Haunting of Forgotten Dream

Haunting of Forgotten Dream

ever so sweet, you baked in cakes for me; what you left behind, it hurts my teeth...

Barty nibbled on the cake. Alastor devoured it. The room was silent, save the breaking of icing and the murmur of frantic chewing.

Eventually the prisoner spoke. His voice was harsh and tired.

"When will this end?"

A silence fell again, this time it was unbroken and uncomfortable.

"When will what end?"

"This. Everything. Me in that box. You in my life, in my body."

"I'm sorry I didn't realise that it was upsetting you."

"Don't be so bloody sarcastic you little shit!"

"Now, now, temper! Remember to control it, or do you want me to stop our nightly chats. I quite enjoy them. I brought you cake tonight, don't you think I treat you well?"

"Of course not! What do you expect me to be like? You've stolen my life."

Barty nodded, he was resigned to the fact the old man hated him. He was only doing what he knew was for the best, it was his purpose in life. The Dark Lord loved him like a son; he was just doing what he could for 'father'.

One wizard sat beaten and bruised, tied to a hard steep backed chair. There was a droop of the head but one eye remained, one eye held a fire still. The other man leaning against the study wall, absent-mindedly picking crumb after crumb of the cake he had brought from dinner. Lemon cake, it was tart but so soft.

the way things go, it's not my fault

Moody, the real Moody, felt his stomach contract at the gift of food, after being malnourished for so long. A pain shot through his body, and a cold sweat began to break out. Earlier he was sure that he had felt his muscle start to eat away at themselves. Barty had brought him cake. A rare treat. Alastor looked over at the distant reflection of himself and wondered what was happening out of the walls of this study, in Hogwarts, was he-who-must-not-be-named around? Was he approaching?

He moved his head down towards his chained arms, stroking away the damp on his forehead.

"You never answered, so I'll ask again: when will this all end?"

"Soon old man, soon..."

A hollow emptiness echoed in his voice.

"Yes, I'm sure it will be soon."

This time nothing but a whisper escaped.

The younger man caught himself in a mirror as he turned to look at Mad Eye. His image always startled, appalled and intrigued him.

"Great big nancy boy, that's what you are. Narcissi even in my crumbling physicality."

"Hmm"

"Boy, what's going on?"

"Dear man, all will be revealed when the time is right."

"You don't know do you?"

"Of course I do."

But the answer had been laced with subtle uncertainty. In a way Alastor pitied anyone mad enough to think that this was sane. He always stopped himself trying to justify Barty Jr. This was a man, no more than a boy, that stole his life and daily beat Alastor till dignity fled and cries escaped the strong victim. Moody had so often see vengeful distaste behind Barty's eyes. Or where they his own eyes? There was a glimpse of madness.

Looking at the subdued shadow in the candlelight Alastor wondered over the contrast in personality and mood. He could only hope he would stay this way.

"It's not easy you know..."

"What isn't?"

"This, living each day as someone I'm not, going about the world as this creature."

A growl was emitted, but went unnoticed.

"I am doing this for the good of everyone. One day the world will see that they were wrong to ever challenge our Lord."

Barty's eyes now showed attention, and a spark. He looked directly at the huddled mess on the floor. Did he really look like that? It would be worth it in the end though, when he was rejoined with Him.

every line, it brings me right back down...

"There's a haunted look to you."

"Shut up you crazy fuck!"

The previous ease had left and Barty stormed to the place where Moody sat. A fist flew and blood tricked out of Alastor's nose again. Barty's eyes were suddenly intense and indeed haunted and crazed.

Barty pressed his nose against that of Moody and spat onto his face.

"Learn some fucking respect! Don't talk to me like that!"

"All I did was say that you looked haunted."

"Well don't, because I'm not, but you will be if you don't treat me right!"

"Treat you right? It's me who's living as an abused prisoner. Touchy subject I gather."

A foot was kicked and Moody winced in pain. Barty slinked back to the wall he had previously been leaning against. There was a small window looking out to the forest, and he stared at it for several minutes. Looking out into the darkness Barty felt empty. These past few lonely years had nearly destroyed his spirit and he was constantly in fear of his own death. He had been spared punishment once, but maybe he would be caught and punished. He couldn't deal with that. All his strength lay with the darkness, but in the darkness his fears crept up to smite him.

Alastor stayed silent, watching his captor gaze out of the dirty window as though possessed by all the demons imaginable, he wasn't far wrong. Barty had sold his soul years ago to a dream of power. No magic was required, only human weakness.

He knew it would soon be time to go back into his box, his prison, his home. The candle on the desk gave into the air and only the moon was left pouring onto Barty's, or was it Moody's, face. The man looked like the living dead.

The moon had risen and crept into Barty's chamber, giving his fears chance to escape and plague him more. Away from people and the act he had to construct was when he felt most alone, most vulnerable. He would not let the old man see this and so hair was taken and the prisoner thrown back into his case.

Tomorrow would be another day.

all of those nights we lost our way back home...