I am the Seeker for Puddlemere United in Season Four of The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition and this is my entry for Round 1.

Prompt: Write about your chosen Death Eater (Bartemius Crouch Jr) visiting or being visited by someone.

Word count without A/N: 983

Bartemius Crouch Junior was reading - studying might be a better wording - in his room. He barely did anything else ever since his mother - his foolish mother - had switched places with him to get him out of Azkaban.

Even now, thirteen years later, a part of him still resented her for it.

He had not felt sorry for torturing those blood traitors.

He had proved his loyalty to the Dark Lord in the most effective way possible, and she had dragged him out of it.

How was he to plan for the return of their Lord with the others?

How would the Dark Lord know he wasn't a coward like Karkaroff and Snape and Malfoy when he returned?

How would he, imperiused as he was, join the Dark Lord again?

And wasn't it ironic that his father - his father, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at that time and in the run to be the next Minister of Magic - helped with his unwilling escape and now frequently used one of the three so-called Unforgivables to keep him from using his freedom to look for his Master?

During the Quidditch World Cup he finally managed to break free and used a wand he stole - and, bless Morgana, it was the Potter boy's wand - to conjure his sign, the Dark Mark, so that it would be like the old times. The members of their noble cause, united under his sign.

Unfortunately, it did not work as he hoped. The others had fled at the sight of the sign of their Master, bunch of disloyal fools they were, and he had been caught, thanks to that stupid elf, his father, the Potter boy and his friends. Caught before he could flee, to find the Dark Lord, to help the other loyal Death Eaters escape so they could look for him together; all thanks to blood traitors, a mudblood, and their slave.

It was truly pathetic.

Bartemius sat up when he heard someone entering forcefully. A minute later his father screamed in pain (and oh! How he loved the sound of these screams).

Could it be that someone finally found him? That there was another member of their noble cause downstairs, intent on freeing him?

Oh! How he wanted to look, but the curse kept him upstairs.

Bartemius fought as hard as he possibly could and he won. It took some time though, so when he was finally able to go downstairs he was greeted by Peter Pettigrew, who held a bundle that spoke with a raspy voice.

"It seems dear Bertha Jonkins was right. You are indeed alive and free. That only leaves the question of your loyalty."

Was that...? Impossible.

"My Lord? Is that you?"

"Indeed."

Bartemius fell on his knees, next to his stunned father, and started to ramble about his joy that the Dark Lord found him; about his loyalty; about his disgust at those who lied to stay free; and about his plans and how his fool of a father stopped him.

Eventually, his Master held up his hand.

"Rise," he ordered.

Naturally, Bartemius obeyed.

"I am pleased to find that not all of my loyal followers are in Azkaban and that I do not have to rely on Wormtail alone."

"Milord? I'm afraid I do not understand," Bartemius asked for clarification, unfamiliar with the name.

"A name given to Peter here by his former friends. I believe it fits him quite well, better than Peter even. Don't you think so?"

Bartemius looked at the shivering man: lacking a finger as well as proper hygiene, and having unkempt hair and long, dirty fingernails. Neither name displayed strength or power, and the man quite obviously possessed neither. The lack of the latter showed his submissive nature, in Bartemius' opinion at the very least, and it seemed like his Lord agreed with him.

"You are right of course, my Lord."

"Indeed. As you can see, I am reduced to merely a fraction of myself. Consequently, our next goal will be for me to return to a body worthy of my inhabitance. I am not sure quite how yet, as I refuse to possess anyone below my standards again."

Even though Bartemius was confused by the statement, he did not question it. One should never question the Dark Lord; he would give them all the pertinent information.

Bartemius had always been exceptional at potions, even though both Severus and that mudblood Evans surpassed him by far, so it was no surprise that he remembered the one potion that would be useful.

"My Lord, may I propose something?"

Bartemius noticed the horror in his father's eyes. Had the man never guessed his status? Never wondered why he went with the Lestranges? They would not simply take anyone with them; they needed someone who proved their loyalty, who they knew would not mess up or back out, preferably someone from the Inner Cycle. And they had found that someone in Bartemius.

"You may."

"There is a potion, the Regeneration potion I believe, that would provide the needed services."

Bartemius quickly got the book he needed - he had to be sure he was not giving false information to his Master after all - and described the procedure and the ingredients, careful to mention every detail.

"You have done well, Bartemius," his Lord complimented when he was finished. "I already know how we will use that to our advantage. You heard that the Triwizard Tournament will take place at Hogwarts this year? I am sure we can get Potter's blood that way. If we do it right, we might even be able to replace him."

One month of careful planning later, Bartemius and Wormtail captured Moody and Bartemius took some Polyjuice with the man's hair in it.

His father was imperiused and worked in his office, as if everything were normal - as if Bartemius had never been visited.