"Bastard," Harry breathed. His heart was pounding like a drum. Reluctantly he let her go so he could look properly at the boy lying unconcious on his sofa. "Bloody hell," he muttered, carefully changing his grip on his wand, just in case. "I forgot how young he was." Albus' age, he thought, and grimaced. He remembered seeing the young Crouch at his trial before he was sent to Azkaban. He remembered hearing the older Crouch explaining his escape in a Veritaserum-induced monotone. But this was not a memory or a story. One of the men who had destroyed the Longbottoms' minds had threatened his wife. He was boiling with anger, but still... he looked so young. Pettigrew wasn't much older, he reminded himself. Don't let your guard down.
He shook himself. "The term 'constant vigilance has never been so ironic," he added, giving Ginny a pointed look.