Shadows of Darkness

The Meeting

The Great Hall buzzed with a lively hum as students settled in for lunch. The long tables, lined with plates of steaming food, echoed with laughter and chatter. At the Slytherin table, Regulus Black lounged comfortably next to Oakley. He draped an arm over her shoulders, a gesture that drew envious glances from various housemates.
Seated in front of them, Alecto Carrow, Evan Rosier, and Barty Crouch Jr. were deep in a discussion, their heads leaning close together as if sharing the secrets of the universe. Between the stacks of roast beef and mashed potatoes, whispers filled the air, rising into excited murmurs punctuated with laughter.
"Did you hear?" Alecto leaned closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "They caught another Gryffindor sneaking into the Forbidden Forest last night. I hear they're getting more reckless as exams approach."
"Pathetic," Evan scoffed, grinning with that signature smirk that raised the confidence in their circle. "Can't even stay in their own tower. I say let them get eaten by the giant spiders. It would serve them right!"
Regulus chuckled, leaning into Oakley, his fingers idly playing with the strands of her dark hair.

Suddenly, Barty stood up, wiping his palms on his robes, his face a mask of resolve. It was unusual for him to get up without a purpose in mind. "I need to go!" he declared, startling nearby students, his urgency palpable.
"Where're you off to?" Evan called after him, a smirk still plastered on his face from the earlier entertainment.
Barty paused only a moment, glancing around as if gauging whether anyone would dare to question him further. "Just—someplace." And before anyone could pry deeper, he left the great hall, the heavy door closing behind him with a definitive thud.
"What on earth was that about?" Oakley asked, her laughter fading as she turned back to Regulus.
Regulus shrugged, a hint of concern flashing in his eyes. "Barty does his own thing. It's probably nothing."

~~~~~~~

Barty Crouch Jr. stood on the precipice of an ancient forest, his breath echoing in the chilling twilight. The trees loomed around him, gnarled and twisted, their bark resembling the clawed hands of the damned reaching skyward. In the distance, he could see it: a clearing where shadows danced, alive with whispers that tickled the edges of reason. Tonight, the world of magic would change forever, and he was just a pawn about to be touched by darkness.
Casting one last glance at his surroundings, Barty adjusted the sleeves of his robes, remembering his purpose. The letter had arrived as an exquisite parchment—the kind that shivered with power. "Meet me where the lost things converge," it had said. His pulse quickened at the thought of the entity that had summoned him. The Dark Lord—Lord Voldemort—was not known for mercy or kindness, but for strength and an unyielding desire for power.

As he stepped into the clearing, an overwhelming sense of foreboding washed over him. Just beyond it, he caught a glimpse of cold, slitted eyes. The Dark Lord was waiting.
"Welcome, Barty," Voldemort hissed, his voice a blend of silk and shadows. He did not look like a mere man, but a manifestation of dread, his pale face carved with rage and ambition. "You have come."
Barty swallowed hard, dropping to one knee. "My Lord," he whispered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. But deep down, excitement brewed. This was the moment he had longed for, the life he had always dreamed of beyond the stifling walls of his family home.
"Look at the potential you possess," Voldemort continued, observing Barty with an intensity that made his heart race. "Your family name weighs heavy, yet it also brings prestige. Your father was once a powerful man—let us not speak of weakness. Let me show you the true power of the Dark Arts, a world where bloodlines mean nothing and strength is the only currency."
Barty nodded enthusiastically, hungry for the promise of power.
"She is special, your sister," Voldemort said, almost conversationally, piercing through Barty's thoughts. "Join me, and I will offer her a place by your side."

"She possesses power you have yet to fathom. The blood of the Crouches runs thick in her veins. With proper guidance, she could become a formidable ally." He continued.
"I will bring her to you, my Lord," he vowed, his voice trembling with the weight of his ambition. "Let me prove myself first."
Voldemort leaned closer, his gaze unsettling, leaving a chill that wormed through Barty's very bones. "If you wish to prove yourself, then you must embrace the art of darkness fully. You will become a Death Eater. And you will bring your sister."
With a heartbeat that felt like thunder in his ears, Barty reached out. A sharp pain lanced through his arm as the Dark Mark scorched itself into his skin—a symbol of allegiance. Hot tears mixed with exhilaration bubbled under his face as he gazed at Voldemort, who seemed momentarily satisfied—though still uncertain, like a viper weighing the worth of its prey.