CHAPTER FOUR
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-: seventh year :-

─ IN WHICH SHE IS TOLD WHY

. . .

SIRIUS, ALBEIT HIS INITIAL REFUSAL TO RETURN TO HIS ANCESTRAL HOME, had gotten quite used to being there. He hated it, but he had no choice. He was a part of the Order, an Azkaban escapee on the run after being wrongly sentenced for the mass murder of muggles, a sentence he served for twelve long, long, years. Sirius needed somewhere to hide, somewhere where he could live for a while and not have to worry about being caught.

Kingsley was taking care of that. It was always amusing to hear what he came up with to misdirect the team he headed, whenever his rare visits to Grimmauld Place were not overcast by more abysmal news regarding Voldemort and his idiotic lackies and, most recently, that they would have to take in another guest in the house as a result of aforementioned dark-arts-idiots. Last he heard, Sirius Black was supposedly travelling across the Andes upon the back of a fugitive Hippogriff that, like him, had escaped a sentence that was almost definitely going to end in death.

But now that Sirius was back at Grimmauld Place for the time being, and he was there all the damn time, he had settled back in, gotten used to it again. Knew where things were, knew which drawers had all the important stuff in, which drawers which held things of his mother's that bit and snapped at his hands.

And, arguably, most important, he recognised when things were out of place.

"Is someone else coming to stay with us?" He called up the stairs in a level tone, at a volume that veered very close to the volume that would awaken the portrait of his mother, eyeing the stack of trunks by the door. "Trust me, I'm really, truly pleased that you're all here," Sirius swallowed and paused, attempting to dilute the sarcasm in his tone (it wasn't that he didn't want them there, it stomped upon the very premise of his family's entire life and he was certain his mother was rolling in her grave, but there was just so many of them), "however, there is only so much I can take in one day."

"Not ours." One of the twins shouted back, their heads appearing over the bannisters. "Ronald, any thoughts?"

"Haven't dragged Harry along again, have you?" The other twin said, smirking. Sirius shook his head. "Haven't stolen a car in a while, reckon we could do that again?"

"Sirius - how's Buckbeak's flying?" One of the twins - Fred, Sirius believed it to be Fred - asked, grinning. "Reckon he'd love to get out there, haven't flown a Hippogriff before."

"Fred, Mum won't let you fly a Hippogriff to get Harry, dickhead." Ron's head appeared over the bannister. "Harry's not coming, he's with the Dursleys."

"Blinking idiots." George muttered. "If we send him a parcel with some... something we've been working on, d'ya reckon he could convince his cousin to eat them?"

"I don't think he'd have to exactly convince Dudley to eat anything."

"Fat bas-"

"That isn't particularly appropriate language, Frederick." Sirius looked up and found that he was being joined down in the entrance hall by Ophelia. "And it's my luggage," the girl replied, as the final, and biggest trunk floated down the stairs behind her.

Sirius glanced up at the portrait of his mother, behind the velvet curtain and thankfully sound asleep - although it had just been an hour since the awful screeching happened and the cause of that awful screeching was waltzing down the stairs of Grimmauld Place and stacking her luggage in his hallway. "Why is your luggage in the hallway?" Sirius asked, leaning against a doorframe and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Why shouldn't it be?" Ophelia asked, quite impertinently, as she brushed past Sirius and the floating trunk settled down atop the stack. "Is my luggage not allowed to be in the hallway?"

Fred and George were slinking down the stairs like a pair of very mischievous, very ginger cats. They reached where Ron was stood and in a series of hiss and whispers, they somehow managed to convince their younger brother to come with them and together, the three of them began to slowly make their way down to where Sirius was watching Ophelia muttering to herself, counting things out on her fingers.

"Depends, where is your luggage going?" Sirius asked.

"Where do you think it's going?"

"Why are you being evasive?"

"Because." Ophelia hummed, her focus returning and she looked up at the four of them with a smile. "I'm going home, and those trunks contain everything in my life that I could ever need and Dumbledore seemed to believe that I would be staying here a long time." 

Sirius pursed his lips and turned slightly, reaching behind to tug open the kitchen door. "Remus, your daughter is trying to leave, in very typical Lupin fashion." He shouted behind him. He paused, before he considered. "Is Mad-Eye still there, bring Mad-Eye, too. Maybe he can strong-arm her into staying." Ophelia's eyebrows furrowed. "What? You tried before, you'll try it again." Sirius shrugged.

Ron looked up from where he was seemingly trying to carve something into the old wooden bannister. "So it's true?" He asked. "She's Lupin's daughter?"

"No, I am not!" Ophelia replied,  particularly tempestuously. Lupin emerged from the kitchen slowly, hands shoved into the pockets of his faded tweed trousers, as if he was nervous at the very prospect of being there. Moody followed behind him with the complete opposite demeanour, stomping across the floor ready to do exactly as Sirius had asked.

"Ophelia..." Lupin said softly.

"How exactly am I supposed to believe that you are my father?" Ophelia asked. "All you told me was that you got some girl pregnant and then when everything happened in Godric's Hollow you couldn't look after your child anymore. What proof, what concrete, undeniable proof have you got that proves you are my father?"

Fred made a noise and her head shot up towards him. "What? What on earth do you have to say on the matter you ginger-haired, lanky prick?" She snapped.

"Well... you..." Fred blinked and gestured towards Lupin. "I hate to break it to you, but you do kind of look alike. The eyes."

"The hair." George added. "Really, now that you say it... I can see it."

"And?" Ophelia blinked. "I asked for something substantial, and the best either of you can come up with is that myself and Professor Lupin share similar features? He is not my father, whether he seemingly looks like me or not. I do not have a father, he went missing several weeks ago and luckily for me, the Ministry thinks he's dead, leaving me the sole heir of the Crouch fortune and the family manor, which is perfectly lovely compared to this shithole with all you lot in it, and I'd quite like to go home now, before people begin to wonder where I am."

"You're not going anywhere, Crouch." Moody growled, as he stomped over to stand in front of the sole corridor that would lead her out of the hellhole she was trapped in.

"Yes I am." Ophelia said. "You cannot force me to stay here. I'm seventeen, I'm of-Age and quite frankly, it's illegal for you to keep me somewhere where I do not want to be. You and the escapee over there should know quite a lot about that, shouldn't you?" Sirius made a noise. "We all know you didn't kill those muggles, Black, I don't need you making a fuss about it in the corner."

"Well, now I don't want her here." Sirius huffed.

"We were both in that meeting, Sirius." Lupin reminded him in a soft tone. "Miss Crouch, I understand that it must be difficult to believe that of all people, I am your father, but I am. I asked Dumbledore to help me in finding you a home when you were a baby because I couldn't take care of you, and he informed me that he was able to place you with the Crouchs who, considering your grandfather's position at the Ministry, would give you a much better life than I could."

"I don't care about your little story about how I'm supposedly your daughter, Professor." Ophelia said, reaching for her luggage. "When Dumbledore turned up at my door, interrupting my particularly nice day, he told me that I was in danger. Nothing about that story tells me why I am in so much danger that I have to be locked up in a safe house for my last enjoyable summer holiday.

"Ophelia-" Someone started, but the girl was ready to launch into a tangent, the calmness she had felt since making her decision to just go home dissipating rapidly and instead being replaced with that same anger and confusion. As such, she interrupted them.

"My grandfather died, I found out my uncle was playing dress up as him-" Her thumb jerked towards Moody as he blocked off the corridor, "before he was left brain dead by the Ministry. Then my father goes missing and is presumed dead. I just wanted to have a few moments of peace before my N.E.W.T.s, that's all."

She heaved in a sigh. "But instead, Dumbledore turns up at my door and ruins everything, acting as though I somehow falsified my father's death, and now I'm supposedly in some kind of danger which nobody will fucking explain to me, and you're supposedly my dad. I don't need this. I really don't need this and I just want to go to my nice house where none of you are there and I don't have to deal with any of this shit!" Her attention turned to Moody. "Move. Let me go home."

Her arms crossed tight across her chest, chin turned upwards as she stared up at the man. "Let me go home." She repeated, her tone harder, harsher. "I'm not staying here."

"Remus, have a word with your daughter, will you." Sirius drawled. "You are her supposed father after all."

"I believe the danger that Dumbledore speaks of is more of a... Order-appropriate discussion." Lupin replied lowly.

"She's not going to believe a word either myself or Mad-Eye say." Sirius said with a shrug. "You were her teacher for a year... and you weren't actually her uncle under the effects of Polyjuice potion."

The man seemed to consider his options for a moment, before he turned to Ophelia. "Miss Crouch," He began softly, "would you perhaps like to have a conversation somewhere with a bit more privacy."

"Why should I?" Ophelia glared. She hadn't looked away from Mad-Eye, whose magical, electric blue eye was steadily fixated on her.

"Because you're not going to win a staring competition with an eye that doesn't function according the biological system of a human body." Lupin let out a sigh. "Allow me the chance to convince you that it would be a good idea for you to stay here for the rest of the summer. If I remember anything from my year of teaching you, then I am to understand that you are highly intelligent, but also highly stubborn. With any reason, I am left to believe that Dumbledore offered you the answer to the circumstances of your arrival here, and that is why you came."

Ophelia still didn't look away from the Auror. "My agreement was upon one contingency." She agreed.

"Then allow me to inform you of why Dumbledore brought you here." Lupin continued. "We can have a cup of tea, and I'm sure you're hungry."

"Fine." Ophelia replied shortly and promptly turned away from Moody and past where Sirius and Lupin were stood, descending down into the kitchen, the latter following behind her quickly - as though he was afraid she would change her mind in those few seconds - and promptly shut the door behind her.

She found that it smelt no different from when she had been in there earlier. There was a distinct scent of magic, and although it was lacking the pot on the stove the smell of lunch lingered. Despite Lupin's offering, she was by no means hungry and took a seat at the table as he poured them cups of tea.

"Again, I may be remembering incorrectly, however I believe that you take it with plenty of milk and one teaspoon of sugar?" He asked, bringing the tray to the table. Ophelia nodded. "The same as I do."

"That doesn't automatically mean we're related." Ophelia quickly said, before he could get another word in.

"I know it doesn't." He assured. "It is simply how I remembered." Lupin took a seat across from her. "I understand that to hear the news must be surprising, and it is well within reason for you to not believe it. I just ask for you to consider the matter. You don't have to instantly disregard any life you had before you found out earlier today."

"I'm not." Ophelia replied. "I know that it's false. Because my father is dead-"

"Miss Crouch, as I am sure Professor Dumbledore informed you, the Order had the ability to monitor the behaviour of Voldemort and his followers." Lupin interrupted her. "We know that your father is alive and, beyond that, we know that he asked you to ensure that his disappearance from polite society remained that way."

"My father is dead."

"No he is not." Lupin replied, firmly, firmer than anyone else had managed somehow, because his voice was still steady and it wasn't raised. "Your father is not dead, nor is he missing. You may not know where he is, but the Order does. We know that he is attending Death Eater meetings, is constantly in the presence of Voldemort and like your uncle, will accept any mission, anything that Voldemort asks him to do because that is what it takes to be in his inner circle."

Ophelia didn't say anything, she couldn't, because she knew that was the truth. Of course she did, she wasn't delusional, or trying to trick herself into thinking otherwise. She knew that her father had run away, not gone missing, the difference between those two definitions overwhelming. It wasn't as if she could sit there and lie so insistently when each time she was asked about it her every answer was instantly rebutted with the fact that they knew she was lying, and that her father had run away to join the Death Eaters.

Ophelia's eyes closed for a brief second, remaining closed as she heaved in a breath before they flickered open once more. "I have a nice house." She began, voice wavering. "I have money, and my Grandfather, Uncle and Father have left... left everything to me. I finally have found some peace in life."

"What are you suggesting?" Remus looked confused, unaware of how the conversation had been geared in that direction so suddenly.

"I have the resources for your Order to continue operating as it was. Probably even better." Ophelia told him. "You can have it. The house, or the money, or anything else you can think of that I may possess. You can have it. But I don't want to stay with a group of people who I do not like."

Lupin let out a sigh. "Ophelia, you can't bargain, or buy, your way out of this."

"Why the hell not?" She snapped. "I don't have any use for any of it, I just want peace and quiet so I can get over the horrendous year that it's been and prepare the most important exams of my life."

"Because you're in danger." Lupin said and just as she was about to open her mouth to argue otherwise as she had been doing all day, he pressed on. "The Order believes that you are in danger precisely because of that. Because you have been left alone, in the possession of a large house and a vault in Gringotts with contents worth millions. In the eyes of those who don't know otherwise, you are the last remaining member of the Crouch family, a Sacred Twenty Eight family. And that makes not only your possessions of value, but you too."

"Me?" For that singular word alone, Lupin was suddenly granted the vision of a girl who he had been able to raise, the childish wonder, the lack of harshness to her tone... all in that one word.

"Yes, you." Lupin replied. "Ophelia, you are a smart girl, and yes you are of-age but you're also in a very vulnerable position. The way that Voldemort is able to procure such a large army is because his tactics lay in manipulation and spells that force one into joining him."

"You just said that I'm smart." Ophelia drawled, that vision being snatched away from Lupin just as quickly as it arrived. "If you're trying to convince me of something then you can't contradict yourself."

"Ophelia." Lupin sat up. "You already have been manipulated. You return from school and in a week you managed to convince the entirety of the Ministry of Magic that your father went missing and now is presumed dead. Even in the majority of cases, missing people aren't just presumed dead in less than a week."

"I..." Ophelia wasn't looking at him, her eyes narrowed and lips slightly parted in clear disbelief. "I chose to do that."

"No, Ophelia, you didn't. Your father manipulated you into doing that for him. How does it actually benefit you?" Lupin questioned. "If he was still around, it's not as though you would have seen him much during the summer. You still would have access to your family vault."

"But I chose to do it nonetheless."

"You do not benefit from this, Ophelia!" Lupin raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "You did what your father asked you to do, no questions asked. You convinced the Ministry of Magic that he was dead! He manipulated you into doing this because regardless of how smart you are, it proves that you could be manipulated like so many other Death Eaters into believing that the cause that Voldemort fights for is good and just and correct. It was a test! If you had stayed at your home then you too would've been manipulated to join the ranks of the Death Eaters, but by being here you don't have to! You don't have to do what your father asked you to do anymore."

Ophelia's gaze, dark and dull, settled on Remus. "I don't believe you." She said flatly. "I don't believe you at all."

"No, you're angry because you know that I am right." Lupin replied. "You're angry because despite the fact that you are smart - and you and I both know full well the lengths of your intellect - you didn't recognise that what your father did was manipulation, for his benefit and for Voldemort's benefit."

"No." Ophelia shook her head and stood up. "No. I don't believe it because, if I remember how nice you were to me two years ago, then a man as kind as that could allow his daughter be raised by a family like that."

And she slammed the kitchen door behind her as she went, and Remus didn't move. His elbows bruised against the table, his hands buried in his hair and brow furrowed.

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