Barty Crouch Jr x Platonic!Reader
Reader x Mystery! Husband (stay for reveal)
feat. Non!Canon Wizard Child (eats pebbles, speaks French)
CONTENT: Canon(ish)! Barty Jr - Not much Marauders softboiiing, Off-Screen! Major! Character Death, assorted! Non-Canon! Character Death, Vague! Cigarettes/Alcohol, Non-Descript! Pregnancy, Barty as Moody, General Family Disfunction
My apologies in advance if your name is: Rudolph, Ernest, Yvonna or variants- I don't know why I chose those names specifically.
To avoid confusion- 'Barty' in the main section is Barty Jr, and 'Bartemius' is Barty Sr. I have a very light HC that Barty Sr detests being called 'Barty' by anyone he doesn't know familiarly, but no one can pronounce Bartemius, so here we all are.
Oh, also- For this to work, Barty Jr is NOT aided by Bartemius and Co to get out of Azkaban. This Barty has some integrity with his work, mkay? Still gets demoted to Foreign Policy, though...
More fun on the MASTERPOST
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When I post frequently I have literally nothing to update anyone on...
I cannot explain how confused I am about the obsession with Barty Jr. - I don't think I'm young or on TikTok enough to understand the obsession with the Marauders, I don't know, man. I get he's played by David Tennant, I don't get why that makes him a softboi. He does look pretty hot in that suit he wears in the trial scene, though. Like father like son... Anyway.
All I know is people keep shipping him with Evan Rosier? Like the- Like the Death Eater guy who Igor tries to snitch on? And why is Pandora Lovegood suddenly his sister, I thought she was just there?
Do not advise, please. I'm okay. I'm just scared.
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His father is holding a toddler. Why is his father holding a toddler? A little boy. Four, maybe, or younger. He has never been very good with ages. He cannot remember his father ever holding him like that, though the child is very little.
However old the child is, it has been dressed up in a tiny set of robes, and is currently being paraded around by Bartemius Crouch himself. It’s a little boy, he realises, upon hearing the name ‘Rudolph’- Who gives a toddler a name like that? It’s almost as bad as Bartemius.
And then he sees you. He is not himself, he is wearing the skin of a seasoned auror with one eye and a strange history with grey squirrels; he is on the right side of the war now, he is supposed to say- But you are you. Your looks have not shed a particle, you look near enough exactly the same. Still with your hair up, still wearing the dinky silver charm bracelet your mother gifted you. He hated that thing, it jingled. Every time he heard you coming he debated tearing it off your wrist. How long has it been since he’s seen you? Ten years? More? And there you are, attending the Tournament for whatever reason.
Barty watches you pick up this child- This Rudolph- And he gets his first look at his face. He has your eyes, your smile, he even has your face. Rudolph is yours, undoubtedly. He wonders what possessed you to name a child after a reindeer.
But he is not Barty, he must remember that, he is Alastor. And Alastor would not just barge over to inspect the infant. No, no, Alastor would absolutely do that.
He lumbers over, not entirely sure if he’s doing it right. Alastor’s body is much heavier than his own, and limps oddly here and there. It is difficult to get used to. The child sees him first, his face crumples up and he points frantically, pulling your collar. Barty knows exactly why Rudolph is so upset, he is pleased you assume it is on account of Alastor’s scars and false eye,
“Morning, Al,” You say, moving your toddler onto your other hip, “I don’t know what he’s so fussy about.”
He does not especially care, he has never much liked children. A big hand he cannot quite process is his own reaches over to the boy, who is still squalling. He pats him on the hair, he refuses to even look at him,
“Mummy…” The boy keeps saying, “Mummy- I want to go.”
“He’s bored. It’s not exactly peak entertainment for a bab, is it?”
Barty shakes his head. No, he can see why it might not be. You are absolutely the kind of mother to bring your child to events anyway- He cannot process how you have an actual, living infant. He does not think you could even be trusted with a hamster.
“The free food, obviously.” The two of you stare at each other for a moment, “Nah- He wanted to come, he’s excited to see the D-R-A-G-O-Ns.”
You have not changed at all. He can remember you at Ministry events for chocolate cake and alcohol, clearly you are still doing the same. He with his father, you with your mother- You would lock eyes with him and smile, that sad smile one gives a puppy. His father ran Law, your mother ran Education. The two of your crossed paths more often than he might have liked. His arm was marked even then, even then he was sneaking out at odd times to attend meetings and pretending to his father he was looking at flats in Central London.
You look up, almost suspiciously,
“Mum’s fine. She and Gil just bought a holiday house in Madrid.”
“Gil, Gilly?” You say it as though he knows what that means, “Her wife? My stepmother?”
Your mother was certainly not married to a woman the last time he had met with you. No, he was certain there was a father in the picture somewhere. What was your father called- Henry? Barty- No- That was his father-
You sigh, heavily. Rudolph has been plopped back onto the ground, and is now running about collecting rocks. A group of Beauxbaton students have appeared, thoroughly invested in the adventures of the toddler. Barty is only mildly surprised when the little boy begins babbling in vague, accented French and what might well be German.
There is something here he should not have treaded upon, and that he assumes Alastor is supposed to know.
“How long has it been now?”
“Hff… Two years in December.”
You have stopped Rudolph from putting pebbles in his mouth three times now. Really, you should just lift him up again. You try several times, and he squalls- God, children really are annoying. The two of you stand in silence.
“How long have your mum and Gilly been married?”
“Oh… 1986, the year it was legalised. Weren’t you at the wedding?”
Barty shrugs, Alastor moves his shoulders. It made sense Alastor would be there, of course it did. He mentally tried to figure out how the logistics of your mother’s second marriage and your father’s death aligned. He would not ask about it, you were already looking at him like he was insane.
“Mummy…” You look down at the little boy, who is pointing somewhere else now, “Time to go.”
You shake your head, and lift him up. He allows it this time,
“Right, well- I’ll see you in a bit, Al. Captain’s orders.”
Barty watches you cautiously from the sidelines. You are still sweet, still smiley. You always had that talent, that unique ability to make anyone feel like your attention was completely on them. Rudolph is passed around like a chubby, rosy-cheeked parcel. From you, to Bartemius, he is certain he even sees the child being chased after by Minerva McGonagall at one point.
Bartemius sits with you, he assumes due to your shared position as guests. He notices quickly how comfortable Rudolph is with his father, how comfortable you are with his father. At one point you light yourself a cigarette (you still smoke, apparently), and he watches you hand it over to Bartemius, who takes a drag. His father, who he had never seen take a drop of alcohol in his life, with a toddler on his lap and a cigarette in his mouth. The world had moved on, apparently.
Later, following the dramatic turn of several teenagers fighting wild beasts with wings, you are sat around a fireplace in the judge’s tent. Ludo Bagman is… Somewhere- Off trying to talk quidditch with a boy who only half-understands English and does not understand at all the Scouse accent. Rudolph, Barty realises, is asleep on top of an enormous plush dragon, he asks about it, you roll your eyes.
“His father.” You say, “It does shrink down. Some line of French toys which turn into beds. I’m not asking.”
He pours himself a glass of mulled wine, and offers you one. You laugh, you put a hand on your stomach almost unconsciously,
Barty notices, obviously.
“But you’re still smoking?”
“Hm? Oh- Oh, no, Bartemius smokes, I stopped years ago. Well- I have a puff sometimes, but that doesn’t count. He put his cigs in my bag.”
Silence. Awkward silence. At least that seems mildly in character with Alastor Moody’s actual self,
That puts you at - What- Five months? Six? You have sat down again, flicking lazily through one of the magazines plopped on the table.
“Wants to name the poor mite Ernest. And his girl names aren’t any better- Yvonna- I don’t even think Yvonna is a real name.”
Barty snorts. Those are even worse than Rudolph. Even he will admit that.
“Matteo, close enough to Matthew, after dad. I like Maria, but it’s too on-point if she wanted to become a nun- We agreed that Violette was a nice name.”
“God- Can you two pick a normal name?”
Alastor would have laughed, so Barty did. You were witty then, he’s not surprised to know that part of you hasn’t changed in the slightest. Not much of you has changed. Eventually, the assorted guests of this particular tent come back in, Karkaroff flits in and out as he sees fit, Ludo Bagman has returned, making his way well through a cider. Rudolph is now putting together a jigsaw puzzle, which is probably closer to a few wooden pieces than an actual ‘puzzle’.
The boy shows you his puzzle- A unicorn, on a rainbow sparkly background. An odd choice for a boy, if Barty said so, but it doesn’t make much of a difference to you. You just nod appreciatively, as though it is the finest piece of art you have ever seen. He tips it back over and starts doing the thing again, not in the least bored with it.
Barty did not even know wizarding high-chairs existed, but they do. Rudolph is plopped in a raised chair with a little tray, and given breaded chicken- They call it chicken nuggets, he does not know what a chicken nugget is, it must be a muggle thing- and a little fruit salad. He consumes both at an alarming rate and is given more. Alastor does not eat, Alastor would not eat.
You are spoon-feeding him a piece of sponge cake. He does not know toddlers should have such a thing, but little Rudolph is simply delighted. Every so often, you look up, mildly paranoid at something, or someone. On his other side, Bartemius occasionally gives the boy a spoon of vanilla ice cream, doing exactly the same thing. It is odd. Too odd.
“Bartemius.” You say firmly, upon catching him wiping up the toddler’s face with a napkin, “Could you stop feeding my son ice cream?”
“Why are you feeding him cake, then?” The older man snaps back, “Don’t think I haven’t seen.”
“Cake is softer and easier for a toddler to eat. What if he gets brain freeze?”
“Alright, alright, fussy woman.”
Barty catches his father giving the toddler another spoon of the forbidden treat. Bartemius winks at the toddler. You watch him do it, you roll your eyes.
The man disappears later to go and greet someone or another. Rudolph is still in his highchair, surprisingly clean for such a little child. You are chatting aimlessly with Severus Snape, a strange pairing if he’s ever seen one. He does not think he’s ever seen Snape smile before. Apart from perhaps when he was a student here, and Severus in his senior tie with full dominance of the common room.
“Mummy…” The little boy whines, you lift him out and put him on your lap, “Mummy- Want Daddy. Where’s Daddy?”
Snape looks down at the child and pulls a face, and Barty thinks for one, heart-stopping moment that you have bred with Severus, that you are expecting another one of his children. No, surely not. He remembers you rolling your eyes at him, telling him to leave the little students alone, correcting his work during Free Study with entirely too much confidence. No. That could not happen.
“You should find your husband.”
You look towards Severus, unimpressed. A facial expression you have all but perfected,
“I really should, you know. I have a habit of losing him.” You plop Rudolph back on the ground, and grin comically largely, “Come, child, let’s find Daddy- Oh husband~”
Barty watches you leave, you scoop up your son as it becomes apparent he cannot get down the steps himself onto the main foyer. The two of you leave, and emerge a moment later from a back door,
“Forgot my bag,” You say, lifting it from your chair, “I’d lose my head, you know. I don’t know how Bartemius keeps me right.”
You say it so casually that he almost misses it. It is an accepted fact of this world, and it is something he had been hoping was just his paranoia. He needs to sit down, and later will need a rather large scotch. You- Married to him. Married, not just together, not just with a child born by him- You have called him husband, Severus has called him husband.
You come to say goodbye, Rudolph is in his father’s arms- Well, their father’s arms- Tiny hands thoroughly invested in the collar of his robes. He watches you kiss his father on the lips, fully, and his stomach turns completely. He has the sudden urge to vomit, and excuses himself quietly into the shadows.
If Bartemius really has changed, he will not make orphans of his half-siblings for no reason. Perhaps they deserve him as a father, even if he did not.
Barty sits quietly in his armchair, reading over his papers and occasionally moving to rock the babe in the cradle beside him. He sighs heavily, and passes you one specific folder.
“It’s done.” He says quietly, and it is no question what he means. You nod, for it is all you can do, and put the folder back with the rest, to be put with the other trinkets left behind by his first son.
Barty does not want comfort. This was for the best. He looks at his daughter’s face, and he knows this is the best way it possibly could have been. You kiss his forehead tenderly and disappear off to the kitchen. Tea. Tea is always a good idea.
