Disclaimer: Everyone and everything in this story belongs to Joanne Rowling, the brilliant author of Harry Potter.
The man stood at the edge of the forest, hidden by the shadows, smiling to himself as he surveyed the children ride up in the horseless carriages. The wind howled as it swept over the land and the sheets of rain were almost horizontal, but the man didn't care. He simply stood as the children climbed out of the carriages into the gale, shielding their faces and struggling against the wind toward the castle.
"Those poor children." The man mock-sighed. "They don't know what they're in for."
The trees behind him creaked in protest of the wind as they were thrashed about mercilessly. Leaves were torn off of them and scattered across the field. The man, however, wasn't annoyed. In fact, he was barely affected at all. His eyes flashed as he saw the back of an older, short boy climbing up the steps to the castle through the mini waterfall that was cascading down them. The boy's coal-black hair was flattened on his head. A thin, pale hand protruded from the billowing robe sleeve. It was him. Harry Potter. The boy who was foolish enough to anger his master, foolish enough to dare to challenge him. The boy who just wouldn't die! The man wiped his sandy hair out of his eyes. Then again, he himself wouldn't die, either. Twice he was thought to be dead. Twice he survived. The man laughed softly to himself. He and Potter had something in common? That was a new thought.
He heard something glide up behind him. He felt a chill go down his spine. He turned and faced the darkness behind him as he welcomed the evil that had just arrived. A Dementor glided out of the darkness, also oblivious to the raging storm. It turned its hooded head towards the man as it took a slow, rattling breath that the man could hear even over the wind. The picture of the man's master flashed before his eyes. That was how the Dementors communicated. They sent picture clips. The man nodded shortly and quickly walked deeper into the forest. Massive tree trunks groaned all around him. The man walked for about an hour before he came to the edge of a clearing. His hand slid into his pocket and he pulled out a mask. Slipping the mask on, he pulled his hood over his head.
"What did you see?" asked a cruel, high voice.
The man made it to the center of the clearing in two strides and gracefully bowed at the feet of a tall, hooded figure.
"The students have arrived, my lord. They have just entered the school for the feast." He murmured, not raising his eyes.
"Perfect."
A rustling made the man look up. A balding man who looked rather pale edged into the clearing. A silver hand reflected the dull light. The Death Eater rolled his eyes at the pathetic figure. It was that rat.
"Wormtail." said the Dark Lord softly, amused. "What have I told you about coming in my presence when I am busy?"
The balding man began to shake uncontrollably. "I'm s-s-sorry m-my lord, but – "
"CRUCIO!"
The slimy rat's screams echoed around the forest. The Dark Lord turned to the man.
"Get in your disguise and go." He said carelessly.
"Yes, my lord." The man said and swept out of the clearing. As he was walking through the forest he pulled out a flask from his pocket. Not breathing through his nose so he wouldn't have to smell it, the man sipped from it. Still walking, the man felt his body change. His legs became thinner, along with his waist. He felt his hair growing. He was ready. He pulled out a hairbrush and rubber band and pulled it back in a tight bun. As his vision began to go blurry he pulled out glasses. As he passed a dark swamp he surveyed himself and smiled. The face of Minerva McGonagall smiled back. No one would know. Everyone would think he was her. Minerva McGonagall was gone, or at least her soul was. Dumbledore had been so nieve. He didn't really think that Veritaserum would make him lose his common sense, did he? The moment the old fool had left he had knocked her out, taken some unused Polyjuice Potion and switched places. Then when good old Fudge, an old friend and Death Eater, showed up, I told him everything, and he smiled and told his Dementor to attack McGonagall. That was the end of that witch.
The man squared his shoulders and lifted his head as he walked toward the castle. When he arrived he was greeted by the fool himself, Dumbledore.
"Where were you?" Dumbledore whispered.
"Sorry. I felt a bit sick. I'm okay now, though." Lying came smoothly and easily to him.
"I'm glad you made it."
"So am I." Said Barty Crouch, smiling through McGonagall's face. "So am I."