Chapter Text
“Bartemius Crouch Junior!”
Barty blinked himself back to the present from where he had been drifting between the other first years. Once he realised what the woman had said he eagerly took off and climbed the steps to where Minerva McGonagall stood. One hand on a scroll of names, the other on the mumbling, grumpy looking hat. As he sat himself down he peered down the Great Hall.
Some faces he recognised. Famous names in the wizarding world. Being a Crouch meant being a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, which in turn meant having to know who everyone else was. A cluster of the Black family watched him in moderate interest from the Slytherin table. Bellatrix, Andromeda, Narcissa and Regulus he recognised. The latter of which had just joined them a minute ago. To round up the family; Barty’s eyes drifted to the Gryffindor table where he found Sirius Black, still staring in disbelieve at his little brother sat at the far end of the Hall. Barty remembered the uproar surrounding his sorting last year.
In front of him, still in the unsorted cluster, two pairs of silvery blue eyes with sunshine blond hair stared back at him. The Rosier twins, Evan and Pandora, who Barty had met on the boat ride to the castle, seemed just as eager as he was to find out where he’d spend the next seven years. Barty wondered if twins ever got separated through sorting, like siblings sometimes did. He looked back at Sirius and Regulus. He imagined it would sting.
The hat felt heavier than he expected. The mumbling it did hummed in his ears like a bee. He almost tried to swat it before he caught himself. Swatting an ancient magical artifact in front of the entire Hogwarts population might not be the best first impression. Not that there was much room for him to make an impression; being a pureblood meant most people already knew about you from the papers, or assumed enough to fill them.
The hat seemed to sort through his thoughts and memories with ease, though Barty expected it ought to be easy for an enchanted, talking hat. He wondered what it was looking for, how it catalogued what it found. What system it used to do so. Was this a job, or a function? Something easy like breathing, or intensive? Did the hat get paid? Could it quit? Would it?
“Quite the head you’ve got on your shoulders, boy. A lot of questions, too,” the hat mumbled aloud.
“Sorry. And, thank you, eh, Sir?”, Barty responded.
“I imagine the Slytherin table would be glad to see another pureblood, don’t you?”, the hat asked.
“I suppose so.” Barty chewed his bottom lip while the hat murmured on. “
Would your father like that?” Barty froze. “No need to worry, boy. He isn’t here to hear you.”
“I don’t really care what my father would prefer, Sir. I’m here to study magic,” Barty whispered.
“And right you are. Better be… Ravenclaw!”, the hat proclaimed loudly.
Immediately the Ravenclaw table erupted in applause while Barty’s grey tie turned blue and bronze. The blank emblem on his robes shifted to show a proud eagle. As he made his way over to the table he locked eyes with the blonde Rosier twins who smiled at him. The Black family had grown bored with him as soon as his house was called. The hat had essentially called him smart, but as proud as he felt at that, he couldn’t help but wonder if being sorted into Slytherin would’ve annoyed his father more. For his father was rarely proud, or interested for that matter. At least ‘disappointed’ made him feel acknowledged. Seen. Real.
By the time his thoughts came back to him Evan Rosier was on the chair. The hat examined him for a while before his voice claimed him for the Slytherin house. Barty felt a pang in his heart at that and felt very silly for it immediately after. He hadn’t really known Evan at all, but thought he would’ve liked to.
Next was Pandora, who Barty assumed would be sorted into Slytherin with her brother, but to his surprise, and that of others around him, the hat rather loudly proclaimed she’d be seated at the Ravenclaw table. When he saw confusion bloom on Evan’s face Barty immediately felt guilty for wondering if twins ever got separated by the process. He wondered if the hat had read his mind and answered his question with this. Pandora didn’t seem upset, though. She happily made her way to the table, waved at her brother and turned to Barty.
“Now that you’re stuck with me for seven years; I imagine we’ll have to become great friends,” she announced with a smile.
He couldn’t help but return it.
--*--
Barty awoke on the floor of his cell, shivering on the cold, grey stone. His hair was damp with sweat, he smelled awful and his headache could surely cleave a mountain. He tried to sit up and immediately lay back down when the headache increased and his body protested. The dementors that visited his room the previous night had surprised him again by being able to puncture his mind easily. He had always been gifted at Occlumency, or rather, he’d trained himself to be, but it was no use here. He closed his eyes and tried to picture the Great Hall again. The Sorting Hat, Evan, Pandora, Regulus. The image was still there, but it seemed less vibrant. Less happy.
“Suppose that’s the point,” he mumbled to himself.
“Shut up, death eater!”, a voice from the cell next to his yelled. Barty couldn’t help but smile.
“You didn’t tell me they went chronologically,” he said.
“I don’t owe you any information.”
“I’m not interrogating you, calm down,” he huffed.
“Bet you’re desperate to get me to spill Order secrets so you can carry them back to your master, but I won’t be so easily played,” the voice promised.
“You’re so dramatic, Black,” Barty decided.
The second surprise when he arrived at Azkaban was when he found himself in a cell next to Sirius Black. Initially he had planned to ignore him, retain his pride and his loyalty to Regulus, but Regulus was dead, had been for a few years. Secondly; Sirius had heard him scream for his mother by the very first night, so whatever pride he had was lost now. Lastly, Barty was tired.
The years between graduating and landing in prison had been filled with all sorts of chaos. His mind wandered to the Dark Lord, to his friends, his family, to the Longbottoms. He sometimes told himself that he couldn’t believe it all landed him here, but that was a lie. He knew what he did. He knew why. He didn’t know if he regretted it.
“Being locked away for a crime I didn’t commit should be punishment enough, but to be locked up next to you is proving to be almost worse,” the older black brother told him through a very small crack in the wall separating their cells.
“Why ‘almost?’ Why am I not the top of the list?”, he wondered aloud.
“I refuse to give you the satisfaction.” Barty cackled at that, or at least he tried to before he erupted into violent coughs. After taking a moment to recover he opened his mouth again.
“Why do you think you deserve to be punished at all?”, he asked.
“My friends are dead,” Sirius answered in a small voice.
“Hardly your fault.”
“I didn’t protect them. That I’ll carry for the rest of my life.”
Barty supposed he understood that feeling. His mind didn’t allow him to think of Regulus, Evan or Dorcas too much. The thought that he’d let them down seemed almost too much to bear, at the same time he was certain he had. At least Pandora was safe. Alive. Free. He immediately pushed those thoughts down. He’d noticed when he first got here that if you focus on a happy memory to try and warm yourself, that’s the memory the dementors take hold of next. Safer to keep them hidden. They’ll get to them eventually; inescapable really, with a life sentence, but at least like this he could hold on a bit longer.
“Still, not really your fault,” he mindlessly said to himself. “If anyone, it’d be the rat.”
“No, Peter wouldn’t. I bet your lot Imperio’d him, or tortured him,” Sirius rebutted. Barty thought about that for a moment. He wanted to laugh at Sirius’ unwavering trust, but didn’t he recognise it as well? Did he not share it towards his own friends? And if they were on opposite sides of this wall, would he want to be spared from the truth? They’d both be here for life. That’s a long time to be in pain, but an even longer time to live with lies. Broken bones could only heal if you acknowledge they’re broken. Barty wondered if the same was true for hearts. He supposed it didn’t make much of a difference now.
“I hate to be the one to tell you, but Peter knew what he was doing. He’s been a death eater for over a year. And a loyal one at that.”
“Why would I trust anything you say?”, Sirius snapped.
“Why would I lie now?”, Barty asked.
“I wish I had killed you before I got stuck here,” he responded before falling silent. After a while he could hear him softly weeping himself to sleep.
Barty thought about the bland memories of his home life, his early school life and his first day at Hogwarts. Memories that used to be vibrant. Oh so vibrant. Well, some of them at least.
‘Sometimes, I do too,’ he thought before closing his eyes.
--*--
“Oh Evan, would you get down? You know first years aren’t supposed to fly. You’ll get us in trouble if the prefects catch you,” Pandora seemed to yell at the ceiling when Barty returned to his dorm room. Pandora was a very easy-going and carefree girl. In fact, half the time Barty was sure she floated and had a head filled with clouds. In similar fashion, her brother Evan was a carefree young lad. He seemed unaffected by gossip, homework or stress. Both of them had an airy quality to them which made them incredibly soothing to be around.
Unless they were together.
“Don’t be such a pansy, Pan!”, he yelled from the broom that whizzed through the air.
“Hey, don’t call her that,” Regulus scowled, looking up from the parchment he was scribbling on.
“It’s okay, Reggie, he called me that before I transitioned as well, and never maliciously. Thank you though,” Pandora said.
“But now I mean the flower, not the slur,” Evan smiled.
“Still,” Regulus muttered, “seems a bit inconsiderate.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Evan said, swooping down and tackling Barty into the nearest bed, making him yelp and spill stolen sweets all over the sheets. “Would you like me to stop, Pan?”
“Evan, get off of me, the chocolate will stain the sheets if it melts,” Barty giggled underneath him. Evan ignored him in favour of looking at his sister.
“I’m not sure, I quite like pansies,” she said.
“Call her Vi, then. Like ‘Viola Tricolor’,” Barty offered, trying to push Evan off of him.
“Or, like ‘Violet’,” Regulus added, rolling his eyes.
“Vi is cute,” Pandora smiled.
“Vi it is, then. Thank you, Smarty Barty,” Evan said before pressing a wet kiss to Barty’s forehead and getting up.
This was a thing now. All of them getting together to ‘study.’ Pandora had immediately stuck to Barty like glue, which he wasn’t mad about. Pandora was a wonderful friend to have. She had this uncanny ability to break down the walls of everyone around her, seemingly without trying at all. Dreamy, happily and bubbly she’d twirl through the hallways. People couldn’t help but smile in her presence. Still, there’d been times when Barty would find her staring out the window, lost in thought, with hurt written all over her face. He wondered which memories could be so painful, yet still allow her to sparkle like she did. They hadn’t talked about it, but Barty wanted to offer anyway.
With Pandora came Evan, like a package deal. He’d never met two people who cared for each other so deeply, were so similar, so alike, yet at each other’s throats at any given moment. Until he met the Black brothers, of course. Because with Evan, apparently, came Regulus. The youngest Black brother seemed a bit apprehensive to be around all of them at first, but Barty quickly saw through that. He wouldn’t exactly call him cold, rather; reserved. Calculated. Sometimes stoic, but also gentle and compassionate. Sure he could be a sarcastic prick, but there was a certain tension in Regulus’ shoulders that always seemed to ease when he was surrounded by his friends’ laughter.
“You’re more than welcome to copy mine,” Barty now said over Regulus’ shoulder.
“Are any of my answers wrong?”, the boy with the loose black curls asked, frowning down at his parchment.
“No, but it’d be done faster,” Barty offered.
“But I wouldn’t learn anything, would I, Mister Ravenclaw?”
“Didn’t know you cared.” “I live for the thrill of academic achievement,” Regulus announced with the a stone faced blank stare and deeply monotone voice.
“Assumed as much.”
“You know,” Evan suddenly exclaimed, lifting his head from where he was laying on the floor, “we’re quite talented witches, the four of us. I bet we could take over the world.”
“Please, that’d be so boring,” Pandora sighed.
“I don’t know, it could be fun,” Barty opted.
“I know a couple of things I’d change,” Regulus added.
“We’ll change the world when we graduate. We’ll be so cool. Like, look at this new trick I learned,” Evan said while getting up. He quickly walked towards Regulus and Barty and enthusiastically whipped his wand out. They both instinctively flinched. Evan froze and Pandora’s eyes widened. They stayed quiet for a second before Evan dropped his wand to the floor and stepped back.
“I’m so sorry, are you okay?”, he asked.
“Fine,” Regulus croaked before turning back to his homework.
“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Barty added, feeling his face turn red.
“Are you sure?”, Pandora tried.
“Fine, just drop it,” Barty snapped.
They did drop it and didn’t bring it up again until Barty opened up weeks later. He’d just gotten a letter from his mother saying his father wouldn’t be home for Christmas. He couldn’t help but feel relieved. He used that high to share with his friends. Subsequently, so did Regulus, albeit in less detail and depth. It felt good to talk about his father without having to hide his disdain for the man. Pureblood families were never simple. Secrets were dealt between them like trading cards. Secrets to keep. Barty believed it brought them all closer together. He felt so grateful for this bit of peace he’d been granted.
--*--
Barty lay panting and crying in a puddle of his own vomit on the floor. He repeated the names of his friends in his head like a mantra.
Regulus, Evan, Pandora, Dorcas.
Regulus, Evan, Pandora, Dorcas.
Regulus, Evan, Pandora, Dorcas.
He was almost laughing now, or maybe he actually was. In Azkaban it was hard to tell what was real sometimes. His friends in the dorm, Evan flying, tackling him, Pandora’s bickering while caring so deeply, Regulus’ sarcasm and scowling. All bland now. Dull. Empty. He wondered if chocolates would still taste the same.
“Finally losing it, Crouch?”, Sirius asked weakly. Barty couldn’t suppress it when another wave of laughter hit him. Fancy that, Sirius’ heart couldn’t not care, not even about the people he hated. Or maybe it was because he was once someone important to Regulus. He didn’t know. Right now he didn’t care.
“I feel like a trifle at Christmas,” Barty wheezed.
“What does that even mean?”
“Mum used to make tiny trifles at Christmas,” Barty mumbled, not moving from his spot of sick on the floor, “I used to scrape every last bit of custard out of the bowl. Loved it. Dad always left the table, said he felt like they’d invited a charity case over. Mum didn’t mind, she always smiled.” Barty felt a new tear slip from his eye while the corners of his mouth tugged at the memory. Guess he’d lose that one next. Sirius didn’t respond.
“That’s how I feel when they leave the cell; scraped out,” Barty clarified as he struggled to push himself up to lean against the wall. Sirius said nothing. Nothing to say, really. He went through the same things on the other side of the wall. No use in repeating the same things to each other. Hardly any use in talking at all.
“Sorry about your dad,” Sirius said after a long time. Or maybe immediately after. He wasn’t sure.
Barty thought about his dad. He wished he couldn’t. Wished the dementors could erase him from his memory, but every time they visited he felt his dad’s presence grow. His mum shrank. Her bright yellow dresses faded. Her smile turned muddy. He was afraid to reach for her. Pulling her closer would only erase her faster. Sometimes, before he fell asleep, he imagined turning ninety in this cell. Almost completely withered away. Surrounded by voices he didn’t know. Hollowed out and finding a memory of his mother he didn’t know he had. Seeing her dance in the kitchen. Having her tuck him into bed. Walking next to her in a park. He’d see her face and feel safe, for one last time, before he finally gave up the fight.
He probably wouldn’t make it to ninety, but he’d try. At ninety, he’d decided, he could be sure that he wouldn’t have outlived his mum. He refused to die before her on the off chance that she might want to visit him. Surely she’d want to, right? She couldn’t, of course; Azkaban didn’t allow visitors, not like that anyway. But she’d want to. He wondered if she’d try to bring him something. A slice of cake, a flower, or a chocolate milk. He’d really like a chocolate milk.
“Sorry about yours,” he ended up responding to Sirius, not sure how much time had passed.
“What?”, came his response.
“Your dad, or both of your parents, I guess I should say. Sorry about them.”
“Don’t act like you know anything,” Sirius scoffed.
“I do know, Regulus told me,” he heard a sharp inhale at the mention of that name, as he expected. “Purebloods and Unforgivables, right? Match made in heaven.”
“What do you mean?”, Sirius asked a little winded.
“Need me to spell it out for you? Same rope, different knot. Your folks favoured the Cruciatus curse, I heard. My dad’s always been inclined towards Imperio.”
“Barty Crouch Senior? He imperio’d you?”, Sirius asked in shock.
“Sure, if I misbehaved. If he found me difficult to handle… When he was left alone with me for too long. Easier, I suppose,” Barty explained.
“Walpurga believed the curse was useless. Torture brought forth discipline. Mind control was just the easy way out, or so she’d say,” Sirius answered.
“Tell that to my dad.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you, you know.”
“Of course you do, you’re Sirius Black. You couldn’t be a death eater if you wanted to,” Barty smiled. In the quiet that statement left behind Barty softly shut his eyes.
“Thank you,” he eventually heard through the wall, but he was already drifting.
--*--
“I can’t believe it’s happening. It’s finally happening. I’m so excited!”, Barty squealed.
“Tone it down, Shrieking Shack, They’re not even on the pitch yet,” Evan smirked.
“Reggie’s first official game as the Slytherin seeker!”, Pandora almost howled when she sat down next to them.
“Great, there’s two of you.” Evan seemed very pleased with himself, which earned him a shove from his sister.
“That’s what I thought when I met the both of you,” Barty said.
“Hey!”, they both exclaimed with furrowed brows. The sight made him giggle.
“Oh, there they are!”, Pandora yelled, jumping up and dumping a pack of every flavoured beans over her brother in the process. “oh, sorry, Ev.”
“’S alright, Vi,” he mumbled as he collected the beans. “So, where’s our little seeker?” Just as he got up to stare at the pitch a broom flew up to block the view.
“Here to cheer me on?”, Regulus said with a playful smile.
“You bet we are,” Barty beamed.
“Nervous?”, Evan teased with an eyebrow raised.
“Hey! No bad energy on his first match, you’ll do great Reggie, don’t worry!”, Pandora intercepted.
“Here to distract the players?”, came a voice from a second broom that ascended. On it was a girl with a dark brown skin and long, burgundy braids bundled up. Eyeliner sharp enough to stab someone and a devious grin. Dorcas Meadowes was a third year Slytherin they met when Regulus joined the Quidditch team now they were second years. A force to be reckoned with, both with a wand and a broom.
“Here to distract the audience?”, Evan threw back.
“Smooth, Evan. Shouldn’t you two be cheering for Ravenclaw?”, she asked Pandora and Barty.
“Why should we? Nobody cheers for me during herbology either,” Pandora stated.
“You’re top of the class,” Barty sighed.
“Still, I wouldn’t mind a little cheer every now and again.”
“Whoo,” Regulus cheered monotonously, “got to go now.”
He and Dorcas descended to the rest of the team again, chased by good luck wishes from their friends. Barty was so very fond of them. Of all of them. Seeing his mum over the summer had been nice, she’d been so proud of his grades and excited to hear about his friends. He caught her up on everything: his teachers, the students, the gossip. She listened so intently and loved every second of it. His father, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care much. He sat through most of it, but gave very little response. Most of the summer he was at work anyway. But Barty wasn’t complaining; he’d only been imperio’d twice, during stressful times at the Ministry, and never longer than three days. A new record, Barty thought to himself.
He refused to let that affect his life the way it had. He had a new home now, one where he’d spend six more years. He felt guilty towards his mum sometimes, because of how happy he was here and how hard she tried to grant him the same joy back home. Still she never made him feel it. He wished he could bring her to Hogwarts, too. Then it’d be perfect. Then, he’d stay here forever.
For now, he spent his time screaming his lungs out during the match. Shaking Evan’s shoulder, holding his breath and Pandora’s hand while jumping up and down. It was an incredible match to start off their year. When Regulus caught the snitch he’s pretty sure he almost passed out.
--*--
“Regulus!”, Barty yelled as he woke with a start. His cell was dark, freezing cold. For the first time since he got here he found himself clawing at the stone walls. Heaving sobs made his way out of his throat. He couldn’t even properly see. The cell was so dark, or maybe he was just crying. No, definitely crying. He wasn’t even sure he’d actually opened his eyes. He just kept clawing. Regulus, he reminded himself through the pain. He had to get to Regulus.
“Barty?”, a voice spoke.
“Shut up!”, he shouted at the top of his lungs. “I need to get to him!”
“Get to who?”
“Regulus! I need to find Regulus!”
“Barty,” the voice croaked now, “Regulus is dead.”
“SHUT UP!” Barty couldn’t stop. His fingers ached. The wall wasn’t moving. He started punching the stones.
“Barty, stop! Listen to me. Regulus died two years ago. He’s dead.”
“No,” Barty sobbed.
“He’s dead, Barty.” Sirius sounded like he was forcing the words out.
Barty’s punches lost their kick, his rhythm interrupted by his heaving. He was hyperventilating. Backing away from the wall he slid to the ground when his back met the next one. Blood was dripping down his fingers, tears and snot down his face. He was wailing like a banshee. His heart felt like it was ripped open. He just wanted to get to Regulus. Get to his friends. He wanted out. He wanted his mother. He didn’t understand where he was. He couldn’t remember.
Then it hit him. Regulus was dead. He remembered now. Regulus. Evan. Dorcas. Dead. He felt his heart split open again and all he could do was sob. He sobbed, screamed and eventually rocked himself to sleep.
When we woke up again his room looked the same. His hands ached, his eyes puffy. It was fair to say his entire body hurt. He took a deep breath and let it shakily escape his burning lungs.
“You okay, Crouch”, Sirius asked. Barty laughed.
“No, no I’m not. Thanks for asking.”
“Good, you don’t deserve to be.”
“Cold, Black,” he smiled, but his heart ached. He’d said those words before, but not to Sirius. “I see where he got it.”
“Who?”
“You know.” Sirius nodded, or he did in Barty’s mind. There was no way to actually see him. Still, he liked to imagine they were in the same space. It helped him feel less lonely. It took a while for Sirius to respond.
“Why were you calling him?”, he asked carefully.
“Are you sure you want to know?”, Barty responded.
“No… but tell me anyway.”
“Do you remember Reggie’s first Quidditch match?”
“Second year, Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Regulus caught the snitch. They won,” Sirius remembered.
“I don’t remember,” Barty admitted, “I was thinking about that match before they came. Couldn’t push it away fast enough. Couldn’t lock it away. The memory was right there, right at the surface. Now I can’t remember it anymore.”
Barty remembered climbing the steps. He remembered sitting down. Evan was there, or Pandora. Probably both of them, but they’d sort of merged in his mind. Dorcas was next to him, floating. No, that’s not right. She was on a broom. She was playing. Regulus should be there, in this memory, but he can’t find him.
“He never told us, but he was so happy you showed up to watch him,” he added.
“Yeah, well. James made me come,” Sirius huffed.
“Let’s not talk about James right now,” Barty retorted sharply.
“Don’t talk about Regulus, then!”, Sirius snapped.
“I’m allowed to talk about my friends!”
“He’s my brother!”
“You surely didn’t act like it!”
“What do you know, Crouch?”
“I know Regulus loved you!”, Barty spit.
“Regulus was a death eater!”
“Regulus tried to get out!” Sirius laughed at that.
“Sure he did! Bet he and Bellatrix made flower crowns and everyone braided each other’s hair before going out to murder muggles,” Sirius spit out.
“Bad example, Black. Isn’t that exactly what Peter did? Twelve muggles, right?”
“Piss off, Crouch!”
“He died trying to get out! He never even wanted to be there!” It felt good to fight with Sirius. It was almost the same.
“For fuck’s sake, how stupid do you think I am?”
“I’m not lying!”
“Then why was he there?”
“They needed a Black, and you weren’t exactly there, were you?” Barty wanted to punch him, that would be the cherry on top. Release for all of his anger.
“So it’s my fault now?”
“Yes!”
“Kill yourself, asshole!”
“If only I could!” Barty felt ecstatic yelling at Sirius. Exhilarated. Pumped. His pain momentarily forgotten. And then his door opened and a freezing cold seeped in.
--*--