Frank hadn't suspected him; not the son of his boss.
"For that you punished me with a lifetime in Azkaban." Barty stood up and paced back and forth. "I still don't know how Mummy convinced you to let her take my place. I suspect there was a potion involved, she was always very good at potions. She had to be, didn't she? She wasn't allowed to be anything less than perfect. But good for Mummy!"
His mother would have done anything for him, Barty knew that. She had loved him. She had also been the first one to buy him a broom and teach him how to fly; the first to buy him a present to celebrate his being a prefect, or getting perfect grades. She had been a wonderful woman; much too good for his father.
"I won't ever forget that she sacrificed her last days of freedom for me," Barty said firmly, whirling around and pointing his finger at his comatose parent, "but you wasted it! I'm sure she never wanted me to exchange one prison for another! To be locked away under your control, never to leave the house, never to know sunshine or a lover's touch again! You dosed me with potions to make my mind pliable and get around the Occlumency Bella taught me! You used Imperius curses on me to keep me obedient. Well, no more!"
His voice vibrated with rage.
"My Lord has freed me! He will be my father now!" Barty sat back down suddenly. "Yes, you heard me! He told me of his own father – a pitiful man who didn't see the greatness in his own son – just like you! He loves me! He will rise again stronger than before and I will take my place as his Heir, yes, I will be Slytherin's Heir, Father, haven't I done well, now?!"
He paused and wiped a hand across his mouth to wipe away the spittle that had lingered after his passionate spiel.
"We will get revenge on all those who have wronged us." Barty promised, his eyes glittering. "You will eventually die by my hand – the Dark Lord has promised me that just as his father died at his!"
He got to his feet and paced again. He stretched out his body. Winky had actually kept him in good condition. She hadn't stinted on his food, ensuring that he had potions to make up for the deficiencies in nutrients caused by his incarceration in the basement, and she had been the one to help him exercise every day.
Another week or so and he would be in peak condition, able to assume his father's place – no, not his father, he wouldn't call the man that any longer; he was undeserving of the title. No, he would take his sire's place at the Ministry and then the real fun would start.
Barty laughed.
Those Death Eaters who had denounced his Master would regret the day they had denied him, had lost faith in him. The Dark Lord had already planned his revival. The ritual was long and complicated and would take almost a year to complete but it would return the Dark Lord to his former glory. And Barty would be trusted with the most important part: delivering Harry Potter to the Dark Lord.
Harry Potter.
Barty had seen the newspapers and seen the Boy Who Lived's photo. He was a young boy; nothing special. The Dark Lord had already told him it had been the mother – Lily – who had performed some ancient Wiccan magic that had protected the boy and deprived the Dark Lord of his body. But the Dark Lord wanted Potter for his resurrection; needed the boy's blood and so Barty would deliver Potter. The Dark Lord would kill Potter then.
And so Barty would deprive Sirius Black of someone he loved just as Black had deprived Barty of his love.
Anger raged through Barty, hot and fierce, and he sent a cutting hex towards the still form on the bed.
He would destroy Black for killing Rabastan, Barty thought furiously. He would reduce Black to nothing. He would take everything Black loved and tear it to shreds. He would deliver Black's precious child to the Dark Lord and when the Dark Lord was finished with him, Barty would deliver Potter's head to Black personally.
He sent another curse at the bedridden man who had once been his father.
It would take time for the Dark Lord's plan to come to fruition – the ritual he wanted to use was powerful and required months of preparation. But there was no reason why Barty couldn't start on his part early or on ruining the rest of what Black held dear. He had already begun with sending Potter a Happy Birthday message since Weasley had been so eager to tell his boss how the Boy Who Lived would spend the day at the Burrow. But there would be more he could do and he would do it.
He grinned again.
The World Cup presented an opportunity. They'd received word via Weasley again that security was being tightened thanks to a tip of some kind of attack. The Dark Lord had laughed and had theorised that it was his old supporters desperately trying to win back favour because they knew he was back and growing in strength again because the Mark darkened. He had given Barty permission to show them how it was really done.
He'd target Potter, of course. If he could kidnap him before he went to Hogwarts so much the better. The boy could face the torment and trials the ritual demanded while chained to a wall next to Barty's dear old Dad.
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