I Am Not Your Friend
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, the books, movies, characters or plot, etc.
Barty Crouch Jr. grimaced as he downed a gulp of that vile polyjuice potion. Really, he had thought that only healing potions tasted so vile, and yet this concoction had him running for the toilets the first few times that he tried it. Not the best thing, he mused, for when you have aurors showing up at your door asking about ward alerts. Still, it got the job done and here he was again. Back in Hogwarts at last.
The rhythmic thump of Alastar Moody's wooden leg echoed through the empty halls that in a few short hours would be filled with well-fed students eagerly chatting with friends. Barty had to stifle a un-Moody-like grin as he passed a broom closet which he and a sixth-year ravenclaw had put to good use during his fifth year. Soon the broom closets would be filled as well. Teenagers never really changed.
Valiantly keeping from grinning, giggling, or anything else that might give the game away, Barty stomped up to the doors of the great hall and threw them open, making a thunderous crash. Oops, he thought sheepishly, restraining another giggle as every eye in the hall turned to him in surprise. Keeping a steady scowl, he marched up to the head table and sat down as Professor Dumbledore introduced him as the new Defense teacher. I must remember to call him Albus now, don't forget! He made sure to cast his glare extra-long at Snape, filthy traitor that he was. At least the man's death eater history gave Barty an excuse to be awful to him. Score!
Barty was really regretting having picked such a grump to infiltrate as. Yes, the man was the newest teacher, and therefore least likely to be outed as an imposter, but Barty was a happy person by nature! An optimist! Laughter is the best remedy, a joke for every occasion, that sort of thing was his usual before Azkaban. To be fair, his jokes were a little malicious and laughter sometimes inappropriately timed, but could you blame him? He was mentored by Bellatrix Black, after all.
Curses, almost grinned again. Think grumpy thoughts! No ice-cream in prison! Winky forgetting that he hated tomatoes and being forced to eat them by the imperius! Okay, that was torturous. Still, scowl was back in action.
For a while he amused himself by idly sweeping the tables and then suddenly locking onto a student with his new magical eye. He needed the practice with the darn thing anyway, it still made him dizzy, and it was fun seeing the little pests jump and go pale. One hufflepuff girl even fell off the bench! Barty kept an eye on her, ha ha aren't I punny, but she was fine so his interest moved on.
It was partway up the Gryffindor table that he first spotted the famous Boy-Who-Lived.
What a scrawny brat! Did the Dark Lord try to eat him and choke to death on his chicken bones?
Now, Barty was absolutely loyal to the Dark Lord. He supported the glorious return of the dark arts and the old ways. He even, very secretly, saw his Lord as a substitute father figure. Definitely an improvement on his own father, since the man had thrown him into Azkaban! All of that considered, he still held the record amongst the inner-circle for "most crucios for cheekiness and inappropriate commentary". Honestly, he was quite proud of that particular achievement.
Hence why he had no problem joking about his Lord's ignoble end via failed cannibalism.
As Barty scowled at the Scrawny Brat, which he quickly decided to make an official nickname, the boy looked up and mad eye contact. Although Barty braced himself, there was nothing but curiosity and a bit of apprehension in the kid's eyes. Surely nothing that said "I just found a death eater and I'm planning on stabbing him to death with my bony elbows". Just the same look found on every other child in the hall, and several teachers. No dramatic speeches, heroic poses, killer intuition, awesome displays of power… Just a kid eating potatoes. Seriously, could he have picked a more boring food?
Barty felt oddly cheated.
He had wondered how he would feel when confronted by the legendary defeater of the Dark Lord. Anger, perhaps, at the cause of his Lord's downfall and Barty's own imprisonment. Joy, at the chance for revenge. Perhaps even sorrow at the wasted potential, given that the boy was destined for death. But this strange apathy… not what was expected.
The Boy Who Lived was a tiny excuse for a fourth year, sitting and eating and talking like literally every other kid in the hall. Seriously, even the scaredy-cat hufflepuff girl got more of a reaction! But this kid was so plain, so ordinary compared to his legend.
How strangely boring of him.
Barty considered enecting a dramatic revenge plot just for the fun of it, but decided against it. Frankly speaking, there were worthier targets of his ire in the room. Like Snape, and Dumbledore, and Karkaroff that dead man would be here soon enough.
Yes, there was plenty here to keep him busy. Let the brat be for his last few months breathing, since the Dark Lord's plan ensured a busy Tournament for the boy and Barty both. And that wasn't even including the classes that he would have to start teaching soon.
It was strange, being on this side of the head table. By the end of the week he would've taught at least one class for every student in the hall. A quick resolution was made to keep homework very light, more to spare him the trouble of marking than anything. Good thing Defense was a practical class.
Barty wondered if his Lord had thought about the effects of making HIM of all followers a role model for the impressionable wizarding youth. If nothing else, it should be interesting to see what extra-curricular tricks they learn!