I wrote this years ago as the prologue to a longer story that was going to be the full life and times of Barty Crouch Jr. I ended up losing that entire document after working on it for weeks, and still havent gotten the motivation to start it again. Maybe someday, but for now, here is the witnessing of the Dementor's Kiss.

Cold…

Cold and incomprehensible fear. He couldn't remember having ever felt such a way. Yet now, as he stared blindly into the distorted face of Death, he collapsed to his knees and trembled in both, letting out a shaky breath. Steam billowed from his mouth as he did so, spiraling towards the ceiling, twisting into a metaphorical mirror that reflected every thought that had been emitted from his tortured mind.

Slowly he raised his head and looked up into the unseeing, icy, lifeless eyes with his own, blue and pained. As they met, all of his nightmares flooded back into his head with the intensity of a bolt of lightning. Every bit of sorrow, every suppressed memory, every inch of frustration and rage.

There was a screech of howling glass and the frosted windows suddenly cracked as a wind worthy of a hurricane filled the room, blowing his shoulder length, straw colored hair. This feeling he knew very well…

There was a distinct sound of people screaming. A woman and possibly a few others, but whether they were in the room or filling his head, he couldn't tell. At this moment, the only thing he knew was the cold, the sorrow, and the undeniable rage.

The creature that hovered above him let out a hiss, opening a mouth full of needle like, grey teeth. It's hideously scarred and discolored hands reached out, groping the air until they came to rest on his shoulders. The wind died, along with the screaming, drowned out by a sudden roaring that filled his ears. He felt as if a waterfall of sheer darkness were pounding down upon him, crushing him into oblivion. With the last shard of dying strength inside, he looked up once again, this time not into the eyes of the creature, but into the ones of a man standing across the room, shuddering in fear.

He looked at the Minister closely, blue eyes piercing grey, and with his last breath, he whispered the words that every witch and wizard feared, Purebloods and Mudbloods alike.

The Dementor's mouth neared his face, and he shut his eyes, accepting his fate, yet not able to suppress one final scream. A moment later, his body collapsed to the floor, owl-like eyes staring at nothing, reflecting no light, as if he were gazing into Time it's self.

In the corner of the room, a small house elf with large, fearful brown irises, shuddered in horror before collapsing to her knees to cry over her fallen master

Thanks for reading. Please review.