Who: Barty and Sturgis
What: Kidnaps and questioning!
Where: Outside Hollow Industries, then the Travers family summer home in Penzance.
When: Friday night.
Rating: R, for language, and torture, and violence (oh my!).
Status: Logged!

This was absolutely urgent. Dearborn and Podmore had been speaking in codes all week, while Barty, Ms Travers, and the other Death Eaters had struggled and fumbled at attempting to decipher exactly what in the world the two of them had meant. Terrorism was obvious; the exact nature of it, less so. Whatever it was, it seemed to involve a multitude of things -- Healers named Maxwell, underwater garden parties hosted by cephalopods, repeated thwarting of law enforcement, glass onions, of all the ludicrous inanities -- and Barty did not like any of this one bit. Fortunately, neither did Ms. Travers, as her displeasure meant that Barty had been given a secure location.

All he needed was his target and, laying in wait in the shadows of an alley, he anticipated Podmore's departure from Hallows Industries.

It had been a very long evening, and Sturgis wasn't in the best of moods when he left Hallow Industries, shrugging on a coat and trying to ignore the way he could still smell alcohol. Sometimes working at the bar had its downsides, for all the discounted alcohol was nice when he and Caradoc were planning one of their evenings.

The previous week had been entertaining, though. Inane, quoting the Beatles over the journals, but amusing, even if some of the purebloods they knew didn't quite get what they were doing.

Barty waited for what seemed like rather too long -- granted, by the schedule of shifts that Ms Travers had given him for Podmore, Barty had arrived early, but he still did not like to be kept waiting. Podmore was only one of what could easily have been very many -- what more than likely was very many -- and every second counted when the plans were unknown and likely aimed against Pureblood women and children.

Finally, he saw the one who had to be his mark leaving Hallows Industries: ridiculously tall, rather gangly, an unbecoming mane of blonde-ish hair. Sturgis Podmore. Barty took a two-second pause to put on his best appearance of and then ran towards Podmore. "Sir, help, please, it's-- it's-- it's -- please, it's my friend; something happened; I can't get him to the hospital on my own, please..."

Sturgis blinked at the boy -- one of the purists, wasn't he? -- before nodding, giving him a reassuring smile.

"It'll be okay, kid. Show me where he is and we'll get him safe."

Forcing a sort of pathetic, relieved half-smile, Barty breathed an equally pathetic, "Thank you, I just -- he's over here." It seemed a prudent idea to take Podmore's hand and lead him into the alley, but, at the same time, Barty didn't trust most people's hands -- Merlin, he hardly trusted Regulus's and Endymion's hands, sometimes -- and he trusted a bartender's hands -- a Halfblood terrorist bartender's hands -- even less so. Like Orpheus, he would just have to trust in Podmore to follow him.

Luckily, that trust was not misplaced: by all appearances, Podmore was a decent person, or as decent as one could be whilst simultaneously being a terrorist, and decent people were the easiest to manipulate.

Sturgis followed him, trying to remember where he'd seen this kid before. He knew the face well enough to know it was a purist, but he couldn't place the name.

"What happened?"

Barty led on, only half aware of everything that he was saying; most of it was in layman's terms, naturally, since... well, he was talking to a layman, but the odd Healer term slipped in, and it seemed to be some story involving sneaking off for an illicit Muggle cigarette -- how perfectly, utterly believable. If it hardly mattered, though. Once Barty had Podmore far enough into the alley, he worked quickly: turning around, wand out, Barty said simply, "Which is all to say, 'He just passed out.' Supefy!"

This was going even easier than Barty had imagined and, after casting few charms to make carrying the oaf easier -- he was, after all, considerably taller than Barty and no doubt weighed a good deal more than Barty did -- Barty Apparated to the location Ms Travers had specified and set to work making the preparations. Podmore had to be tied down, naturally, which Barty handled by tying him to a chair, with his wrists and ankles bound for good measure. Normally, for this kind of work, Barty preferred to have his robes and mask, but such things were luxuries he could not afford, at the moment -- besides, he was skilled enough with Memory Charms that he had no need to worry about Podmore remembering his face.

Once he was certain that everything was secure, Barty sat on the desk opposite Podmore's chair, pointed his wand at Podmore's chest, and said harshly, "Ennervate."

Well, this was... not what Sturgis had been expecting. He blinked and shook his head sharply, trying to clear it, before frowning up at Barty.

"...I take it this is some sort of interrogation, then."

It was all right, really; he wasn't bound at an angle that would make taking his Animagus form difficult or painful, so he'd let Barty ask his questions and if things got too difficult, he'd just shift and leave.

"That would be quite a correct assumption, Podmore," Barty said lazily, surveying his mark with all the pensive consideration that he had been giving Podmore and Dearborn's idiotic, poetic codes. Obviously, Podmore had the physical advantage in the situation, but Barty had never once allowed someone to defeat him based on size alone -- and, besides that, he had the moron bound and was more than capable of using Dark Magic to achieve his purposes.

"The codes," Barty said, his tone switching abruptly to a more business-like one. There was hardly any reason to be harsh straight off; perhaps Podmore would not be nearly as stupid as he looked and play nicely with giving his betters the information they desired. "The ones that you and Dearborn have been writing in all week -- what is their significance? What manner of terrorism is this? What are you two planning?"

Codes? Sturgis blinked at him, thinking back over what he and Caradoc had been writing for the last week, and then burst out laughing.

"Codes? We were quoting songs, that's all. The Beatles. You're a bit young for them, they disbanded in 1970, but they've got fantastic music. You probably wouldn't like it, though," he added, frowning a little. "It's Muggle stuff, that's probably why you don't recognise it."

Oh, of all the unadulterated nerve of this filthy terrorist! How did he dare condescend to laughing at his better when discussing the impossibly serious matters of public safety, and terrorism, and his and Dearborn's plot against Pureblood women -- for what else could have been signified by their repeated focusing on the female of the species? One of the codes in particular had given it all away, the one that they had used with regard to Xiu Chang, the one that, at first glance, seemed concerned with the leaving of some lover.

"Your dedication to this lie is admirable, Podmore," Barty replied, holding the same even, business-like tone, "but misguided. We have already deciphered that the two of you are engaged in some conspiracy and, if you value yours and Dearborn's best interests, you will explicate for me what it is." Barty sighed agitatedly, deciding before Podmore could even respond that a physical display was necessary to properly make his point; leaving his perch on the desk, Barty advanced on Podmore, raised his leg and positioned his foot on the terrorist's shoulder, and attempted to knock Podmore over backwards.

Unfortunately, Sturgis outweighed Barty by at least fifty pounds, and the attempt proved fairly futile. He frowned, looking at Barty, and offered, "should I just knock the chair over myself? I'm pretty sure I can get enough force, if that'll make you feel any better."

"Shut up!" Barty snapped, forgetting himself just enough to allow his voice to raise just enough that, in the relative quietude of Ms Travers's summer home, there was a slight echo of it on the walls. Ignoring Podmore quite soundly, and even further ignoring the fact that Podmore solidly outweighed him, Barty tried again to kick the idiot over.

"Kid, seriously, I'm about fifty pounds heavier than you," Sturgis pointed out, trying not to laugh. "I get the display of dominance thing, but you're really not going about it the right way."

Still making valiant attempts at the ostensibly impossible, Barty continued trying to knock Podmore over while retorting, getting rather loud again: "I told you to SHUT. UP." So help him, he would knock Podmore over and he would get Podmore to show some modicum of respect for the seriousness of this situation.

Well, fine, if Barty wanted him to be quiet, he'd be quiet. Sturgis simply watched him, and the chair continued to refuse to budge so much as an inch.

Barty huffed, frowning irritatedly with the laws of physics and their apparent application in keeping him from properly showing his dominance over Podmore. Well, as this was pointless, Barty returned to sitting on the edge of the desk and regarded Podmore curiously. "What is the significance of 'the walrus'?" he demanded, once again calm and business-like.

"It's a song," Sturgis said, shaking his head. "They wrote it because they were tired of their old music teachers misinterpreting their other songs. It doesn't have a meaning, it's just a nonsense song. I can sing it for you if you really want me to."

"Again, your dedication is admirable, but much misplaced," Barty huffed. "Who are they? Your other terrorist friends?"

"They are John Lennon, George Harrison, Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr," Sturgis shot back. "The Beatles. A Muggle band, formed in the late fifties and disbanded in 1970. Very popular amongst young Muggle women because they were considered to be fairly attractive; very good music, albeit sometimes a bit strange. Shall I continue?"

"That's unnecessary. It is obvious to me that you will need to be persuaded in order to tell me what I wish to know, but as I do believe in showing mercy in the outset, I will give you one last chance to redeem and thereby save yourself. I will reiterate: I have worked on your codes and I know that you and Dearborn, at least, are planning something nefarious, and I want to know what it is. If you will not discuss the walrus," Barty paused briefly, considering everything that he had studied and attempting to pick which part to inquire after. "Then, what is the significance of the octopus?"

"It's a song," Sturgis repeated slowly. Was Barty touched in the head? "It doesn't have significance except that it's fun to sing."

Barty sighed; Podmore really was going to be ridiculous about this, unfortunately. "I did tell you to be cooperative," Barty said bluntly. They would need to resort to the techniques of the Spanish Inquisition, and where better to start than with the most basic place? Raising his wand and pointing it at Podmore's chest, Barty intoned, "Crucio!"

What the fuck. What the fuck. Barty Crouch wasn't supposed to know shit like the Cruciatus Curse, he was some harmless little uptight purist who was not supposed to know this shit.

Sturgis had never been good with pain, and even the most stoic person couldn't take Crucio without reacting. He screamed, every muscle tightening in response to the pain. Lion. Go lion, his mind screamed at him, but you needed focus to change forms, and focus was the first thing to go under this sort of assault.

This was the part that Barty invariably loved more than the rest: more than the killing, more than getting any information that he desired, and even more than the feeling of deep reward that came with doing the Dark Lord's work, he loved the process of everything, the way by which he made it clear to those who stood against him that they knew nothing of what he could do. Besides that, the screaming was perfectly pleasing comeuppance for Podmore's utter failure to take this exchange seriously; he hadn't done so, and so he suffered the consequences; really, it was quite poetic.

After a few moments, Barty paused and gave Podmore a pleasant little smile. "I trust that has made you more pliable," he said, almost sweetly. "Let us discuss geographical locations -- what plans do your lot have involving Paris? Do you need supplies from there? Why do you show such an extended focus on Penny Lane? What is the reason for the shift from Paris to London? What are these so-called 'strawberry fields' and what is the significance of the philosophical discourse applied to them?"

"They're songs," Sturgis spat, the humour gone from his voice. "Penny Lane, Glass Onion, Octopus's Garden, they're fucking songs, Crouch. I don't have a lot and I'm not planning anything."

Was that what this was about? Quoting songs? Did Barty seriously have no idea that he had one of the Order with him, that he should be asking much different questions?

"I suppose that I guessed wrong," Barty replied with the same airy detachment and a slight wrinkle of the nose. "It has been known to happen before. Either way, I do mean it when I say that I do admire your dedication, but, as it works against my purposes, I rather cannot allow it to persist. As another man of principles, I am sure you understand. Crucio!"

Ride it out. Ride it out.

The ropes dug gouges into Sturgis's flesh as he screamed, every fibre of his being attempting to escape the source of the pain. He clawed for focus, trying to form the image of the lion in his mind, but the pain was all-consuming, impossible to ignore.

Barty held the Cruciatus out for longer this time, partly, of course, for his own enjoyment but predominantly because the only way to properly educate someone was to show him the error of his ways -- and Podmore had erred quite severely. There was rather a glimmer of truth in Sirius Black's statement of "Denial is unhealthy," and, really, this lesson should not have been that difficult for Podmore to learn. The Cruciatus was a powerful instructor. Hopefully, for his sake, it would not last much longer; the sooner he gave out, the better off he would be.

When Barty stopped again, he spoke once more, again with the same pleasant detachment: "It can be easier, you realise, Mister Podmore. All I ask is that you cooperate, tell me of your group's plans, and otherwise behave yourself, and then we can be on our merry and separate ways. How are the Malfoys involved in your plotting? Do not think that I missed the apparent coincidence of you and Dearborn referencing this... 'Lucy in the Sky' directly before and directly after Malfoy Manor was vandalised. What is the significance of 'Lucy in the Sky'? And what of this Healer Maxwell? Who is he? How is he assisting you? Who are Rose and Valerie, and in what way are they acting as accomplices? What is PC Thirty-One? What do you mean by 'doing a dirty one?' I obviously first assumed that it was a reference to yours and Dearborn's abominable, deviant relationship, but all the same, it never hurts to ask."

That was enough. That was enough, damn it. Sturgis took advantage of Barty's love of his own voice, using the time to focus, to gather his strength, and Barty had barely finished speaking before Sturgis let out what could really only be called a roar, and shifted from human to lion. The ropes broke like string, and the lion kicked off from the ruins of the chair, pouncing on Barty and knocking him off the desk, crouching over him with its tail lashing.

...WHAT -- everything happened far too quickly for Barty to properly process it; all he rightly knew was that, in the space of not nearly enough time, the balance of power had shifted, leaving him on the floor, in pain, and being crouched over by a rather large lion that had absolutely not been there before. Suffice to say: WHAT.

Fumbling, but determined, Barty was operating half on instinct when he raised his wand and shouted, "Stupefy!"

Unfortunately for Barty, what could bring down a grown man was less effective on a five-hundred-pound, very angry lion. It stumbled a little, but righted itself and roared, a full-throated, angry sound that shook the foundations of the building.

Oh, for the love of -- of course, Stunning Spells would simply need to be somewhat less effective on rather large lions that had absolutely not been there before. Barty frowned and shouted, more insistently, "Stupefy!"

The lion snarled, turning its head and closing its jaws right on Barty's hand. Oddly, it didn't apply any pressure beyond that needed to keep his hand captive -- which was lucky, as it likely could have taken his hand off had it wanted to -- but there was a very definite "drop your wand" look in its eyes.

Naturally, Barty had a decently maintained self-image -- the damage done to him by his father aside, it was difficult to be best friends with Regulus Black and not develop a sense of self-importance by association -- and he hardly wanted to be cowed by a beast. On the other hand, though, he also had a (rather meager, given his history of various self-destructive tendencies) sense of self-preservation and he wasn't stupidly risky enough to venture into casting another Stunning Spell while a lion had its mouth on his hand.

...That said, he also wasn't fool enough to give up entirely: he obeyed the warning look in the lion's eyes, dropping his wand, but, after letting it hit the ground, he discreetly wrapped his other hand around it. Maybe now wasn't his chance, but he would have it soon enough.

After a moment, the lion backed up a little, and then Sturgis was there again, looking rather more shaky than the lion had.

"I think we're done."

For a moment, Barty put his well-practiced innocent-looking face -- with a healthy dose of fear and intimidation, for good measure; if nothing else, being mildly undignified, for the moment, would lull Podmore into a false sense of security -- but it did not last long. Although not quite ambidextrous, Barty was comfortable enough casting with his right hand that he didn't suffer too poorly when he raised his wand again and shouted, "Obliviate!" aiming for his own identity, but not the occurrence itself.

While Podmore was still dazed and before he could react, Barty shouted, "Stupefy!"

Podmore went down easily, now that he didn't have his leonine defenses, and Barty made a mental note not to attempt torturing this one again; he could understand fighting back, but turning into a lion? Was completely unappreciated.

The only issue now, seeing as Podmore had told Barty absolutely nothing of use, was getting the cipher out of Dearborn.