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“The Ravenclaw team comes on in twenty!”
“Got it, Madam Hooch!” Dean Thomas shouted back. He slowly dribbled the football down the field, or as most people knew it, the ground inside the Hogwarts quidditch pitch.
Despite the impression Wood gave off and what most people believed, the Hogwarts quidditch teams did not actually use the pitch twenty-four-seven. Quidditch also wasn’t the only activity the pitch was used for.
Dean liked quidditch in the way that he liked watching people play petanque—good to know how it’s played, but football was always dearest to his heart.
The magic of football was that it required nothing—or next to nothing, anyway. All that Dean needed was the football itself, not gear, not space, not even other people.
Dean and his mother were certainly not exactly struggling financially, but he has always known that any money can be saved is good money. He’s played football since back in primary school, when it certainly was the cheapest sport available, but also because of the park almost next door to their little townhouse in London.
Another reason Dean loved dribbing the ball up and down the quidditch pitch was that it was a good way to reflect and think.
Seamus always liked to loudly talk things out—certainly the last time that he fancied a girl and didn’t quite know what to do, he regaled Dean with all the information (too much information) concerning the girl, but in the end talking through the options left Seamus doing something reasonable.
Hermione, Dean heard, was a fan of writing a lot down. She supposedly kept a meticulous diary to go along with all her class notes, and she would organize her thoughts that way.
Dean, though, wasn’t as talkative as Seamus, nor did he want to emulate Hermione all the way. Instead, dribbing the ball down the quidditch pitch and shooting it through the two cones he’d conjured up, Dean liked to think the perplexing things through on the football field. The sun had risen above ground while Dean was on the pitch, and now the clouds were slowly turning Gryffindor.
Dean didn’t know what to think of Barty Crouch Sr.
Dean just—
Oh, he knew that the man was childless and was a high-level bureaucrat in the Ministry, and was in either Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw back in Hogwarts, but Dean didn’t see the point to his Crouch Sr’s offer.
Crouch Sr., who his mother apparently somehow knew, had offered to “adopt” him.
Crouch Sr., the story went, was growing lonely in old age. He didn’t seem to have many hobbies or activities apart from his work, and even his work he was going to retire from in a year or so. That’s what Dean’s mother told him. After the adoption, Dean would take Crouch Sr. to quidditch games, to outings in Kensington, to the plays in magically conjured pop-up globes in Buckinghamshire—essentially, all the things that a son would normally do with his father.
Plus some affection and doting for Crouch would be nice.
In return, when Crouch Sr. dies, Dean would inherit the majority of Crouch Sr.’s fortune. Left unsaid, but Dean knew and his mother must have known, was that Crouch Sr. was someone of not inconsiderable means. Of course nobody had wealth on the scale of the Malfoys, for example, but Crouch Sr.’s wealth was nothing to sneeze at.
So Dean gives Crouch Sr. affection now, and in return Dean later inherits most of what Crouch Sr. has? Just a few quidditch games, a few outings, and that was it? His mother and he could then live somewhat more comfortably?
Dean felt too cynical and simultaneously not cynical enough. Of course his mother would have thought Crouch Sr.’s offer through, but at the same time you couldn’t work your way up to a high place in the public service without great acumen.
The only question was, who was taking advantage of who—he and his mother, or Barty Crouch Sr.?
Of course Dean accepted the offer.
Scarcely the day after he arrived at King’s Cross on the Hogwarts express, Dean took the Underground right to the ministry. Yes, you could get to the ministry via magical means, but Dean had always liked the train carriages of the Underground and the crowds of commuters going up and down the escalators.
(That muggle transportation was cheaper was a factor Dean was determined to ignore.)
Crouch Senior’s offer was apparently in good faith, and Dean was more than willing to Crouch Sr.’s “son” and accompany the old man around occasionally and give affection. The "adoption", naturally, came with a number of obligations on Dean's part. If Dean ignored enough of them, then it was always possible for Crouch Sr. to annul the adoption.
Dean wondered if Crouch Sr. had been able to use Legilimency to see the baser desires in him and his mom.
That Dean and his mom were secretly waiting for the day when Crouch Sr. would die, and Dean would inherit.
Oh, of course everyone had been smiling and all joyful—adoptions were a joyous, serious occasion in the wizarding world, but right before the ceremony, the annoying old auror, Mad-eye Moody, had pulled on Crouch Sr.’s arm, making no effort to lower his voice.
“Crouch, you’re a mean old man, but even you ought to be warned. That woman is counting the days until you die, mark my words”.
Absolutely rude, absolutely uncalled for. Dean had never been as humiliated.
(Even if it was somewhat true.)
Thankfully, Dean managed to get out the words “how dare you—” at the same time as Crouch Sr. coolly asked, “who do you think you are?”
Glass eye swiveling (that hideous, disgusting glass eye), Moody stomped out the room where the adoption ceremony would begin. The ceremony itself went off without a hitch though, even the parts where they had to swear, under the watch of some magical implement, that they were acting in good faith.
Of course nothing in life is ever easy.
Dean could scarcely believe his eyes.
The bloody man seemed to be immortal, that’s what was happening—every morning at 6 o’clock, rain or shine, summer or winter, Crouch Sr. would go for a run. Without fail.
Dean had moved in with Crouch Sr.—the place was a bit nicer, more centrally located than the house he and his mother lived, but after the weekend of the adoption, his mom moved back to their old place because Crouch’s place, as nice as it was, was too far from where she worked. Instead, she would live with Dean and Crouch Sr. every weekend, and move back during the working week.
Dean made the horrible, horrible mistake of going for a run once with Crouch Sr. and just one mile in, he was panting for air and absolutely knackered. There was a deep sort of tiredness, from head to toe, and Crouch Sr. running full speed was able to loudly shout—
“Just go home, and Winky will have prepared breakfast!”
Unfair. Completely unfair that an old man should be fitter than Dean was. Something about the best time of his life, the golden period of youth, something something.
Unfortunately, it seemed that Dean and his mom could kiss Barty Crouch Sr.’s inheritance goodbye. That, or he’d need to prepare his own funeral costs before he prepared Crouch Sr.’s. The man was a fitness maniac—driven, motivated, and organized.
Dean’s mom had always impressed on him how important eating healthy was, because to spend more time and money spent cooking your own meals that are healthy would save health and money years down the line—bugger the advertisements from those American firms like McDonalds.
Barty Crouch Sr., sadly, apparently had a parent who told him the same thing, because if anything, Crouch Sr. was an even healthier eater than Dean’s mother was. Her mouth almost hung open upon seeing the ridiculous, over-the-top quantity of lettuce and tomatoes Winky prepared in every meal!
Apparently not only was the guy not going to die from inactivity, the guy wasn’t going to die from a heart attack either!
Obviously the secret to Crouch Sr.’s health was his exercise regime. There had to be a way to stop him from exercising.
So it came as somewhat of a surprise to Dean that Crouch Sr. enjoyed football. Well, Dean had almost given up on finding ways to get Crouch Sr. away from exercise and into the waiting arms of death.
The man liked the ministry. Dean didn’t.
The man enjoyed long, hard runs. Dean didn’t—just casual football, dribbling up and down slowly was enough, thank you very much.
So when Crouch Sr. said that he loved watching football games in the past, Dean clung on to this lifeline with all he had, because now it wasn’t merely a desire to wait for Crouch Sr. to die, it was a way to get to know the man better (otherwise Dean would go mad).
From what Dean knew, Crouch Sr. was well-read. Dean had gone with him to pop-up globes away from London, all the way in Buckinghamshire, hoping that plays would get rid of Crouch Sr.’s desire to exercise. In hindsight, Othello and King Lear might not have been the best choices.
Dean had seen some of Shakespeare’s plays in the past, of course, but what he didn’t expect was for Crouch Sr. to be fluent in them. Crouch Sr. knew them off by heart. Oh, how awkward it was when Crouch Sr. insisted on analyzing the themes in the plays with him on the way back to London!
(“Yes, Iago was dastardly clever, but all of us are more discerning than Othello, surely?”)
Dean could only stammer in thanks when Crouch Sr. offered to give him his copy of all of Shakespeare’s plays.
Thankfully, quidditch games were fun to watch, and Crouch Sr. insisted on buying Dean and his mother enchanted binoculars at the stadium (Crouch Sr. had brought his own from home). Even if Dean didn’t know much of anything tactical on the pitch—all the players flew by so quickly that Dean found the binoculars impossible to use—Crouch Sr. was as enthusiastic in explaining everything and pointing out all the plays that Dean found himself begrudgingly impressed.
The only trouble was that Dean had very little interest in quidditch.
Crouch Sr. even took an active interest in how Dean was doing at school, asking him about his favorite professors, favorite subjects.
(“Dean, how do you like the Gryffindor Common Room?”
“Dean, back in the day, Albus would run astronomy sessions Thursday nights, top of the astronomy tower. Why don’t I ask him if he’d be willing to run those again?”)
Dean, for his part, meticulously kept to what was required of him in the adoption contract. His mother and he would benefit greatly from Crouch Sr.’s inheritance after all.
Was Crouch Sr. really so starved of affection that he would be willing to “adopt” Dean just for the company? Dean didn’t know the answer to this question—there were questions that Crouch never answered, like why he was so unsettled after watching the World Cup Final between Bulgaria and Ireland—but slowly, Dean found it easier and easier to go out exploring with Barty Crouch Sr. (and sometimes Dean’s mom).
Dean knew that his mother would prefer that Barty Crouch Sr. die soon so that he could inherit, but she was not Blaise Zabini’s mother—she wasn’t nearly as ruthless. Yes, of course it would be very nice if Barty Crouch Sr. would die soon, but she wouldn’t do anything to actively speed things along.
That was up to Dean, or whether Dean could get Barty Crouch Sr. to stop being a fitness-freak.
A year of living with Barty Crouch Sr. made greatly reduced the living costs Dean and his mom had, and Barty Crouch Sr. was oh so generous whenever Dean or his mother needed anything. And Winky was a great cook, and the manor’s location was superb as well.
And then somehow the admiration and affection Dean had for Barty Crouch Sr. one day inexplicably turned more intense, and Dean knew that he had developed a crush on the man.
There was a long series of events that led to a television getting installed in Crouch Sr.’s manor.
A factor was that as a ministry employee, Barty Crouch Sr. had strict limits on the time he could spend among muggles. Another factor was that Crouch had been an avid football player in his youth, before he found more pleasure in running. A third factor was that with Dean living with Barty Crouch Sr., and his mother coming over every weekend, the television back in Dean’s old home really would be better off in Barty Crouch Sr.’s mansion.
The upshot of it all, nevertheless, was that right in the center of the manor was a television playing replays and live shots of football matches from all over the world. Having now (semi-officially) retired from the ministry, Barty Crouch Sr. was able to watch more football than he had ever been able to before at matches in person. (“I always wanted a son who loved football”)
How absolutely wonderful was this muggle technology—from his couch Barty Crouch Sr. was able to view fixtures everywhere, all from the comforts of home!
(“I’ll head on up soon, you go sleep first: goodnight!”)
Dean found it a bit strange when he woke up one morning—
—and right in the living room Barty Crouch Sr. was glued to the television.
This might have been the first time in a decade or more that Barty Crouch Sr. hadn’t started the day with his run.
Until it happened again. And again. Despite Winky’s protests, Barty Crouch Sr. would watch football on television more and more each day. Barty Crouch Sr. stopped needing to buy new exercise shoes.
Dean’s mom was happy to hear this development, but Dean—
—his heart ached. Guilt, frustration, and that oh so annoying crush. So annoying.
It was his mom and Barty Crouch Sr. who jointly sent Dean off at King’s Cross the year of the Triwizard Tournament.
Dean slowly dribbled the football down the field, or as most people knew it, the ground inside the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. He waved to Cedric Diggory as the Hufflepuff champion landed and jumped off the broomstick.
“Sorry to hear that the quidditch house cup’s called off this year” Dean said, with a sigh. He had been starting to truly enjoy watching quidditch with Barty Crouch Sr., until the man started spending all day watching football on the telly.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine—the Triwizard Tournament’s enough for me this year” Cedric laughed.
Dean still had that persistent infatuation with Barty Crouch Sr. Completely crazy, inexplicable, and oh—Barty was several decades older. Yet Dean knew that he ought to be cheering on Barty Crouch’s slowly declining health, as his mom told him that Winky was reporting that Barty was getting sick for the first time since he stopped running every day.
Wasting away in front of that blasted television.
Originally, Barty was going to visit Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament—Dean had vowed to reveal that he loved him, truly loved him in a romantic sense—this wasn’t something you put in words on a letter, mind you!
Yet thanks to the television, Barty Crouch Sr. was glued to his manor. (Winky told Dean that Barty almost never left the house anymore, and if he did, it was to a football match. Barty had never been as addicted to anything like this since his wife died.)
After Cedric tried his hand (or foot) at shooting the football through the two cones at the end of the quidditch pitch, Cedric went back up to the castle for breakfast. “Good luck with the third task, Cedric,” Dean shouted as Cedric waved goodbye.
As Dean left the quidditch pitch, running to his first class (already late), Alastor Moody, the former auror now Defense Professor at Hogwarts ran into him.
“Sorry, Mister Thomas, the ministry’s sent a special delegate, Barty Crouch Sr.”—Moody sneered—“and I’ve got to go welcome him”.
“I’ll come with you!” Dean shouted, but Moody shook his head. “Run along now to class please, class began five minutes ago.”
Vowing that he would find Barty at lunch, Dean ran off, finding a somewhat confused Harry Potter along the way to Transfiguation.
Barty Crouch Sr.’s funeral was a week after the third task, and Dean was the sole beneficiary of Barty Crouch Sr.’s will.