Chapter One

Snake Bites

All was well. All was well. All was well.

He had to repeat it over and over to keep himself calm.

All was well, all was well, all was well.

His scar had not hurt him since Tom Riddle's death. It was not hurting him now. What was happening was likely just a random, uncoordinated, and desperate act to keep Tom Riddle's memory alive. He really hoped that was the case until he stood outside King's Cross station. And there, a big horrific beacon in the sky, was the dark mark of Lord Voldemort. Harry released a gasp of difficult breath. It meant nothing. Like he and many other Aurors were saying: it was just a random occurrence from a dead regime.

However, as Harry James Potter stared at the pulsating snake that twisted into the skull's mouth he couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't. Five years of capturing Death Eaters. Five years and followers of his were still cropping up every so often, not quite believing their master was dead even though many had be forced to see his dead body.

Muggles thought it was just a fireworks display and marvelled at it, children frantically pointing at the big skull to get their parents' attention. If only they knew the darkness behind it. Harry Potter hadn't been scared in five years; now he was willing to admit he was terrified.

Aurors came, as did other ministry members, whom attempted to obliviate any muggles who seem too interested in the dark mark. It was Harry's job to rid the sky of the malicious symbol. When one of the other aurors gave him a nod, Harry sent a spark of white light which dissolved the mark instantly from the night sky. Stars twinkled. The world was safe again. Still, an underlying tension circled in Harry's head...something familiar nagged his brain.

When the work was done and the paperwork that came with it, Harry left the Ministry of Magic and travelled by Floo back to Grimmauld Place. The dark and dank building had transformed, partially, into a more welcoming home thanks to Ginny's magic. Figuratively, of course. He relaxed slightly when Ginny engulfed him in a hug. All was well when Ginny was close and safe. They were silent for a while, just embracing, until Ginny reluctantly pulled away to give him a worried look.

"Ron told me," she said monotonously, "he's in the kitchen with Hermione."

Harry's eyes widened. That was a shock. "In the same room? Together?"

Ginny smiled grimly. "They're being civil, well, what they consider civil. It's their worry for you that's keeping them like that." Her face dropped. "I'm worried for you too."

Harry brushed her cheek gently, the little freckles prominent even in the dim light. He found it hard to believe three years of marriage had already zoomed by so fast, the wedding day fresh in his memory like it was yesterday. That's what he told himself at least every time he forgot their anniversary. "Tom's gone and he's not coming back. My scar isn't hurting. We're safe," he persisted warmly.

Ginny simply cocked her eyebrow, something she had inherited from her mother. Molly was likely relieved that her only daughter had the ability to keep the boys in line when she wasn't around. Thankfully Ginny persist the matter and Harry strolled into a tense-filled kitchen. It wasn't just Hermione and Ron arguing that made his shoulders sag. Kreacher was still here, still muttering his insults and comments whenever anyone was in earshot, still causing Harry's skin to burn. He had already tried to rid himself of Kreacher, so much so he had thrown a sock at the elderly house elf, but Kreacher didn't know anything outside of enslavement.

And it was Kreacher now who was cowering out of Harry's way as soon as he entered the kitchen to find Ron's face bright red and Hermione intentionally looking the opposite way of the two. Her face did brighten at Harry's entrance and ran around the table to give him a hug.

"Harry it's so good to see you! How long has it been?"

"A year, maybe a little less," Harry replied. It had felt longer, anyway.

"I am sorry about that, but the Ministry always has me going over to America to sort out the alliance between the two. It's always being nearly broken off my so many ridiculous things."

"It's alright, you're doing what you love," Harry said and smiled amicably. He could feel Ron's jealous eyes from the corner of his own so he turned his attention to his other best friend. Seeing Ron, goofy lion-hearted Ronald Weasley, couldn't make him smile brighter. "Hey Ron."

"Hiya Harry," he said in that familiar friendly tone of his. But then his joyousness faltered. "Kreacher, here, was calling Hermione a mudblood again."

Harry scowled at the house elf. How Ginny had convinced him to put up with Kreacher he would never know but the house elf always found a way to test his promise to her. Perhaps, he was doing so on purpose. "Kreacher," he addressed darkly, "don't you ever call Hermione that again. That is your last warning."

Kreacher bowed his head dutifully. "Of course, Master Potter."

"Now go do whatever it is that you do, out of my sight."

"Yes, Master Potter," Kreacher obeyed in a low grumble.

In truth, he despised ordering the house elf like that but Kreacher had become so used to orders that to not order him was somehow an insult. Still, it left a vile taste in his mouth. Ginny squeezed his arm. As much as she hated it too, she knew it was the only way to keep Kreacher in the house.

Harry turned his attention back to his two best friends and soon realising that them being in the same room was a mistake. Hermione was embarrassed enough at Ron's obvious attempt to defend her blood status against Kreacher, but to also tell Harry like a tattletale child had only made it worse.

"Honestly Ronald it doesn't bother me anymore," she sighed sourly.

"He still shouldn't say it! No one should!"

"Hundreds of years of prejudice don't fade away overnight."

"That's exactly what happened to Draco, if you recall," Ginny piped up. The two stopped glaring at each other long enough to turn guiltily to Ginny.

"T-that doesn't count," Ron stuttered, "the prat stopped listening to mummy and daddy just because Harry got up after being dead."

The four of them sat down as Hermione butted in, "Draco threw Harry his wand in front of, not only every Death Eater including his parents, but in front of Voldemort himself. While I can't forget what he said to me growing up at Hogwarts I can at least befriend him for doing the right thing and in doing so practically getting disowned."

Ron snorted, "oh yeah disowned alright. Mummy is always visiting the Burrow whenever Draco is there with Teddy."

"Unlike Lucius, Narcissa actually cares more about her son than she does her status." Harry was surprised he was defending the woman, but then again, how could he not when she had openly lied to Tom and allowed him to stop him once and for all? A mother's love was truly a powerful thing.

"Speaking of ex-Death Eaters." Hermione leaned forward with concern sparkling her eyes. "Harry, the dark mark over King's Cross, are you alright?"

Harry tried to smile, he really did, but his friends knew him better than that. He sighed. "Truthfully, no, but my scar isn't hurting. That's the main thing," Harry insisted.

"Just because your scar doesn't hurt mate, doesn't mean he isn't..." Ron faltered.

"Tom isn't back.". He wasn't. End of discussion. None of the others looked convinced. They were only worsening his already anxious state. "It was a scare tactic, that's all. Come on 'Mione how many dark marks did we see in the first month after the battle of Hogwarts?" Hermione didn't answer him. "Exactly. While yes I'll admit it caught me off guard at first after so long since we've seen any Death Eater activity but it's just a random scare tactic. That's it."

"Harry," Hermione began, "if it was a scare tactic like you said they wouldn't have done it at King's Cross. That was a warning. Hogwarts is where Voldemort was defeated. King's Cross is where every child attending Hogwarts goes. You must see what this is. It doesn't matter if its been five years or five decades someone will always be a loyal follower to him."

Harry refused to believe it. No one would dare attack Hogwarts, nor start an uprising. Tom's followers were too scattered and too few to make any sort of threat. Why couldn't the others see that? Still that horrible feeling at seeing that dark mark again, that particular one, had more than shook him. No. It meant nothing.

"Hermione's right," Ginny said, tenderly entwining her fingers in Harry's on the table.

Harry felt warmth spread through him at the safe touch. He was not going to dive head first into this, he wasn't a child anymore, he had a responsibility to Ginny. To keep her safe. "The best thing we can do is keep our heads, keep calm, and carry on as normal until we have more proof." Harry met all of their eyes in turn and wordlessly telling them the debate was over. He knew what they were thinking. He was spouting out the same rubbish the Ministry had when Tom had returned a second time, if there begun to be disappearances…

"I suppose you're right. There is nothing we can do for now except wait," Hermione agreed, halfheartedly. She stood up and smiled at Ginny and Harry. Ron didn't bother to hide his feeling of betrayal as he grumpily rested his head on the table. "I best be off home, Crookshanks will want feeding."

"Surprised that pig-with-hair hasn't dined on rats while you've been out."

"Oh shut up, Ronald."

The Dark Lord, his Dark Lord, was gone. He had been told so the moment he regained whatever shred of sanity was left inside of him. And that shred of sanity had led him to remind them, remind them all, that the Dark Lord still had loyal servants.

He paced the drawing room of the Riddle House, his tongue flicking out faster the more agitated he became. He felt himself swaying, or the world was swaying, and somehow it managed to ground him despite his mind whispering old commands of his father. Be still. Be silent. Be hidden. For the first time he would heed those vile words.

He needed a plan. He needed to do something. His reason for living was dead. In truth, he should have died alongside his master but the ministry had robbed him of that. His chest filled with ice has he remembered the agony of the Dementor's Kiss. Oh that had very nearly killed him but with the eyes of the traitorous Severus Snape and Fudge watching him he refused to satisfy them. He had not begged for mercy. He had held tightly onto his screams until the dementor was yanking out his soul like Fenrir Greyback had once tore out a wizard's heart. Right before his eyes. That had been one terrifying day he would never forget. He had screamed then, but still, they would not hear him beg.

Barty Crouch Jr hissed and spat and growled wildly as he paced the room. He wanted to hurt something. He had already hurt his own skin numerous times with his long, untidy nails that it made no difference to his mood. He needed to hurt someone else. Anyone. The vicious urge not being present until the Dark Lord had unleashed it, freeing him from the shallow life he had had with his darling mother and father. He had no grudge against his mother, after all she had agreed to take his place in Azkaban and was the only person to show undying love for him. Love, he realised upon meeting the Dark Lord, he hadn't returned. But his father, oh his father, nothing had been quite so sweet than killing him after years of being nothing but thoughts inside a man controlled by the Imperius Curse. Hidden away. Abandoned. Yes, he replayed the moment that luminescent green flash latched itself onto his father's shocked face and freezing it in place when he felt particularly lost in his insanity.

And it was insanity. He knew that. It was a burden he would forever live with, worsened by his soul being thrusted back into his body. That part he didn't recall, nor how it came to be. But he was here and alive and ready to take revenge for his master's demise. That was the only purpose he had. Without his Dark Lord he was nothing but a boy neglected by his father and suffocated by his mother. He refused to be that boy again. That boy was a disgrace, a cancerous whelp that had found salvation in the Dark Lord.

He howled in annoyance. His sweet revenge for his master could only be completed once Harry Potter was dead. Preferably, Barty wanted him to be squirming in pain at his feet first. But yes. Harry Potter needed to die. Of the year Barty had spent with the famous Harry Potter disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, Barty had learnt two things about him:

One, the boy definitely lived up to his name but lacked sheer common sense.

Two, his friends were his everything.

Suddenly, a cruel smile played on his quivering lips. He recalled a certain little witch, a brave little lion with mangled hair that had spat out the Killing Curse to him on his first lesson with the miscreants. Oh, he had singled her out on purpose after the wretch had interrupted his game with the snivelling Longbottom. His thoughts paused as the room spun for a moment. His eyelids drooped for a second, waiting for darkness to take hold of him, but like a flash he was in control again. Yes, the witch had ended his pleasure of being able to torture the child of Frank and Alice Longbottom without so much as touching him...just by screaming for him to stop.

The scream had been a wake up call and a memory all at once. He had been so transfixed on the squirming insect, of Neville's distorted face struggling not to faint, that when the girl's shrill cry rang out he was pulled back to when he had tortured the Longbottoms. Bellatrix, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange had had what they needed from the broken aurors. However, Barty had taken no part in it, only watching hungrily, and when it was done eagerness had poured out of his body. He had wanted a turn. And it was Bellatrix Lestrange that had fed that desire. She told him to have fun. To do it. He hadn't needed anymore persuading. Like a rabid dog released, he had lunged at Frank Longbottom first. Hearing his whimpered and withered screams had been bliss. Finally, he was hearing someone else's pained cries instead of his own. And then, oh then little Alice Longbottom had screamed at him to stop. So he did. So he did it to her instead.

If Barty Crouch Jr was sure of anything, his Cruciatus Curse had been the one to send Frank and Alice Longbottom into insanity.

His tattered mind relished in that memory, before he and the others had been caught and sent to Azkaban. He shuddered. No. His mind was wandering too far away from his objective. He needed to think about the little lion. Granger. If he was to kill Harry Potter than he would do it through her. He could have done it as easily through the Weasley runt, but really, where was the fun in that?

He finally stopped pacing. Barty was quite perturbed at why he had decided to apparate to the Riddle House. It had been the last time he had seen his master, in this very house, and after lighting up King's Cross with his dark mark all his thoughts had drawn him here. No wonder the Dark Lord had killed his muggle father in this house, it was awful and cold and luxurious in a sickening way. He believed very few knew of the Dark Lord's true blood status but it made no real difference, the Dark Lord's power was all the more extraordinary by being a half-blood. He had been trusted with that information. Only he and Pettigrew.

The room spun again. Ice crackled in his chest at the momentary lapse in his control and by the time he regained it blood was dribbling down his chin. He hastened to the dusty mirror above the fireplace and swiped the dust away with a hand. What met him in the reflection was wild, black eyes and greasy dark hair and a chunk ripped out of his bottom lip. He had bitten a chunk of his own lip. With the wand he had stolen from a drunken wizard stumbling out of the Leaky Cauldron, Barty muttered a few words and slowly the chunk began to rise like yeasted bread until his dry lips were whole again. He lapped up his own blood, the copper tase keeping his mind in the present. He couldn't afford to relapse this regularly.

He decided it then. While he saw the crazed, yet determined man in the mirror, Barty decided he would indeed go after Granger. The little lion would be hard to break and her smart little brain would know to shield herself against the Imperius Curse and Legilimency alike. No matter. Barty prided himself in being a skilled Legilimens and would be able to read her thoughts with ease as soon as she met his eyes. If he intimidated her enough, he could break down those barriers of hers. The thought made him tremble with sadistic pleasure.

And as he looked around the dismal room, Barty realised he had the perfect place to put her.

Once I had the idea I couldn't stop myself from writing it, especially after reading so many Barty Crouch Jr fanfics last night. Not sure when I'll update this but I will attempt to.

Also, I haven't decided if this will be a BartyxHermione fanfic yet or not...we'll see in the future.