Moody, who had understood about twenty percent of that, just nodded. It was for the best. Barty got very upset when he thought no one was listening to his bullshit. Moody was just thrilled to hear Sirius Black was onto him, which was reassuring. Better than Albus or Minerva or Arthur who so far noticed jackshit. He acted nothing like this lunatic, how in the hell did people fall for this for a second?
"What's he doing at the school for?" Moody asked.
"Eh I dunno. Think he's Potter's new daddy. Or he's shagging the kid's mum, ain't no difference. They're trainin up that boy good though, he knows some dark shite now. Feker put a hole through his dragon, and I think they did somethin with poor Rookwood, he just up and disappeared. Or maybe he pussyfooted chickenshit ran off, eh? I'm the only one loyal to the Dark Lord. I'm his favorite!" Barty giggled, long and frantic and squeaky.
"Wow, you must be very proud," Moody said.
"I am!" Barty fell silent as he thought about the Dark Lord. Oh, how he missed him. The Dark Lord was great. Handsome, evil. Barty was really excited about the reward he would get for suffering through this hell. But it was worth it, he would do anything for his Lord.
"Can I get a cleaning charm now? Don't you have homework to grade?" Moody said after a long moment of very awkward silence.
"Shite! I forgot. Damn it, I'll just give them all As. Dumbledore doesn't care about quality teachers, did'ya notice?"
"I did. The charm, Crouch?"
"Oh yeah yeah yeah. Settle down now, bessie." He gave Moody a few thorough cleaning charms, brushing his teeth for him and reapplying the restraints across his body. It was awkward as hell with the way the man was tied up, strapped down and pissing himself. They had charms for that sort of thing, but Barty had never cared to study any of them. They made do. Well, Barty did. He didn't give a fuck about what Moody thought of it.
He bid Moody goodnight, and the man glared at him. Barty made sure Moody felt nice and appreciated with a curse or two and left him there, twitching on the floor. Barty locked up the trunk, double-checked the wards around his office, and settled in to read for the night. He wiggled his toes as he did so. He was so glad he had two feet.
...
THE BRITISH DISASTER
By Claire Cadieux - French News Weekly
Another scandal has rocked the shaky foundation of the British Ministry of Magic's Triwizard Tournament. Yet another terrorist attack plagued the nation last weekend, marking the fourth in a series of assaults against significant infrastructure both mundane and magical.
We spoke to a survivor of the latest attack, ten-year-old -
Nope, too depressing. Next.
THE RISE OF THE DARK LORD - EVERYTHING FUDGE ISN'T TELLING US
By Rita Skeeter - Daily Prophet
Despite the drastic increase in domestic terror attacks across London, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge has not yet released an official statement on the growing belief that You-Know-Who and his paramilitary organization, the Death Eaters, are behind said attacks. These concerns continue to spread after the reveal last weekend that Harry Potter - a known enemy of the terrorists - barely escaped with his life after an attempted kidnapping during the supposedly secure and monitored Yule Ball ceremony. Young Harry, a sweet little boy of only 14, disappeared from his chaperones during the dance and was found later suffering the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse. Minister Fudge -
Nope, fuck Rita, that bitch. He balled the newspaper into his fist and tossed it into the fire.
"WE WANT OUT!"
John J. Jonson - The New York Times Magic Edition
The French delegation from the Académie de Magie Beauxbatons has issued a formal announcement to the British government that the French students hosted at Hogwarts School for the Triwizard Tournament competition will be returning home immediately - barring their contestant, Fleur Delacour who is bound by magic contract to remain, and Beauxbatons' Headmistress Olympe Maxime, who has stated her intention to stay in England in support of Miss Delacour and complete her obligations as Tournament judge. This announcement comes after an outcry over security concerns starting last year when a government official employed at Hogwarts was discovered -
"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a firecall for you, it's the French Minister again," His new Undersecretary, some hot, young thing he had not bothered to learn the name of, peered into the room. Fudge, who was knee-deep in reports and a bottle of brandy, looked up in surprise. How long had he been working? He'd thought it was after five already.
"Yes, thank you, dear. I'll be right through."
He gave one final, desperate puff of his cigar. What the hell did it matter if he met with the damn French representatives again? Fudge was living on borrowed time and he knew it. A British disaster, how accurate!
He slumped over his desk, head in hand. Dolores, The World Cup, Potter, these goddamn Death Eater raids, the attempted kidnapping.
"I'm going to have to resign, aren't I?" he asked out loud. There was a hum of agreement from the portraits surrounding him. "Oh shut up," he snapped, shouting. "Damned old things, what do you know? You're all dead!"
He stood from his chair and straightened his tie. At least it wasn't a call from the dragon sanctuary. He owed them a hefty sum for the dead Horntail Potter had slain and he was ignoring their calls. Who knew dragons ran a cool 2.3 million galleons!
Fucking Potter and that damn dragon. It had been terrifying, honestly. Unnatural. Boys weren't supposed to slay dragons. Had any single person done so since the days of Merlin? Well, probably. Fudge hadn't studied history much.
But certainly never a fourteen-year-old. He didn't know what was wrong with that child, but he wanted to stay out of it! There was enough on his plate. Fudge stuck his head in the fireplace.
"Minister Dubois, bonne soirée, how are you doing, my good man?"