The thump hit his chest again like a beating drum.
He tasted blood in his mouth, he was fairly sure it was his own. He spit, droplets of red hitting the floor. Mixing in with the dark wood of the floor. His mind swam as he felt his head drop to the side. He saw simply dizzy, at least that’s what he told himself, eyes half open. He hadn’t been sure why his father was angry this time, but he knew he must have done something wrong in his old man’s eyes. He was going to go crazy before he finally was given permission from the Dark Lord to kill his father. He couldn’t think that clearly right now though, nothing was working or processing in his mind.
The noise was almost deafening as if he was going insane. It took longer than he would have liked to realize it was his heart beat, smacking in his head as if he had his heart living inside his skull. Then a new thump happened, smacking up the side of his skull. Except this time it was a fist. His father’s fist colliding into his head. Cupped palm open so he didn’t leave any bruises against his skin, his father knew what he was doing here. Barty coughed, spitting up more blood again, his eyes closed slowly, opening up in the dark room.
The dim light from the hall opening gave way to the noise of his mother drunkenly sobbing, he heard her tell his father to stop. Barty finally got the nerve to look up, seeing his Dad’s weak frame, the idiot of an old man, standing above him. Glaring down at him. He was shouting about something, Barty didn’t hear it at first over the thump of his heart beat ringing in his ears.
He finally stood, his mind clearing some as he started to zone in on what his father was screaming about, tears welling in Barty’s eyes as he listened to him.
“...I come home to find you! You with illegal muggle items in my home!” His voice carrying through the Crouch home, “You spend time with that sniveling little boy, Snape, that idiot slumped over his potions. I tell you to make me friends, families that can benefit me and you find fools like him to bring into my home!” His Dad had grabbed him by his shirt, yanking him fully to his feet so they were face to face. His father staring him down over his crooked nose.
“You lose contact with the Blacks! You can’t even seem to make decent friends with the damn Malfoy boy! You are a useless piece of crap, you make a fool of me every chance you have and you do nothing but bring shame to our family!” Crouch Sr.’s voice laced with anger and intensity. He brought his face in close to Barty’s own, hissed words leaving his lips, cracking in the air, “You embarrass me with your antics at the balls, you don’t show up half the time when photos are required. I get you a guard to keep you safe out of my love for you and you spit in my face by ditching your own personal Auror! Do you know the strings I had to pull to make that happen.”
A backhand struck against Barty’s cheek before he was tossed to the dark wood of his floor, “It ends immediately. Do you hear me boy?” Crouch continued on, ignoring the small noise coming from his son, having moved into full speech mode, “Rules will be much stricter from here on out. You will not leave this home without Winky knowing your exact whereabouts at all times! You will not leave your Auror protection! If I find you breaking these rules, punishment will be strict and firm against you.”
Barty found his voice, wiping his face, “You can’t stop me if you wanted to stop me. I...I could just apparate out and never come back. I am an adult, father.” He said his words with more strength than he actually had in this moment. He swallowed, narrowing his eyes at his father. He went to move from the bed, moving towards his wand, trying to snatch it off of his nightstand.
He never had the chance, his father’s wand slipping back into his hand and with a movement like a flowing river, a spell leaving it’s tip, “Imperio!” Bartemius Crouch Sr. hissed and his son stopped in his tracks. His body freezing under the power of his father’s magic. Senior stepping closer as he closed the space between himself and his son.
“Sit at your desk, young man.” His father ordered and Barty obeyed, “You know I’ve given permission for the Aurors to use the Unforgivable Curses, to use them to catch that unspeakable man and his followers. I have worked so hard to secure my position as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! I will not lose it because of this idiotic uprising or your antics with these...these useless friends!” His father’s words were like a distant noise as Barty settled into the spell, falling fully under his father’s curse.
“I will release you. Once we have settled on the right course of action to protect our family and the interests and advancements we have made....that I have made in the past years.” Barty Sr was talking more to himself than to his son, walking across the room as if in deep contemplation, “You know I do this for your own good, because I love you. You can be so great, you can be a Minister someday if you apply yourself. I’ll help you get their with the right sort of life and friends. So first...let’s take care of that unfortunate influence in your life. Barty, you will write a letter to Severus Snape. You will explain to him, in detail that you’re no longer able or willing to continue a friendship with him as he does not benefit your future and is simply dragging you down. You will write it and send it tonight, that is a good first step to righting the wrong that is your life path.”
The room grew silent as Barty began to write his letter. It seemed like an eternity to Barty as he dictated the letter bits that his father wanted him to write out. Sending it out along the family owl. Barty had never felt less hopeless, though he hoped that in the areas he had been given free reign to write, that Severus knew what he had really wanted to say to him though he can’t say for sure that he got the point across. Bartemius sighed, looking down at the floor, before back to his son, “You must understand, Barty. I love you so much. I just want what’s good for our family and for your future, you really must learn to trust me.”
His father had come to him now, arms wrapped around Barty from behind. He gave him the briefest of hugs, “I am sorry, you make me do these things to keep you on task.” He released his son keeping a solid grip on one of his shoulders. The older Crouch, rubbed his shoulder and looked over the letter that he had forced Barty to write out, the description and care for the proper words to make the point clear to Severus Snape. It was by no means the end of the connections that Barty needed to cut himself off from, uesless connections and people. No, this was just the first step. Crouch Sr slipped the letter in his breast pocket and added on, “Stay here, go to bed for the night and tomorrow I will send you and Winky to make an appearance with me at St. Mungo’s, we must keep up appearances with these sick Wizards and Witches.”
He sighed again as he moved to allow the Imperiused young man move to his bed, “You may hate me now, Barty, but you know I’ve got your best interest at heart. I promise.” Crouch Sr, moved to the door, looking away as his son moved from the chair at the desk. A single candle lighting the room. Looking back to his son, he rubbed his temples. It was clear that the man wasn’t sure what to do with his wayward son or the mess that his family was in secret at home. The only thing he could do, was make sure that the appearances were kept. A deep breath filled sigh left his throat before turning away to allow his son a modicum of privacy for the moment. This situation had grown to a place that was no longer in his control, he may have to use this spell more often. He may have to figure out a way to keep better tabs on his lost son.
As Barty stripped down and climbed in bed, his father tucked him in, kissing the top of his forehead, “You will be a good boy.” He said in a low tone. Moving to the door, planning to go console his wife. Barty was finally left alone in bed, his body curling in around his pillow, gripping tight to it. The cold silks of the pillow pressed against his naked body. He didn’t know what the world held for him, he wanted to run from home. He wanted to escape, he wanted to go anywhere but here, go be with Mulciber. Hell even seeing his little Auror Benjy sounded better than spending another night in his home. He knew in his father’s mind that he was doing to right thing, but it didn’t feel right in any fashion to the young man, the very lonely man.
He didn’t know when in the night it started. The tears. He only knew that they came. Wetness brushing down his cheeks. His mind unable to rest, the spell that lingered, he knew his father would drop in the morning, the thing that kept him here. He curled up in bed as he cried. The streams on his cheeks, filtering down across his chin and into the sheets below him. He wanted to scream out, though he knew he could never, Winky came at some point in the night and blew out the single candle from his desk. Though he couldn’t speak to her, his loyal house elf. He couldn’t move at all, his body stayed in bed where it had been ordered.
“Lord...please help me.” He whispered under his breath, his own will calling out for the Dark Lord, his true father. He just wanted to be saved. To be free of his home. He had only ever wanted someone who truly cared for him, he knew in his heart, that he would never find that here as long as he stayed in this home. He needed to escape and someday, oh yes, someday escape from here he would and he would watch his father and his precious Aurors perish beneath the Dark Lord’s heel. He would finally be allowed his revenge.
His heart beat slowly in his chest as he struggled to find sleep. This was not the end of Barty Crouch Jr. Oh no. His story was just beginning and someday his story would include the death of his father. It was on this night that he swore it under his breath, made that promise to himself. It was in this quiet moment, in the dead of night that Barty Crouch Jr. swore upon his own life, that he would watch his father die. That he would know what it felt like to watch the small weasel of a man twist and die before him, knowing that it was his own son who did it. He would make sure of it. His crying grew more intense as he dug his nails into the pillow. He felt his lip quiver and his eyes dig tightly closed in the wetness of his tears as he made that unspoken and firm promise. He would survive this and he would grow stronger, because he would have too if he ever wanted to truly punish his father.
