Megalomania

A snake slithered towards its destination, leaving a noticeable trail of strewn and flattened leaved in its wake. The monstrous body of the constrictor didn't inhibit the speed with which it advanced on its prey. Hair tousled, eyes wide, the target of the snake couldn't run, couldn't scream. His voice died before it reached his throat, but the roar of terror exploded within him; his heart began to pound at the speed of light, all thought ceased, the air that filled his lungs now leaked out like a punctured balloon. Simultaneously, his legs felt like stone and jelly; he wanted to collapse but couldn't move a muscle. As the snake drew closer, its fangs exposed, everything slid out of focus. When the momentary blackness subsided, a new image was before him. Man or monster, the boy couldn't tell; the all too familiar shape was unsettling. Red-glinted eyes peered out at him from a black hooded cloak; eyes belonging to the man he had just pledged his life to. Long fingers removed the covering to display the face of a man twisted and perverted, barely a man at all. His skin was sallow and pale, his expression a fear-inducing look of contentment. The young man, still frozen, tried to regain his voice, tried to explain his fright; yet again only to fail.

Once again, the world around him dissolved; when it returned leaving him with the same setting, same ground under his feet, same sky above his head. The only differing factor was the man who stood before him - the man he was forced to call his father. Fear turned to loathing as a knot formed in the boy's stomach. Again he tried to cry out in anguish; again his efforts were in vain. The other man, his father, was able to speak, though the voice was not his own...

"Oi, Crouch! Sleeping on the job again? That's the second time this week I've caught you dosing off at your desk. You're lucky your father's position guarantees you a job here, or I'd have fired you the first time. Don't let it happen again."

With a furrowed brow and a lazy expression, Barty Crouch Junior wiped his eyes furiously and let out a rather exaggerated yawn. Looking around the office, he allowed the desperation that had filled him just before deciding to take a nap to reappear, full force. Throughout his life, a paperwork job had always been the last place he had envisioned himself. Adventure and excitement always seemed to come to him with very little effort. Fantasies of being the star of a professional Quidditch team - a Seeker better than any the world had ever seen - filled his head from an early age. He'd been close, too; choosing instead to attempt to please his father one final time and take up a job in the Ministry of Magic. He would carry on his father's legacy, working his way up from the bottom, eventually becoming the Minister of Magic as his father was anticipated to within the next several months. One last try at being loved and accepted, one more disappointment to be chalked up to his infinitely long tally.

"Did you hear me? Stop lounging around and get to work. I'm not paying you to sleep."

"You're hardly paying me at all," Barty mumbled, gathering up the bits of parchment that were tossed carelessly about his desk. It was then that he realized that his bottle of ink had been spilled and now splashed across very important papers that had he had painstakingly written in his best handwriting. He had been moments from turning them in to the man leering at him over his shoulder moments before drifting off to sleep. He'd have to skip yet another lunch to get them done by the deadline. With a groan and a few choice curse words muttered under his breath, he tossed them all in the rubbish bin to the side of his desk, got out a fresh bit of parchment, and set to work once more. One ten hour work-day after the next led to a life of monotony that was nearly unbearable. All he had to keep him going were the nights full of hedonistic pleasures that seemed far too enjoyable to be labeled as "missions".

True, Barty had not yet risen in the ranks enough to be trusted with the most secretive of assignments; he had only been a supporter of the Dark Lord for a few short weeks. The man who he had been questioning just three weeks prior had gained Barty's complete trust and devotion in a shorter span of time than he had ever allowed his opinion of anyone to change in. More and more, he thought of the ludicrous plans put forward by the man; more and more they began to make sense. Muggles weren't just lower than Wizards; they were vermin that needed to be crushed before they overran the Earth and stole from it all that was good. Their torture and, eventually, genocide was nothing short of necessary.

To observe a true master at work, to hear the screams and cries from the victims, was an intoxicating lifestyle. Every day he would go to work, exhausted from the night prior and not in the least bit interested with the magical laws that he so desperately longed to shatter. Time passed excruciatingly slowly, especially on days like these when he was forced to skip breakfast and work late into the night; ten hour days felt like months. There were laws that needed updating and reformatting, as per request by the Minister of Magic, and Barty had been hired in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for precisely that reason. When night fell, he was a different man. No longer did he have to keep up the façade that he was a pleasant young man; a charming boy with a lot of intelligence and very little common sense. He was allowed to be himself; to find himself for the first time in his life. This life of indulgence and criminality was the beginning of something much more dangerous; something that made him feel so much more alive.