CHAPTER 2 - A Rat, a Corpse, and a Spy
Lucius Malfoy was sitting in his study, his head in his hands. His House Elf had delivered a rambling story about evil black mist leaking from one of his cabinets yesterday. It hadn't taken long to figure out what had happened. He knew the item that the Dark Lord had given to him had been valuable beyond measure, certainly worth more than his life. He had sensed that it was a powerful artifact, swimming with Dark magic just like many other items in his manor. He had never truly tried examining it to determine its purpose - he knew better than to mess with mysterious books full of Dark magic. Right now, though, the only thing he remembered was his Lord's words of warning, "If you lose this, Lucius, death will be the least of your concerns. The cruciatus will be the least of your concerns. Your suffering will be measured not in hours, but in weeks, do you understand me?"
Even now, he shuddered as he recalled the Dark Lord's expression. He hadn't lost it, but from the moment he opened his closet and held the diary in his hands, he knew. The taint of Dark magic was long gone from its weathered pages. It was, for all intents and purposes, a useless book. How this happened, he had no idea. He had punished the Elf of course, but he seriously doubted the filthy servant could have done anything to the diary - just like he doubted the Dark Lord would offer him any mercy, regardless of any explanations or excuses. It wasn't his fault, but the Dark Lord wasn't known for his forgiveness. He could only hope the rumors were true and that Lord Voldemort was well and truly dead.
Not five minutes later, he was bent over in agony as his Dark Mark seared with a pain he hadn't felt in over a decade. The Dark Lord was back. He briefly considered ignoring the summons, but that would certainly be a huge mistake. With a wince, he made his way over to his room and fished out robes and a mask that hadn't been used in over a decade. Perhaps the Dark Lord wouldn't ask. Maybe he had even forgotten all about the diary. Those were Lucius's fervent hopes as he apparated away, letting the Mark guide him.
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Barty Crouch Junior was sitting in the library of his home, reading. That was the greatest extent of his entertainment, after years of house arrest. He never went out, not once. After a few escape attempts the imperius was on him constantly. Stay at home. Read. Stay at home. Read. The words had echoed in his mind for so long he was half convinced that they were engraved in his very soul.
It didn't matter that he had read every book in the house four times over. That was what he was supposed to do, after all. Stay at home. Read.
All the windows were shuttered at all times with the curtains drawn, as if to convince him that there was no outside world anymore, that the entire world had collapsed and all that was left was this one house. Stay at home. Read.
How he longed to throw back the curtains, smash open the windows just to feel the cool breeze on his face! Stay at home. Read!
His gaze settled expressionlessly back on his book, A treatise on Cauldron Quality, 1850 - 1950. By Merlin, it was perhaps the most boring tome he had ever laid eyes on! A monotonous outpouring of useless facts and -
Stay at home. Read.
His eyes glossed over as he went back to his book.
The invention of steel revolutionized the brewing industry of the early 20th century. Cauldrons were now able to withstand a much higher temperature, and as a result, the creation of more volatile potions was possible. This coupled with the new method of reinforced cauldron bottoms would lead to the great potion boom of the 1920s. Famous brewers such as…
Barty felt a sudden, intense pain in his left arm. He cried out and clutched his arm, which felt as hot as a steel cauldron bottom.
Winky was immediately at his side. "What be's the matter, Master? Master is hurt?" She eyed him up and down.
"Arm!" He gasped, tearing at his robes. Winky shredded the material around his left arm and gasped with shock at the exposed Dark Mark.
Meanwhile, a mental war raged within Barty.
The Dark Lord was back! He was filled with a joy, an elation that he hadn't felt in decades. He was leaving, now, immediately! He then jerked to a stop as his body betrayed him.
Stay at home. Read.
Barty bared his teeth in concentration. His entire life had meant nothing before he had met the Dark Lord. All of his achievements - his grades, his successes - they were never enough for his father. Being a Death Eater had filled him with such a purpose, such a sense of belonging that he had never believed was possible. The Dark Lord was ruthless and harsh, but He appreciated Barty, respected his devotion to the cause. He had been the most devoted, the most fervent of all His followers. He would not be denied by some stupid voice that made him read about cauldron bottoms!
Stay at home! READ! The voice now gained a hint of desperation.
No.
STAY AT HOME! READ!
NO! I WON'T!
STAY -
NO!
With a gasp, Barty fully freed himself from the Imperious curse for the first time in his life. His thoughts were his own, he could control his own actions.
He stared at the throbbing Mark of his Lord reverently. He embraced each wave of pain, each pulse of agony. The Dark Lord had freed him from this servitude!
Winky stared at her master uneasily. He had seemed to be in such terrible pain, but now looked well. "Master is being alright? Master needs something, anything?"
Barty blinked and looked at Winky. She had always been kind to him, in his time of imprisonment. She wanted him to get fresh air, to live a little.
"My wand, Winky." He croaked, "I need my wand." How good it was to hear the sound of his own voice, under his own control!
Winky's already bulbous eyes widened. "Master be knowing that Master cannot have wand. It is forbidden."
Barty bared his arm at her and laughed hysterically. "Winky, don't you know what this means? He is back. The Dark Lord is back. He needs me. And I need my wand."
Winky hesitated. "It is forbidden…" She repeated uncertainly.
"Winky, I am your master and I am ordering you to give me my wand! Do you want clothes!?" He thundered.
Winky bit back a sob and vanished. She reappeared a moment later with Barty's wand in her trembling hands.
"Thank you, Winky." He said gently. "You have been very kind to me. I'm sorry about this." He stunned her before she could react. He couldn't have her doing anything foolish, like running off to his father. As for his father… well, he couldn't really do anything. It was well known that Barty Crouch Jr. had died in Azkaban, after all. With any luck, his Master would allow him the pleasure of getting his revenge and casting the Dark Mark over the broken corpse of his father.
With such joyous thoughts on his mind, Barty Crouch Junior threw open the doors of his house for the first time, and let the warm wind flow over him. His Lord was back. He was free. All was right in the world again. He drew on his magic, weakened from chronic disuse, and apparated to his Lord once more.
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Peter Pettigrew had grown to appreciate the simple things in life. A warm house, a stable source of food, a place to call home. It wasn't all that bad, being a rat. He could squeeze through the tiniest spaces, could climb up most walls, and was quick enough to escape from most predators. Not that the Weasley household contained many predators, but that was beyond the point. He was safe, healthy, and comfortable. No more stressful spying, Death Eater missions, or dealing with the volatile Lord Voldemort. He could seriously imagine spending the rest of his life here.
Then his left paw burned like it had been dipped in molten iron. He squealed in pain, and desperately tried to somehow escape the agony. Luckily his antics did not wake Ronald, who snored like a giant. He then paused, as he felt that pull, the one he hadn't felt in years. He scampered out of the Burrow like a lightning bolt and transformed. It was an ugly, painful transformation - his first since that fateful day, when he killed a dozen muggles and framed Black.
The moment it was complete, he tore back his sleeve to confirm what he had been dreading: the grinning skull of the pulsing Dark Mark. The Dark Lord was back, and he was summoning his followers. For a long moment, Pettigrew debated ignoring the summons. He was comfortable here, safe. Nobody knew he was even alive. What would he gain by returning to the Dark Lord? Lord Voldemort was not known for his forgiveness, and he was sure to be angry at his followers for abandoning him. Or maybe his followers had all helped him, and he was the only one who hadn't. That would certainly look bad.
Then Pettigrew fished out something from his pocket that was poking him uncomfortably. It was a wand, with a ghastly white handle. He nearly jumped in fright. He had nearly forgotten that he still had the Dark Lord's wand in his possession. Perhaps… Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to return to his Death Eater ways. He wouldn't deny that the power had been exhilarating. They were above the law, they could do whatever they wanted - killing, pillaging, raping, torturing. They were on the brink of victory last time - and if Pettigrew had to choose a side, he would choose the Dark Lord. He had been a member of the Order of Phoenix for a while - enough to understand the futility of their efforts. Voldemort was too powerful, Dumbledore was too weak and unwilling to do what it took to win a war. What use were stunning, disarming, binding spells when they were countered with killing, maiming, and torture spells?
He could be useful to the Dark Lord. He would return His wand, and tell the tale of how he slaughtered a group of muggles and sent one of the Order's best fighters to Azkaban in one fell swoop. He could be the Dark Lord's inside man in the Burrow and Hogwarts, the perfect spy. Who would suspect a dead man? Surely the Dark Lord would welcome him back with open arms. Maybe he would even be rewarded for returning the Dark Lord's wand! His mind made up, Wormtail transfigured a crude mask on his face and did his best to make his robes more presentable.
He took a deep breath, and with a loud CRACK left the Burrow and apparated to the Dark Lord.
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Severus Snape had not slept very much the past few days. How could he, when Voldemort was on the brink of return? He knew what it meant for him - a return to his stressful triple agent status in the tug of war match between Voldemort and Dumbledore. And Dumbledore had yet again denied his request to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts next year! He had literally hired the Dark Lord last time! Severus didn't buy the cock and bull story of how the Potions position was more difficult to replace than DADA. It frustrated him. He felt that he might actually enjoy teaching DADA, rather than watching a bunch of dunderheads blow up his cauldrons.
A jolt of pain disrupted him from his musings.
It was the Mark - He was finally back. Snape sent a quick patronus message to Dumbledore, gathered his cloak and mask, and made his way out of the castle.
So it began, once more. Except this time, the Dark Lord was immortal and had a source of infinite wealth. Somehow, this thought did little to comfort Snape.
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Voldemort waited impatiently for his Death Eaters to arrive. He had cleaned up the cauldron, killed the woman and buried her along with her child, right next to his father's grave. There was no symbolism behind the act - it was merely a convenient storage space.
With a symphony of cracks, they began to arrive. He made no move, as they awkwardly formed a circle around him. He felt their collective surprise at his appearance, but he said nothing. He merely stood and waited. After a minute free of cracks, he spoke.
"Why are you not kneeling?" He hissed coldly. "Have you forgotten the customs, my servants?"
They hastily fell to their knees in a collective slump. He began pacing around them, removing their masks one by one. Avery, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, the Carrows, Macnair, Malfoy, Selwyn, and Yaxley. From what he knew, these were all his marked Death Eaters not in Azkaban, minus Snape. He frowned at that. Had Snape truly betrayed him, then?
He was about to start speaking and voicing his disapproval with them, when another crack broke through the air. A short figure appeared, and hastily joined the circle and kneeled. Voldemort went over to him slowly and removed his mask, and dropped it in surprise.
"Peter Pettigrew!" He breathed out in shock. "It appears I am not the only man to rise from the grave today!" For a wild moment he briefly considered the possibility that Pettigrew had created a horcrux. This was dismissed immediately - the sniveling coward was far too weak for that.
"But your story will have to wait." He once again prepared to berate his followers for their cowardice, their foolishness to abandon him for 10 years. Pettigrew swallowed and looked like he wanted to say something, but bowed his head and did not dare contradict him.
"You have forgotten much in 10 years, my friends. In fact, I am surprised all of you even remembered what this meant." He focused on the mark and made it burn again, taking pleasure in their muted cries of pain,
"Where were my followers while I languished in the forest of Albania, little more than a spirit? At first, I thought they were no more, that they must be rotting in Azkaban, surely. What else could explain the silence?"
He paused, enjoying the uncomfortable silence.
Nott made the mistake of breaking it, "My Lord, if there was a hint of a rumor, a whisper, than surely we would have - "
"Silence." Nott stopped as suddenly as a felled tree.
"You dare make excuses after your negligence, your cowardice!?" The entire circle trembled at his rage.
He was preparing to cast crucio when yet another late crack rang through the air. Voldemort growled in frustration.
The figure stumbled around and limped slowly to him and sank to a kneel and kissed his robes.
"Master," He said reverently, "You're back!"
"Look at me!" Voldemort snapped. He had thought all of his Death Eaters were accounted for - was this Snape? It did not sound like the silky tones of the Potions Master.
The man slowly looked at him, his face rapturous with joy at being allowed to gaze at Him.
Voldemort's eyebrows practically fell off his face. "Barty Crouch Junior?" He said, completely confused. All reports indicated he was dead. He noticed that the man was missing a good chunk of his right arm.
He sensed the man's aura - he recognized the fanatical Death Eater was indeed Barty Crouch Junior, the same way he had recognized Pettigrew was not some polyjuiced spy.
"What happened to your arm?" He said, with a little concern. It looked to be a gruesome injury, which Crouch was strangely ignoring.
"Oh, this is nothing, Master, I splinched myself in my haste to reach you, Lord. I would give all my legs and arms just to see you once more!"
Voldemort found himself strangely touched by that. He waved his wand and stopped the blood gushing from Crouch's arm.
If anything, Crouch's worshipful expression grew even more adoring. "Master," he gasped, "Thank you."
"We may as well hear the story of your miraculous resurrection. I trust it will not be as dramatic as mine." Voldemort said, amused. Having Barty Crouch Junior back was yet another unexpected turn of good fortune. The man was the perfect death eater - absolutely loyal, intelligent, and powerful.
Crouch, in a hoarse voice, relayed the events that resulted in his escape from Azkaban and subsequent house arrest. He finished with the words, "I'm sorry master. I was not strong enough to break the Imperius earlier. I should have been stronger, I should have helped you!" Tears of frustration leaked from Crouch's cheeks.
"Peace, Barty." He gently chided. He turned to the rest of his followers, who were shifting uncomfortably on their knees.
"You see, my friends, this is what true loyalty looks like. Barty threw off the Imperious just to get here. He splinched himself, just to be here. Where was this devotion from the rest of you?"
Silence.
"Hmph." Voldemort snorted. "Your collective cowardice nearly cost me everything. Were it not for my own efforts in restoring myself, I may have withered away while the rest of you grew fat and lazy, laughing at your 'I was under the Imperious' stories!"
He pointed at Barty. "Here is one who actually was under the Imperious, and threw it off, because of his loyalty to me. Let it not be said that I am a cruel lord. Barty, as soon as the meeting is over, I will give you the personal honor of killing your father." He had gleaned this burning desire from Barty's mind, which was practically child's play to read for a master Legilimens like him. The man's mind was seriously fragmented from his long exposure to the Imperious curse.
Barty beamed at this, "It would be my greatest pleasure my Lord, thank you for this honor." He did not question how the Dark Lord knew this; he was the Dark Lord after all, he knew everything.
Voldemort once again turned back to his assembled followers. "Loyalty is rewarded. Devotion is rewarded. Cowardice and selfishness are not."
His voice quieted to a whisper, "I ought to give each and everyone of you a dose of the cruciatus for your impertinence. You would all certainly deserve it and more." He let the threat hang in the air for a moment, taking great satisfaction in the palpable aura of fear.
"But I am a merciful Lord, and I am willing to forgive and forget… in time. You will all have to work hard to regain my trust, my friends, but the door is open. Disappoint me again, and I will not be so forgiving."
He continued, "I am sure you are all wondering at my new appearance." He shrugged, "An unforeseen side-effect, but not an entirely unwelcome one. It was all brought about by this of course - the item that allowed my return."
He dramatically revealed the Philosopher's Stone from his pocket and raised it above his head.
One death eater muttered, "Is that - ?"
"Indeed. The Philosopher's Stone. A source of infinite life, and infinite gold. Serve me well, my friends, and your rewards will indeed be great."
"But," He said sharply, "If I hear even a whisper in your thoughts of stealing it, of taking it for yourself, the results will not be pleasant for you or your families."
He let the threat hang in the air for a moment. He thought that was sufficient. Any more browbeating and threats would do more harm than good. Now it was time to get down to business.
"Pettigrew, step forward. Tell us everything."
The coward stepped forward and haltingly told them all his tale. He knew about the Secret Keeper, but was pleasantly surprised at the guile the rat had displayed in framing Black, and killing a bunch of muggles to boot. His subsequent stay at the Weasley's was more of what he expected - the man was a coward after all. However, he had shown unexpected initiative and cunning. And he had returned his old wand, which he had feared had been destroyed long ago.
He took his wand from the rat's fingers and felt it hum as it recognized its old master. "I must say, well done, Peter. Killing a dozen muggles is always a victory, but framing it on Sirius Black - why that is nothing short of brilliant, and Lord Voldemort always rewards initiative." He waved his wand, and with the help of the Stone, transmuted a nearby sarcophagus into pure gold. He then ripped off a small piece, and transfigured it into a small, finger-like shape.
"This will hurt." Was the only warning he gave as his golden finger sped towards Wormtail's hand and replaced his missing finger. Peter cried out in pain as the molten gold impacted his hand, but it was all over in a few seconds. Peter flexed his new finger a few times and marveled at it. "Master… Thank you, Thank you!"
Voldemort smirked, Ah, his followers, so easy to appease. Peter would be a most useful spy within Hogwarts, and he was right next to Harry Potter no less! This would be very helpful for his future plans. "Go, Peter, before you are missed. You will be summoned soon."
The rat departed, still examining his latest appendage in awe.
Voldemort spent the rest of the meeting interrogating his death eaters on various subjects. He wanted to know everything - What did the funding for the aurors look like? How many in the Wizengamot were still sympathetic to their cause? Who were the major players in the Ministry now? Did anybody know anything new about the Department of Mysteries? Were the sons and daughters of the death eaters loyal to the cause? What security measures were employed at Azkaban?
He had immortality, infinite wealth, and unimaginable power, but he still needed information - lots of it.
Halfway through the exhaustive questioning, another CRACK signified a death eater arrival.
"Masks on, everyone." He ordered, "No one speaks unless I allow it." He quickly conjured a mask for Barty. If this was who he thought it was, then he had every reason to be cautious.
The figure knelt at his robes and kissed them. "Master, I apologize for my tardiness. It took me longer than anticipated to leave Hogwarts without arousing the Headmaster's suspicions."
"Severus." He uttered simply. "What am I to do with you?"
Snape looked up at the Dark Lord, and was shocked at what he saw. He immediately had knelt and kissed his robes, as he was in the center and speaking, but if he saw this person in the street, he would walk by without a second glance. The Dark Lord looked… human. And a young, handsome human at that. This was Lord Voldemort? He quickly surmised that the Sorcerer's Stone had restored his youthful visage.
"My lord?" Severus hesitated.
"I cannot trust you, Severus." Voldemort flatly stated. "You have been at Hogwarts for too long, under the watchful eye of the Headmaster. In fact, it was only through his good word that you avoided Azkaban like the rest of my loyal death eaters. What an interesting tale, Severus - I was under the impression you were my spy."
"I never spied for the old man, my lord, my loyalty was with you and you alone." Snape assured vehemently.
"Is that so, Severus? Would you care to explain then, why Dumbledore vouched for you, and how you gained his full confidence?" Voldemort asked coolly.
"He.. he believed I loved Lily Potter. That my love for her outweighed my loyalty to you after you killed her, my lord. He always thought too much of 'the power of love.'" Snape finished contemptuously.
"Did youlove her, Severus? I seem to recall you were most upset at my decision to target the Potters. You begged me to spare the mudblood."
The Death Eaters jeered at Snape at this, but Voldemort stopped them with a raised hand.
Sweat coated Snape's brow. This was not going well, the Dark Lord's appearance was throwing him off. Voldemort had seemed so much simpler to deal with back then, his motivations as clear as his twisted body. This Voldemort was something new, in his cool demeanor and biting remarks.
"It was merely lust, master. I wanted to use her as a plaything, nothing more." How it pained him to debase the memory of Lily like this, but it had to be done.
"Hmm." Voldemort drew out, and slowly began pacing around Snape.
"It did not upset you at all then, Severus? I tried, you know. I told the mudblood to step aside, twice even. But she refused. I thought it was pathetic, really. She did not even try to fight, just stood there and cried and begged me to take her life. I killed her as easily as I would a muggle - surely some part of you was angry, sought revenge?" He asked.
Snape's eyebrows lifted at that. The Dark Lord had actually listened to him? He had tried to not kill her? No, surely this was a lie. Voldemort probably killed her without a second thought, and now was concocting some story to see how he would react.
"I was disappointed, my Lord, but never angry, Lily chose her side - and I mine. I have never faltered in my loyalty to you."
"So you say," Said Voldemort skeptically, "Then what about this year? You undermined my efforts to seize the Stone from the beginning. And then when I tried to kill the Potter boy during the Quidditch match it was you that intervened and saved his miserable life! Surely you knew the boy was my enemy."
Snape swallowed nervously. He had thought dealing with the old Voldemort was stressful enough, this was a nightmare!
"I had no idea Quirrell was working for you, my lord. And as for the boy, I was merely doing my duty as a teacher and helping a student in peril. I never assumed it was you who was targeting him, lord." He managed.
"Quirrell was not just working for me, he was me. Everything he saw, I saw - everything he heard, I heard. I recall that after many staff meetings you would remain behind to speak with Dumbledore, to talk for rather extended periods of time." Voldemort accused. He was rather enjoying prodding Severus like this. He didn't trust the man, and it would be a long time before Snape regained his full confidence.
Snape licked his dry lips. "We suspected Quirrell was after the Stone, my lord. Dumbledore never imagined you and Quirrell were one and the same."
Voldemort shook his head exasperatedly. "Enough of this bickering! I will be frank with you, Severus - I do not trust you. Until that trust is restored, you are a liability to my plans, do you understand?
Snape wordlessly nodded his assent.
"Crucio!" Voldemort jabbed his wand at Snape and watched with vicious satisfaction as the man twitched and shook. He had been itching to cast that spell for over a decade, and Snape's flimsy excuses grated on his nerves.
Voldemort finally broke the curse and moved forward menacingly. "Speak when spoken to, Severus. Or did your muggle father not teach you that?"
The jeering broke out again, and this time Voldemort let it continue.
After the noise died down, Snape spoke softly, "I understand, my lord."
Voldemort waved his hand carelessly in obvious dismissal. "Run along, then. Feel free to tell Dumbledore everything. And when you return, I want information, Severus. You may tell him I am back, although I am sure even his decrepit mind has reached that conclusion. I want to know what he and his order are up to - what their plans are, their priorities. Go."
Snape gathered himself up stiffly and apparated away with a crack. That had gone about as poorly as it could have.
The interrogation continued in earnest following the Potions Master's departure. Voldemort learned a few useful nuggets of information. The auror department was vastly underfunded and undermanned. This was an unexpected boon, and it would certainly make his conquest of the Ministry easier. The security at Azkaban was laughable - a skeleton crew of a few aurors, wardens, and the dementors. The location was what made it difficult to access, but that was nothing a few brooms couldn't solve. Nobody knew anything much about the Department of Mysteries or the prophecies, but that was to be expected. He would wait before trying to reach the prophecy. Although the security at the ministry was at an all time low, there was no need to blunder in and do something rash. He could wait, for now.
His followers now received their orders. He tasked Macnair with reestablishing contact with the giants, and gave him a huge chunk of gold from the sarcophagus. The giants could be bought off easily with the right tribute.
Avery was sent to locate Fenrir Greyback and his pack - not a task the man seemed to relish, but someone had to go. He didn't get any gold, because he knew Fenrir - the wolf was motivated by blood and slaughter, not gold. The chance to feast on magical flesh would send him running back to Voldemort.
Lucius was tasked with subtly investigating the Wizengamot and determining which members would be loyal to his cause. Even though Malfoy wasn't even on the body, he was still a wealthy and influential member of society, and Voldemort was pleased to learn he had the Minister in his pocket and controlled the Board of Governors in all but name.
Just as he was about to give specific orders to Nott, something bizarre occurred.
A loud crack and a flash of light lit up the graveyard, revealing a House Elf , of all things.
With a single-minded focus its bulbous eyes locked onto Barty and it screamed elatedly, "Master is being found! Come, Barty, let Winky take you back home!" She began moving in his direction before Voldemort lazily moved his wand and shot a stunner at her. This was Barty's elf after all. No need to kill what might be a useful servant in the future.
To his amazement, the elf deflected his own spell back at him, causing him to quickly put up a shield to absorb the spell. His Death Eaters reacted at this attack to their Lord and shot off a vast array of destructive spells from all angles, giving the elf no chance. The mangled creature fell to the ground, clearly dead.
An awkward silence filled the air.
"Winky, you stupid elf!" Barty choked out, as tears streamed down his face. He cradled the elf's broken body and sobbed.
As Voldemort watched the spectacle, he felt a strange emotion build within him. Pity? Regret? Sympathy?
Voldemort cleared his throat, "You may bury the elf if you wish, Barty. It appears your father has discovered your absence. We will pay him a visit tonight, fear not."
"Yes, my lord." Barty said numbly, gathering up the elf's body and walking off.
The rest of the meeting was blessedly free of surprises, as he sent off the remaining Death Eaters with their orders. They left, one by one, until it was just him and Barty.
"Master… what would you have me do?" Barty asked subserviently. Winky's passing weighed heavily on him. Throughout his entire life and especially during the Imperious years, she had been nothing but kind to him. She had tried to convince his father to let him out more, to no avail. It was his father's fault - he had sent her after him.
"You already have your task, Barty." Voldemort reminded him. "But you are in no fit state to accomplish it by yourself. We will need to strike quickly - before your father does something foolish like go to the Ministry or make a run for it. The wards on the house - will they pose any trouble?"
"I shouldn't think so, my lord. I am keyed into them, of course, but even if I wasn't, they are nothing too complex. Standard anti - apparition/portkey, and a basic alert if someone uninvited enters, or if I somehow escaped. That was what probably alerted father, and he likely sent Winky after me."
Voldemort nodded, "Good, I will apparate us just outside the property. Hopefully your father will be inside, alone."
He peered into Barty's willing mind to get an image of where he was going, and they apparated without a sound.
Voldemort stepped in with ease. That was the problem with most ward systems - most neglected the possibility of someone just walking in. Wizards were terrified of someone apparating or portkeying into their home, but someone walking in? That was fine. As long as it made things easier for him, he approved.
He heard loud footsteps coming down the stairs - the wards had likely alerted Crouch Senior that his son was back.
Crouch raced down the rest of the steps and seemed to ignore Voldemort entirely, completely focused on his son, eerily similar to Winky. "Barty, you're back! I thought you were gone for good, especially when Winky did not return. Where is she? And who are you?" Crouch finally noticed the other man next to his son.
"I am Lord Voldemort." He replied, taking great pleasure in the way the man flinched at his moniker. It was gratifying to see the Wizarding World was still terrified of his very name even after a decade.
Crouch scoffed. "Nice try, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead, everyone knows that. Did you return my son to me? If you did, I am very grateful - he is a rather delicate child, needs special care."
Voldemort could feel the nervous excitement exude from Crouch's aura, and could tell the man was planning to cast a quick spell on him. Probably obliviate.
"You dare speak to my Lord like that?" Barty growled.
"Your lord?" Crouch laughed. His eyes nervously turned towards Voldemort again, "I'm too sorry for his antics, sir. He needs to take his medication, you understand."
Voldemort was growing tired of this useless jabber. He whipped out his wand and cried, "crucio!"
The familiar feeling of euphoria filled him as Crouch writhed on the ground in agony and screamed.
Barty watched his father on the ground with a cruel smile on his lips. Finally, justice. After 10 years of the imperius, 10 years of house arrest and no free will, the tables had returned.
After a few minutes Voldemort lifted the curse. Crouch was curled into a ball on the floor, still twitching and breathing shakily.
"I don't suppose you want a turn, Barty?" Voldemort offered casually.
Barty's smile widened. "It would be my greatest pleasure, master! CRUCIO!"
Crouch's screams reached an even greater volume and he clawed at himself furiously, leaving bloody streaks all over his body. Barty had always been an expert with the torture curse, and Voldemort knew he had a great deal of hatred and resentment for his father.
"Enough." Voldemort whispered softly.
Barty held the curse for a few more seconds, a wild gleam in his eyes, but he eventually lifted it, breathing hard.
"Finish it."
"Barty… no…"
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The green light roared from Barty's wand and impacted Crouch dead center.
Barty stared at his father's lifeless corpse. A lifetime of neglect, 10 years of slavery - it was all finally over.
"Thank you Master, for this opportunity, thank you!" All was right with the world again. The Dark Lord was back, Barty was at His side, and his father was dead.
. "The ministry will likely think Crouch went on an extended vacation when they notice his absence. And once enough time has passed, they will assume he took his own life. Overwork, stress - they will provide the cover story for us." He could even get Malfoy to spin a story in the Daily Prophet about how poor Bartemius Crouch couldn't handle the stresses of the job, and never truly got over the early deaths of his wife and son.
They didn't linger long in the dead man's house. Barty picked up some clothing and other items, Voldemort transfigured Crouch into a bone and stuffed it in his pocket, and they were off.
They appeared before Riddle Manor, the long-abandoned home of his late father. His eyes ran over it - it was still in rather good shape, much better than he had anticipated. He had barely even thought of the place during his long death, but now that he was here, it occurred to him that it would be a good place to stay, at least for now. It was obscure, in the middle of a muggle hamlet, and abandoned. No one would think to look for him here, even Dumbledore. The old man knew he had tried to erase all evidence of his half-blood heritage. He wouldn't consider for a moment that Voldemort would return to the house of his muggle father. However, it was simply a matter of convenience for Voldemort - it was an empty house, technically his as he was a Riddle after all. Having a claim to the house, however loose it may be, would aid his efforts in warding the building.
"Come Barty, we have much work to do." Barty grinned. He had struck the first blow in the Second Wizarding War, and he doubted it would be the last body to fall in the Dark Lord's return.
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A.N - Voldemort is different obviously, having a soul changes things. We get to see a little Harry next chapter as well as some Dumbles.
Also - Yes, Voldemort does not trust Snape in the slightest - why would he? Snape's occlumency is so good he can even shroud his aura, which makes him one of the few people that can lie to the likes of Voldemort and Dumbledore.
Double Also - Malfoy does not have a seat on the Wizengamot - if you recall Harry's trial in 5th year, Malfoy was not among those trying Harry - he was lurking outside.