Sirius, who was never one of us. After all this time, he still stands between me and control of the House of Black." She snorted. "And after all the trouble I went to putting him in Azkaban in the first place! Such temerity!"

She moved closer again and gripped his arms like a vice so that his eyes didn't roll back up into his head again just from her proximity.

"While we're gone, my sweet. I should be so very grateful if you would do for me what the Aurors apparently cannot. Find the Azkaban escapees for our Lord. If you do, he will reward you handsomely."

She leaned in closer and whispered in his ear. "And if you would also do me the courtesy of killing Sirius Black, then I will reward you in ways that our Lord never could."

Then, she stepped back once more and turned to Barty, hoping against hope that Tiberius Nott (a) would remember her instructions and (b) wouldn't faint again from the strength of her allure.