I don't own anything
For the I'm about to die challenge
Barty Crouch Jnr
Regret.
I have no regret for death.
I managed to complete the mission the Dark Lord gave to me. I managed to get Harry Potter through the Triwizard Tournament without permanent injury and I got him to the graveyard tonight without qualm. The only slight issue I faced was when his Gryffindor chivalry – what else – caused him to insist on taking the Portkey with Diggory, but the Dark Lord sorted that well enough.
I have been caught by Dumbledore and his idiotic sidekicks, one of whom is a traitor to my Lord. He dares to wear the mark of being part of the greatest group known to mankind, the ones who will rid this world of the scum who should not walk upon the ground rich for growing an army of new fighters, ones who can continue to keep this world pure.
They got the truth from me but I knew nothing more than what I needed to know; the Dark Lord knew, although I am one of his most trusted servants, I could not know more than the basic mechanics of this plan – or rather the plan for the future – because there was such a strong chance that this would happen.
Potter and Dumbledore, along with the turncoat Snape, have gone and left me with McGonagall. I remember when she taught me: she was as loyal to Dumbledore then as she is now.
She aches to kill me; I can sense it in the way she holds her wand, the way she points it so absolutely in my direction. The hardened fury in her face is entirely obvious and I want to taunt her to kill me… it would help, however, if she had not cast a silencing charm on me as soon as I began to speak earlier so that I could not do such a thing.
I hear the door opening and fight to get free, just to realise it's the weakling Fudge who had to bring a Dementor with him to feel safe.
"Crouch?" he says my name almost uncertainly, unsure as to who I am evidently. "Is he dumb? Does he not possess the capability to speak?" he continues until McGonagall responds curtly.
"He was vulgar earlier so I silenced him; I can remove it instantaneously if you so request," she says, flicking her wand and releasing my throat to allow me to speak.
"Well, well, if it isn't Mr Fudge, the weakest Minister since time began," I snap at him, a smile playing on my lips.
"It-it is you," he confirms, evidently horrified by this fact.
"Yes, must we run through this again?" I ask, my tone entirely sarcastic. What does he expect for asking a stupid question?
I tune them out for a moment as I contemplate the Dark Lord. He knows that I did the job to the best of my ability; after all, he is back. that was the desired goal and we accomplished it.
"Dumbledore said for him to be taken back and to be placed on trial," McGonagall argues back, amazingly arguing pro my life! Ahh yes, it is because her 'lover' Dumbledore asked her to argue this point; it isn't what she truly believes.
Fudge argues back but then decides to take his Ministerial powers to the max and order the Dementor to attack me without warning. As it nears me, it lowers its hood and I, in my last sane moments, get a glimpse of its face. it looks like death warmed up, if I'm frank, and utterly disgusting.
Its scaly lips press onto mine and I feel myself being drawn out of my body without a chance of redemption. But I don't care.
I may be becoming soulless, becoming part of the Dementor, but I have no regrets.
I helped to bring back the Dark Lord from the dead.
And that is all that matters.
One of the hardest things I have ever written, the monologue of a psychopath before they die.
Still, please review
Vicky xx