Chapter Text
Barty Crouch Jr had always known that his family wasn’t normal. It was the one thing he had always been certain of. He saw the looks his father received in the street, the way he was discussed in issues of the daily prophet. He saw the way people actively avoided his mother, pretending they just didn’t see her there. And until now, he had never understood why that was. Why would he? He was only a child. Now, he understood all of it. He understood the passing comments ushered under hushed whispers, the passing glares. He was no longer naive, he’d become privy to some of those stares himself.
He understood why people treated his mother as though she was a completely different species to them. He understood why she acted the way she did. His father had always just said she was ill. That it would pass, given time, it never did, in fact, it only got worse the longer it was given. He watched as his mother's mind slowly deteriorated, and as each day passed, she seemingly lost more of herself. Barty had prayed, relentlessly. Every night before bed, he would get on his knees and pray, hoping that a force beyond human comprehension was on the listening end. It was one of the last times he had ever prayed.
Sitting on the end of his bed, he watched as the clock ticked. It was nearing the afternoon, around the time his father left for his daily walk and returned hours later, it was never clear what these walks entailed but Barty always had his suspicions. Upon hearing the faint click of the front door, he emerged from his room. The house was quiet, unnervingly so, only the sounds of the floorboards creaking beneath him offered some sense of minimal comfort. Descending the stairs, he was met with the familiar warmth of the fireplace, the scent of freshly burnt wood cradling him in some sort of embrace. He’d often dreamt about running away, dreaming that some day he might be free of this living torment he had no choice but to accept. He imagined that he might fall in love, and have a house somewhere in the Scottish highlands. That he might finally be happy. A foolish thought, happiness was for the hopeful.
His mother was in her rocking chair, her eyes were void and her skin pale, upon first glance you would have assumed she was one step away from death. “Mam?” his voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. He didn’t wish to startle her.
“Who are you?” the words falling from her lips felt like a knife to the heart. She often forgot who he was, among other things, but Barty couldn't deny the way it made his heart constrict. He knew it wasn’t her fault but he couldn’t help but think he wasn’t important enough to remember. “What’re you doing in my house?” slowly, he approached, as though she was some sort of wild animal that would bolt any moment.
“It's me, Barty, your son.” the words felt suffocating somehow. He watched as her eyes tracked his features, as though she was trying to remember some distant memory. “Don't you, remember?” in one deft movement, he took his hand into her own in hopes that perhaps physical contact would remind her of something.
“I don’t have a son.” swallowing thickly, he scrambled backwards onto his feet. He knew she didn't mean it, she had no control. And still, the words were enough to shatter the world that he knew. He felt like a stranger in his own home, in his own body. His skin felt wrong, everything felt wrong. He felt as though he was that small child sitting by the top of the stairs, clinging to the bannister as his father shouted at his mother over something she couldn’t fix. That had been the first time he’d seen a different side to his father. His father had later come after him, he hadn’t felt fear like that in his life. It had been so raw and innate, something a child shouldn’t have needed to feel, certainly not because of his father. That night, he’d fallen asleep on the coldness of the wooden floor of his bedroom, a bruised cheek and a burning sensation travelling through his ribs. That was the first time he had known true pain, that was the first time he had truly experienced the evilness of the world.
He felt his heart pounding in his ears, watching as his mother rose to her feet. “I do not know you. You are trespassing in this house!” the raise in tone made him flinch, retreating within himself. He heard the front door sound, his eyes widening. His father was back. The dragging sound of footsteps echoed throughout the hall of the house, echoing in Barty’s heart with every step he took.
He felt a skeletal-like hand wrap around his shoulder, turning him to face him. “What have I told you about upsetting your mother so? You of all people know how she gets.” all he could do was nod, it was as if his voice had been stolen in that moment. “Answer me, boy.”
“Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” he forced his voice to be still, willed it to be strong. Any sign of weakness was sure to be squashed out.
“I’ll deal with you later.” pushing him from the room, Barty was left with nothing but his thoughts and the phantom grip on his shoulder. Stalking through the hallway, he grabbed his jacket before swiftly closing the front door behind him.
The evening air was both violent and welcoming, like most people. He watched as the sky began to darken. It was perhaps one of his favourite times of the day. There was a certain element of secrecy, he couldn’t explain it. The world stopped. He felt as though he stopped, too. He only existed in the mere definition of the word. He had no greater meaning, some unknown purpose he was yet to discover. He had no name, no family no home. He was a lone figure left to roam the world as it cloaked itself in darkness.
He cleared his throat, exhaling and watching as his breath drifted through the autumn air. He contemplated what would happen if he simply did not return home. Perhaps his parents would just forget about him, perhaps they’d have another son and move on with their lives and it would be like they never existed in the first place. Perhaps he would finally know peace and happiness.
He only wished he hadn’t turned back.