YOU’RE LOSING ME

———

When Evan Rosier met his death he was in shock.

The spell had hit him quickly and he’d died even faster, it was a peaceful end, much better than he had deserved.

Opening his eyes he was sat in the white waiting room of a railway station, an eerie silence cascaded over him and his eyes seemed hazy as he took in the the surroundings. 

The man beside him was handsome and still with jet black hair gelled backwards and high cheekbones. In that moment Evan had hoped it was Regulus greeting him, the thought excited him before the man turned to face him and he realised it was a stranger. A powerful one however with a large intimidating figure and a scarily impassive face.

He seemed too ethereal to be death, instead more like an angel, far too beautiful to be mortal except for his eyes. One was pale blue and the other was black, making the glow of his skin all the more threatening.

Evan was unsure how long the two sat in silence, the man seemed in no rush and he seemed to have nowhere to be. Death’s face darkened however when long enough time had passed, yet he still sat patiently. 

“Will I go anywhere else now that I'm dead?” Evan asked curiously breaking through the stilled air, it seemed strange the thought he might be sat there for eternity. 

“Not for a while.” Death stated simply his eyes still searching critically over him. 

“Oh.” He said rather dumbly before a terrifying thought came into his head. “Is this because your deciding where I go because of the type of person I was?”

“No.” Death turned away. “Hell is a primitive concept meant to scare mortals, you're here for a different reason.” 

Evan went quiet again trying to process, he remembered now that he’d heard Barty mention Hell when studying for his Muggle Studies Owl, that it had been where bad muggles had been sent. Barty had laughed and made them call him the son of God for a week straight when he’d read up on that particular religion, Crucifixtiation? No that wasn’t right. Whatever it obviously hadn't turned out to be true anyway.

This God wasn’t like anything Barty had spoke about.

Barty. 

No.

He couldn’t do this without him.

“Is this because I wasn’t a good person?” Evan asked, unsure if he wanted Death to answer. To hear the finality of the judgement that he was as bad as they thought. 

“Do you think you are a good person?” Death asked calmly in the way you’d ask for the weather or someone’s name, like there was a simple, finite answer. 

“I don’t know.” Evan answered strangely honest as he weighed up his life in his head, he hadn’t been a bad person but he had made bad decisions when they benefited him. “I think I am deep down…”

Surely a bad person wouldn’t have worried over his friends feelings or how to make his family proud, he was by no means a man who stuck to the greater good like a damn Gryffindor but he hadn’t been exceptionally evil by his own standards. He hadn’t enjoyed torturing people, he’d never even killed anyone.

“Does deep down really matter?” Death tilted its head. “Are we not judged by our actions?”

“Is that what you're here to do, judge me?” Evan wondered a little forlorn, he didn’t think facing a higher judgement would end well for him, he’d been a little too quick to hex people and set fire to things back when he was alive.

“No” Death replied with a ghost of a smile, like Evan had said something slightly amusing. “It isn’t like that at all.”

They sat in silence for a little while longer, Evan couldn’t tell how much time had passed before he cleared his throat and his curiosity got the better of him. 

“What am I doing here?” Evan mumbled not meaning to sound as ungrateful as it came out, the white walls of the railway station wasn’t exactly a punishment but he was beginning to become more and more confused. 

Death just shook his head lightly before turning to Evan like he was a particularly ignorant child. 

“I’m afraid you have become an important part of something.” Death gestured like that explained everything. 

“Part of what?” 

“Your death is both the catalyst and the reasons the things that happen fall in place.” Death sighed and wearily looked away.

Oh, that wasn’t confusing at all.

“I think I was scared to die” Evan admitted placing his hands in his lap self consciously as an answer to Death’s riddle when he was reminded of his very recent death.

“Most are.” Death reasoned. 

“This isn’t what I imagined it to be like…” Evan trailed off. 

“What did you imagine?”

“A large banquet like the one at Hogwarts filled with all the people I’ve lost while I watch and wait for the others to arrive…”

Death nodded, acknowledging the sentiment. 

“You still have more left to do before you pass Evan Rosier.” His eyes hardened as he continued. “Your story is not yet over.” 

Evan closed his own eyes and wondered what would be done with his body, how his parents would react, Dorcas, Pandora. He thought about seeing his grandmother, Regulus, everyone else who had died. 

Finally he thought about Barty. That hurt too much to broach in his head let alone ask aloud, he didn’t like the thought of never speaking to him, seeing him, touching him again.

“How is my story not over?” Evan asked as he placed his hands under his legs for comfort and to stop them shaking. “Aren’t I dead.”

“Death is not the end Evan Rosier, for some it’s a crossroad, others it allows a comfort but for you…” Turning to face him now, his hallowed cheeks and thinned lips bared in a smile. It was gruesome and horrifyingly awful like an explosion.

“It’s only the beginning.” 

———

Barty Crouch jr had been waiting a long time to die, even on the the verge of obvious insanity and memory loss that was all he could think about when he was led to his execution.

The thought that the pounding in his head and the numbness in his chest might end gave him an immense satisfaction, sat waiting he came to the conclusion he longed for it.

Under normal circumstances the Dementors would have had brought up all his old memories, his fears but Barty was an empty shell. Void of anything real. Given into the emptiness and comfort of madness.

Even that emotion in itself felt new, the tingle in his spine and the beats of anticipation from his heart, the thought of death approaching was an intense feeling after being numb for so long.

Dementors would have scared any regular wizard, but Barty had no fear. There was barely a remnant of a soul to take. They could have it for all he cared.

Strapped to another chair he tried to control his breathing, but his eyes were fuzzy and his brain was clouded. 

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

The whole world seemed to spin before the shadow of a dementor loomed into his face and everything went black.

———

Death was Harry Potters closest companion, it seemed to haunt him more than any other. 

His mother, Lily Evans.

His father, James Potter.

His friend, Cedric Diggory. Thespare.

And with Voldemort having risen because of him, no one that he cared about was safe, it would’ve been better if it was him. 

Cedric had parents, a girlfriend, people that would mourn him. Harry only had enemies and schoolmates who decided whether he was their saviour or the devil incarnate at a whim.

It wasn’t fair.

Sitting in silence in the hospital room alone in his signature bed, Harry had time to ponder it all over.

How helpless he had been, how alone. Closing his eyes it all seemed to hit him. He’d been left in an empty hospital room on Dumbledores orders with a dreamless sleep potion, foolishly he’d shut his eyes exhausted after ‘Moodys’ confession and he was brought back to the graveyard in his nightmares.

The white of the sky.

The black smoke coming out of the cauldron.

The flashing green light sentencing Cedric to death.

The red blood from the blade that had been sliced over his palm by Pettigrew leaving another scar.

The body of Voldemort coming out of the cauldron, reborn and inhuman.

The shadows of the Death Eaters who had come to face penance from their Lord. 

“Welcome my friends! Thirteen years it’s been…and yet here you stand before me as though it were only yesterday. Whole. Healthy. In full powers I confess myself…disappointed.”

Harry could smell their fear, he almost wanted to laugh. He imagined all those powerful male pure bloods just like their sons with so much pride and privilege shaking with fear at the halfblood they followed. 

They all dropped to the floor decked out in their white masks and black hoods, the one closest to Voldemort bowed at the edge of his robes and disgustingly tried to kiss his feet. 

“Forgive me Master.” He bobbed up and down with nervous tremors. “Forgive all of us-”

His voice broke off when Voldemort raised his wand and whispered a cruicio making the man writhing and screaming in pain turn backwards and making the rest of the Death Eaters fall back in fear. 

To them this man controlled theirs lives and deaths, like puppets on a string. Only at his leisure would you leave with your life and even then you would be indebted to his cause and his power. What did it feel like?

For the first time Harry understood why they were called followers. He was their God and they were disciples in awe of a man so far from morality he likened himself to a divine figure.

Even the very ground they were stood on seemed to shake as Voldemort lifted his red eyes to look them over critically like they were worth nothing more than the dirt beneath his feet. 

“Give me another thirteen years and you might earn my forgiveness Avery.” As he kicked the bleeding man out of his way as he began walking barefoot down the line of his supposed most loyal men. “Nott. McNair. Crabbe. Goyle. All that is left is the man who was most loyal and the one we have sadly lost. Yet not one of you tried to find me…” 

Pausing at the masked man with a serpent ring out in submission. 

“Not even you, Lucius.”

“My Lord I was constantly on alert.” Lucius stammered, “Had there been any whispers of your whereabouts…”

“There were signs my slippery friends.” Voldemort gritted his teeth in a scarily large smile. “More than whispers Lucius.” 

“I assure my Lord, I have not renounced the old ways. The face I present to the wizard world is my true mask. I did what Slytherins know best to do, to survive.”

“I think it’s safe to say you are a man of many faces Lucius.” Voldemort whispered harshly. 

Letting the displeasure hang in the air.

“I returned. I returned…” Wormtail whimpered, the sound making Harry cringe. 

“Out of fear.” Voldemort hissed. “Not loyalty. But you have proven useful these past few months, Wormtail…”

All he did was peer up, watching Voldemort staring him over and put his wand on the stump of his arm he had sliced off in the ritual before making a new gleaming silver one. 

“Thank you my lord, thank you, thank you.” 

Voldemort only tutted at the pathetic display, Harry almost agreed, he was a waste of a man. A rat.

“The Lord giveth…and the Lord taketh away.” Voldemort quietly threatened as he once again made himself the mock figure of a God.

Wormtails fear seemed to only make his grin widen in glee.

“It’s a muggle saying…I’ve always found it amusing.” 

Harry wondered if Riddle had to go to Sunday School like Harry. He wondered if like Harry he’d ever worried he was a spawn of the devil, a boy of sin. Was the bible professed to him, did they try to exorcise him. Did he ever pray to a God who never listened until he fashioned himself into one instead?

Voldemort put his foot on Cedric’s face and clicked his tongue.

“Such a handsome boy…”

“Shut up.” He screamed, Cedric deserved better than that fate, Voldemort should not be anywhere near him. 

Voldemort’s face snapped up before it peered into Harry’s with that red hue of violence before it softened like he’d just remembered he was here. 

“Harry. I'd almost forgotten you were here. I’d introduce you, but word has it you're almost as famous as me these days.”

He kicked Cedric’s dead face one last time turning away in disinterest before slowly circling Harry who was imprisoned by the statute.

“The boy who lived.  How lies have fed your legend, Harry. Shall I reveal what really happened that night thirteen years ago? Shall I divulge what truly caused me to lose my powers?” 

Smiling eerily he extended his arms to make a show of it for his Death Eaters. 

“It was love. A mother’s love.” Voldemort rolled his eyes, like love was something worthless, fraudulent. “You see when dear, sweet Lily Potter gave her life for her only son, she provided the ultimate protection…I couldn’t touch him.”

Stopping to study him in fascination, he leaned in closer, so much so the reds of his eyes seemed to pulse like a blood vessel and his pale skin seemed to unnaturally stick to his bones. 

“It was old magic. Something I should have foreseen.” He twisted his head in regret. “But no matter.”

Ominously he glared at the scar on Harry’s head and unblinking he hissed as he studied him with an odd determination.

“Things have changed…” 

Pressing the tip of his long white fingers to Harry’s lightningbolt scar harshly, Harry gasped in pain. 

“I can touch you now…”

Harry awoke quickly to the scar burning up on his head, he had to bite down a scream. 

Panting as the ghost of Voldemorts scaly fingers felt embedded into his skin, the cool and sharp nails that had dug into the scar he had made. Even still Voldemort couldn’t leave his thoughts. He was back and he would be coming after him again. 

And no one would believe him, Dumbledore had warned before leaving him in the empty hospital section, away from reporters and the reaction he would receive from the recent events by his schoolmates and the public.

“There’s something you should know Harry. No matter how convincingly you tell the story of what happened tonight, few will believe that Voldemort has returned, because few will want to believe…But tell the story you must.” 

“But why, sir?” Harry had whispered halfhearted and confused. “If no one will believe me?”

Dumbledore sighed wearily before staring at Harry in mourning and pity. It only made him feel emptier and angrier and confused.

“Because it’s true.” 

Harry had only blankly nodded and got into bed as the man walked away, now shaking in anger he could only fester in the quiet room. 

Putting a silencio with his wand he began to scream until he was too tired to continue and he just began to cry. Until he could no longer taste the blood, and guilt but only the salty taste of tears. 

Using his wand again he whispered an accio for his invisibility cloak, if he stayed in this room any longer he’d go insane.

———

Theodore Nott was intimately familiar with death.

Yet Cedric Diggory’s body outside the maze had deeply shocked even the Slytherins, a boy who had always been well respected by all his schoolmates, talented, handsome, kind. Gone. What a waste. All for a stupid trophy.

The common room had been silent when they all had returned, Tracey and Astoria had been among the few Slytherins who were teary. The rest just had odd expressions of mourning on their face, Theodore reckoned it wasn’t just for Diggory but also themselves.

Draco’s face had just been one of confusion as he sat in a long silence as even he had nothing to say. While Crabbe and Goyle sat beside each other, great lumbering figures who listened on as Pansy nervously whispered about what she thought had happened, how it must have been Potter the liar.

All the younger Slytherins had been sent to bed by the prefects and the older years had disappeared with solemn places, to hold court and plan Theodore guessed. 

Potter had not done it, that was obvious. The boy had come out sobbing and shaking covered in blood as he screamed, he was back. It didn’t take a genius to guess who “he” was. The Dark Lord. 

Catching eyes with Blaise and Daphne they also seemed to be in agreement as they disappeared into the background of the Dungeons as per usual. Theo knew that the other houses may assume they were all the same and that the epitome of a Slytherins was Draco Malfoy and his crude schemes to get revenge and attention from Harry Potter and the Gryffindors. That was not the case. 

Blaise, Daphne and him stuck to scheming in the shadows. So they would never see them coming…

In the corner on the green chiffon cushions by the large tank that held the Great Lake and the Giant Squid. Theo liked sitting here, he thought the sight of the dark depths of the water was soothing, Blaise just called it creepy.

“Did you know?” Daphne asked not accusatory just curious, he was the only one out of the three whose parents were a Death Eater or linked to the Dark Lord. A shocking statistic if you took the rest of Slytherin into account.

“No Daph, Henrik has not sent me any messages throughout this year as usual.” 

Daphne only nodded as if she could have guessed, but she was not one to leave a possibility unchecked.

“You don’t think Potters telling the truth do you?” Blaise asked aloud the other twos thoughts. 

“I’m…not sure.” Daphne admitted. Theodore knew she was lying, she knew the answer as well as they did, they were just ignoring the obvious truth in denial at the moment. Going over every possibly even though they knew the outcome, already. It was obvious. But they could live in denial for a little while longer.

“My Mother.” Blaise gulped uncharacteristically fearful. “She had no idea.”

Theodore understood why that scared him, Adelina Zabini, six time widow, head of the European Wizarding committee and in the Italian Government seemed unknowing and untouchable. The thought of her being caught out by anything was…frightening in its own right. 

Daphne placed a hand into Blaise’s in comfort, she seemed to have quickly come to the same conclusion. 

“All that means is that whatever happened was kept especially secret, I’m sure she is already aware.”

“Yeah.” Blaise smiled, his straight white teeth making matching ones appear on his friends faces. “Whatever is going on we are going to be staying out of it…right? We aren’t getting involved with anything that’s happening with you-know-who…”

Theodore watched as Blaise looked between the two and their decidedly sullen faces at that thought.

“That might not be possible Blaise.” Daphne interjected, her family while powerful and respected where decidedly neutral and had only survived the last war on their position in the Wizarding world alone. It might not be enough this time, and if that was the case her whole family was in danger.

She was pointedly not looking at him, though Blaise seemed to get the hint once his face began to pale and he stared straight at Theodore accusingly.

“Henrik wouldn’t ask that if you surely.” He burst out with a gasp ignoring Daphne’s well timed eye roll at his reaction. She loved to bemoan him for his dramatics.

“If the Dark Lord is truly back as Potter says I’m under no assumption that my father didn’t respond immediately to the call.” Theodore informed them keeping his face as blank as possible as he tried to relay the information nonchalantly.

He wanted to scream and rage at the idiocy of his father, but that would be unproductive. 

“If he didn’t inform you, perhaps he doesn’t want you to be involved?” Daphne supplied quietly.

“Or he didn’t know.” Blaise added, but they both knew it didn’t matter. His father was one of the most loyal to the cause back then, it would be no different now.

“It doesn’t matter.” Theodore stated simply hoping they did not hear how his voice wavered. “What we need to decide is what we plan to do, not our parents, us?”

“I personally do not plan to live in a society under his rule, anyway, anyone who follows him is a fool” Daphne hissed haughtily crossing her arms and flicking her platinum blonde hair away, in times like this she reminded him of a more intelligent and composed Malfoy. Especially when she got all prissy.

“It doesn’t matter.” Blaise lent back surveying the two. “He isn’t going to win. Not really.”

“What on earth do you mean, Blaise.” Daphne interrupted in no mood for his dramatics clearly.

“Alright fine. Let’s say that he kills Potter alright and Dumbledore in one swoop, that still leaves the rebellion that has most likely formed like the previous war still. Even if he gets rid of the revolt and kills anyone who opposes him, there will still be those who won’t obey him, who will get away. Then he has what five to ten years, give or take where he’ll put those muggle hating practices in place and killing anyone with ‘dirty blood’ but he’s greedy and stupid so he’ll try to take Europe. By this point he’ll have some allies but more enemies and the whole Wizarding world and delegations will have to defend themselves and fight against him. No matter how much he fights back at the end of the day it doesn’t matter, there isn’t a world where his reign is a long one, at some point he will lose. It’s inevitable…”

Silencing the pair with his speech he reminded them once again that while he paid more attention to frivolity than studies, he was a born bred political mastermind and behaved that way.

“Your talking about an all out Wizarding world war? After five to ten years of slaughter saying at least that isn’t victory?”

“No but it shows that we shouldn’t put our bets on a losing horse alright,” Blaise said with his hands in the air plainly. “Following a madman gets you nowhere.”

“Many will still do it to save their own skin, and their families?” Daphne pointed at the other Slytherins on the far side of the room. “Unlike you and me Blaise their families support that madman and many will do what they always do, bend in the face of duty for their families.”

An uncomfortable silence surrounded the three, they tried not to imagine the future death eaters tucked into bed or the children who would be killed in the castle blissfully unaware. The three of them knew what lay ahead and it made survival seem impossible.

Theodore needed time to think, to plan. Standing up suddenly he looked between the pair whose hands were clasped even tighter than usual in solace.

“I’m going to write a letter to send to my father, try to get some information.”

They nodded and as Theo walked off to his room he heard Daphne nervously tapping against the table in an arithmetic sequence while Blaise rested his head against the sofa and shut his eyes.

It would be good to ingrain that memory into his head of the the two of them. To remind him what he was fighting for when he inevitably became a death eater.

———

Barty woke up in a dark room where a man sat in the middle on a bench, he had never heard of anything like this greeting him in any spiritual books. Pausing before he sat he surveyed the area, though it seemed empty except for the white bench he sat on and the man beside him.

The figure seemed to not notice his presence but Barty didn’t mind, this whole thing felt almost as strange and lonely as being alive had felt. The fog behind his eyes seemed to still be there though and his body had not yet dissolved as he’d imagined. 

“Barty Crouch jr.” The shadowy man spoke slowly though not particularly gently. “You have been waiting a long time to meet me, have you not?” 

Barty did not answer, the dark shadows that cloaked him alongside his white skin and vibrant eyes made him more monstrous than ghostly. The blue and black popped out especially clearly like a kaleidoscope enthralling and ominous in equal measure. 

“Who are you?” He asked, the man radiated danger and the faint scent of power, even more so then his previous Lord.

“Ah. I remember a time you were much more intelligent.” The man responded amused rather than angry. “It’s a shame for your recent madness.”

Barty wanted to scream he wasn’t mad, but the emotional paralysis won out, and it was a fair assumption to make. He had not felt sane for a long time.

“Am I dead?” He asked hopefully he was just…tired.

“Not yet Barty, I’ve been watching you for a while. Do you not recognise me?” He asked curiously.

Barty took in the figure, none of this mattered, he was just ready to accept…death. Of course.

“Your Death. Aren’t you?” Barty reckoned.

The man shook his head in fondness, like Barty was some interesting organism he was about to dissect. He had that same expression in his eyes that Bellatrix used to get before she sliced up a man, as if this particular one might be interesting. It unnerved him.

“I’m so glad the insanity didn’t take everything, Barty old boy.” The man was a little more wrinkled and less glowy than Barty had previous realised as the fog behind his mind lessened. “Oh yes we’ll need to remove that before we send you back.”

“Send me back where.” Barty interrupted staring at the man suspiciously, what did he want.

“You want to know what I want Barty?” Death said reading his mind of broken barriers. “I want balance to be returned. There’s a certain beauty on balance isn’t there.”

“Hmm.” Barty hummed ready to get this over with, he should have guessed Death would start a speech.

“Life is balance. Death is balance. And everything works in perfect harmony to get it to achieve that way, humans, emotions, nature…Anyway the problem with balance is that when it’s disrupted it has disastrous effects. You understand don’t you?”

“Sure?” Barty guessed half heartedly.

“The man you followed, what does he call himself know ‘The Dark Lord’ or ‘Voldemort’ ugh what nouveau dangerous names, how unoriginal. I mean honestly, cliche much? Everyone wants to be a Dark Lord these days…” Pausing his eyes hardened as he turned back to stare at him.

“Uh huh. Very true?”

“But your ‘master’ he went to a place beyond mortality, he’s tipped the scales in an unimaginable way. He’s gone too far, and it’s a price he has to pay. I don’t particularly like getting involved in mortal business, but he’s give me no choice. He has to lose.”

The shadowy figure of Death looked in wait as he seemed to be anticipating an answer from Barty, that would be slightly difficult he thought as he had no idea what was going on.

“Is it all over now…” Barty breathed out nervously his shoulders slumped. “Can I see them again.”

“Ah” Death nodded at ease. “You wish to ‘pass over’ and see…”

Barty just gritted his teeth not rising to the dig, none of this mattered, he didn’t care.

“You and your Dark Lord are similar in certain ways, did you know?” Death looked away tilting his head in thought. “You both destroyed yourselves for nothing. You’re both going to lose?”

“What…” Barty hissed angrily almost wanting to pounce on him in anger.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Death reminded gently gesturing with his hand for Barty to shush. “It is so hard speaking to you when you are like this.” he muttered disappointingly like Barty was a nuisance like an untrained hound.

Death looked slightly hurt at Bartys insolence but he didn’t deserve an apology so he didn’t give one. 

“If I’m dead why can’t I just…”

“You aren’t dead Barty.” Death stated matter of factly. “When the Dementors sucked your soul out they left it in stasis, your in the in between.”

“What.” He gulped the darkness of the room seeming more intimidating if it was going to become permanent. “Does that mean being here forever?”

“Is this not you wanted?” Death asked purposefully insightful, like he cared about Barty’s opinion. 

“Stop.” He shouted angrily now, the haze returning behind his eyes. “Don’t mess with my head I don’t want to be here, I don’t-”

“I know what you wanted,” Death sighed dismissively “Purpose, power, autonomy, family. It’s what you all want. But you had potential, you were special…”

Clicking his fingers a white oak tree appeared a little in front of them with golden apples adorning it.

“I’m a disappointment, unworthy, a sinner. I get it.” Barty said bitterly. 

“Maybe you are,” Death conceded. “But for the first time in your life you are going to get a choice Barty…”

“A choice?” Barty didn’t particularly want to be alive again, he didn’t have much to live for.

“Yes a foreign concept I’m sure,” he muttered scathingly. “Between your father and that Lord you followed all you seemed to do was let yourself be controlled by those who did not truly care for you. Tragic really.”

Tragic, Barty wanted to scoff. He had not been tragic, and if Death mentioned his father…his father.

“Where’s my father?” Barty asked quietly looking pointedly away from Deaths knowing gaze.

“He was not a good man, I’m afraid. You killing him did not change that, but he wasn’t a special brand of evil. His fate has already been decided.”

Barty swallowed a dry patch that had built up in his throat.

“What are you deciding about me?”

“Ah,” Death smiled widely it’s white teeth too straight and shiny. “You’re rather fortunate Barty, lots of moving parts have worked in your favour and you get your choice of course!”

“A choice between what,” he conceded.

“Well Barty old boy,” Deaths face dropped into one of complete seriousness. “You can either stay here, alone, numb with no memories or pain forever or you can-”

“Alone.” His voice cracked, that had always been a great fear of his. That was why Pandora had called him so clingy. 

“Pick a different path.”

Barty rubbed a hand against his head which was throbbing and making him feel nauseous and dizzy.

“I, don’t understand.”

“Barty, if you take a bite from the tree of knowledge everything will be clear and your soul shall stay in statsis, potentially forever, until you complete what must be done. But if you do…”

Barty didn’t want to listen anymore instead he stared at the tree for a long moment before reaching out and plucking a gold apple. None of this mattered. He didn’t matter. Death certainly didn’t matter.

So he took a bite.

——— 

Harry moved silently along the corridors, the uncertainty in his step making him go even slower. He couldn’t trust himself now…after Cedric to know what to do. What the right decision was to make.

Just the thought of everything that had just happened with Crouch and Voldemort and-His breathing became more haggard as he felt the panic setting in, every gulp of oxygen feeling like a struggle as it suffocated him.

As quietly as possible under his cloak he turned left and the dark, empty hallway continued.

He needed to get outside, under the stars and breathe in a cool breeze. Most of all he needed to remember he was alive when everything inside himself felt, numb and cold and dead. 

Near the courtyard he saw a sliver of light beneath a door where the shadows of two people seemed to be inside, he wanted to turn away and go stand outside but something stopped him.

As he got closer he wasn’t sure if it was the angry shouts that convinced him to listen in, or the nagging feeling in his chest that said he had to. That it was important.

“You know what you have to do Severus.” The voice spoke quietly and clearly as Harry slipped in to the occupied classroom under his cloak where Severus and Albus were stood at the front having a heated conversation.

“Don’t I just.” Snape muttered with that same sneer adorned to his face except Harry had seen truly wicked men that past night so the fearful effect lessened. Instead it just seemed more forced than usual, like he was scared.

“You understand his role now, what he must do. I’m sorry that we are back in their position again, dear boy.” Dumbledore mused regretfully though it didn’t seem to be enough to stop Snape’s disgust.

Dumbledore put his hand on Snapes shoudker before he shrugged it off quickly.

“So the boy must die?” asked Snape calmly his eyes unblinking and face tense.

“And Voldemort must be the one to do it, Severus. That is essential, Harry’s final sacrifice after he has carried out his duty.”

Another long silence filled the room, Harry didn’t move or breathe or blink. He felt as if a dementor was sucking out his soul.

“I thought…all these years. You were protecting him not for your plans but for her. All this time…”

Snape had the audacity to look betrayed. None of this felt real, he didn’t understand.

“We have protected him because he is prophesied, because his role in this war is larger than anything we can comprehend. It is essential to raise him, to teach him, to let him try his strength.” Dumbledore said, his eyes shut in pity.

Not remorse, he didn’t think what he was doing was bad he just felt upset at having to say it, Harry realised devastated.

“No, there is no we here, you have used him. All under the guise of caring for him when he’s merely another pawn on your board.” Snape snarled turning away in anger. “Meanwhile he has risen again, I will have to serve him again for what.”

Snape threw his hands in air before collapsing in a chair pit of seemingly exhaustion and put his head in his hands. Looking weary beyond his years.

“There will only be more suffering, and your grand plan relies on sacrificing a child. More children to another war.”

“I thought you of all people would understand sacrifices.” Dumbledore opened his eyes as Snape just stared horrified like the man was a stranger, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Harry wanted Snape to realise this wasn’t Dumbledore or that maybe Dumbledore was trying to trick him or- He couldn’t even think.

How was it possible Snape, who had loathed him all his life was so distraught at how nonchalantly Dumbledore spoke of Harry’s life. None of it felt real.

Snape paused the fury leaving his eyes before they turned just as cold and calculating and full of hate as when they stared at Harry in potions. It felt unnatural that he was looking this way in a manner to defend him, against the omnipotent man who Harry had thought would always looks out for him.

“I suspect if this has always been your plan, that you have arranged matters so that when he has to set out for his death it will truly mean the end of Voldemort. You have crafted the boy into the puppet you needed and now when he is of no use you will through him away, for what some higher greater good only you are aware of.”

In realisation Snape stood up and hissed in Dumbledore face who just stared impassively at the man having opened his eyes.

“You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?”

Oh.

A tentative silence filled the room at that statement like a bomb had gone off and Harry’s chest tightened, it was the truth.

“Don’t be shocked Severus, how many men and women have you watched die? Are your hands clean…”

Snape flinched as if he’d been struck.

Harry had never though Dumbledore was cruel.

“Lately only those whom I could not save.” Said Snape quietly before he looked away, a childlike hurt on his face as well as disbelief. “You have used me.”

“Meaning,” Dumbledore answered not even denying it.

Who else had he used. 

Harry. Snape. Who else was a so called pawn. He wanted to scream. To alert them of his presence in his fury. 

He almost did before he realised what he would be doing. Alerting his presence to two of the most powerful people he’d ever met. They’d get rid of his memory. He’d be ignoring once more.

No. No. No. 

The thought made him sick.

“You ask me to spy for you and lie and put myself in mortal. Everything was supposed to keep Lily Evans son safe.”

Lily Evans, his mother, how did Snape know her, what was he supposed to do, how did he-

Harry’s thoughts got interrupted with Snapes final shake of his head as his voice became a dangerously quiet hiss.

“Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter—”

“But this is touching, Severus.” Dumbledore said seriously. “Have you grown to care for the boy after all?”

Snapr gave a loud cry before he threw some glass ornament off the desk in the classroom before it shattered into pieces.

Dumbledore was unfazed.

“I swore on my magic and life to protect and follow, Harry Potter.” Snape shouted angrily his hair wild now and his face red as any chance of aloofness gone in his outburst of emotion. “Following what you ask of me will mean that you will me to die the same as him when this is over, your plan will cost me my life and that bastard boys!”

“Did you see a different end to all of this.” Dumbledore spoke rationally which seemed to make Snape deflate.

“No.” Snape sighed before looking up to face Dumbledore as he stood to leave, “When you play with power you win or die, their is nothing in between. So if I fight and die or submit and die. I know my choice.”

“Thank you dear boy.” Dumbledore smiled half heartedly, a little more crooked on closer inspection than cheerful. “I knew you’d understand and have faith in the greater good-”

“Understand this Albus, how I survive is not through the greater good or faith. I survive because of myself.” With that the dramatic git swished out of the room with his cloak flowing as Dumbledore followed with heavy set eyes and a walk that reminded Harry of how old he must be.

It took approximately three seconds before Harry lost his mind. And he came to three assumptions 

Dumbledore was using him.

He was prophesied to be a sacrifice.

Snape because of his mother? Because of a ‘her’ was magically bound to obey him.

Snape. Had to protect him bindingly.

Dumbledore. Was leading him to his death.

Everything was upside down, inside out.

At least Voldemort still wanted to kill him, ah a sweet sense of normality. How fucked was his life.

Harry heaving still under his cloak ran out of the classroom and towards the Owlrey before the sobs overcame him as he stood beside a large tree, in and out. That’s what Hermione had said once when he was panicked.

In. Out. In. Out. In.

Before he could even comprehend it he realised his fist was going into the tree in his fit of anger. Oh the pain was soothing, relaxing. Helped him feel numb. 

As the blood dripped and he climbed the steps to a place he wouldn’t have to speak to anyone. 

A place he would be alone, the thought terrified and calmed him. It felt natural, in its own pathetic way. He’d be be going back to the Dursleys soon.

Perching himself into a nook beside the flitting owls he took the cloak off and closed his eyes.

———

Dear Father

Recent events have me and my fellow Slytherins reconsidering our families position. Do the recent rumours have any merit? 

How would you like me to proceed? Is my presence needed? I hope you have found my studies to be to an acceptable, please inform me if their are any immediate updates.

Dutifully,

Your Obedient Son

After writing the letter Theodore put his head on the pillow and tried to sleep. But the strangled cries from Harry Potter and the dead eyes of Cedric Diggory haunted him, he did not care for either of them, but…

Sighing, Theo realised that he probably would not be able to sleep. He could be productive however so after getting dressed he quietly sat down in the edges of the common area alone with a recent book he had taken out.

It was a favourite of his on Old Myths and Rituals but even that didn’t distract him, contemplating what else he should do and urgently wanting an answer to his message, he pondered just risking it and sending the letter.

No, that would be foolish. But…no one else was up and if he took the hallways by the dungeon and back doors he could reach their quickly, of course he might also get lost.

It would be risky perhaps even foolish if he truly gave it a moments thought but something urged him to go. He couldn’t quite work out if it was a kneeling in his ribs or taunting of his fathers voice that he was weak.

Stupid. What did it really matter?

But it did. He wanted an answer badly, it was rare that he didn’t have enough information to be useful, but sat with Daphne and Blaise he felt useless. Worse that that he felt incompetent because he had no idea if his father would even dignify his pleas with a response much less ask him to visit the property he was at in Ireland. 

A property his father had never allowed him to visit since his mother’s passing and his exile. Theodore was almost certain that if Henrik did not value his use as an heir, even a useless one, he would have gotten rid of him rather than just pretending he did not exist.

It was really a courteous arrangement, they both ignored one another and did as Nott men did best, endure. He had never even needed any tutors because his father had taught him everything he needed to know and even things he hadn’t before his mothers death…

Standing up he slowly opened the door and went sideways down one of the more quiet hallways alongside the dungeon, down here was like a maze. But a familiar one at least. 

Turning left Theodore tried to purge his mind of stress and strife, to freeze out any bad thoughts to plow forward. To not get racked by doubt.

He would get his answers, plot and plan like any other summer. And once he understood his part in all of this he would know what he had to do. 

Exiting into the crisp night air he made his way over to the Owlery, his father for all his faults was a man good at assessing a situation and one with much more experience on these matters. He would take his orders and counsel into consideration before planning his next move.

———

Blossoming around him Barty Crouch Jr saw his life branching out like the old white oak tree whose gold apple he had just taken a bite from.

He saw things he knew and he could see and touch and remember. And was reminded of everything that had broken him done, left him bloody and bruised and bitter.

Then he realised, this was him. All of it, even the bad parts, the ugly and cracked pieces. Before a bright halo of golden hair erupted into view on the head of a boy he remembered, once more…Evan.

In flashes he saw two young boys whispering under a cover on a much larger bed than they needed, he saw the frames of mischief and companionship. He saw the love that had grown out of friendship and trust an care, the codependency they’d shared.

That was it, wasn’t it some missing piece. Something he’d blocked out, kept away, let it be taken in order to be more efficient and dedicated and numb. 

From the tip of one branch he saw had a lonely boy sat alone in a quiet dining room table, another branch had racing school children a mix of dark and light heads of hair as they laughed and chased each other around a green courtyard, he saw parties and secrets and kisses. He watched betrayal and fights and bad choices and mistakes.

Years of angst and misunderstanding and joy and innocence. 

He saw a dark haired boy with piercingly silver eyes and a young regal face, a girl with long dark braids and a loud laugh, a white haired girl with a large grin and a warm air, a quiet mother, a demanding father, hundreds of other faces merged and meshed together. He saw the people who wielded power’s gradual acceptance, the awe of a God and the intoxicating feeling of control and worth.

A darkening sky emerged he heard screams of death and grief filled cries, headstones and pleading, magic and loneliness and paranioa. Then a white flash of nothing, meaningless time passing before a cracking in his head and his masters’s resurgenece a green sky and the same corridors filled with other children running down but still the same shadows that followed.

He felt the coldness of death and the darkness returned completely before the lull of a voice calling his name…

It felt so familiar he could almost touch it, like the call’s were echoing in his chest. As much a part of him as the blood flowing through his body.

Barty. It whispered. Remember.

Hauntingly it continued. Open your eyes. More voices joined in a chant.

Retribution. Justice. Redemption. 

Finally the first voice called out over the dark abyss.

Don’t lose this again. You have more to do. More to be. Wake and return to me.

Barty wasn’t sure what possessed him, but he believed it.

Gasping he opened his eyes to see Death peer at him in careful examination and a quiet shock like he wasn’t sure he’d return.

“Ah I wonder what convinced you. What games she’s really playing. ” Death nodded ruefully and Barty realized he was sat in the place he had left and so he moved to sit back down into his previous seat. “Now it really begins…”

“Are you going to tell me what you want for me or not,” Barty demanded over the riddles and illusions.

Death instead of smiting him gave a low chuckle before he gave Barty a small pat, in pity.

“Oh I am so glad your intelligence has returned, of course you’re still as mad as before but not insane. That can be worked on-”

“Which means, what?” Barty interrupted frankly pissed off, the white haze was completely gone and while he still wasn’t necessarily sure what he’d gotten himself into, he’d always been good at improvising.

“It means it’s time to get started.” Death opened its mouth and the sharp edges of his teeth peered into a wide smile, which Barty only wanted to punch. “Your path has split, you belong to me now…”

“How do you feel about killing your precious Dark Lord?”

———