Written For:
The Houses Competition Round 6, Year 1, Drabble, Gryffindor, Professor Alastor Moody/Barty Crouch Jr.
Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments, Assignment 6, Gryffindor, Media Studies Task 8 - Write about a serial killer.
Word Count: 368
CONSTANT VIGILANCE!
The echoes of his own screams ringing in his ears, Barty Crouch Jr. took a drink. Alastor Moody's hip flask was a smooth silver, with tiny engravings just under the clasp. Engravings so subtle that Alastor could drink without fear of his flask being swapped.
Engravings that gave Alastor safety, and with it power.
Power.
Barty stroked those engravings, and felt that power. For the Auror's precious vigilance, Alastor was his.
It was late at night, and the Marauders Map showed deserted hallways. Foe-Glasses reflected the lamplight, illuminating Barty's trunk.
Power. Vigilance. The Trunk.
Leading a double life was familiar to Barty. It was all he had ever known. He had been born three times.
The first, to a disappointing and worthless father.
Light from the foe glass shone across the desk, a small blade glistening from the shadows. Barty ran his hands across it.
Power. Vigilance. The Blade.
Someday, he'd sink that blade into the neck of that father.
He'd killed so many already - he thought of the students, so pathetically ready to let him Imperius them, like little spiders, just ready for him to crush their skulls.
He'd killed so many with wands. But with his father, he'd do it the Muggle way.
Power. Vigilance. Death.
His true birth had been at the hands of his Master. Under a cruel hand, a hand that had tortured and broken and built him up again, hardened him into what he was.
A killer. Maybe, in that way, much like his father.
But so, oh, so much more.
Power. Death. More.
His father had torn that life from him, confined him to a hell of submission and despair and control.
Barty unclasped his trunk, safe in the knowledge he was alone. His doppelganger stared back, eyes vacant. This man, so like and unlike his parent, had given him this Third Life.
I will honor that sacrifice.
And so he did. He stroked the blade along Alastor's cheek, smiling as the line of red began to grow.
But, wish as he might, this man was not his father. His true enemy was far beyond the castle walls.
And that was why the Foe-Glasses were only mirrors.