Magic? || Years 1-5

Barty Crouch: Year 4/Summer

"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that -- " Percy protested angrily.

"Excellent! I haven't seen on that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!" Mr. Bagman cut him off, roaring with laughter.

Percy looked violated.

"Boys, I don't want you betting... That's all your savings... Your mother -- " Mr. Weasley whispered quietly.

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur! They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a change, boys, not a change... I'll give you excellent odds on that one... We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we..." Mr. Bagman grinned, scribbling down Fred and George's names in a little notebook.

"Cheers," George smiled as he took the slip of parchment Mr. Bagman had handed him, tucking it into his pocket.

"Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages," Mr. Bagman turned to Mr. Weasley.

Percy straightened up immediately. "Mr. Crouch? He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll..."

"Anyone can speak Troll. All you have to do is point and grunt," Fred waved his hand dismissively. Percy looked about ready to murder him as he threw a few more sticks in the fire.

"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asked as Mr. Bagman took a seat around the fire.

"Not a dicky bird. But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha... memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it's still July," Mr. Bagman replied.

"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Mr. Weasley asked hesitantly.

"Barty Crouch keeps saying that but we really can't spare anyone at the moment," He broke off. "Oh -- talk of the devil! Barty!"

A wizard dressed so ordinarily and pristinely dressed Amisty almost couldn't believe he wasn't a Muggle.

She also had a faint urge to run for the hills by the sharp glint in his eyes.

His suit was sharp and crisp and shoes so polished she could see the reflection of the grass in them.

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," Mr. Bagman grinned, patting a spot next to him.

"No thank you, Ludo. I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box," Mr. Crouch replied sharply, his voice impatient.

"Oh is that what they're after? I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent," Mr. Bagman shrugged.

"Mr. Crouch! Would you like a cup of tea?" Percy leaped forward, lowing into a sort of bow.

"Oh. Yes -- thank you, Weatherby," Mr. Crouch replied.

Amisty turned away, covering half her face with her hand and desperately trying to look unbothered as Fred and George failed to conceal their choking.

"Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," Mr. Crouch's eyes turned to Mr. Weasley. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."

Mr. Weasley sighed almost in defeat, "I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"