Stay - Mattheo Riddle

Mr Crouch has gone Mad

He looked as though he had been travelling for days. The knees of his robes were ripped and bloody, his face scratched; he was unshaven and gray with exhaustion. His neat hair and moustache were both in need of a wash and a trim. His strange appearance, however, was nothing to the way he was behaving.

Muttering and gesticulating, Mr. Crouch appeared to be talking to someone that he alone could see. He reminded Kirra vividly of an old tramp she had seen once when out shopping with the Dursleys.

That man too had been conversing wildly with thin air; Aunt Petunia had seized Dudley's hand and pulled him across the road to avoid him; Uncle Vernon had then treated the family to a long rant about what he would like to do with beggars and vagrants.

"Vosn't he a judge?" said Krum, staring at Mr. Crouch. "Isn't he vith your Ministry?"

Kirra nodded, hesitated for a moment, then walked slowly toward Mr. Crouch, who did not look at her, but continued to talk to a nearby tree.

". . . and when you've done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the tournament, Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve. . . ."

"Mr. Crouch?" said Kirra cautiously.

". . . and then send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up the number of students she's bringing, now Karkaroff's made it a round dozen . . . do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will . . ."

Mr. Crouch's eyes were bulging. He stood staring at the tree, muttering soundlessly at it. Then he staggered sideways and fell to his knees.

"Mr. Crouch?" Kirra said loudly. "Are you all right?" She wasn't really sure what to do.

Crouch's eyes were rolling in his head. Kirra looked around at Krum, who had followed her into the trees, and was looking down at Crouch in alarm.

"Vot is wrong with him?"

"No idea, maybe some kind of memory charm gone wrong... I've got a few other thoughts but I really hope they arent true" Kirra muttered. "Listen, you'd better go and get someone —"

"Dumbledore!" gasped Mr. Crouch. He reached out and seized a handful of Kirra's robes, dragging her closer, though his eyes were staring over Kirra's head. "I need . . . see . . . Dumble- dore. . . ."

"Okay," said Kirra, "if you get up, Mr. Crouch, we can go up to the —"

"I've done . . . stupid . . . thing . . ." Mr. Crouch breathed. He looked utterly mad. His eyes were rolling and bulging, and a trickle of spittle was sliding down his chin. Every word he spoke seemed to cost him a terrible effort. "Must . . . tell . . . Dumbledore . . ."

"Get up, Mr. Crouch," said Kirra loudly and clearly, not wanting to make the situation worse, but also restraining herself from decking the man in the face for what he had done to his son, her friend. "Get up, I'll take you to Dumbledore!"

Mr. Crouch's eyes rolled forward onto Kirra. "Who . . . you?" he whispered.

"I'm a student at the school," said Kirra, looking around at Krum for some help, but Krum was hanging back, looking extremely nervous.

"You're not . . . his?" whispered Crouch, his mouth sagging.

"No," said Kirra, without the faintest idea what Crouch was talking about.

"Dumbledore's?"

"That's right," said Kirra with a sigh.

Crouch was pulling her closer; Kirra tried to loosen Crouch's grip on her robes, but it was too powerful.