Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition S11, Finals
Team: Caerphilly Catapults
Position: Chaser 3
Prompt: Marvel's Gamora
The story was inspired by the part of the movie when everyone assumed Gamora wanted to get the Orb for her adoptive father, but she was in fact betraying him and she saw acquiring the Orb as her way to freedom. Her adoptive father had hurt her and she had never actually been loyal to him.
Additional Prompts:
[word] mission
[object] a mask
[word] devotion
Word count: 1510
Betas: Dora, Rose, Sky, Bea
Warnings: Mentioned abuse (also of a child)
-x-x-x-
"Barty Crouch Jr." Voldemort considered the boy kneeling before him. "I never thought I'd speak this name under these circumstances."
The boy kept his head bowed respectfully. He wasn't trembling with fear like most people who met face-to-face with the Dark Lord, especially for the first time. In fact, he appeared to be quite sure of himself, which meant he was either very brave or very stupid.
"You have provided us with some valuable information, Barty," Voldemort said quietly, although his voice cut through the silence in the room like a knife. "And I hear you wish to become a Death Eater?"
"Yes, My Lord," the boy answered steadily. "If you'll have me, it would be an honor to serve you to the best of my abilities."
Voldemort raised an eyebrow. What abilities could this young man possibly have? Barely out of school, a newly employed Ministry worker under his famous father's watchful eye, who no doubt provided him with said job. The son of the great Barty Crouch trying to get into the Dark Lord's inner circle was so predictable a ruse that it bordered on pathetic.
"What are you really doing here, boy?" he hissed. "Gathering intel for your father, I presume."
"Quite the contrary, My Lord," Barty said without a shadow of a doubt in his voice. "I'm betraying him."
"Is that so?" Voldemort tilted his head with interest. "And why would you do that?"
"He…" Barty hesitated. He glanced up to meet Voldemort's expectant gaze, then quickly blinked and looked away, his cheeks flushing red. "He hurts me," he finally choked out through gritted teeth. "Tries to turn me into something I don't want to be–"
"Which is?" Voldemort cut in.
"Himself," he spat hatefully. "And when I try to protest, he takes my voice away."
"And you think coming into my service is your way to freedom?" Voldemort mocked, amused.
"It is my way to freedom, My Lord," Barty declared passionately. "It's my way to being who I want to be; to serving who I truly want to serve. To be of any use to you will give my life more meaning than all the years I've lived so far."
The Dark Lord felt the corners of his lips lift slightly. So much devotion in the young man already. So far, he didn't sense a lie coming from him. Intrigued, he joined the tips of his fingers in contemplation.
He knew firsthand how little a son can resemble his father, and if the boy was genuine, Voldemort could certainly use a spy in the Ministry, especially one working right under Barty Crouch's nose.
"And what if, by any chance, you mend fences with your father?" he suggested. As much as he was taking a liking to young Barty, Voldemort had to make sure the boy was aware of the commitment he was about to make. "If your loyalty can be swayed by a mere misunderstanding…"
Barty frowned indignantly.
"With all due respect, My Lord, 'misunderstanding' is a vast understatement," he said firmly, although he clearly watched his tone so as to not sound disrespectful. "My father and I may bear the same name, but we are very different people, with radically different views. I can assure you my loyalty does not sway. I have never been loyal to him."
"We shall see." Voldemort drew his wand. "Look at me."
Barty obeyed at once, and bright, wary eyes met Voldemort's.
"Legilimens!" he said softly and plunged into Barty's mind.
He skimmed through Barty's childhood and pre-teen years and witnessed the growing hatred towards his controlling father who would cast the Silencing Charm on his son every time he dared to voice anything he didn't agree with.
His abuse escalated over the years. As the teenage Barty grew more opinionated and less prone to suffer in silence under his father's Silencio, so did Barty Crouch Sr.'s disdain for his son. When young Barty began to react with anger to his voice being taken away, his father disarmed him, tied him to a chair in his room, and left him for hours to scream soundlessly in his confinement.
The strained relationship with his father wasn't the sole reason for Barty's opposing views, but it certainly magnified them in time. The Dark Arts had always fascinated him and he was drawn towards the order that Lord Voldemort stood for. He soon wished for nothing more than to prove himself to the Dark Lord. It became his heart's greatest desire, his life mission, to be a Death Eater.
Beyond that, Voldemort saw great talent. The boy achieved twelve OWLs and graduated Hogwarts with flying colors, but it wasn't just book knowledge. There was intelligence and skill that Voldemort rarely saw in people twice his age.
He withdrew from Barty's mind, and his lips curved in a satisfied smirk. He was really starting to take a liking to the boy.
"Very well," he said. "I'll give you a chance to prove yourself to me."
Barty's eyes shone with tears of joy.
"Thank you, My Lord," he gasped and bowed his head to kiss the hem of his robes. "I won't disappoint you!" he promised fervently.
-x-x-x-
The boy proved to be a pleasant surprise indeed. Despite his young age, he had more brains and skill than half his Death Eaters put together, but it was his loyalty that Voldemort found the most appealing.
He expected absolute loyalty from all his followers of course, but their motives for serving him were always tainted with personal gain, whether it was ambition, power, the promise of a reward, or even acceptance of their pureblood families. Some turned to him out of fear–either of him or for protection from others.
Barty was different. His devotion was pure and selfless, and the only reward he sought was to prove himself useful to Voldemort's cause. Every single mission the Dark Lord bestowed upon him was a smashing success, but the boy never gloated. He carried out his tasks dutifully and humbly reported the results. Simple praises like, 'Good job, Barty' or 'Well done, Barty' seemed to have such a strong effect on him as if his greatest dream had come true.
The boy was a real gem, and Voldemort certainly knew how to appreciate valuable things.
"You will wear this to tonight's meeting," Voldemort said one day, presenting him with a Death Eater mask, "where you will receive the Dark Mark."
Barty took the mask that every member of the Dark Lord's inner circle wore and fingered it with reverence. He looked up with wide, watery eyes, then fell to his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.
"You honor me, My Lord," he choked out, close to tears.
Voldemort smirked. Knowing this young man would soon belong to him completely filled him with strange, possessive satisfaction.
-x-x-x-
The magical trunk in Moody's office shook and a wail sounded from deep within.
"Shut it!" Barty barked, shooting a jet of light with a wave of his wand, and the trunk stilled.
Barty did not enjoy keeping Alastor Moody here like this. Having been a prisoner himself for years–first in Azkaban, then captivated by his father–he knew all too well what a terrible fate it was. His unwavering devotion to his master and the dream of seeing him once again someday had been the only thing that kept him from losing his mind completely.
Yet Barty also knew it was necessary to keep the Auror close, so it wouldn't do him any good to keep dwelling on it. He was on a mission; he needed to stay focused.
And what a mission it was… the most important one in his life, that much was certain. The Dark Lord's return to power depended on it. Barty's heart clenched with emotion at the thought of how much trust his master had put in him, honoring him with such an important task.
He opened one of the many secret compartments in the magical trunk, where he had hidden his Death Eater mask. He took it in his hands with a sigh. He hadn't used it for so many years, but soon the Dark Lord would return to his former glory and things could finally go back to how they were.
His thoughts went back to when his master had given him the mask, and his heart fluttered with sentiment. It represented the first time in his life when he had felt accepted for who he was; when he had felt he truly belonged somewhere. His heart ached longingly for his beloved master, so far away right now, under Wormtail's care.
He would gladly switch places with his fellow Death Eater and tend to the Dark Lord in his vulnerable state himself, but they had already had this conversation–he was needed at Hogwarts. He had a job to do here that his master depended on, so he would carry it out flawlessly. After all, it was his life mission to serve Lord Voldemort to the best of his abilities.