Prompt: Step 2: Stockpile Weapons: (wiki-how be deadly y'know). TASK: Write about murder. Please.
AU: DH. Barty Crouch Senior is Minister for Magic and not dead, he is sided with Voldemort.
"Hello, Minister," said Lord Voldemort, lazily flicking his wand and pulling up a comfortable looking, emerald green armchair. "You bring news, I take it?"
Barty Crouch Senior sat into the armchair, lazily flicking his own to change it to a preferred colour, turquoise, as if to consider the question. Either that, or to bide his time.
"You realise, I presume," he continued when Crouch did not, using a high voice, dripping in malice, "That the contents of this news, or lack thereof… could, depending on who you tell it to, lose you the life of someone very dear to you?… theoretically, of course… all theoretical mind games and the like, but hypothetically?"
"And who would that be?" he asked, nervously twiddling his bower hat, and fearing he knew the answer.
"Yourself." Voldemort replied, pointing his wand over his own heart, his thin mouth twisting into a malicious grin, and his red eyes glowing ever so slightly more than Crouch was used to. "Of course, you can rest assured that I would not do it myself," he continued, his voice now businesslike and matter-of-fact. "You could always choose the murderer. I have a large selection. Rookwood. Lestrange. Crabbe, Goyle… I understand Malfoy is in prison thanks to you… Infinite, if we are counting the imperius curse."
He closed his eyes. He had, of course, expected this. He had dug himself into this hole by just siding with Voldemort in the first place. But he had been blinded, he told himself, blinded by his own arrogance and attempts to become Minister for Magic. The defence sounded pathetic, even in his own mind. Especially when he took into account Cornelius Fudge.
"I-" his voice trembled. "Bring news concerning the capture of Harry Potter…"
Voldemort leaned forward in his armchair, expectantly. "Yes?"
"Yes… well… it… hasn't worked…" He said, his voice trailed off, pathetically.
Voldemort mocked disappointment, but he had heard enough. He raised his wand, and shouted "Stupefy!" at him. There was a blinding red flash. He immediately crumpled to the floor, motionless, but his eyes continued to blink, and there was a look of nothing more or less than fear in his eyes. He laughed, shrilly.
"I apologise, Barty. I lied. I am going to kill you personally. I just really needed an excuse to practise with the Elder Wand, so how better than to tell the Minister for Magic to kidnap Harry Potter? Do you honestly think I would trust you with the job? Do you take me for a fool? I can see inside your head." He raised the wand again, this time ready for the kill.
"It's nothing personal, Minister. I just don't like you. AVADA KEDAVRA!"
There was a horrible silence.
There was a horrible scream.
There was a horrible silence.