Megalomania

The coat of dust that had accumulated on the floor due to years of neglect softened Barty's footsteps as he made his way towards the counter in the back of the store. The sign on the bell that sat upon it read: "Warning! Ring the bell if and [i]only[/i] if you are in immediate need of assistance. All frivolous bell-ringers will be hexed!" A grin spread across Barty's masked face as he reached out to sound it as many times as he could before the man he needed arrived. Childish mischief amused him above most things; it allowed a brief release to the immature world that he had been forbidden from at a very young age, for fear of embarrassing the family name. In a time when he should have been itching with nervousness, he was gleefully annoying a shopkeeper. Exactly eighteen rapid rings later, a grumpy looking man emerged from the back room that housed the staircase leading to the upstairs apartment, wand in hand. He was shabby and greasy and generally not the sort of person that Barty would associate with on a normal basis. Fortunately for the two of them, the events of that night could hardly be considered ordinary circumstances.

Barty sneered at Mr. Borgin; the joy fading into an immense feeling of superiority as he recalled his mission. His black robes and mask disguised him from the homely merchant; he was banking on the fact that the other man would not recognize his voice. As a respected member of society and the son of a champion of Muggles, he did not make a habit of shopping in Knockturn Alley. The last thing he needed was a crack in his façade in the form of a suspicious shopkeeper.

"The Dark Lord requires something of you, Mr. Borgin, and has sent me to collect it on his behalf."

"And how do I know that you're the man he sent for the job and not a spy?"

"Surely you received word of when I was to arrive; isn't that enough for you? The Dark Lord's word is the truth, without question. I do not have time for your stalling. Where is the package?"

"He sends children to do his dirty work and doesn't even tell them what they're getting into?" Borgin tutted to himself as he shuffled toward the counter at an agonizingly slow pace. A glance at the skull adorned clock on the wall told Barty that his time was growing short; his patience going with it.

"Mr. Borgin, the package if you please."

A twitch in Borgin's slightly bulged left eye alerted Barty to the probability that he did not have what the Dark Lord required of him. Shaking hands reached behind the cash register and extracted a canvas sack with curiously shaped contents. Barty was by no means a skilled Legilimens, but the involuntary actions alone were enough to raise suspicion.

"Here you are, sir. Just as the Dark Lord requested. Good night!"

Before the man was able to turn his back on the young Death Eater, Barty had unleashed his first Unforgivable Curse. "CRUCIO!" he shouted, without ceremony. It was hardly the way he had expected his first torture to begin. As the other man collapsed to the ground, writhing and screaming, Barty couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in himself and his achievement. The Dark Lord would surely reward him for sparing him of this idiocy. All of the power in the world was in his hands; who was he not to use what he had been granted? The curse on Borgin began to wear off, and he struggled to sit up on the floor, scuttling backwards towards the wall, away from his aggressor. For every several moves the man on the ground made, Barty took one step closer, until he had him cornered. The look of panic on the older man's face gave Barty a feeling of control that he had never experienced before. And, like a drug, he wanted more.

"Am I right to assume that this," he dropped the canvas sack on the floor, allowing the contents to spill out. A few ancient looking coins rolled out first, revealing that the rest of the bag was full of large rocks. "Is not what the Dark Lord asked of you?"

"Y- y- you don't understand! There wasn't enough time! I couldn't have possibly gotten it!"

"You couldn't, or you didn't try? Crucio!" Was Barty taking advantage of his position? Surely. But that didn't mean that the wretched man on the floor didn't deserve the treatment he was receiving. Lying to the Dark Lord was one offense that most didn't live down; why should he be any different? Tears were streaming down the victim's face, uninhibited. It disgusted Barty to think that anyone would resort to crying before simply telling the truth.

"There was no way!" he sobbed as he crawled over to Barty's feet. Borgin made to clutch at his robes, another sign of complete and utter desperation, but Barty dealt him a kick in the face without hesitation. If he returned empty handed, the Dark Lord would punish him with more fury than that which he was giving to Borgin. Was there anything he could do to save himself at this point? Just one hour remained before he was to report back to his Master. One hour until he faced his failure.

"You don't have it, then?"

Through a bloodied and whimpering face, Barty made out a response that sounded a bit like "no." The nerves that he had never experienced until that point began to flood into him one by one. He felt his wand arm begin to shake ever so slightly, felt the bile rising in his stomach. His head filled with radical ideas of escape and murder and bringing Borgin back as proof; none of which were useful in the least. He would have to face the Dark Lord as soon as possible, while there was still time for him to think of an alternative plan.

"Pray that you never see me again, Mr. Borgin, or you won't live to see the morning. That is a promise."