Chapter Text
Barty sat in his place among the Ravenclaws in the Great Hall, only half paying attention to the idle chatter around him from over his copy of Hogwarts: A History.
He wasn't particularly hungry that morning. He was too nervous about the upcoming exams. He'd studied non-stop for weeks, knowing these exams were the most important thing in his life.
He wouldn't remember the gossip of which student slept with who, or which dessert was served which day, but he would remember what mark he got on his end-of-year finals.
He had to do well. He had to please his father.
"Crouch!"
Barty turned, expecting to see one of his acquaintances from study group.
It wasn't.
"Rosier? What do you want?"
Rosier made a strange face, his eyes darting around the room. "There's something I thought you should know."
Barty raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Yes?"
Rosier didn't move, he looked nervous. "You might want to come outside for a moment. This isn't the sort of thing you should be in public for."
Barty stiffened. He knew it was some sort of set up. Rosier was planning on getting him alone to prank him.
"Doing your friends' work for them, I see," Barty muttered. He nodded towards the Slytherin table. Rosier had always been the quiet one of the Slytherin Purebloods. Barty was surprised they would send him this time.
Rosier frowned. "I'm not sure what you mean."
Barty shook his head. "Just leave me alone, alright?"
"Crouch, this is important. It's about your fa-"
That's when it happened.
A burst of blinding pain surged through him.
He was vaguely aware of his book leaving his hands, hitting the ground with a muted thud.
He reached up to clutch the sides of his head.
Visions. Flashes of memories that did not belong to him, only... they did. These were his memories. Memories that had been ripped from him, torn from mind with such force it took half his sanity with it.
A chair in a dark corner. His father was sitting in front of him. Hands reached out to touch Barty's face. Someone was shushing him, reminding him to keep still.
"Obliviate."
Restraints tied him to his own bed back home, Barty's entire body was shaking and dripping with sweat. He felt the remnants of a cruciatus curse lingering in his veins. He was being punished for something.
"Obliviate."
His father stood before him, his wand aimed at the space between Barty's eyes. There was wild fury there, reflecting what he imagined was captured in his own.
Barty remembered thinking in that moment that he was nothing like his father. The only thing that had been passed down was his anger.
"Obliviate."
There were other curses, words he didn't recognise, snippets of moments passing too quickly to catch. All that remained was the pain.
Barty's mind felt like it was tearing in half. Tears fell down his cheeks. He heard noise around him in the Great Hall, but it was drowned out by the voices in his head.
He didn't know for sure if there was screaming or if it was all in his mind.
"You will do as you're told," his father shouted, his wand raised threateningly.
"Father, please," Barty had begged, "I can't do this anymore, it- it hurts."
Ghosts of faces that Barty only somewhat recalled. Conversations he couldn't remember having.
Barty stood beside his father at a press event Barty never attended. His father smiled proudly at him. But suddenly there was something in his eyes, something that rivaled the pride.
Possession. Anger. Fear.
Barty had messed up. He'd committed some minor transgression that sent his father up the wall with rage.
Barty wanted to scream. Maybe he did.
He definitely did after the third round of curses that night.
"Obliviate."
Barty was sitting in his room at home, staring blankly at the wall. He'd been there for the last two and a half hours.
Staring.
Waiting.
His father had told him not to cause problems at a dinner party they were hosting but Barty had spilled the wine as he poured for a guest.
The next thing he knew his feet were carrying him up the stairs. His hand reached for the doorknob to his bedroom. He was sat on his bed.
His body moved without his permission. His father's words echoing over and over in his head.
"You will do as your told."
Barty did not move for the next twelve hours.
"Obliviate."
Barty could suddenly remember the time he'd spent over the last few summers. What was once a blurry haze was now crystal clear.
He'd spent months staring at those walls.
All of those months that had been lost to him. Each hour of silent staring had been replaced with a false sense of vaugue ambition to study and work on his wand techniques.
Barty had spent his summers alone. Waiting. Staring.
More curses. More screams. More hours spent in utter silence. More of the same nothingness that seemed all-consuming now.
Barty couldn't believe this was real. Someone was messing with him. Someone was placing these false memories in his head.
But they felt real.
The pain felt real.
Who could mimic that subtle tic of his father's jaw? Who could fabricate the thoughts that whipped through Barty's mind?
How could they know what his bedroom looked like? How could they know he randomly had thoughts about that bedroom wall, the north facing one, across the room from the window?
How could they know Barty had nightmares about that wall?
Every moment Barty's thoughts had strayed from the righteous path his father set him on, every time he'd thought about just maybe skipping out on study group, how could they know about the visions of that wall popping into his mind.
No... these were real. Barty could feel it.
"Crouch?" Rosier's panicked voice broke through the pain for only a moment.
Barty wanted to reach out to him. He wanted to scream for help.
All Barty ever did in these visions was scream.
It should have been easy. It should have been nothing at all to reach out and take Rosier's arm, to ask him for help.
But he was drowning again.
"Why must you always be so difficult?" His father was shouting, his face turned red in his anger.
"I'm sorry, father." Barty's voice was robotic. He couldn't feel anything. He could hardly think. His mind was consumed with this strange fog that wouldn't lift.
Barty realised with a start that he knew this fog intimately.
It hadn't been until moments ago, when it finally dissipated, that he even realised it existed.
Could it be possible that Barty had lived with this fog all this time and never knew? How could this be possible?
He didn't want to believe it. But the pain that seared through his mind, the pain that had been subdued only by the pleasant dullness of the fog, was too demanding to overlook.
His father turned to the house elf, waving a hand. "Reset him again. I can't afford any more of these mistakes."
Reset him again. The words were familiar to Barty somehow.
More hands touching his face, telling him to keep still.
"This will only hurt for a moment."
Winky. That was Winky's voice.
A series of spells. One of them Unforgivable. Two of them unregistered in any spell lexicon Barty had ever studied.
Had his father illegally created a curse?
Barty couldn't wrap his mind around the idea.
"Obliviate."
"Obliviate."
"Obliviate."
"Crouch!" Rosier's voice penetrated the memory, giving him something other than the blinding pain to focus on.
Barty was sobbing. He was curled up in a ball on the floor of the Great Hall. There was snot on his face. He could taste the salt from his tears.
Everyone was staring at him. Staff and students alike. Their expressions ranged from shock to fear.
He couldn't care about them. He couldn't care about anything.
The memories were fading now. Barty knew the worst of it was over, even if he couldn't stop himself from shaking. Even if the tears wouldn't stop flowing.
He looked up at Rosier. "What's happening to me?"
His voice was hoarse. He wondered if he really did scream. His throat ached just as much as the nail marks in his palms.
He took that as a yes.
Rosier was holding him, kneeling on the ground by his head. "Can you hear me?"
Rosier had been repeating things the whole time. He'd been aasking if Barty was okay, shouting for someone to get Madam Pomfrey, reminding Barty to breathe.
Barty tried to look up at him. He couldn't see past the tears swimming in his vision.
"What-" Barty shook his head, his ears hurt from the high pitched ringing that only just started to subside. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Rosier answered honestly. He looked just as terrified as Barty felt.
Fear.
Barty's mind was redirected then. He thought back to the flashes of memories, able to truly see them now that the blanket of pain was gone.
"My father," Barty whispered. He could see Rosier swallow hard. "He's dead?"
Rosier opened his mouth and closed it a few times, obviously having no idea how to reply.
Eventually, he nodded. "I just heard a little bit ago. That's what I'd been trying to tell you before..." he trailed off.
Barty sat up slowly, his head still pounding with the aftermath of years of consciousness forced back to him.
Rosier helped him, his touch was gentle as he guided Barty up to a sitting position. Barty could barely hold his own weight. Rosier didn't seem to mind doing it for him.
"He... He hurt me," Barty breathed, finally meeting Rosier's eyes again. "For years, and I-" He choked on his words, holding back a sob. "I never even knew."
"Your father?" Rosier asked.
He looked shocked. Barty could imagine why. Nobody would have ever thought his father was capable of such horrors.
But he was.
And now Barty knew everything.
"He erased my memories." Barty looked down at his hands. For some reason, they didn't feel quite like his own. He wondered how long it had been since they truly had been. "He held me under the imperious curse."
Rosier's face went pale as he listened. He didn't move his hands from Barty's shoulders. Barty was just relieved to have something to ground him to this moment and away from those horrible visions.
"He... tortured me." Barty couldn't fight the anger that sturred in him now. "Every summer I was locked in my room. I would only move when allowed to eat or sleep. He took me to these political events with him. Forced me to do everything he said. Made me act proper."
Barty could tell his voice was carrying to more than just Rosier. The entire hall was straining to listen to him.
He didn't care. Nothing mattered.
Barty was angry. He was hurt, and scared, and so very confused.
"How could he do this to me?" The question was rhetorical. Barty knew there wouldn't be a good enough answer to that.
Rosier didn't reply, probably knowing there was nothing left to say. Nothing that mattered anyway.
You could hear a quill drop in such a silence.
Barty was shaking again. He hated silence. Hated what it could do to you. What it meant was coming.
The worst part of it all was up until a few moments ago he hadn't even known that he hated silence.
"I-" He sniffed, shutting his eyes tight against the flashbacks, "I hate him."
He was sure this would make the papers faster than anything ever had before. Anyone who'd ever met him knew him as his father's prodigy. Barty Crouch Jr. The perfect son.
Barty Crouch Jr.
The victim.
"Crouch..." Rosier sounded breathless. Barty flinched at the name. Rosier noticed. "Can you stand? Let's get you somewhere else. You shouldn't be here right now."
Barty understood what he meant.
The world was listening.
Any one of the students around them would run to the Prophet the moment this was over. They shouldn't give the media any more ammo than they already had.
Barty nodded, letting Rosier wrap an arm around his waist as he half carried him out of the doors.
"Do you want to go to your dorm?" Rosier asked.
Barty shook his head, the shaking had started again.
How much of his life had been a lie?
Years of doing everything his father wanted him to do. Years of loneliness. Years of souless practice and studying. Years without a life of his own.
He'd always looked down on the Slytherins, an underlying hatred for them that settled deep in his core. Now that he was free from his father's influence, that hatred was nowhere to be found.
He also realised how much he hated black coffee. It was too bitter. It made him jittery. But he drank it every morning. Why? Because his father liked it?
How much of his life was even his?
Barty wasn't paying attention to where Evan was taking him. Walking used up the majority of his focus, needing to think of nothing but placing one foot in front of the other.
"Ambition," Rosier spoke suddenly. The wall in front of them shifted, stone turning to wood and a door appeared. They were standing outside of the Slytherin common room.
Rosier pushed it open, leading them both inside.
They walked up a staircase and down a hall. He opened another door to reveal a dorm not unlike Barty's own, aside from the colours of the bedsheets.
"Hey, Ev. You tell Crouch's kid about-" The younger Black brother's voice cut off suddenly as he looked up to see them standing in the doorway.
"Yeah... about that," Rosier muttered.
He sounded strained, probably from having to carry Barty's weight the whole way there. Barty was seconds away from collapsing.
"Merlin." Black jumped to his feet, rushing over to slip under Barty's other arm, helping get him to an empty bed.
Barty fell limp against the mattress, his entire being worn and battered. His mind was still reeling, taking all of his strength.
"What the fuck did you do?" Black demanded, looking at Rosier. He didn't sound angry, more concerned than anything.
"Not me," Rosier whispered, "This was something I've never seen before."
"Right because you're the expert on hexes,," Black muttered, walking to the bathroom and coming back with a damp cloth. He pressed it to Barty's forehead, the relief was instantaneous. "Did you check his vitals? I don't assume this is coming from the infirmary. Pomfrey would have never let him go looking like this."
Rosier pulled out his wand. Barty's hands came up to cover his face on instinct.
"NO! No, please, please-" He was shouting, jerking out of Black's reach. The shaking grew violent. Barty wasn't above making low blows to get that wand away from him.
Were the restraints coming soon? He hated the restraints. Please not the restraints.
Rosier lowered the wand, his eyes wide. "I'm not going to hurt you!" He needed to raise his voice to be heard over Barty's wailing. "Look at me. Hey, look at me! I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."
Barty slowly lowered his hands. His face felt hot. His shoulders wouldn't stop trembling.
"You won't?" He asked. His voice was small. He felt like a child again. He felt like a different child. One that wasn't forced to grow up as quickly as he had.
He felt like a child that still believed others could be trusted.
Could Rosier be trusted? Barty felt like he could. Why did Barty trust him?
"I won't." Rosier set his wand on the edge of the bed. "Tell me how you're feeling. Is anything physically wrong? Should we get you medicine?"
Barty shook his head. "I don't need medicine," he whispered. "I need to forget."
"Forget," Black repeated, his eyebrows furrowed. He looked up at Rosier. "What is he talking about?"
"His father..." Rosier didn't seem to want to say the words.
Barty knew what that was like. He didn't want to have to ever say them again either.
Somehow, Black seemed to know what was going on. He nodded solomnly, moving his own wand out of reach to prove his own intentions.
"You're safe here, alright? Nobody is going to hurt you here."
Barty let the words wash over him. It was the first time he'd ever heard them before. Maybe even the first time he felt like they could actually be true.
Had Barty ever really been safe?
"I think..." His tongue felt clumsy. None of his words formed as quickly as he wanted them to. "I think I just need to rest for a bit."
Black nodded, giving him a gentle smile. "Okay. Did you want one of us to stay here and watch over you? Or would you rather be left alone?"
"No!" Barty heard the word before he made the decision to say it. He tried to compose himself again. He'd already embarrassed his family name enough today. "No... I don't want to be alone."
"I'll stay," Rosier offered, his eyes never leaving Barty's face. "Long as you want, okay?"
Barty nodded again, his eyes already starting to feel heavy. "Okay."
Something cool trickled over him, and all of his anxious thoughts seemed to go away. He opened his eyes to see Rosier's lips moving silently, working through the words to a complicated spell.
Barty had never felt the effects of it before, but he knew it was a nightmare removal charm.
"Get some rest. I'll be right here."
Rosier's words were the last thought in Barty's mind before he drifted off into his very first night of dreamless sleep.