A Hufflepuff's Loyalty

Prologue

The moon shone diligently to light up the streets of a quieting Swansea. It was awfully cold, even for a winter's night. The streets were empty, for people had long fled into houses, restaurants and pubs. Nobody stayed outside for too long. Not unless they didn't have a choice.

Footsteps of a lone man interrupted the heavy silence created by the bitter cold. His eyes searched the streets, the shadows of a hood hiding the rough features of his face, and his right hand was buried in the covers of his long back cloak.

He walked and walked through the streets of Swansea, stepping into shadows every time the door of a pub or restaurant opened to spit out its customers. Not a single soul noticed the man.

It wasn't until he saw the outlines of a young girl, that he finally stopped in his tracks. His eyes gleamed, and his tongue shot out of his mouth to lick his upper lip before disappearing again as if it had never been there.

The girl wore a tattered hoodie, far too large for her petite frame, that much was obvious with little more than a glance. Her dirty, tangled hair stuck like seaweed to her sunken face, and her legs closely resembled the thin wooden stick in the man's cloak pocket. Her arms were currently stuck inside a large metal garbage container, searching frantically through its contents. She sighed when she didn't find what she was looking for, and shut the lid with a loud bang.

As she walked down the street, avoiding like the plague the small puddles the earlier drizzle had caused, the man in the black cloak followed, unbeknownst to her. His teeth bared into a mad grin, as the little girl made her way through alleys to a busier street. There was still hardly anyone outside, but the lights in the windows were all on and a cosy chattering came from behind many doors.

She walked slowly, her eyes scanning for something. Suddenly, a door on the other side of the road opened, letting out the noise of music and the voices of dozens of people, along with two stumbling men. The girl stopped when she saw them. They waddled away with their backs to her. After a few seconds, she crossed the road and followed them, the cloaked man still behind her.

As the two men stumbled, roaring in laughter about something only they understood, the girl took her chance. She skidded past them in a hurry, sticking her tiny hand in one of the men's pockets. She'd slipped the wallet out before either of them had even seen her there. They shouted after her angrily when they realised what had happened, but by that time the girl had taken a run for it and dove into a nearby alley.

The man in the black cloak shot his tongue out once more, like a tic, and trotted after her. By the time he'd caught up with her, she was digging into a little paper bag filled with chips, devouring them like a wild animal.

With one more lick at his upper lip, the cloaked man walked up to her.

"Hi there, Sweetheart."

The little girl instantly tensed, holding her chips against her chest like they were her most precious possession. She didn't answer.

The man sat down on the edge of the pavement next to her, taking his hood down.

"You're Jena, right? Jennifer Bates?"

Her eyes narrowed as she shuffled back, away from the strange man. "How do you know that? Nobody knows my full name."

The man bared his teeth. "I know a lot of things."

"What do you want from me?" she snarled. "I have friends. People who will come if I scream."

The man laughed darkly. "I bet you do. Homeless men, right? Just like you?"

She held her head up defiantly. It wasn't hard to see she was homeless; anyone would know that with just a glance.

"I can help you, you know," the man whispered. "I can get you off the street. If you just come with me."

Jena scoffed. "Come with you? I'm not stupid."

"No," said the man, still smiling. "I don't think you are. You're powerful, though."

"Powerful?"

"Very. There's a whole lot of magic flowing through your veins."

For a few seconds the pair was so quiet, one could hear the chattering from the pubs the next street over. Then Jena burst out laughing. "Magic? Are you mad?"

The man's tongue came poking out once again, as if to prove the girl's point.

"Not as mad as my father thinks."

"You know my name," said Jena. "What's yours?"

The man smiled, making him look even madder than before. "My name is Barty. Barty Crouch."

"That's a strange name," the girl remarked.

"I think it fits me," said the man simply. "So, what do you say? Would you like to get off the street? Have a proper life? A home?"

The girl had already opened her mouth in protest, but that last word made her freeze. "A home?"

"Hmm," the man smiled affirmatively.

"Why would you do that for me?"

The man grinned. "Because I need something back from you."

"From me? Like what?"

"I told you, you're powerful. I need your magic." His tongue poked out while his eyes gleamed with the prospect.

The girl, however, rolled her eyes. "I thought that was a joke. You are mad then. I shouldn't be talking to mad people. Goodbye."

With that, the girl stood up and walked off, the chips still in her arms.

She didn't get far. She hadn't taken more than two steps, when the man grabbed her shoulder and roughly pulled her back.

Jena dropped her chips and stared wide-eyed into the man's crazed face. "You will come with me," he growled in a low voice. "Whether you want to or not."

And so the girl did what her homeless friends had told her to do if she ever got in trouble: she screamed and shrieked as loud as she could. But the man did not let go. Instead, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a thin wooden stick, which he pointed at her before mumbling something.

It was as if the scream suddenly got caught in her throat. No matter how hard she tried, no sound came out. This scared Jena much, much more than the black-cloaked man himself had ever done. Her heart pounded so loud she thought it would break right through her chest, and silent tears ran over her cheeks as she tried in vain to pull free from his strong grip.

"That's better," said the man, that evil smile still on his face. "Now, show me what you've got."

He lifted her up by her shoulders and pressed her painfully against the wall behind her.

"Show me," he repeated, as Jena fought and struggled with everything she had in her. She was sure that man was going to kill her. And if she couldn't call out to her friends for help, then nobody was going to save her.

"Show me!" The man put his hand on her throat and squeezed, making her eyes bulge out of their sockets.

No one was going to save her.

"SHOW ME!"

She would die tonight.

With one last burst of strength, instinct taking over, she blew into the man's face. Much to her surprise, she felt the wind suddenly pick up around her, so forcefully that it blew the man back, his hands finally letting go of her neck.

As she dropped to the ground, she saw the man flying through the air and landing several feet away on the street, his bones cracking.

Jena's jaw had dropped and her eyes stood even wider than they had before, as she asked herself what just happened.

Before she had recovered from the shock, the man scrambled to his feet, cackling like a hyena. "He was right! Oh, you are going to be so useful to our Lord!"

He gripped the thin stick that he still held in his hand and pointed it at her once again. His laughter never died down, but Jena suddenly couldn't move anymore. Not her legs, not her arms, not even her little pinky. He picked her up under his arm like a sack of potatoes and a second later she watched the world around her disappear and turn into something completely different – she suddenly found herself in front of a massive iron gate.