OVERANALYZING THE TEXT

Hey, have I ever mentioned that the Crouch family subplot is my very favorite part of GoF? Or that I absolutely adore minor characters? Or that I can get just a wee bit...over-emotional on the subject of the Bartemii Crouch?

No?

Well, now you know.

Some Crouch thoughts here, from the cheerfully insignificant (Was Crouch Sr. Dead Sexy?) to the unabashedly reader responsive (How much did Elkins hate Crouch Sr.? Ooooh, ever so much!) to the possibly even marginally thematically relevant.

Because I firmly believe that God is in the details, while relevance is usually the Devil's work, the trivial stuff got to go first.

This got long. I have therefore divided it into nine separate posts:

Part One tackles the all-important question of whether or not Crouch Sr. was Dead Sexy. Those who find this a somewhat less than compelling topic might want to consider yourself warned: there's really not a whole lot else here.

Part Two examines Crouch's political situation in the wake of Voldemort's fall and his motives in regard to the trial of the Longbottoms' assailants.

Part Three challenges Eileen's reading of Crouch as Tragic Hero.

Part Four evaluates the motives underlying his political decisions and how these relate to his narrative function.

Part Five contests the claim that Crouch saved his son from prison only in order to honour his wife's dying request.

Part Six examines his behavior in regard to his son after the QWC and takes a cold hard look at his thematic role within the text.

Part Seven concludes with a discussion of his mirror relationship with his son, his redemption scene, and his thematic function within the context of the series as a bildungsroman. It also contains some outright reader response.

Part Eight sweeps up a few stray odds and ends: Crouch's death, his sad sad life, and his possibilities as a future canonical ghost.

Part Nine discusses Winky's role in the Crouch family dynamic and expresses a few concerns over what it seems to imply about the authorial attitude towards women and the maternal role. It also defends the Crouch/Winky ship.

All of these posts are long. They are eccentric. They are personal. They are digressive. They are Turbo-TBAYed. And much of them were written long-hand in a yellow pad while I was sick in bed and running a very high temperature.

So. You have been warned.

**************************************

One
C.R.A.B.C.U.S.T.A.R.D.

On a table on the promenade of Theory Bay, Eileen has set up a quantity of little paper cups filled with a substance that might once have had its origin as seafood. A banner above reads: "C.R.A.B.C.U.S.T.A.R.D. -- It's so exciting, it'll make your eyes bulge!"

The reactions so far have been either puzzled or vaguely positive. But then Eileen hears a muffled gagging sound from her right.

"Elkins!"

"Ugh." Elkins, mounted astride a very high hobby horse, clops over to the table and looks down at it with an expression of supreme revulsion. "Oh, I just can't believe that you're still out here flogging that red herring mousse, Eileen. It's utterly revolting."

"It is not," Eileen objects indignantly. "People seem to like it. Or at the very least not to mind it all that much. Not like those Crouch Jr. apologetics that you're always trying to foist off on people from up on that horse of yours."

Elkins' hobby horse lays back its ears and bares its teeth.

"What have you got against my Crouch Jr. apologetics?" demands Elkins. "Or the horse I rode in on, for that matter? At least Melody liked my Crouch Jr. apologetics! And need I remind you, Eileen, that young Bartemius is a member in good standing of SYCOPHANTS?"

"Oh, I know that, Elkins. But Barty Jr. is...well, he's a sadist. And well...really, really evil."

"But he had so much fun!" cries Elkins passionately, gathering her reins in one hand and reaching down with the other to try to force a 'Boys Will Be Boys: Barty Junior Had A Blast!' leaflet on Eileen. Eileen sighs.

"Err.... Could I make confession, Elkins?" she asks. "Don't tell anyone I said this, okay, but I really, really love Barty Crouch Jr. I've fought against it a long time. I just didn't want to believe that serving an evil Overlord, torturing the Longbottoms, killing your father, ensnaring Harry Potter, and plotting general death and destruction for the world could be viewed as a sympathetic feature of adolescent rebellion. But in the end, you convinced me. Now I just can't help myself. I do like young Barty!"

"Well, we'll talk about that later, if you want," says Elkins with an amused smile. "But right now, let's talk about this...custard of yours, shall we? One thing that I have never been able to understand, Eileen, is how a nice girl like yourself could ever have ended up with an acronym like 'Classy, Rich, Ambitious, Bold: Crouch's Unsung Sexiness Tempts All Raunchy Damsels.' I mean, that's really rather racy, don't you think?"

"It did make me blush at first," admits Eileen, coloring prettily. "In fact, it took me months even to be able to see it appear on my monitor without having to quickly and demurely avert my eyes lest it sully my innocence."

"And now just look at you!" exclaims Elkins. "Standing right out here on the promenade, in front of Stoned!Harry and the 5000 lurkers and everyone! Selling it to the public! Handsawing it to all comers!"

"I—"

"You shameless hussy!"

"But I—"

"Don't start crying. And don't grovel."

"But it's not my fault, Elkins!" wails Eileen. "I only requested that acronym in the first place as a reaction to that horrible B.A.B.E.M.E.I.S.T.E.R., the definition of which escapes me right now, except that the second B. stood for Barty and the S. stood for sexier. The whole thing just frightened me, and I wanted to put it out of my mind!"

"Yessssss," says Elkins uncomfortably, trying to soothe her horse, which seems to have suddenly become unaccountably skittish. "Yes. Erm. Well. To be quite honest with you, Eileen, BABEMEISTER rather frightened me as well. You see, what happened there was that Tabouli overheard me making some comment about being a 'true fan' of young Bartemius, and I fear that she must have thought that I meant it in the—"

An expression of profound distaste crosses Elkins' face.

"In the, er." She coughs. "In the romantic sense."

"And you didn't?"

"No! Of course not! I readily admit that I am partial to frail, brilliant, neurasthenic young blondes, but I generally prefer for them to fall somewhere short of the psychopathic. Edge is one thing. Over The Edge is quite another. I'll take a pass on that BABEMEISTER t-shirt, thank you.

"Althooooooough," she adds, after a moment's thought. "You know, there is one thing that can be said for young Crouch as a fantasy partner..."

"Yes?"

Elkins smiles thinly.

"These days," she says. "He doesn't talk back."

Eileen eyes her doubtfully. "And this is a character you really sympathize with, is it?"

"Well, it's a funny thing, how that works. When you find yourself in strong reader sympathy with a truly wicked character, then it can sometimes be almost reassuring, in a strange sort of way, for him to meet with a very sticky end. It just feels a whole lot safer that way. After all, you know how I feel about allowing love—any of the four loves—to dictate my sense of moral approbation. Liking a character has nothing to do with approving his actions."

"I know that!" exclaims Eileen. "I do know it! And while it's true that I have become quite enamoured of the Tough and Steely Mr. Crouch, I'm not enamoured to the point of blindness. I can still go all Alexandr Solzhenitsyn on him when the situation demands it. I've conceded his iniquities, haven't I? I did so in message #44636."

"You have conceded some of his iniquities," Elkins corrects her. "But you still close your eyes to his true nature. Oh, Eileen. You have not even begun to delve the depths of that man's wickedness. Let me tell you a thing or two about that Bartemius Crouch. He—"

"Well, he could hardly be worse than his son, now, could he?" interrupts Eileen irritably. "And you like his son. So why can't you admit that Crouch Sr. really did have some very noble and redeeming characteristics? Not to mention some Dead Sexy ones? Won't you even try a taste of my CRAB CUSTARD? You know that you'll like it, if only you'll give it a try."

"I will not like it," says Elkins firmly. "It is vile."

"It is not vile. It is conveyed by the text. Look, JKR comes right out and tells us that Crouch was attractive:

Until the very end, he was extremely attentive of his looks, he was a very popular politician, and if you read all his description pieces (when he isn't ready to pop a vein, in which case Rowling reaches for the word "bulging",) he comes across as quite a striking personality. If his eyes aren't "bulging" under the stress of yet another personal tragedy, Rowling's favourite word for them is "sharp."

"You know, it's interesting that you should have brought up those bulging eyes," comments Elkins softly, glancing up at the C.R.A.B.C.U.S.T.A.R.D. banner. "You emphasize them. JKR emphasizes them. The text positively fixates upon them. It interests me very much, that."

"It does? Why?"

Elkins shakes her head. "I'll tell you later," she says quietly. "Go on with your defense."

"Well, I went through _Goblet of Fire_ and catalogued every last reference to Mr. Crouch, and I was very much surprised to discover that most of the code words for Crouch Sr. were rather attractive, contrast to Snape who gets the most hideous code words in the book. I wouldn't be surprised if this was a conscious contrast, indicating beauty is skin deep."

"So you're saying that Crouch Sr. was a spiritually ugly man?" Elkins smiles slightly. "I quite agree."

"What? Where did I—"

"You just said that Rowling contrasts Crouch's physical attractiveness with Snape's unprepossessing appearance in order to emphasize the notion that beauty is only skin deep. So presumably this means that you must recognize that Crouch Sr's attractiveness is merely superficial. That deep down inside, on some ethical or spiritual or psychological level, he is profoundly ugly."

"I...I...well, no, wait..."

"Also that his true allegiance is suspect."

"What?! How did I—"

"Snape is on the surface a Dark Wizard. He was a Death Eater, but he was secretly working against Voldemort. So if you think that JKR is consciously contrasting these two characters, then just what does that imply about your dear Barty?"

"I...I...now, you STOP that! You're twisting my words!"

"I am not twisting them. I am merely parsing them."

"You're twisting them. You're just being difficult!"

"Well," admits Elkins, with a slightly parsed smile. "Obedience has never been one of my particular virtues, Eileen."

"You're being stubborn, is what you're being. You're...you're pulling a Cindy! Refusing to concede the point, even though you know perfectly well that I'm right. You know perfectly well that Crouch Sr. Was Dead Sexy!"

"Even though he had bulging eyes, a straight part and moustache reminiscent of Adolf Hitler, apoplectic tendencies, and beauty which, as if it were not debatable enough already, still only ran skin deep?"

"Well..."

"Even though you yourself have just suggested a literary parallel with Snape that suggests that although ostensibly working for the forces of good, deep down in his heart of hearts, Bartemius Crouch Was Ever So Evil?"

"Finding a character sexy," retorts Eileen hotly. "Has nothing to do with approving his actions, any more than finding him sympathetic does. Why won't you try my CRAB CUSTARD, Elkins? Haven't you read all of my posts? Haven't they swayed you in the slightest? Look! Just look!"

Eileen steps forward, her arms overflowing with the yellowed scrolls of Crouch Apologetics Past.

"He was suave," she says. "A sharp dresser. And brilliant, too -- he spoke over two hundred languages! He had a dry sense of humour, and the ability to remain calm in even the most bizarre circumstances. He was a terrific actor, just like his son. He was exceptionally charismatic. People paid attention to him when he spoke. He had true power of command. And on top of all of that, he reminds me of King Lear!"

"You found King Lear Dead Sexy?" Elkins stares at her. "Eileen, that is just so Bent!"

"He's a proud and seemingly invulnerable man we later come to realize is in fact deeply wounded. We see him suffering both nobly and terribly. That means that he partakes of Hurt-Comfort!"

"Not to mention Comfort-Hurt," comments Cindy, who has stopped by to watch with a bemused expression on her face.

"Would you stop that!" cries Eileen. "There is no such thing as Comfort-Hurt!"

"Sure there is." Cindy turns to Elkins. "You see, Elkins," she explains earnestly. "Eileen here takes comfort in the knowledge that Crouch Sr. would not balk at hurting her."

"Slander!" screams Eileen. "How dare you insinuate such a thing? And besides, there is no such thing as... Elkins, tell her, will you? Tell her there's no such thing as Comfort-Hurt!"

"Don't be silly, Eileen," replies Elkins, choking back snickers. "Of course there's such a thing as...uh, what Cindy has chosen to refer to as 'Comfort-Hurt.' What else do you think makes Mrs. Lestrange so Dead Sexy? Or Lucius Malfoy, for that matter?"

"Just admit it, Eileen," says Cindy. "It's those jack-boots you like so much."

"You said as much yourself," Elkins points out. "In message #40543. Remember? You said, 'Elkins, SYCOPHANTS were made to worship Tough people.' You even said it in 'an impassioned, and curiously trembling voice,' as I seem to recall."

"'Impassioned and curiously trembling,'" Cindy repeats.

"I...I...well, all right then! All right! Fine! So maybe there is some appeal there. I'm a SYCOPHANT, aren't I? And we SYCOPHANTS really were made to worship Tough people, you know. It's in our contract and everything. Our knees go weak in the face of the Tough and the Steely!"

"Eileen!" laughs Elkins. "Please!"

"Well, they do. Aren't you supposed to be a SYCOPHANT, Elkins? Surely you like those jack-boots too, don't you? You were the one who first started slobbering all over the Dead Sexy Mrs. Lestrange, after all. So why won't you try just a taste of my CRAB CUSTARD? You loved the man's son. I assume that was at least in part because of your appreciation for his brilliance. His brilliance and his manipulative talents. Well, what about his poor father's brilliance? What about his poor father's manipulative talents? Just where do you think Barty Jr. got that from anyway? That was Point Seven of my original CRAB CUSTARD manifesto, see?"

7. Barty Jr. inherited his talent for acting from his father.

"You think that's where he learned those talents? From his father? Huh." Elkins leans back in her saddle. "Huh," she says again. "Well. I guess that is an interesting question. Where did young Crouch learn to manipulate people so well? To hone unerringly in on others' weaknesses? To exploit their vulnerabilities? To get other people to do precisely what he wanted?" She raises an eyebrow. "You think he learned all that from his father, Eileen?"

Eileen narrows her eyes. "You do know," she says, "that I don't LIKE Mrs. Crouch?"

"Like her or loathe her," Elkins says cheerfully, "you can't deny that she was formidable."

"Formidable?" Cindy looks disgusted. "Oh, please, Elkins. She was wispy. She rocks, she snivels, she faints. She wastes away. She doesn't even get a single line of dialogue. She's not Tough. She's a SYCOPHANT. She's Weak."

"Weak? You think that Mrs. Crouch was Weak? Oh, no." Elkins shakes her head. "Oh, no, no, no. No, I really don't think so. She walked of her own free will into Azkaban, where she knew that she was going to die. In misery, reliving the worst memories of her life, cut off from everyone she loved, utterly alone. She did this of her own free will. And then, on her death bed, in a milieu in which people lose their sanity, in which people forget even who they are, she still managed to take her Polyjuice Potion, every hour on the hour, right up until her death. Mrs. Crouch wasn't a SYCOPHANT, Cindy. Mrs. Crouch was Tough. Mrs. Crouch could have kicked Imperius around the block. Mrs. Crouch made her husband look like a piker! Mrs. Crouch was made of pure steel! And as for that fainting spell..."

"Yes?"

"Well, does it really seem in keeping with what we later learn the woman was capable of? Is someone who can keep on sipping at her Polyjuice Potion even while surrounded by Dementors and on the brink of death really the sort of woman who swoons in a courtroom, do you think? And honestly, now, didn't that fainting spell seem just a little bit too well-timed to you?"

"Dramatic license," suggests Eileen.

"Yes, but whose? JKR's, or Mrs. Crouch's? You know, I have a confession to make here," says Elkins, lowering her voice and glancing nervously up at the Safe House looming above the Bay on the far headland. "I was seriously tempted by Pip's Ever So Evil Mrs. Crouch."

"I thought that Flying Hedgehog made you blanche!"

"Well, she does. That's part of why I like her so much. Especially if you combine her with a Conflicted-In-Her-Loyalties!Winky. Put together, those two make for quite a devestatingly compelling little speculation. But in the end, I'm afraid that I just can't quite make myself believe in them. I do think that Mrs. Crouch was putting on an act there in the Penseive, though. I'm not quite up for Death Eating Mrs. Crouch, but I'd say that her son took after her in a lot more ways than just physical frailty."

"He didn't get her strength of resolve, though," points out Eileen.

"No. He didn't get her strength of resolve. Either of his parents' strengths of resolve, really. But then, you know, when you have someone who is an only child, a talented only child, an only child of a wealthy family, whose parents are both immensely devoted to each other, both highly invested in their child's performance, and who are both made of pure steel?"

Both Elkins and her hobby horse shudder violently. She reaches down to stroke the horse on the neck.

"It's often difficult for people with that sort of upbringing to develop any normal sense of self-assertion," she says quietly. "Or of independence. Or of individuation. Or even of identity, really. I think that the fact that Crouch Jr's parents were both so strong-willed probably had a lot to do with his dissociative tendencies. That's a family dynamic that often encourages a child to engage in some rather...indirect modes of expression."

Eileen frowns. "Indirect?"

"Indirect. Circuitous. Multiplicitous. Sly, sidelong, allusive. Kaleidoscopic. One might even say schizopathic. Somewhat schizophrenic modes of expression, Eileen. Double-edged statements. Hidden meanings. Concretized metaphor. And the tendency..."

Elkins' voice trails off. She glances out over the Bay, taking in the diverse vessels, the flying flags, all of the landmarks: the Canon Museum, the Canon College, the Weather Station, the Safe House. St. Mungos. The Garden of Good and Evil. She shivers convulsively and shuts her eyes.

"The tendency to get caught up in fantasy," she whispers. "To allow oneself to become subsumed. Subsumed into other people's desires. Subsumed into other people's personae."

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. "Yes," she says briskly. "Yes, well. We were talking about the text here, were we not? And I do think that the text implies that Mrs. Crouch was not precisely what she appeared to be in that Pensieve scene. I'd say that young Crouch probably learned more than a little about manipulation right at his mother's knees."

"Well, maybe," says Eileen. "Maybe. But Mr. Crouch was a master manipulator as well. Just

watch how he manipulates Diggory in "The Dark Mark": down to the point where he allows Diggory to question Winky superficially, and keeps completely out of it to look objective, and then blocks Diggory from actually finding out anything."

"Why, yes." Elkins smiles appreciatively. "Yes, he was manipulative there, wasn't he?"

"And I know how much you like that sort of thing, Elkins. Everybody does. Everyone knows that you adore manipulators. So why don't you like canny old Crouch, eh? He's younger than Harry thinks he is, you know. He's described as 'elderly' when Harry first sees him, but that's just Harry's misapprehension. He's not really that old at all, especially by wizarding standards. When we see him in the Pensieve, it becomes clear that he's been aged beyond his years.

He had grey hair in GoF, for sure, but a kid like Bartemius Jr. would give anyone grey hair."

"Oh!" Elkins laughs hollowly. "Oh, ho, ho. Oh, Eileen! Eileen. My dear! I assure you." She bares her teeth unpleasantly. "Having parents like the Crouches can leave you with more than your fair share of grey hair as well. You really want to trust me on this point.

"But," she adds, after a short silence. "That is a matter for my therapist. And besides, just what is so unsexy about prematurely grey hair anyway? Grey hair is perfectly sexy in its own right!"

There is a long silence, punctuated only by the sound of crickets chirping off in the distance.

"Well, it is!" Elkins turns away, shaking her head. "Everyone thinks it's sexy when Lupin's got it," she mutters.

"Well, all right, then," says Eileen soothingly. "All right. If it isn't the hair, then what is it? Why must you be so stubborn about this? You know that you'll like my CRAB CUSTARD, if only you'll give it a try."

Elkins shakes her head firmly from side to side.

"Oh, come on," wheedles Eileen, advancing on the horse, paper cup in one hand, spoon in the other. "It's good. Just try some, won't you? Just a bite? Just one—"

"Eileen!" Elkins says sharply, trying to control her horse, which has begun to back away skittishly.

"Suave, brilliant, manipulative, ruthless, jack-booted, partakes of hurt-comfort..."

"EILEEN!" Elkins screams, sawing at the reins of her bucking, wheeling hobby horse.

Eileen hesitates, puzzled, her spoon half-raised.

"Eileen," gasps Elkins, clinging to the neck of her horse for dear life. "Eileen. You, uh, remember back when Tabouli coined that acronym for me? B.A.B.E.M.E.I.S.T.E.R? When she misunderstood the nature of my feelings for young Crouch? When she thought that it was a matter of romantic attraction? You remember that?"

"Yes?"

"Well, it wasn't. Okay? It wasn't a case of romantic attraction at all. It was a case of reader identification."

"So? I—"

"Strong reader identification, Eileen. Reader identification based on strong autobiographical congruence. Okay?"

"I..." Eileen blinks. "Oh."

"There's more than one alternative answer to the Third Task sphinx's riddle," says Elkins, now gone even paler than the horse she rides. "And one of them has strong mythic precedent. So can you please stop asking me to taste that custard of yours? Please? Because you know, if I were to do that? I mean, if I were even to think about it? If I were to so much as contemplate putting that stuff anywhere near my mouth? Even for a second?" She laughs uneasily. "Um," she says. "Well. That really would become a matter for my therapist."

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Cindy snorts. "You feel a strong sense of reader identification with a mad, sadistic, parricidal Death Eater, Elkins! And now you're...what? Balking at a tiny bit of incest taboo?"

"As it happens, yes. I'm not that Bent. Not yet, at any rate." Elkins clutches her horse's neck, and looks at Eileen with large and frightened eyes. "I can't concede that he's Dead Sexy, Eileen," she says. "Please don't make me."

Eileen frowns. "You do realize, don't you," she says in a tight little voice, "that I have never before won an argument with you? I mean, not ever? Not once? And now that I finally have, you have the...the...the...the...the unmitigated gall to ask me not to make you so much as concede the point?"

"But I'll be sick if I try to swallow that stuff," whines Elkins pleadingly. "I just know that I will. I'll never be able to keep it down. Please don't make me, Eileen. Please don't. Please?"

Eileen exhales hard. "Well, will you at least concede that the text marks him as Dead Sexy?"

"I will concede," Elkins says tentatively. "That the text does encourage us to read him as charismatic..."

Eileen crosses her arms over her chest and scowls.

"And," Elkins stammers. "And that it doesn't rule out a reading of Crouch as...well, as, you know, as attractive. In a way. If you...you know. If you like that sort of thing."

Eileen raises one eyebrow.

"And, uh, that it does so," continues Elkins. "Not only in all of the ways that you have already mentioned, but also by its repeated allocation of sexualized subplots to Crouch."

"Yes?" says Eileen coldly. "Elaborate."

"Eileen, please, I—"

"Elaborate."

Elkins looks into Eileen's uncharacteristically Tough and Steely gaze, then quickly looks away.

"Well, all right," she says faintly. "For starters, there's Winky. The text clearly marks Winky as Crouch's wife. Crouch confides his workplace troubles to her. He allows her to intercede with him on behalf of his son. She plays the maternal intercessionary role, mitigating the harshness of his paternal discipline. She throws the memory of his dead wife against him. Ron says that she seems to love him. And her anguish at having been released from his service is repeatedly emphasized as abnormal. It isn't the usual reaction of a rejected House Elf. It's different. It's excessive. It's personal."

"Yes? Go on."

"Well, whether one believes that Crouch was actually sharing his bed with his elf, or that as you've suggested, it is a literary parallel designed to equate Winky with Mrs. Crouch, or that as Pippin has suggested, it is a parallel designed to equate the plight of the House Elves in general with those of housewives...well, I mean, no matter which approach you choose to take with this, there's just no getting around the fact that there's a sexualized subtext, is there? It's embedded in the text."

Eileen nods. "What else?"

"Wasn't that enough?" whispers Elkins.

"You said sexualized subplots, Elkins. SubplotS. Plural."

"Well...oh, all right. There's also Percy."

"Percy?"

"Yes. There's more than a touch of homoerotic insinuation to all of those teasing comments that Ron and the Twins are always making about Percy's idolization of Crouch. They all but accuse him of being Crouch's catamite, don't they? Or at least of wanting very badly to be. The tenor of the teasing does seem to imply a certain shared (if unspoken) recognition of the man's more charismatic qualities. If Crouch were repulsive, then Percy's brothers would still probably be teasing him about wanting to marry him, but the nature of the teasing would be a little different. It would have a slightly different edge to it. A different slant."

"Yes. And so?"

"Please don't make me say this, Eileen."

"And so?"

"And." Elkins takes a deep shaky breath. "And," she says, "and, well, and, and so Crouch really does seem to be getting a number of...well, of somewhat sexually-inflected subplots attached to him, doesn't he, while other characters who occupy similar roles in the text are not. Ludo Bagman doesn't have any particularly sexualized undercurrents attached to him that I've ever noticed, and neither does Cornelius Fudge. Crouch is a sexualized character in a way that other characters who perform similar functions to his in the text are not. Which does seem to indicate..."

Elkins begins to gag helplessly. She swallows hard and presses her head against her horse's neck.

"Which does seem to indicate," she gasps, eyes tearing. "That the text does at least facilitate a reading of his character as...as..."

"As Dead Sexy?"

"Well, as a sexual being, at any rate."

"As Dead Sexy."

"Possibly as possessed of a certain magnetism."

"In other words, as Dead Sexy."

"Well—"

"As Dead Sexy."

"ALL RIGHT!" Elkins screams. "All right! As Dead Sexy. IF you happen to like that sort of thing. Which I myself absolutely do NOT! Okay? Enough? Does that SATISFY you, Eileen? Are you HAPPY now?"

Eileen considers the question for a moment, then smiles.

"Yes," she says.

**************

Elkins
(who far prefers Arthur Weasley)

(continued in part two)

*******************************************

REFERENCES:

Opening TBAY scenario: HPfGU #43326

Eileen's original CRAB CUSTARD manifesto: HPfGU #37476

Crouch: HPfGU #45693, #45402, #44636, #40543, #43010 and downthread responses.

Acronyms: HPfGU #35630, #37498

Ever So Evil Mrs. Crouch: HPfGU #39573

ESE Winky: HPfGU #39102

Hurt-Comfort: HPfGU #39083 and downthread responses.

Comfort-Hurt: HPfGU #43373 and downthread responses.