Megalomania

A smile, a laugh, a lighthearted wave as he sees her in the lift at work, just as the door closes. The physical separation is hard enough to deal with; the emotional schism is torture. She used to be the one he turned to whenever he had a problem; now she avoided him and left his countless letters unanswered. They had a falling out two years ago; the kind that no one ever really gets over. Harsh words were exchanged, words that both would regret in the silence. Apologies were never uttered - there was never any closure. He had not been willing to sacrifice enough of his beliefs for her to accept him; who he really had become was a bitter and lost soul. Finding himself had taken so many years; finalizing who he was meant the end of compromise. The end of their relationship. He had been willing to love her - all of her - even if it meant a severe conflict in interests. Without her, he felt empty; as though a part of his very soul had been ripped out, never to return. Bartemius Crouch Junior would never love again.

To say that he had ever known love at all is a debatable topic in itself. At the age of fifteen, he had made the leap and asked her out; at sixteen he knew it was love. For a boy who had never known affection or adoration until that point, he considered his understanding of it to be quite thorough. As someone with a deep interest in literature, Barty had read countless stories of true love. He examined every aspect of it - from lust, to friendship, to that between a father and his son. Of all aspects he had encountered in his readings, that of the father-son relationship perplexed him most of all. "Business first" was the impromptu motto of the Crouch family. Any correspondence between Barty and his father pertained to developments in the Ministry of Magic; hardly ever straying to family life or, on the more audacious and frivolous side, social interactions.

The longing for a closer bond with his father became an obsession as he grew older. At first, his mother over compensated by doting upon him. Unfortunately, once Barty began schooling at Hogwarts, she was no longer there to devote every waking minute of the day to him. Over his years of schooling, Barty never really developed a set group of friends that he could call his own. He was the definition of a Slytherin for his first three years of schooling; for the latter years he simply defied the stereotype in any way he could. While his actions might have portrayed one desperate to break out of the mold, as he got older his thoughts grew more and more similar to the brainwashed thoughts of generations of purebloods with superiority complexes. Of all of the people he had looked up to in his life, the final - and most dangerous - would be the one he would come to call his lord, his master, his true father.

Without ever knowing love, it was easy to mistake any extended attentions, any little confidences, as endearment and affection. The Dark Lord hardly knew his name, and yet with every mission Barty felt like he was submerging himself deeper and deeper into his inner circle. One cold November night, after nearly three months of being involved in the Death Eaters - of following others and acting as a group - Barty was given the chance to prove himself for the first time.

"Tonight, I am entrusting you with a task of greatest importance. There is an object waiting for me at Borgin and Burkes. Though I hardly enjoy dealing with such scum, it is a necessary transaction. Knockturn Alley has been guarded, as of late, by an extra patrol of Aurors. Make certain that you are not seen and be swift. I require this object within the next two hours; if you fail the efforts of many will have been wasted. Do not disappoint your lord."

The words stuck clear in Barty's mind as he braced himself for the task at hand. A quick glance at his possessions told him all that he would need to take with him - his wand and his Invisibility Cloak. A feeling of freedom surged through him as he placed the cloak over his head, not knowing that in a few brief months that this cloak would be the means of his imprisonment. Barty sighed with relief as his Apparation onto the deserted street went unnoticed; grateful for the knowledge he acquired at the Ministry of Magic for the first time in his life, because of which he knew that there would be a curfew placed on all Wizarding streets and towns within the following month. If he had been given this assignment mere a mere week or two later, it would have become a nearly impossible feat.

On the corner that separated Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, a man Barty presumed to be an Auror slept against a brick wall. He was standing up, but every now and again his broad shoulders would slump and he would stumble a bit, looking thoroughly confused and hardly alert. The Ministry's finest, right there. Repressing the urge to snort incredulously, Barty decided a smirk would suffice and then continued on his mission. Many of the stores on the street were boarded up due to recent raids; it was a wonder that Borgin and Burkes was allowed to remain open. A wonder, that is, to those who neglected to realize that the patronage of many proud purebloods often extended to bribery in desperate (and often not-so-desperate) situations.

Walking as quickly and quietly as he could, Barty approached the store and entered it without so much as a knock. He was often oblivious to social norms and protocols, and nine times out of ten if he was feeling stressed or nervous, he would neglect them altogether. Unfortunately, his stealthy entrance was destroyed by the loudest creak he had heard a floorboard make in his entire life. Cursing his feat, the floor, the door, and everything else in sight, Barty decided to bugger it all and removed the cloak, wand at the ready.

"Oh Mister Borgin," he crooned mockingly, "You're not hiding from me, are you?"