DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter
Master
Barty sat in a small nest of straw in his prison cell. He was gently rocking back and forth, grabbing handfuls of hair, eyes widening in fear and muttering to himself. Suddenly, he stopped and looked about him at his surroundings in mild surprise before starting again. There was only one explanation. The Dementor's of Azkaban prison had already started to take their toll on his mind.
It was late evening (although no one could be sure, as the Dementor's chill had sucked the stars from the sky) and a small bowl of food had just been pushed through the bars of Barty's cell door. He fell on the food immediately, lest anyone come and steal it back. As soon as he had shoved every last crumb of stale bread down his throat and licked every last morsel of porridge from the bowl, he stood up, letting the bowl crash to the floor. He settled himself back into his nest and thought.
It was at meal times that Barty was most like himself. Eating was a normal, everyday habit that reminded him of home and his former life, letting his mind return almost to normal, to being a human again, not having to visit that other place he went to when the Dementor's glided past his door.
His father had been devastated when he found out that his only son and heir was a Death Eater. Barty would never forget the look on his fathers face when he had sentenced him to life in prison. It filled him with a kind of savage joy when his fathers face swam before his eyes. No matter how he may pretend otherwise, he was glad to have been of service to the Dark Lord when he had accompanied the Lestrange's in torturing the Longbottom's.
It was a quarter to midnight in the last week of August and Barty was sat in a chair in his bedroom, staring at the wall opposite, covered in the invisibility cloak his father insisted he wear at all times. He was under the Imperius Curse and the only thoughts he had were of how peaceful his life was right now, not a care in the world.
Suddenly, a voice spoke up in the back of his mind, Why aren't you fighting this?
He spoke aloud when he asnwered the voice, "Because it's so peaceful this way, it's easy." His expression was vacant and his words were slightly slurred from fatigue.
So you're just going to give up and let him win? You're not going to find your Master and offer your services once more?
He suddenly became panicky. "I can't! I don't know where he is. He'll kill me if he finds out I'm alive and haven't found him yet!"
Then fight it! Fight your father, you don't need to stay hidden if the Dark Lord rises once more!
There was a knock at the front door, interrupting Barty's argument with himself. He heard his father call for Winky, then swear as he remembered that they no longer had a house elf at their beck and call. Footsteps could be heard down the hall as his father went to the door.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"That's not very nice, Mister! Where are your manners? Imperio!"
Hang on! I know that voice. A small watery-eyed man came to mind when he heard the unknown man below speak. But that's impossible! He's dead, isn't he?
His question was answered as soon as the door of his bedroom opened and his mind became clear for the first time in weeks, revealing the man that he had pictured when he had heard the voice.
"Wormtail? What are you doing here?"
"The - the Dark Lord has need of you, Crouch," Wormtail replied, looking at his feet.
"But…you're dead. Your old friend Black killed you in front of witnesses."
"I framed him," he said shortly, "I handed the P-Potter's over, as you already know, then, when Black came after me, I transformed and ran to the sewers, blowing up half the street and killing those Muggle's in the process."
Barty stood staring open mouthed at the small man before him. He would never have believed it possible of this man to be clever enough to come up with something like that.
"St - stop looking at me like that! The Dark Lord is waiting for you downstairs in the -"
Barty pushed past Wormtail, knocking him backwards into the wall. He ran the length of the hallway and down the stairs, jumping the last six steps. He straightened up and turn the handle of the door to the living room. There, in an armchair by the blazing fire, was a child-sized being: a thin, lipless mouth, with red eyes and slits for nostrils. Lord Voldemort. In his house! It was a dream come true.
He fell to his knees and kissed the hem of his masters too-long robes and exclaimed, "Master!"
A/N: Could I have a review please?