Finally throwing the Daily Prophet away, she got out of her seat and took hold of her wand. Her blood pressure was rising significantly the more enraged she became. Her healer had told her to dial down her temper, or something bad could happen, but what did these quacks know? She had every right to be this angry now!
Trembling in rage, she aimed her wand at the nearest vase she could find.
-blaaangkliiir-
Kreacher heard his Mistress starting to blast things into pieces - things that he knew he would have to repair once she had exhausted her temper.
He then returned his attention to polishing the silver by hand. Sure, he could have used his magic for it, but not only did he enjoy doing it by hand, it also gave him a reason to not leave for quite a while - more than enough time for his Mistress to calm down. Her temper was getting worse in recent years, forcing Kreacher to develop new survival instincts the fast way.
Thankfully, she was doing the damage in a room where no family heirlooms were stored - actually nothing of worth was in it.
Kreacher had to think of a locket that sat in a glass case in the drawing room. His Mistress had not questioned its sudden appearance and dismissed it as one of the many heirlooms coming out of storage and being on display now. It was in plain sight and yet in the safest place imaginable.
Kreacher should not think of such things right now, he reminded himself, getting back to his time-consuming work.
...November 22nd, Crouch manor...
Bartemius Crouch Senior looked out of the window of his modest manor house, but he didn't see a cold November day outside. No, his thoughts were occupied with something entirely else.
All what I have done for society, keeping it safe in the darkest time, and this is how they thank me? The whining of this little weakling swaying them shows how weak they are, he thought in grave disappointment.
A mere week ago, he had been at the top, and now it all could be gone in no time.
To Crouch this felt very unfair. He had sacrificed a lot of his strength and time to fight back against the Death Eaters threatening to topple magical Britain. Sure, there were those who were whining that his methods were like using a huge club to smash open a walnut, about the amount of injustice generated in the justice system and his methods - like allowing the use of the Unforgivables - erasing any difference between them and the enemy, but he had learned to ignore them quickly.
However, after the scene his good-for-nothing son had pulled off in court to make himself look the victim of his father's cold-heartedness, not to speak of the fact his son was a Death Eater, these weaklings came out of their holes, smelling a chance to cut him down.
He knew that these events were putting his chance of becoming Minister for Magic in the next elections in serious doubt. To him it looked like these weaklings preached to the public that he now looked like a cold-hearted bastard, who had first neglected his son and then used a kangaroo court to quickly get rid of the reminder of his failure on shaky evidence. Guilt or innocence didn't interest these sheep, only how it looked like. Of course the press then dragged his methods from the war back into the limelight.
From the safety of peace, it's easy to give moral lectures. They have no idea that the end does justify the means, he thought bitterly when remembering the most recent issue of the Daily Prophet.
While his reputation was still high at the moment, even he could see that it was starting to slide. Some more months of this and he knew his career would hit a dead end. There already was talk in the Ministry to make him the leader of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. In his mind that was little better than being given a desk with a magical window. He knew that they couldn't remove him outright, so they were thinking about giving him that department to make sure he'd hold a dead-end job with no hope of ever ascending to a higher position again.
He was the victim in all of this, that was for sure.
They of course don't understand that sacrifices have to be made for the greater good. They are naive if they think you can get security for free, he ranted silently.
Sensing that someone else was present, he looked around and spotted his wife standing in the door.
It was only now, after the war, that he was starting to notice that she had went through changes. She looked thinner than he remembered, and a bit paler as well. That made him wonder why he hadn't noticed before, since this could hardly have been a recent development. Her whole body language had changed as well. She no longer was the open person she once had been. She now looked guarded and closed-off. Indeed, she didn't say one word and just gave him an unreadable look, before she turned around and left.
That strange behavior made him wonder what was the matter with her. Was it because of recent events? Was she disappointed because their son turned out to be a Death Eater, or was she blaming him for doing his job and throwing him into Azkaban for his deeds?
Now he was starting to worry about her as well, on top of his other troubles.
...Privet Drive, November 25th...