He was hungry, far hungrier than he had ever known it was possible to be. He rummaged through the presses in the kitchen, finding nothing but cobwebs and the spiders and rats that were contained there. He made do with the rats, it was something at least, it sufficed to rid his stomach of the terrible ache within it, at least for a while. He greedily ate his rations once he had cooked them and thought about what he would do next, where he would go from here. So the worst had happened, he had fallen. The world out there was probably congratulating itself, even filthy muggles had probably got in on the action. He spat out a bone as that thought crossed his new mind, it was still rusty, this body having been dormant for so long. He had to admit he was surprised to find himself here, and faintly ashamed. How had he done it again, that insolent brat over come the Dark Lord? The most powerful of wizards? He remembered the faces in the Great Hall, fearful as he and the boy continued to circle each other, he remembered their discussion, the Elder wand…Had it been something as simple as that? A mere fluke once again? It was nothing but luck, as it always was. Well at least that was somewhat comforting. The boy wasn't stronger, he never had been, he had scraped by on pure good fortune and the knowledge that had been passed on to him by the most interfering of old fools, Albus Dumbledore. How else would he have found out about the horcruxes, or have known how to destroy them? It must have been Dumbledore that had figured it out, though how he discovered their existence to begin with remained a mystery.

He discarded his plate, now filled only with the bones of the vermin unfortunate enough to have crossed his path. He got up, intending to search the house, for what he wasn't sure, though he knew he had to get his hands on a Daily Prophet, he had thought he had left himself an Owl in preparation, he could send it out to fetch a newspaper off the street, he needed to know what was going on out there. On his way out to the hall he noticed a mirror. It was covered almost entirely in grime but he could still just make his reflection out in it. He stepped close to it, seeing himself for the first time since he had awoken from the charm-induced coma. Most of his face was now covered in coarse hair, like a house with an uncontrollable growth of ivy across its façade. He ran his hand across the beard, thinking it had to go if he was ever to venture out in public. It was bizarre, seeing this familiar face staring back at him without the demented glint that normally lit those eyes, it was stranger still that he now occupied the body that had formerly belonged to one of his most faithful servants. Still, he had served his purpose, there was no doubt that Crouch would have been honoured to know his master had taken possession of his body.

It was hard to get used to the dull, oh so ordinary brown eyes when he had been accustomed to the startling red that has inspired terror so easily, though he did have to admit it was quite nice to have a nose again. He ran his fingers across the bridge of it and stepped back from the mirror. He ventured upstairs, running through the last events he could remember. If that idiot Longbottom hadn't got to Nagini before Potter reappeared he wouldn't be stuck here in this mess, he would be ruling the world. As displeased as he was by this, he reminded himself that, despite all odds, he was still one step ahead. They believed they had won, they believed they were safe, giving him a great advantage, even if the obstacle that was Potter was still in his path. He turned the corner and ascended the second flight of stairs. So he had been rumbled, and badly, but he had returned before and he could do it again, this time without that old Headmaster and his protégée having any clue about it. Dumbledore, he had to grudgingly admit, may have known a lot, but he did not know everything, he did not know about this…

'I'm sorry my Lord, to have to inform you…'

'Where is he Severus?' he replied, with anger that was barely contained.

'He's been Kissed my Lord. He intended to kill the boy and return to you Master, but-'

Voldemort turned slowly around to face his prodigal servant.

'My most faithful, my most loyal servant and you allowed him to be Kissed?'

'I'm sorry my Lord, it was Fudge, he brought along a Dementor-'

'Could you not have stopped him Severus? Why didn't you free Crouch before the minister arrived?'

Snape lowered his gaze. 'I was under Dumbledore's watch all night my Lord, I couldn't risk him getting suspicious. I planned to help Crouch escape later, after the Minister had left, none of us expected him to bring a Dementor my Lord-'

While Severus continued to babble his explanations, a plan was forming in his master's mind. This was a blow, a major one, there would have to be punishment's deal out, to lose one of the only competent followers after having Potter escape from his clutches once again was certainly problematic, but still, this could work to his advantage, maybe it was a blessing in disguise…

'Where have they taken him Severus?'

The smallest of frowns threatened to crease Snape's forehead, but it quickly disappeared. 'Back to Azkaban, where the shells of the Kissed are disposed of my Lord.' There was a pause before Snape asked the question Voldemort could sense bubbling up in him.

'Do you know of a way to revive one who has been Kissed my Lord?'

'There is no such way Severus, even the most foolish among us know that.' Voldemort mocked.

'I'm sorry master, I just wondered-'

'That will be all Severus. Return to your post.'

Snape didn't move, trying to hide his surprise at being dismissed so suddenly, and without punishment for his late return. 'That will be all,' Voldemort repeated. Snape then gave a small bow and Disapparated. The Dark Lord soon followed suit, reappearing in the place where the Kissed were sent, thinking that a body without a soul surely had room for another…

It wasn't long until he returned to the Riddle House, though not alone this time. He dragged the worse-than-dead man with him, placing the soulless being down on the bed, where he stared, glassy eyed at the ceiling. Voldemort performed the ritual, splitting his soul, encasing the rest of it in the man before him. Barty Crouch Jr. gasped, animated once more, though he was no longer himself. Voldemort stood over him, casting the final spell, looking into the eyes that were neither as dead as they had been after the Kiss or as manic as they had been while their original owner possessed his own body. The eyes soon closed, the breathing slowed, though still there was life there. Voldemort stepped back, pleased with his work. You could never be too well prepared, never too immortal. This body would probably never rise again, but still, if the moment called for it, he was ready. Voldemort left the house, his long cloak swishing as he moved on to the next order of business, how to get the Prophecy…