III. Stay Alive

Harry looked again at the front page of the Prophet. There, plastered all over the front of the paper was a large moving image of himself and Barty, cloaked head to toe, torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom in the streets of Diagon Alley while their son watched helplessly.

Voldemort had been pleased with their work, to say the least. So much so that he had held a feast in the great hall in his and Barty's honor, calling them "True Masters of Terror" and likening them to Daemons. He had been even more pleased with the way his name, or the aliases that he was more commonly known by amongst the common rabble, was once again spoken in hushed voices and frightened whispers. Harry leaving the Longbottom boy alive was a "stroke of genius" that he himself would never have thought of doing. "Better to let him live and be a living reminder of what happened to those who opposed me," he had said.

Harry tossed the paper down on his desk and leaned back in his chair. His eyes rose up to the mask hanging there on the wall. He had worn the mask every time he left on a mission for the Dark Lord. It was often that he wondered which was really his true face. This one of flesh and bone or the other, made of wood and bits of bone. He still wasn't sure.

The mask was nothing flashy. Not like the ornate, almost ceremonial looking ones that Lucius and others of the inner circle wore, or the simple bone ones of the common Death Eater. It was a simple plate of dark wood shaped to have the general semblance of a face, with thin strips of human bone inlaid on the cheeks, extending down from the outer corner of each eye. Simple, yet memorable.

Looking at it, he remembered his next mission, one that was fast-approaching. Kill Dumbledore. He would not be able to wear the mask at Hogwarts. It would give him away. No, he had to be Harry Potter; another mask. The mask of a boy who had died when he was barely five years for this world. The day he had killed Walburga Black and taken over as Head of House Black, Harry Potter as the world had known him, the tragically dead child of Lily and James Potter, had ceased to exist. But, it seemed he was soon to be given new life. Resurrected from his tomb in the heart and mind of Harry of House Black. Harry could not even recall being that Harry Potter. He possessed no memories of that time. This Harry that he would create would be a new person entirely.

Lowering his eyes back to the Prophet, he sighed. "Dobby."

There was a quiet pop and suddenly a little creature with leather-like skin, big floppy ears and luminous round eyes, dressed in a simple black robe appeared out of seemingly nowhere. "Mister Harry Potter, sir, called Dobby?" He scuttled forward a bit, mismatching socks poking out from under his robe with each step.

"Yes, Dobby, I did."

"What can Dobby do for you, Mister Harry Potter Sir?" the little House Elf asked.

"Prepare me some tea, please," Harry said.

"Right away, Mister Harry Potter Sir!"

Dobby popped away to do as he was bid. It was only a short few seconds later that Dobby reappeared with a tea tray in his hands. On it was a single cup and saucer along with a steaming kettle, a small boat of honey and a smaller cup of cream. Harry took the tray from him and set it on his desk, dismissing the Elf. "Thank you, Dobby. You may go now."

Dobby bowed. "Yes, Mister Harry Potter Sir." Before he went, he snapped his fingers and a second cup and saucer appeared on the tray, then he was gone. Harry frowned, wondering why his little Elf had given him a second cup when he heard the door to his chamber open and close, followed by light, quick, almost skip-like steps coming down the winding stairs.

Harry sighed and poured honey and cream into his own cup, then poured the tea over it. With a wave of his hand, a small spoon began stirring it steadily on its own. He also poured just plain black tea into the second cup.

A second later, Barty alighted off the last step and strode across the room, conjuring a chair for himself. He sat down with an exhale and looked over, spying the plain tea. "Ah, you shouldn't have."

Harry waved his hand and the spoon ceased its stirring. He picked up his cup and Barty took his. "I didn't. Dobby did."

Barty sipped his tea. "Well, be sure to extend my thanks to the little fella." He took another long sip. "Ah, that's good. You know, it's a good thing you bought that Elf. He was wasted working for the Malfoys. Bloody gits." He cast a disdainful glance upward as if the family in question could somehow see it.

Harry nodded in agreement, taking a long sip from his own cup. "Can probably hear you, so no need." He sipped again. "So, what brings you to my home today, Barty?" He was half-hoping for a mission or something of that nature.

Barty looked offended. "What? Can a man not visit his best friend without an ulterior motive these days?"

Harry scoffed. "I'm your only friend, Barty."

Barty hummed in agreement as he took another sip of tea. "True enough," he said, after swallowing. "All the more reason not to question my motives." Harry leveled a blank stare at the older man. "Alright, alright, if you must know, I'm avoiding going to my father's estate. He's summoned me on 'family business'. More likely he wants to give me some speech about how I should be more like him and get a job at the Ministry and be a 'respectable member of society, blah blah blah' and all that nonsense. I don't see why he should care about what I do now, he never cared about me at all when I was a child. A bit late to try and be a father now, if you ask me."

Harry nodded along. He'd heard this all before; practically every time Barty was summoned by his father. Not that that was too terribly often, given that Barty Sr. was far too obsessed with his work for the Ministry to really have time to bother with his one and only son. Harry knew that unless he said something about it to egg him on, Barty would eventually grow tired of his own grousing and go get the meeting over with.

And just as Harry predicted, Barty wound down after a few minutes and three cups of tea. "Might as well go and get this over with. The longer I put it off, the longer it will take." He put his empty cup back down on the tray, where it promptly vanished, courtesy of Dobby. "Wish me luck," he said, striding toward the stairs. "If I'm not back by dinner, come to my father's home and slaughter everyone."

With those final words, spoken in all seriousness, Barty bounded back up the stairs and out of sight. Harry nodded as the heard the door at the top of the stairs open and close. "That, I can do," he murmured, silently hoping that Barty would be missing come dinner time so he would have an excuse to go out and murder someone. It wasn't that he enjoyed killing, per se, but it was an excellent stress reliever, and he'd give anything to not have to think about going to Hogwarts for even a couple of hours.

His eyes slipped closed and he took a deep breath, clearing his mind, as Snape had taught him during his Occlumency lessons. Soon, he felt himself start to slip into a trance. His trance was broken almost immediately though, as he heard the door at the top of the stairs open once more. Had Barty forgotten something? He wondered.

But it was not Barty's footsteps he heard. Nor were they those of either of the Carrows. These steps were softer, more hesitant and halting, as if the person were constantly considering turning back.

Immediately on guard, he sprung to his feet and drew his wand, the lamps and torches dying as one, plunging the room into darkness. He quickly moved so his back was to the wall and held his breath.

A moment later, a silhouette appeared at the base of the stairs, stopping short upon seeing the room completely darkened. There was a nervous shuffling of feet as the figure silently contemplated whether to leave or go forth. Finally, they seemed to have gathered their courage, for they stepped forward off the step and into the room. "Hello?" The voice was clearly feminine, and young. "Harry?"

Harry sighed. It was Pansy Parkinson. What did she want? Only one way to find out, he figured. With a wave of his wand, all the lamps and torches flared back to life, momentarily blinding the poor girl. In this short moment, Harry had cleared the distance between them. Her eyes cleared and she jumped back a step, startled to find Harry so close to her so suddenly.

"What do you want?" Harry asked unceremoniously. No point in beating around the bush.

Pansy stuttered for a moment, her cheeks flaring pink as she struggled to find her voice. It was odd, he considered, to see her so flustered. Normally when he had observed her with the Malfoy boy she seemed to have considerable confidence and more than a little bite. He almost respected it. But, now that was all gone, and he wondered if perhaps it were merely a front to hide this side of herself from others. After all, it would not do for the daughter of a wealthy Pureblood and Death Eater to appear weak or vulnerable; two traits that others would not hesitate to take advantage of. He could respect that as well, but that smidgen of respect did little to improve his view of the young woman.

Finally, she found her voice. "I-I wanted to come see you. To t-talk to you," she said.

"What about?" Harry asked, still not lowering his gaze from her wide black eyes. She was fighting to hold it.

"I know you don't think much of me, or of Draco and the others," she said. "But, we're all going to have to work together when we get to Hogwarts and I for one want to live to see eighteen. And," her voice took on a lighter, almost flirty tone, "I wouldn't mind getting to know you better." she gave him what she must have hoped was a seductive smile.

One thing Harry noticed, looking into her eyes, was the distinct lack of any real fear. She was scared, of course, but not truly scared. Not of him, and not of the mission to come. While he could chalk it up to her confidence that they would succeed, at least that he would, as was evident by her coming down her to him, but he doubted it was so. No, it was naivete. She had no real concept of the dangers they would be facing come September. He would have to change that,

Harry looked her up and down, finally breaking the dead stare he had leveled at her. He felt more than heard her sigh in relief as his eyes left hers. "Have you ever killed a man, Ms. Parkinson?" She shook her head. "Have you ever stared into the eyes of someone who wants nothing more than to remove you from this world?" Again she shook her head. "Have you ever been in a situation where you don't know if you would make it out alive?" She shook her head once more. "No?" he smiled. "I HAVE!"

In a single swift motion he had dashed the tea tray from the desk, sending it crashing to the floor, where it shattered, and pushed Pansy back several steps until she was pressed flat against the wall, his body holding hers still.

Pansy squirmed against his hold. "H-Harry? What are you-?"

"Shh," Harry cut her off, one finger pressed to her trembling lips. "Look at my eyes, Pansy, look at them, and tell me what you see."

Pansy's black eyes rose and met his emerald green.

"What do you see?"

Pansy shook her head. "Nothing."

Harry tilted his head. "Nothing?"

"Yes," she nodded, "Nothing."

Harry hardened his gaze. "And now?"

Pansy gulped. "Death."

Harry nodded, "Good." He leaned in close, his face less than and inch from her own. "Memorize what you see. Now, imagine it being directed at you, by someone who means to end your life." He felt her squirm some more, tears forming on the rim of her eyelids. "You said you want to live?" Pansy nodded, a couple of tears falling. Harry smiled and leaned further, his mouth now near her ear. She shuddered as his hot breath touched her neck. "Would you like me to tell you how to do that?" She nodded. "What was that?" he asked.

"Yes," she spoke aloud.

Harry smiled against her dark hair. His lips brushed her ear as he spoke his next words. "Stay out of my way."

In an instant, he was no longer pressing her against the wall, and instead was looking down at her almost pityingly.

He jerked his head toward the stairs. "Go." Pansy glanced in the same direction, then back again, her feet remaining planted to the ground. "Go!" Still she hesitated. He had grown tired of this. "NOW!" he shouted. With all the speed of a frightened rabbit the girl ran, scrambling up the stairs, practically on all fours. He heard her trip, but that did not impede her retreat in the slightest.

Harry exhaled heavily and went back to his desk. He found the tea tray repaired and waiting for him, the kettle, cream and honey all refilled. He said a silent thanks to Dobby as he poured himself a fresh cup.

Hopefully, he had gotten his message across to the poor girl. No doubt Draco would insist upon doing things his way, and Harry already knew that whatever that way may be, it would be folly. Perhaps his little stunt here would discourage Pansy from going along with whatever scheme the Malfoy boy was sure to cook up. He didn't care about the girl, but he bore her no ill will and did not wish to see her die needlessly. The less Pure Blood spilled in this war, the better. Though it would be done when necessary, he thought, thinking of the Longbottoms.

He looked over the surface of his desk, noting the various items sitting there: the Daily Prophet, his book on Goblin Wars, the tea tray, and a small leather-bound journal. Ignoring the rest of the items, he poured himself more tea and sat down, sipping the hot beverage. The warmth spread through him, calming him. After draining the cup, he poured another and set it aside, picking up the journal instead.

It was his personal journal. Inside he kept record of his missions and activities. He flipped it open to a page with a long list of names on it:

Albus Dumbledore

Aberforth Dumbledore

James Potter

Lily Potter (née Evans)

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Bartemius Crouch Sr.

Rufus Scrimgeour

Alastor Moody

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Minerva McGonagall

Frank Longbottom

Alice Longbottom

Dedalus Diggle /

Emmaline Vance /

Elphias Doge /

Edgar Bones /

Amelia Bones

Dorcas Meadowes /

Mundungus Fletcher

Hestia Jones /

Rubeus Hagrid

Sturgis Podmore /

Marlene Mckinnon /

Gideon Prewett /

Fabian Prewett /

Arthur Weasley

Molly Weasley (née Prewett)

Bill Weasley

Charlie Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Fleur Weasley (née Delacour)

Ronald Weasley

Percy Weasley

Ginevra Weasley

Nymphadora Tonks

Hermione Granger

The list was of his targets, the Order of the Phoenix, mostly. Most were still alive. Several were dead. He had killed many of them himself, and numerous others besides, who were not on the list. Picking up a quill, he dipped it in a nearby inkwell and began to make some minor adjustments to the list, to account for his recent work. It now read as thus:

Albus Dumbledore

Aberforth Dumbledore

James Potter

Lily Potter (née Evans)

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Bartemius Crouch Sr.

Rufus Scrimgeour

Cornelius Fudge

Alastor Moody

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Minerva McGonagall

Frank Longbottom /

Alice Longbottom /

Dedalus Diggle /

Emmaline Vance /

Elphias Doge /

Edgar Bones /

Amelia Bones

Dorcas Meadowes /

Mundungus Fletcher /

Hestia Jones /

Rubeus Hagrid

Sturgis Podmore /

Marlene Mckinnon /

Gideon Prewett /

Fabian Prewett /

Arthur Weasley

Molly Weasley (née Prewett)

Bill Weasley

Charlie Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Fleur Weasley (née Delacour)

Ronald Weasley

Percy Weasley

Ginevra Weasley

Nymphadora Tonks

Hermione Granger

Neville Longbottom

Satisfied, Harry closed the journal and set it aside. He had struck through three names on his list in a single day, and added a new one in the form of Neville Longbottom. Frank and Alice Longbottom had fallen to him and Barty and were now as good as dead in St. Mungos', and Mundungus Fletcher, a long-time member of the Order who was known for his cowardice, according to Severus Snape, who had been the one to confirm his identity after the Carrows had found no form of identification on his body, had been the fool to try and attack him while he was unawares. The attack had failed miserably and Fletcher was now among the dead. Though it was extremely out of character for one such as Fletcher to risk his neck trying to help someone in such a manner, or so Snape said.

Harry had to admit that such a move would be odd for someone who had garnered a reputation as a coward, and had initially been suspicious of it. But when nothing seemed to be out of sorts, he dismissed this. Perhaps in those moments, with no where to run and his fear growing with every passing second, he had decided to try and make a break for it, targeting Harry as the smallest and therefore weakest target. He had been gravely mistaken of course. And it had cost him his life.

Harry had to admit to himself that he was not at all happy with the fate of the Longbottoms. They were not dead. They wouldn't get better, more than likely, but he still didn't like it. He couldn't imagine being trapped inside one's own mind, unable to move or even speak. He should have killed them, but leaving them as they were had suited his mission better...

It was hours before Barty made it back, and unfortunately, at least for Harry, he made it back with time to spare. Though based on the way Barty was ranting and practically biting the heads off of any poor soul who came with shouting distance, Harry had some hope that he may get to do some killing in the near future after all.

"Can you believe it? The nerve of that man! The BLOODY NERVE!"

Harry and Barty were making their way down one of the various long corridors of Malfoy Manor, and Harry was thoroughly enjoying watching his friend lose all sense of decorum.

A young man with a bit of an acne problem, probably a newly recruited Death Eater if Harry had to guess, happened to be coming toward them down the hall. He was giving Barty a somewhat concerned look and was blatantly staring as the older man continued to rave on. Shunpike, Harry thought he might have been called.

Barty caught the look and sneered at the younger man. "What the hell are you looking at, you bloody twat?" He faked a lunge at the man, who took off running as if a hound of Hel were on his heels.

Harry shook his head. For all his ranting and cursing, Barty had yet to actually reveal what had gotten him so worked up. Harry figured it was time to get to the heart of the issue. "So, dear old dad was none too pleasant, I take it?"

Barty puffed out his cheeks and exhaled in exasperation. "You have no idea." He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging as he seemed to run out of steam. "He wants me to marry!" His tone was incredulous, as if this was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. And Harry had to admit that it was pretty out there. "Marriage. Could you bloody imagine? Me, married?"

Harry suppressed a smile. "Well, you have to admit, you are getting a bit over-due. Look at you, you're practically an old man already."

Barty scowled. "You petulant arse. Just how would you feel if your father arranged a marriage for you without even asking you!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "He arranged a marriage contract for you?" He was actually quite shocked that Crouch Sr. would go so far.

"What? No. But that's not the point here," Barty snapped.

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is that my father is still trying to control my life! I'm a grown man, goddammit, I don't need daddy there to hold my hand and tell me what's best for me!" He was getting worked up again and his was getting steadily louder. "First he ignores me for over half my life, and now all of a sudden he wants to act like his being my father actually means something! He may bloody well be the head of our family but I will never EVER consider that man to be my father! I'd let a Dementor suck out my damned soul before I let him have that sort of power over me!"

Harry nodded understandingly.

They walked in silence for a moment while Barty got his temper back under control. They took a turn and stepped through a set of doors that lead outside onto a terrace. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was starting to sink toward the horizon. Harry conjured a chair and sat down. Looking out over the vast grounds of Malfoy's estate. Nearby a few pure-white peacocks were loitering. Harry scowled. He hated those damned birds; he never could grasp what sort of fascination Lucius had with the things.

"We could just kill him, you know," Harry suggested, leaning back in his seat.

Barty conjured himself a chair as well. "Believe me, nothing would give me more pleasure," he said, sitting down and crossing his legs. "Unfortunately, the Dark Lord won't let me do so just yet. He says he has plans for him, what with him being toted as the favorite for Minister during the next election."

Harry shrugged. "You really think he could win?"

"Well," Barty seemed to consider the idea. "Yeah, probably." The thought seemed almost painful. "I mean, he is quite popular with the older generations, what with his hardened stance against people like us and his record as Head of the Depart of Magical Law Enforcement, and even further now as the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. He's got a strong foreign policy on top of a stellar background for leadership. He's practically tailor-made for the job. Much more so than Scrimgeour, don't you think?"

Harry nodded. "If only because he is in a position to be more easily Imperiused."

Barty spread his hands in a 'there you have it' manner. "Eh, there is that as well," he said with a chuckle. "That's probably what the Dark Lord has in mind...I'd still rather kill him though."

Harry and he laughed lightly, the tension easing as Barty regained his usual easy manner. They sat in silence for a few minutes, looking out over the grounds. Harry absently noted that there was someone out there, sitting by the fountain. One lonely figure. From the distance, he couldn't tell who it was, but it didn't really matter either way.

"It will be strange around here when you're gone," Barty broke the silence.

"Hm?"

"Just that usually when that lot leave," he nodded upwards. Harry followed his gaze up to the sky above the grounds, seeing three figures on brooms descending toward the fourth figure by the fountain. "We have run of the place. Not that we don't always, but it's a lot quieter when they're gone. Now it'll be like a tomb here, what with you going with them." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "How ever shall I bear the loneliness?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll figure something out," Harry assured him, watching the other teens start making their way back toward the manor from across the grounds. "You could always get married," he ribbed.

Barty scowled and flicked an invisible something in his direction. "Bah. I'm never gonna hear the end of this am I?"

Harry shrugged. "Depends."

Barty furrowed his brow. "On what?"

"On whether or not I survive this next year," Harry clarified. "I can't take the piss out of you if I die, after all."

Barty looked thoughtful. "Hmm. You make a good point there." He mimed reaching for his wand in a faux stealthy manner. "It would only take one spell. No one would ever know."

Harry smirked and pointedly ignored his best friend in lieu of watching the group of teens climb the stone stairs to where the two men were sitting.

"Well, if it isn't the little ducks themselves," Barty smirked at them. He looked at Draco. "Except that one. Peacock Jr., that one is."

Harry tsked shaking his head. "Now, now, Barty. What sort of example are you setting for them? A grown wizard like yourself sinking so low as to insult children. Surely you have more shame than that?"

Barty looked indignantly at him. "Who said I have shame? I'll have you know that is a gross barrage of calumny, and I will not stand for it." He fought to keep his face straight, but Harry could see the grin threatening to break out.

Draco, for once, didn't say anything as he, Crabbe and Goyle stalked passed them and entered the house. Pansy hesitated where she stood, shooting what she must have thought were covert glances in Harry's direction, which she had been doing through the entire exchange. He looked at her expectantly. Finally, after a long couple of seconds, she darted inside as well.

Harry sat looking at the spot where she had disappeared, not really for any other reason than that was the last place he had been looking when she disappeared through the door. A long, slow whistle drew his attention back to Barty. "What?"

Barty raised his eyebrows. "I saw that."

"Saw what?"

"Don't give me that tosh. You know bloody well what." When Harry continued to give him a blank look, Barty gave up. "You and Pansy, obviously."

"I don't follow," Harry said, confusion coloring his tone.

"Well, for one, she couldn't keep her eyes off of you the whole time she was standing there," he vaguely gestured toward where the group had been standing. "And you watched her the whole way inside? I'm not blind." He propped one elbow on the arm of his chair and cupped his chin, looking at Harry with a fake dreamy expression. "You sure I'm the only one with marriage on the mind?"

Harry scowled. "Piss off, it's nothing like that," Harry kvetched. "If you must know, she came and paid me a visit after you left."

Barty sat up straight. "Oh, do tell." He seemed more interested than Harry thought the situation warranted.

Harry shrugged. "Not much to tell, really. She came to basically beg for me to cooperate with Draco. Even offered some...incentive."

"And? What did you do? Take her up on that little offer?"

Harry shook his head. "I told her stay out of my way, lest she end up dead."

Barty gave a long-suffering sigh. "Well, aren't just a regular Casanova," he groused sarcastically. "You know, I'm starting to think you might be asexual, mate."

Harry shrugged for what felt like the hundredth time that day. "No. Just not interested in that sort of thing."

"That's what I said," Barty said with a shrug of his own. He stood up and stretched. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm feeling rather famished." With that, he vanished his chair and headed back inside.

Harry sat a moment longer.

The time to leave was drawing closer and closer, and he still had no idea how he was going to go about getting close to Dumbledore, let alone strike the fatal blow. And more importantly, how he was to stay alive. He had more to do in this life than kill Dumbledore. So much more...

He pushed the thoughts away for now and stood, following after his only friend.

XXXX

A/N: Well, there's that. I know not a lot happened in this chapter, but it wasn't filler, by any means. If anything I wanted to take a chance to flesh out Harry and Barty; Barty especially as he'll be a lot less present once Harry leaves for Hogwarts. I hope to keep this story mostly Harry-centric. I tend to get lost in the details and bogged down with conflicting agendas when I do various POVs, so I'm going to try for keeping it all from Harry's POV, like in the books. I think this also keeps the suspense higher as things are revealed to us at the same time as they are revealed to Harry, and his reactions are our reaction, as it were.

Thanks to all who read and review, or favorited, or followed.

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