Chapter II: Recollections

Blearily opening his eyes, Harry was met with familiar white tiles on the ceiling and an all too familiar motherly voice which wasn't what he wanted to hear right now.

"Welcome back, Mr Potter."

Eugh, the hospital wing? Not here again for Merlin's sake.

As Harry tried to move his arms, he was quickly met with a spiking hot burning sensation that travelled across his body which nearly made his heart give away at the sheer agony of moving his arms.

Looking down to his arms, Harry was positively horrified by the sight that met his eyes.

His arms were charred to such an extent he had never thought he would ever see. Any and every sort of movement was agonizing - even if he slightly shifted his arms, it would feel as if he was experiencing a thousand knives stabbing him at once. The hot searing sensation from any and every movement of his arms was beyond anything he had ever experienced.

He tried moving his burnt arms and he instantly was taken back to the night of the task. The portkey, Cedric dying, Voldemort's resurrection, his cackling, his cruciatus – everything.

He screamed as hard as his damaged vocal cords would allow him to, his back was arching from the pain – he couldn't think straight at all.

This kept happening again and again – he moved his arms, he would scream and thrash around, making him move his hands more and increasing the pain.

This happened until Pomphrey cast a spell on him to bind him to his bed until he calmed down.

After a while, as he slowly came back to his senses, he noticed Madam Pomphrey was gone.

Feeling better now, he decided to really see what happened to him.

As he looked closer to his now charred hands, he noticed a faint blue light emanating from them, making any sort of movement agonizing.

Wait a bloody second.

As he really realized his arms were emanating a faint blue light, fear started to creep into his stomach as he felt his throat choke up and his breathing began to become shallow. He could only think of one thing.

…. "What the fuck did he do to me?"

Feeling far more terrified, his eyes further travelled to his fingers - which to his horror, were blacker than his very own hair and he couldn't feel them one bit. He tried moving them but no, they were very still.

"Major third-degree burns, severe nerve damage, internal hemorrhage and multiple fractures. What was it this time, Potter?"

Harry's eyes roamed around his body, inspecting the damage he had suffered but what horrified him the most was the damage to his chest and abdomen.

Deep red lines ran across his skin, so dark that it can even rival the night sky itself - in the shape of fern trees, running across his body but he couldn't feel anything. Everything across his body felt numb. He couldn't feel the touch of anything. He couldn't feel anything.

Terrified, he thrashed around, tried to feel something – anything to have a sense of normalcy but he could feel nothing at all. The world was numb. Everything was numb.

He thrashed around – well, the best he could in those binds, in worry, fearing he might not feel anything, tried to claw through his skin but to his utter fear he couldn't even lift his hands as he knows what would happen.

"What the hell did that bastard do to me?"

Resigning to his fate, Harry relaxed his tense muscles on the bed and grimly said, "Looks like that magnanimous prick will never cease to be up my arse, huh."

Unbeknownst to him, a certain healer was already in the room.

Madam Pomfrey whipped around and asked, "Who are you talking about, Potter?"

"The one that's making my life hell," Harry responded grimly. "Voldemort."

Madam Pomfrey lightly twitched at that but nodded in response. She sighed heavily as she once again looked over her notes on her clipboard.

"Well, I can say for sure that you have several features throughout your body, but no breaks. You're lucky. I seem to recall you don't like Skele-Gro all that much." She eyed him fiercely as Harry swallowed nervously over the implication.

"How long until I can leave?" Harry asked, he was determined to get back in fighting shape, he needed to get stronger after seeing his, in his opinion, abysmal performance against Voldemort.

"From what's happened to you…" She began incredulously. Exasperated.

"A few months. You're lucky I didn't need to amputate your arm! When you first came in here, it looked like a burnt, dried-up piece of wood. I've lost count of how many Blood-Replenishing potions down your throat — not to mention the amount of Skele-Gro!"

Harry went wide-eyed and felt a chill going down his spine. Lose his arm? Had it really been that bad? The thought mortified him – especially since it was his bloody wand arm. But then he remembered something else, something that made him completely ignore the pain in his arms and sit up in his bed.

"Professor Moody-"

"-is alright Harry, you needn't worry."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Dumbledore's rich and deep voice reach his ears.

Professor Dumbledore was here with Ron, Hermione and – the hell – Fudge?

"Do not worry about Crouch either, we have him under lock and key." Harry breathed a sigh of relief and laid back down.

Hermione went over to Harry immediately to embrace and hug him. Ron went over as well and patted him on the shoulder, and asked, "Bloody hell mate, are you alright? How did you even get your arms burnt like that?"

Harry replied with a sardonic smile, "Yeah I am the best I can be. Nothing like good ol' Voldemort frying you with lightning can't do."

Fudge's voice began, moving Harry's focus onto him.

"Congratulations on winning, Mister Potter," said the portly man with an even tone before it turned serious, taking Harry aback, "though I only wish it were during less concerning times. "

Harry nodded in agreement.

"He's back, isn't he?" Cornelius asked grimly, knowing the answer to his own question.

"Yes sir, I saw it with my very own eyes, I never forget a face – sure as hell not a face that always has been trying to kill me, no. You can clearly see his handiwork right here," Harry replied, raising his charred arm the best he could in those binds – grunting in pain – for all to see, Fudge winced at the sight and turned sickly, he turned away for a moment to collect himself.

Hermione's eyes widened at the sight, Ron looked like he was about to lose his lunch but oddly enough, Professor Dumbledore's expression turned to one of concern rather than disgust.

"Yes, well, Harry, I can assure you, Cornelius and I will be working very close to each other the following days." Dumbledore said, trying to change topics. "The war effort has just begun now that we know that Voldemort-" they flinched, "-is back."

"Dumbledore," Cornelius whispered, "now's not the time." The Minister looked back at Harry and smiled.

"Well, seeing as you won, Harry, it is my job and honor to present to you the monetary prize." Fudge went back to a more joyous tone before walking up to Harry and placing the, what sounded very heavy, bag of gold on his hospital bed.

Dumbledore began, "I'm sure you must be tired, Harry," Harry opened his mouth to protest but was cut short.

"But seeing as your friends are here, I assume getting you to rest would be a fool's errand. Be that as it may, you still need rest, I'd advise you to speak with your friends quickly and then get back to recovering. Cornelius, shall we talk somewhere private?"

The two waved a casual goodbye to the three chatting on the bed and Poppy before leaving the infirmary.

The two walked in silence for a short while, waiting and ensuring their conversation would have the necessary privacy before beginning.

"What are your plans, Cornelius?" Albus finally asked, starting their discussion.

Fudge released a tense breath he didn't even know he was holding.

He began, "Subtly, though, I was thinking that I do the opposite. I had this idea of why don't I pretend to advocate against you, so we can secretly build up the Auror Department without raising suspicions."

"It could work," Dumbledore mused. "You'd need to focus heavily on defaming me, though. I guess I could think up some things to allow you to discredit me, perhaps take on a senile role."

"That would work, though what about Lucius?" Fudge pointed out.

"Let me deal with Lord Malfoy," Albus assured. "He is not as smart as he believes himself to be. Now, on to different subjects. Do you think you can raise Amelia's budget, so she can enlist more Aurors?"

"I don't think why not," the Minister answered. "Though, I'd need to think of some kind of reason to do so. You know how the Purebloods are, they won't spend the gold unless it's absolutely necessary."

Albus hummed. "Anything sensible would do, I believe." He said.

"Oh," Fudge abruptly exclaimed. "What of Harry Potter? What are you going to do about him?"

"Train him," Dumbledore replied simply. "I shall train him in more advanced magics and teach him how to better control his powers."

"I see," Cornelius stopped walking and extended his hand for a shake. "Well, I shall see when I can Dumbledore, best of luck to the both of us."

"Best of luck to the both of us indeed," the Headmaster said with a melancholy voice. And the Minister was off to do whatever he needed to do. Albus, unfortunately, didn't see the stern, hard look Cornelius put on the moment he turned and walked away.

The Minister kept walking; he was making his way to the prisoner.

"You know what to do." He said aloud.

A growl sounded, following a lot of heavy breathing and invisible footsteps were heard running from him. Fudge casually marched on as he began to hear shouts of pain and struggle, and screams. He continued his trek up the stairs that led to the lower room where Bartemius Crouch Jr was captured.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Fudge saw that the three Aurors assigned to guard the entrance had been slain. One's head had been blown clean off, another had a hole in the chest where their heart should have been, and the last had a torn-off arm and a broken neck.

Fudge eyed the invisible creatures that were partly covered in blood, mainly the arm and face and a little of their legs, in disgust.

"Clean yourselves and make sure none enter." He told them, receiving a bloody nod of the head as confirmation. Cornelius, being Minister, was able to easily bypass the wards set on the door to the tower room.

And sitting before him, bloodied from the dueling he'd previously engaged with against Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore, was Bartemius Crouch Jr.

With blood caked across his face and half of it burnt, Crouch Jr. said with a smirk, "Oh look what we have here, the good ol' Minister gracing me with his glorious presence."

Fudge's gaze hardened upon seeing the bloodied and smirking form of Crouch Jr.

"Pathetic, absolutely pathetic. Your father would be disgraced and absolutely disgusted seeing you be a loyal follower of the dark lord. And to impersonate a trusted ex-Auror and a war-hero? Despicable and absolutely honor-less. So, tell me young Barty, what is it that you have to say?"

Blood caked to the side of face with very obvious bruises and healing injuries, the wizard shook his bangs from out of his sight and began licking his lips, a lot like a snake.

Looking around crazily across the room, he said, "Well well, it looks like all of it was worth it, eh? I helped bring him back - they'll welcome me back like a hero. A hero you-"

At that, Fudge's temper kicked in and he delivered a well-rounded kick at the man's face, knocking out a few teeth in the process.

"Imbecile."

Fudge paced around the man, seething in anger, kicked him a few more times - knocking a good number of teeth out of him, reducing him to a bloodied mess.

He then grabbed Barty by his hair, bent down and peered into his dazy eyes - which took a while to readjust and focus on Fudge's face. And as soon as Crouch Jr.'s eyes refocused on Fudge, his broken and blood-caked smile cracked a sardonic grin.

In disgust, the Minister let go of his hair and got up, shrugging off imaginary grime that came onto him by being close to the Death Eater who was tied to an ebony dark chair - his brown jacket all ruffled, his shirt being soaked with his scarlet blood that ran down his shirt and onto his trousers.

What happened next was very strange. At first, the guttural sound that came from Crouch sounded like crying. To Fudge's confusion however, the coarse – and downright rough noises that emanated from Crouch were not cries for mercy but… laughter. And not a mirthful laugh either, it was a sickening sound that reminded Fudge of daggers scraping against bone.

A smirk turning into a chuckle, a chuckle turning to a giggle which inevitably turned into a cackle.

It was loud, shrill and ear-piercing. Hearing every moment of it sent a chill through the Minister's spine. It filled every corner of the room – even the Minister's very could feel the laughter in his ribcage as it hurt his ears to listen to the high-pitched cackle.

The sheer maniacal laughter spurting out of the imprisoned Death Eater was highly unnerving to say the least.

Fudge began backing away with wide eyes and his hands on his ears, thinking, "Holy fuck, I thought he was a bit off of his rocker but no – this lad is positively insane.

Barty lay on the ground, his clothes in a bloody mess and disarray while he was bleeding from his head – he was still tied to the chair. His eyes darting everywhere across the room and his teeth bared, showing every inch of the inner linings of his mouth, his crazed cackle kept getting louder.

His hair was matted to his forehead which had visible scars and the words 'ON KOJI POBEĐUJE SMRT' written on it.

As blood trickled down the corner of his mouth, mixing with the already present sweat and saliva, he tried to catch his breath, but he could to no avail.

Bits and pieces of a black substance were oozing out of his mouth with every cackle he produced – his teeth began to be barred even wider and he most certainly had no good regards for the Minister.

The Death Eater wheezed out mid-laughter, "Y-you, the Minister of bloody m-Magic, is using muggle means to t-torture me. Not wizard but muggle."

The Minister walked over to him and grabbed a fistful of his hair which to his surprise, brought out no reaction from Barty – who was busy laughing.

As he was pulling Barty upright again, he grabbed his face and peered into it with a look of disgust written all over it. At this, the Death Eater's laughter resumed and this time, his foul breath that reminded the Minister of breathing in sulphur mixed with the scent of decaying meat and rotten eggs, hit Fudge right in the face.

In disgust, he reeled back while the other would just keep on laughing.

As he took a step back, small dark flecks were shooting out of his mouth – which vaguely tasted like a sour mixture of eggs and something sour.

The more he laughed, the more Fudge realized what it was.

He was laughing up pieces of his own lungs.

He looked down at the pieces and sure enough, they were a dark color with a pinkish-red tinge to them – and they smelled absolutely horrific, akin to nothing he ever smelt before.

As he bent down, more flecks of the slimy-dark pink substance would hit Fudge right in the face.

Fudge tried to get up and be away for a few meters but within that short time, pieces of what Barty was coughing up landed right in his mouth.

In disgust, the Minister landed a right hook on his face, making him fall to the ground again – this time, knocking out a few teeth in the process and leaking more blood in the process.

Yet to his surprise and disgust, Barty somehow was undeterred.

He had pieces of his own lungs smeared on his face and had blood trickling down from his mouth — and he was still laughing.

With pieces of his own lungs on his face, mid-laughter he wheezed out and dared to mock Fudge.

"D-Do what you may Fudgy – do what you want to do, but you will never stop him from risi–"

He was cut mid-sentence because his eyes went wide, he took a deep gasp – as if he was remembering something but as Fudge began to look into him, Barty burst out cackling again.

But this time, the laughter was … different.

It wasn't as high and shrill as before. But instead, Fudge could swear it was as if Barty's mouth was stretched open, far beyond than what any normal human would be able to and his chest was heaving, forcing out these deep and dry laughs.

The laughter was so dry and forceful that even bigger chunks of his insides were shooting out of his mouth – covering him in the slime of his own organs.

It felt as if a different entity was in front of him, just that it was wearing Barty's skin.

The laughter was unsettling enough that it evoked Fudge's instinct to get out of the door and run but as Fudge was preparing to escape, the laughter stopped.

He peered over to his still figure which was covered in slime from his own organs and emanating a strong odor of sulphur, poked him a bit to see whether he was still breathing our not, but his labored breathing came back.

Fudge reached out and grabbed him by the arm, pulled him up — the pieces of his very own lungs falling onto his lap — and then reached to the back of his coat for something that was attached to his belt.

Barty, still in a daze from that brief stint, cannot make sense of anything so he just dazedly kept looking on, into the distance — wincing in pain every few seconds or so.

What Fudge had brought out from his belt was something that Barty had never seen before. It was like it was made of a solid metal of sorts - but that wasn't what it really was.

The weapon's handle seemed to be at least over a foot long, and its handle was made of a complex wiring mechanism with a crystal embedded deep in the handle.

Barty could tell it was a blade of sorts as from the handle, two long metal blades shot outward on opposite ends of the handle and then curved upwards, like Japanese Sai's but to his confusion, what he assumed to be the blade was only 3 inches long.

Barty sat there in confusion until Fudge pressed the red button that was built in the handle's surface.

Came forth sprung a purple pole of energy, vibrating and buzzing throughout the room, illuminating the area it was within a foot's radius.

The purple pole was nearly six feet in length, and it was humming and buzzing as Fudge was swishing it throughout the room.

He then lowered the blade to the floor, grabbed Barty by the hair and asked him a question.

"Barty – my boy, do you know something?"

In confusion, the man that was referred to asked, "What?

Fudge then calmly put the blade in the airspace that was above Crouch Jr's shoulder, next to his ear and replied – while Barty was looking between him, the blade and the window.

"You are where you do not belong."

And then he raised his blade and as it was above Fudge's head, Crouch Jr. began screaming.

"ISN'T THAT THE BLADE THAT WAS –"

But before he could say another word, the blade struck his neck and his head was separated from his body, cauterising the stump. As the head flew towards the window, Fudge directed it to hit the wall below the window instead.

It hit the lower wall and stayed there, flattened against it while the rest of the corpse sat still - giving Fudge a clear view of the burnt jacket that Barty wore, the corpse's backbone, spinal cord and the opening of the net that were his nerve ends. Even his charred muscle fibre was also visible.

Taking one last look at the sight, Fudge deactivated his blade, re-holstered it and walked out of the room, back on the steps, down to the foot and he began walking away.

As he began to walk away from the staircase, he just uttered one sentence loud enough in the already quiet hallway.

"The job is done."

And he heard scampering of feet which went into the room and while he didn't see it, he knew the corpse was being eaten.

But there was one thing he knew with certainty, and he will go and keep this to himself.

Bartemius 'Barty' Crouch Junior was dead.

—-

Bliss was something that was hard to come by in days like this – and in the face of oncoming darkness, whatever little time we have for bliss – no matter how little — should always be enjoyed to it's fullest extent.

And that was what one Harry James Potter was doing.

Blissfully asleep in the Hospital Wing with potions and antidotes being administered into him, he lay asleep, letting his body recover from the damage he had faced by the Dark Lord in battle.

As he was sound asleep, his eyebrows began to furrow as if he was in deep-thought and he began twisting and turning, as if he is trying to figure out what was going on.

He couldn't identify the source of his voice in the dream he was having, but he could hear the voice coming from a figure which was talking into a mirror and was saying this.

"It's done, Ebony. I have killed the pawn, I have killed him so that none of our plans about – "

But this voice was cutoff when Harry saw a pale, wrinkly, gaunt and bald alien face come on the mirror and said, "Step aside, I need to see him for myself."

The other voice replied, "Yes, yes, master."

As soon as the figure moved aside, the humanoid figure that the other person was referring to as 'Ebony' stepped into the frame.

He was tall, much taller than the average human. He had to be atleast seven feet tall.

He was tall, had a long rectangular face which looked as if it was grey and rotting — and it was full of wrinkles. He had bits of hair here and there and his ears were protruding outward, making it really difficult not to notice them.

He had scars everywhere and most importantly what creeped Harry out was that he looked and behaved so much like a human.

He wore long black robes — darker than the darkest of nights and he strode across the room and said, "Now, where is he Fudge? Thanos would be extremely proud of your work — to remove one of the biggest issues out of the way of the boy."

Fudge in confusion asked, "What's so special about the boy anyway?"

Before Harry's dream faded to black, the last thing he heard was just one sentence. One phrase that would lead to various events that even he did not know will take place.

"He is the King of the Monsters, after all."