Jesus Walks

[Deleted]

Drowning in betrayal's river The freezing cold will make you shiver Join the world of greater learning Crown me king and be my servants open words ### heads up kiddies. the party has arrived

Two years had passed since the night of his Lord's glorious return. Barty himself had fallen that same night, captured by Dumbledore and the Ministry, he had welcomed his death knowing that he had done everything he could. Yet it seemed his greater purpose was blessed still, the path he walked so vaulted that not even the Dementor's Kiss could stop him. His Lord had not left him alone to the tender mercies of the Ministry - or perhaps it had nothing to do with his Lord at all. Barty didn't know and he didn't ask. As far as he was concerned, the two Death Eaters who had orchestrated his escape were allies to whom he owed a debt that may or may not get repaid - nothing more. It didn't matter to him what their motivations at the time had been; the result was all that held any true value. Death was a liberating thing, in a manner of speaking. Travelling abroad, he was able to move about with a semblance of freedom that bordered on mockery. Even abroad he couldn't risk walking boldly in the sunlight. Well trimmed facial hair certainly helped aid the perpetration of his not-a-corpse existence on the two occasions he had nearly been caught out. By the time they realized he wasn't souless - well, they were. To put it mildly. The only contact he had with his Lord was through the Mark and the two Death Eaters privy to the fact he was alive. No others knew of this secret and, in his time abroad, Barty was not idle. He whispered tales in pubs and beds, traced secrets into flesh and bled promises from poisoned lips. Everywhere he went, he brought with him the Dark Lord's spirit and purpose. There were none he would not reach to, and through certain sacrifices he had sworn in European allies in various nations who began their migration to Britain where the initial coup would be staged. The time had come, at long last, for him to join them on their journey to his motherland. The urge to drop his disguise was almost painful it was so intense, but he did not dare. Hair long enough to challenge the foppishness of an unnamed Malfoy patriarch and a beard to give Rasputin weak knees, there was no finding Barty Crouch in Desmond Krist. Oh the fun he'd had with that alias in all of the not safe for work scenarios your dirty little mind can conjure. Not until he had slid past the wards, his wand weaving the spells that had been carefully described to him with the sort of nonchalance expected of a man who never knocked. There would be no announcing this arrival better than this. Black dragonhide boots built on military fashion clung to pants that were braced with leather and armaments. A leather greatcoat that bore enough metals and sigils to be a holy artifact of its own over a well-worn Weird Sisters tshirt that was about as form fitting as legal limits would allow (there may have been a line crossed, but Barty hardly cared) all combined to create a wild look for a curse breaker - which was of course what he'd been passing himself off as for a good five months now. It didn't matter - oh, no. none of it mattered, because as soon as he ever so politely thrust the doors of the Malfoy foyer open and out of his way, it all faded. With every step, leather was replaced with fine cloth, hair dissolved, and by the time he had strode halfway across the room, the disguise was completely removed. A wild, lunatic grin tore its way across Barty's features as he opened his arms up wide as though to embrace every unworthy incompetence in the room. "Who missed me?" His head seemed to snap madly after the words as they were barked out, giving a manic gleam to them. They were loud. they were clear. The voice completely and utterly unmistakable. Barty Crouch was back in business!

Varon

[Deleted]

Narcissa had long since stopped caring when people barged into her home unannounced. She hardly even flinched at the sound of large, heavy oak striking her pristine walls - which she'd likely have to repair again after such a careless entrance. She sighed, rounding the corner of the upstairs hall in an effort to make her way downstairs when the all too familiar voice caught her attention. She froze at the top of the large, grand stairwell and canted her head. Lips pursed, she gripped the cool metal of the railing and made her way ever so eloquently down the steps. 

She was the first to meet Barty in the foyer, the man's wild eyes as familiar to her as they had once been. Arms crossed over the woman's chest as her face took on an all too motherly expression of displeasure; Barty, for all his insanity and utter lack of a moral code, had always been respectful towards her. She truly hoped that he had not forgotten his manners in the last two years. 

Wait a moment. He had been gone for two years - dead, so far as anyone knew. Narcissa's blood ran cold and then, suddenly, boiled. Secrets. More secrets kept from her. How had she missed this? The death eaters flocked to her house, hid in her halls, ransacked her kitchen when they were hungry and blabbed drunkenly in her dining room late at night when she would have very much rathered them be sleeping so she could get her work done in peace. How had she missed this?

Rather than waste time asking questions that would very likely be answered soon enough, Narcissa stepped forward and, in a very matriarchal display, popped a hip and tutted softly at him. "If you insist on entering my home like a bat out of Hell, the very least you can do is wipe your feet, Mr. Crouch." There was no evidence of her annoyance at being kept in the dark; if it had been hidden, it had, inevitably, been for a reason. It was currently not her place to argue that. She pointed sharply to the mat by the door, though she highly doubted he was dirty enough to warrant the action. Barty had always been a rather... pristine individual, all things considered. "My house, my rules, Barty." 

Narcissa's lips played up in a wry smile then, if only for a moment, before the expression had been swallowed by her usual cool and collected one. "What brings a corpse to my home, then? You're looking fairly good for what ought to have been two years in the ground."

CODED BY DELL AT BTN:V5

[Deleted]

Drowning in betrayal's river The freezing cold will make you shiver Join the world of greater learning Crown me king and be my servants open words ### heads up kiddies. the party has arrived

That it was Narcissa to greet him was only proper of course. She was the lady of the manor – oh he knew all about Lucius and his royal fuck up, naturally. Impossible not to, his long-haired mug plastered all over the Prophet, that fall of the Malfoys all but a celebrated thing by the lower class cretins. Honestly, Barty had felt a purely sadistic glee when he had first discovered the discarded paper with Lucius’ disgruntled mugshot staring pathetically out at him. The notion of his failure had been so beautifully entertaining to Barty that he had promptly celebrated with a night of drink, of blood, and of a little too much passion if the bruises left on his hips were any indication the following morning. The sheer disgust Barty felt for all things Lucius was almost tangible. The worthless, pathetic coward had dared to lie about his loyalties, had the gall to claim he had been under the effects of Imperius the entire time. It was filthy, it was degrading, it was cowardice and disloyalty personified. What Barty would have given to run a blade through the man’s stomach, to gut him like the fish he was – but this, oh this was so much better. For him to fall so completely out of favor with the Dark lord was deliciously perfect in the way of poetic justices. Barty would have celebrated further had reality not come knocking down with his hangover to remind him that Lucius’ falling to shit had a bit of a domino effect. The truth of that was fairly clear. Narcissa bore herself well, but Barty could see the strain under her eyes. The way she held herself was far too stiff for the lady of the house, for the gracious hostess he knew her to be. Rather than allow a moment of melancholy to pass, Barty grinned and gave a flourishing bow to the lady that served double time to allow him to spell his shoes off and too the door. Wiggling his socked toes against the cool of the marble floor, Barty straightened with his patented too-wide grin. “My bad, Cissa,” He crooned, even as he darted forward on his socked feet to slide along the floor, catching her about the waist as he slid by and using her to anchor his momentum. The result was a bit of a turn and slide until he had managed to spin the poor woman into his arms and lift her off her feet for a whirling embrace that very nearly resulted in both of them toppling to the ground when he lost his balance. Laughing heartily, Barty set the woman down, though not without noticing how slight she was. He’d been in prison a long time, but he’d seen her that year, during the tournament. She had been well, though now he could find cause to question that, and it darkened his heart with irritation. Oh but how he would nettle Lucius for this. “And you, my dear angel,” The grin on his face was too soft to be false, his eyes alight with a mixture of amusement and familiarity, “Look as lovely as ever.” Didn’t matter that Lucius wasn’t around to hear it – though generally he only said such things to drive her husband mental, in this moment he felt it appropriate to share a private compliment. It had been too long since he had seen his old companions, let alone one whom he enjoyed as much as Narcissa. She always had been a bit of a center for him, the calm in all the storm and violence. She was beautiful fun to tease, too. Realizing he was supposed to be dead, Barty opened his arms with a grin and stated, “Never died!” As if that wasn’t perfectly obvious already “Did a good job faking it though, didn’t I?” He asked, gleaming with pride for how long he had kept his nose to the ground, while remaining useful to the Dark Lord. Take that, Lucius.

Varon