A/N: Hi guys! This is my first fanfic, so go a little easy on me. Please review. Everything helps, so please give (constructive) criticism. HUGE thanks to Michaela, Zoe, and Sara, who were my first reviewers and are the best friends I could ask for. Enjoy (hopefully)!
Disclaimer: I DO NOT, in any way, own Doctor Who or Harry Potter. I honestly wish I had enough talent to come up with these amazing characters, but I don't. Though, to be honest I really want to run away with Ten and Rose and keep them locked away forever because they're pretty freaking adorable.
Chapter 1: The Death of Barty Crouch Jr.
The old man threw him into the small cell at the top of the highest tower. Barty Crouch Jr. had almost fooled the Headmaster- but he had made a mistake that was now going to cost him his soul. How could he have forgotten to take the potion? It was so simple— take the potion every hour—yet he failed. He rested his head against the cold stone and his memories came flooding back to him. The betrayal of his father, the love his mother rarely showed him, and the comfort he had found in knowing the Dark Lord understood. He remembered that first meeting with the Dark Lord quite clearly.
"Who are you?" A cold, snake-like hiss of a voice asked in the darkness.
"Barty Crouch Jr," He answered. The cruel voice hissed. He couldn't tell if the man was pleased with this information.
"And your father works for the Ministry of Magic?"
"Yes, sir." The man laughed. It wasn't a warm laugh- it was cold and heartless; it sent a shiver down Crouch's spine.
"You might be useful, Crouch. But tell me, why would you want to join my ranks?"
"I am capable of more than my father believes."
"I believe you, Crouch," the man hissed. "But first you must prove yourself."
"What would you like me to do, sir?" Crouch asked eagerly. This would show his father that he was capable of great things. Not good, of course, but great.
"You will address me as 'my lord' when you speak directly to me, Crouch!" The Lord hissed.
"Yes, si- my lord."
"You shall call me the Dark Lord when you speak of me, for you shall never refer to me by name! I am your lord, and you are my servant!"
"Yes, my lord."
"Are you willing to complete a task for me?"
"Anything, my lord."
"Are you familiar with the village of Godric's Hollow?"
"Yes, my lord."
"I need you to murder every last muggle in that dirty village."
"But why, my lord?"
"You should be able to carry out this task without an explanation, Crouch!"
"Yes, sorry, my lord."
"They are disgusting creatures! They are insignificant! Their lives do not matter! That is why you will murder them! Am I clear, Crouch?"
"Y-yes, my lord."
He remembered carrying out the task and the Dark Lord's condescending praise. That was when he received his Dark Mark; he had just turned seventeen and secretly left school. He remembered the agonizingly slow process, how it burned into his skin and tingled for days afterward. He felt the slight tingle of his Dark Mark now, even as he was approaching death. Crouch could already feel the cool air that always came with a dementor's presence. It penetrated his clothes and made him shiver. He wondered what it was like- death. Although he wasn't dying, he'd be a lifeless form, wandering without a purpose. He heard the door open and a wave of cold air crashed on top of him; he felt the ice creeping closer to him and covering the walls of the small room. The dementors were here.
"You didn't have to choose this. You were such a wonderful boy," Dumbledore said.
"Yes I did! There was no other path! I am proud to have served the Dark Lord until death! This is my final destination! The Dark Lord will be proud of me, his only loyal servant who escaped Azkaban to serve him!" Crouch shouted towards the dark figure looming in the doorway.
"You are not proud, Barty. You are still the frightened little boy who stepped into the Great Hall all those years ago," Dumbledore replied calmly.
"I am proud! This is who I am!"
"It is not," Dumbledore simply stated. "Dementors, take him."
The dementor entered, sticking out a scaly, rough hand to reach behind Crouch's neck; he felt himself being pulled closer and closer to the dementor. When he was five inches from the dark creature, the dementor used its free hand to pull down its hood. The dementor's mouth was a deep, cavernous black hole in the middle of a grotesque skull that made him want to vomit. The smell was unbearable- a mix between rotten fish, bad breath, and day-old trash. It was almost enough to make Crouch pass out. The dementor took a deep breath in, and he almost screamed from the pain. It felt like his entire body was being ripped apart; the agony was unbearable. He felt his memories slipping away, one by one: everything he had ever experienced, everything he had ever done, it was disappearing forever. He felt as though his body was being torn in half…then he stopped feeling anything; he was numb and lifeless. Barty Crouch Jr. was dead.