Caught

Two - All I Want

Deliberation, determination and destination, the three D's of Apparition; Barty Crouch remembered his lessons well. Back in 1977 he'd been the fastest at grasping the concept of Apparition of his year, it only taking three lessons for him to Apparate by himself. It wasn't because he was an extraordinary powerful wizard, Barty's forte never lay in the wand-waving arts; he held however a natural curiosity in the way the world and specifically humans operated. If he had been a Muggle, he probably would have ended up a psychiatrist, an anthropologist or even a successful preacher. As it was, Barty wasn't aware extensive studies of the human mind and society had been made by Muggles and he ended up analyzing the world around him, didn't like what he saw, became a Death Eater in hopes of revolutionizing the wizarding world.

The feeling of squishing through a small ended, causing Barty to look around him warily. He told Dumbledore he had some business to clear out in his home, a pretext for reporting to his Lord. It was a mystery why his Lord chose a Muggle mansion – of all places – as temporary headquarters, but so far nobody came looking. He moved to the grounds silently, not daring to disturb his surroundings. Cautiously he opened the door to the room his Lord resided in.

“My Lord?” asked Barty tentatively. A chair turned, revealing the hybrid snake-baby form of his Master.

“Aren't you supposed to be at Hogwarts, Barty?”

Barty lowered his head submissively. “I told the old man I had some urgent business to take care of in Moody's home, the old man didn't object.”

“Proceed, what is this news you need to tell me?” Voldemort questioned.

Barty's eyes darted around the room, trying to locate a rodent. Not finding it, he raised his head slightly, looking straight at his Lord. Barty was right. The strength in Potter's gaze equaled his Lord's. Barty licked his lips in a small gesture of anxiety.

“Potter came in my office yesterday afternoon, My Lord,” Barty started. Lord Voldemort's look intensified. “He knows the plan. Well, he doesn't know the details, but he knows what we want to accomplish, is aware of my identity.”

Voldemort's eyes widened at that revelation. “The boy didn't tell the fool?”

Barty shook his head. “Potter made a proposition, Master.”

“A proposition?” Voldemort vaguely wondered whether all those years spent as a spirit didn't affect him more than he initially thought.

“In trade for a cease of attempts on his life, he wants to extend his cooperation.” Barty shuffled his feet. Potter hadn't outright told him that, but he implied it, didn't he? “He also told me to tell you he said that you left something behind thirteen years ago that reminded him of a ring distant family of him once owned. Does that make sense to you, My Lord?”

Voldemort's expression froze. He knew damn well what he planned for the 31stof October 1981, just as he knew that the Potters descended from the Peverells, just as the Gaunts, his maternal family. He also knew what he had done with the family signet ring. What did Potter imply exactly though? That Potter possessed one of his Horcruxes? That couldn't be though; Voldemort wriggled the events concerning Potter's departure of Godric's Hollow from Hagrid when he was still an appendix of Quinten Quirell. Accompanying Potter had only been a blanket and his baby robes. Besides, something had gone wrong with the creation of his Horcrux that night, ending up in the destruction of his body.

A piece of his soul had been left behind though. A clear recollection of one of Barty Crouch's reports during the beginning of the summer came into his attention, one of Potter having a vision of the Riddle house. As far as Voldemort was aware, one didn't just have visions unless one was a Seer. It would be a cold day in hell before Potter would be a Seer. Which would mean that his soul piece attached to Potter.

If Voldemort had a spine, a shiver would've gone through it.

“It does,” Voldemort finally affirmed, getting rid of the shock.

Barty closed his eyes briefly. While his Lord hardly had anything to do with his private life, it couldn't be said that that affected the plan as well.

“Potter also, well, demanded something else.”

“What exactly does he want?” While Voldemort cared about his Horcruxes, they were him after all, he wouldn't hesitate in eliminating his second-to-last if its carrier started demanding too much.

Barty's eyes averted Voldemort's appearance for the first time during the report, settling on a dirty spot on the wall behind his Lord.

“Potter wants... company,” Barty told. He didn't want to say more than that. He might be devoted to his Lord, his Lord wasn't exactly one to talk of these things. In Barty's eyes, Voldemort transcended human things such as emotional and sexual desire.

“Company?” asked a baffled Voldemort. Absentmindedly he cursed his lot in life, if he had a real body, he could've massaged his brows, that helped when dealing with bizarre turns of conversation, Voldemort knew from experience.

“My company.” Barty coughed as to clear his throat. “Says wizards who like wizards should stick together.”

“I see,” exclaimed Voldemort. There wasn't much one could say to that, was there? “Doesn't he have... friends... to you know?” He really felt uncomfortable now. Luckily he hadn't any competition when it came to being a Dark Lord, he could readily imagine a conversation between two like him. 'What's this I hear, my man? Giving relationship advise to your followers now? Never should have feared you if you're doing that.'

“He doesn't like his friends, My Lord,” Barty answered. He too was glad it only was his Lord and him.

Voldemort mentally frowned, since physically that currently was impossible. Potter was a strange kid; he'd been right all those years ago to try and kill the kid.

“Whatever,” was Voldemort's intelligent answer. “If that appeases you, you have my permission.”

A smirk graced Barty's face. “Thank you, My Lord.”

“Concerning the plan,” Voldemort changed the subject, “do you think something should be changed? It is unlikely Wormtail will be finished with the preparations until the Third Task of the Tournament.”

---

Harry Potter dived into the lake for the Second Task, his body accommodating the changes brought forth by Gillyweed. Like a fish in the water, he swum to the location the hostages were being held, avoiding Grindylows and other strange water creatures for the most part, shouting of a curse when the situation arose itself. Voldemort had agreed to his proposal, something which relieved Harry. While it mightn't seem a smart thing to do, teaming with a feared Dark Lord such as Voldemort, Harry didn't care. There was some value to what Voldemort promoted, it was the approach Voldemort and the Death Eaters used that would never work. Most people could care less about a tightening of the Secrecy Act and a smoother running Ministry, as long as they could continue living their lives without too many interruptions. If the right strategy was used, there hardly would be any protest, nor would there be much of an underground resistance.

Harry wanted to avoid a situation where Unforgivables were used randomly or even anything alike the rise of the Third Reich, especially in a world where magic was something precious. That wasn't the sole reason for offering his help to Voldemort though. He disagreed with Dumbledore's hopes of Harry becoming a kamikaze in order for Voldemort to be killed; Harry never believed in the fairy tales Dumbledore hoped Harry to believe in. While he appreciated the gesture of birthing him and sacrificing themselves, Harry didn't hold much emotional attachment to the legacy of his parents, in the same way he lacked any true connection to his year mates. His 'talent', the truth, made it impossible for Harry to be a kid when he was a kid and gave him a more mature perspective as a teenager. The hormones did a fine deal on destroying the equilibrium Harry constructed as a child though. The truth was a real curse in that aspect, letting him experience a myriad of other people's sexual desires above his own wants. It was one of the main reasons Harry sought Barty Crouch out; the man would be the perfect person to smooth the edges of his talent, while at the same time furthering his goal concerning the wizarding world.

Harry ducked under a stone archway, appreciating the view of the merpeople's village before swimming over to the place the four hostages were enchanted in a weird coma and attached to the bottom of the lake by a rope. Seeing who he presumed to be his dearest friend, Harry couldn't help but let out a laugh. If Dumbledore and the other judges thought Harry held any attachment to Ron Weasley they should really consider a career change. Ron Weasley, in Harry's opinion, was an idiot. While not unintelligent per say, the redhead really tried to be. The youngest male Weasley was a fine example of what Harry disliked in humans: jealous to a fault, lazy, ugly and one of the first to abandon his comrades in times of trouble if no positive encouragement was used. He was a good substitute for a companion to pass time, Harry had to admit. Harry in general disliked redheads, but most of them managed to amuse him dearly one way or another.

Giving the underwater equivalent of a sigh, he cast the cutting curse at the rope and dragged 'his dearest friend' to the surface easily, ending up first. He remained in the water for another ten minutes, letting the Gillyweed fade away, before emerging from the water himself. The people surrounding him didn't interest him at all, but it was something he couldn't escape easily.

That night, the Fat Lady guarding Gryffindor Tower opened and closed seemingly from itself, a quiet shuffling of feet marching towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts Office, where an invisible hand knocked on the door. It was one o'clock in the morning.

The door opened slowly, a dark brown-haired man in his early thirties looking cautiously.

“Potter?” questioned the man.

“Call me Harry,” the disembodied voice said.

The man opened the door completely.

“Enter,” he murmured, closing the door after a couple of seconds. He turned around. He didn't need to ask what this was about, didn't feel much like objecting. Excitement started working his way through his body. He had never done this, male with male sex, but dreamed of it enough to know something about it.

An invisibility cloak fell to the ground, revealing Harry still in a robe.

“Do you have some more private quarters, Barty?” Harry asked.

Barty nodded and gestured Harry to follow. They stepped to the other side of the room, where Barty tapped several bricks, much like the entrance to Diagon Alley, revealing a bedroom. A comfy king-sized bed was in it, dark blue sheets covering it.

Barty walked to the right side of the bed. He pulled his robe off. Barty only wore underwear beneath his robes, a sight which Harry liked. The younger wizard gave Barty a thorough look, before shrugging his robes off himself. In contrast to Barty, Harry was stark naked. It didn't take long for both of them to be naked. An awkward silence filled the room until Harry got out of his daze and approached Barty, hugging him. Eventually Barty hugged him awkwardly back.

“What do you want to do, Pot- Harry?” Barty asked.

Harry looked at his... lover, a needy look in the former's eyes. He didn't speak, but pushed Barty softly on the bed, kneeling in front of the older man.

“This,” said Harry, leaning closer to the man's crotch.