Jigsaw Puzzle Challenge #55 - Barty Crouch Jr. - This is a middle piece so it has four prompts

Prompts:
Word count: over 1100
Spell: Expecto Patronum
Sentence: Love is merely a shadow against the lights of hates.
Word: Tuxedo

My Word Count: 1187 words

Disclaimer: Unless JKR is a broke, bored 15 year old girl in Australia I don't own Harry Potter

I tilt my head to one side, contemplating the painting on the wall. I don't know what it is about that particular picture that caught my eye but something did, that is really all that matters, I guess that's all that ever matters, it doesn't matter why, just that it did, just that it happens and that you're here now, doing whatever it is that you're doing.

I'll give an example because at the moment I sound like I'm spurting out bullshit. The Dark Lord - the old fool Dumbledore announced yesterday in one of his oh so great speeches that in order to defeat the Dark Lord the light side need to understand him, to know his motives, why he's there, how he got to power, in his words "we must know what he has done in the past, we must understand Voldemort if we ever plan on fighting him and, more importantly, if we ever plan on winning."

Personally that is irrelevant, the Dark Lord is here, he is putrefying the wizarding world and making wizards rise above the scum of the Earth, the how, why etc. is just not important, what's important is that the Dark Lord succeeds and puts the muggles and mudbloods in their rightful place.

But I'm getting distracted and philosophical, the painting. It's odd that it did catch my eye, sure, it's well enough drawn, the person has some sort of artistic ability. It is of a man, dressed, rather than in robes in a bright tuxedo. He is surrounded by darkness except for the patroness, a lion cub, erupting from his wand.

You can see the detail put into the painting, the way the tuxedo is not made for something such as casting a spell - of course it isn't, it is made for muggles. There is a few beads of sweat on his forehead and his prominent jaw is clearly uttering the incantation 'expecto patronum.'

At closer inspection at the lion cub I realise that there are words hidden in the fur, dancing right before my eyes but with little chance of anyone being able to see them, and I have to admit, the thought that the painter put into this is incredible.

I squint my eyes to read the tiny writing. 'Love is merely a shadow against the lights of hates.'

My mouth moves silently as I read and I scoff slightly. Love is merely a shadow against the lights of hates. I have no clue what that means.

It sounds like something that the old fool Dumbledore would take pleasure in confusing everybody with. Actually, no, that's not right, he would say it the other way round, that hate is merely a shadow to love. Yes, that is something that Dumbledore would say, that he would be stupid and ignorant enough to genuinely believe that that is true.

I look back at the painting but before I can take much more in suddenly my father bursts through the door at the end of the corridor and comes sprinting down the passageway towards me "did you hear?!" he shouts, acknowledging me for the first time in weeks through which he was to busy with the war on the Dark Lord to bother with something so insignificant, so unimportant as his son "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been defeated!"

I just gape at him, open mouthed, how? When? Is it really over? Are we really going to spend another decade, century, millennium, maybe even forever in hiding, bowing down to the muggles that should be bowing to us if the natural order of the world was in place. To think a moment ago my biggest problem was what the pointless words on a mediocre painting meant.

Father misjudges my horrified, disbelieving expression for one of joy, of hope for a better world. But how can we hope for a better world when the only one with promises to that better world is now gone?

"How?" I finally manage to splutter out, the surreal feeling and the terror of what will happen next still settling in around me.

"It was the Potter boy, Harry Potter!" He declares happily.

Potter, Harry Potter, the Dark Lord was going to finish him, to rid the world of that worthless half-blood, what went wrong? It must have been big if he truly is gone.

"You Know Who went to find the Potters, to kill them, he killed Lily and James, young Harry's parents, most unfortunate," I suppress the urge to roll my eyes at the usually strict, pathetic man before me, either roll my eyes or scream at him to hurry up, but if I do I won't get answers, "and then he tried to kill Harry Potter, but he couldn't, he couldn't kill that boy,"

"What? What do you mean couldn't kill him?" I ask, whatever I had expected it was not that a one year old wouldn't be able to be killed by the a Dark Lord.

"Well that's the thing isn't it? Nobody knows why or how I mean after everyone he has killed, heavens, Harry Potter is only a year old but apparently when he failed to kill a Harry the curse rebounded upon You Know Who and that's what killed him, that's why he's gone!"

I stare at him, completely confused but the confusion is starting to fade into an intense feeling of horror and incredible panic, what will happen now? A one year old baby was what it took to kill the Dark Lord, the most powerful wizard in the world, how?

Father smiled at me for a second before reverting, quite suddenly into his usual, formal, strict, businessman like posture "now I must go back to work," he says in that same, monotone voice he adapts for the media and boring ministry business, "You Know Who may be gone but his death eaters certainly are not."

He spins on the spot and disapparates with a loud crack. I stare at the place he stood, mulling over the words then, a second later disapparate to meet with Bella, she should know what's going on, what to do now.

With a jolt I wake up, cold hands beside me, reaching for my heart, desperate to grab me, to pull me away into a world of even more despair and I let out an involuntary shiver. I sit, confused for a moment, wondering why I am crying silent tears, wondering where I am, calling out softly to my mother to come and hold me, like when I was four years old and woke up screaming and crying after a nightmare.

But then reality returns, that wasn't a nightmare, not something plucked from the darkest realms of my own head, no, that was worse, much worse. That was real, a memory, the memory that started it all. I moan slightly. How long have I been here? It feels like years but with a jolt I realise it has only been one day, one day, just the rest of my life left.

My future is not so perfect a picture.

I'd love it if you told me what you think