Chapter 1
“Will your daddy issues ever stop being your main reason for being a criminal?” Evan asked as Barty dumped yet another priceless painting on his metaphorical doorstep.
Evan was an old friend of his. Well friend wasn’t the right word to use. They had been friends, lovers and even enemies at a point. Essentially they were two people who could never really stop knowing each other. It also helped that Evan just happened to be the world’s best fence. Not that Barty would ever tell him that, it was much more fun to rile him up.
“I’ll have you know that my daddy issues affect all areas of my life,” Barty said while winking at him. Evan unfortunately was too used to his charms, because all he did was roll his eyes before assessing the piece in front of him.
It was something by an old French painter, not that Barty really cared. Beyond the fact that it was a fairly pretty image of a landscape Barty did not see the value in the painting. Really the only reason he had taken it was because it was father’s day and his father had always loved that piece in particular. It felt nice to send a message.
He hadn’t always wanted to be a career criminal. In fact when he was younger his dream had been to be exactly like his father. Son of a corrupt landlord who had left home at eighteen, became a lawyer, then a politician and now spent his days donating to charities and collecting art to put in his many museums. Oh yes, Barty had wanted to be as noble and as generous as everyone believed his father to be.
At least he had until he saw what type of man his father really was.
He was ten the first time his father decided it was time to begin his ‘education’.
See, Barty Crouch Sr. held the belief that bad traits were genetic. That if you came from a bad line of people it meant you yourself had to fight everything inside you not to be bad yourself. He didn’t think the same of good traits though, those also had to be earned. Crouch Sr. of course refused to raise a son that was ‘bad’. It was just unfortunate for his son that ‘bad’ seemed to equate to about every behaviour expected of a child.
‘Bad’ was chewing too fast and burping as a result. ‘Bad’ was anything less than perfect marks. ‘Bad’ was laughing too much, or too little, or at the wrong time. It was also singing, dancing, running or anything that was less than utterly perfect and serene at all times. By the time he was sixteen Barty knew two things that his father had deemed him as irredeemably ‘bad’ and that he hated him for it.
His mother hadn’t been like his father though. In some ways Barty knew she had tried her best. When his father sent him to bed without any food, or locked him in his room for days his mother would hide food in his laundry or slide it under the door when she got the chance. She also used to sing him lullabies on the night his father was away. And for most of his life she used to take the punches that were directed his way. All in all to say that she wasn’t ‘bad’ as his father would say. But then again she did kill herself on his seventeenth birthday so she wasn’t all that good either.
Barty liked to pretend it didn’t bother him as much as it did. Even if he knew, categorically, that it bothered him more than he cared to admit. His mother was the one who brought him into this world so in his head he would have thought that she would have had the decency to stick around long enough to make sure his father paid for everything he did to them but nobody’s perfect.
Besides, her dying did mean there was nothing tying him to his home anyone. If it had ever really been his home.
He watched Evan assess the piece in front of him, he knew it was valuable, his father only ever invested in valuable pieces. It was an added benefit of stealing from him, that and the knowledge that his father definitely knew it was him but reporting him would mean destroying his reputation in the process.
It provided a nice life at least, Barty watch Evan rub his chin and draw his final conclusions,
“I can get you at least ten thousand for it,” Evan said eventually and Barty let a confident smirk show. He had been expecting way less from this job so this was an even better surprise.
“Lovely,” He ended up saying, already trying to decide if he would use the extra money to buy another obnoxious sports car or donate to one of his father’s political rivals. It had been a while since he had given anything to Riddle, best to stay on the man’s good side. He was the only person crazy enough to let the police know he wasn’t actually dead.
He made his way to leave, not in the mood to listen to Evan call a dozen different art dealers about the piece, knowing that Evan may be a lot but he would never cheat him out of the money he was owed. But before he could even take a step Evan spoke again.
“I’ve got a job for you if you’re interested,” He said, which surprised Barty. Yes people knew that Evan was the person to contact if they wanted to speak to him but that was usually threats about him moving in on other’s territory or complaints that he never worked with anyone. It was almost unthinkable that he had been contacted for a job of all things.
“What kind of job?” Barty was curious, maybe it was some rich fuck who wanted a painting, or perhaps it was some inexperienced person wanting an assassination. While Barty wasn’t particularly against it, he didn’t see the point. Killing someone ended their suffering way too quickly in his opinion.
“Kidnapping,” Evan responded with finality, and Barty couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face.
It should be said that Barty, for all his flaws, was not a morally bankrupt person. He understood the basic things, always give old people your seat on the bus, don’t give sweets to a baby and so on. It just so happened that for Barty morals could be easily ignored at the prospect of doing something exciting.
And kidnapping just happened to be that exciting thing.
He had never kidnapped anyone before, which now that it was brought to his attention felt like a massive disappointment. He was a well known criminal for Christ’s sake, what kind of criminal didn’t kidnap people? It was probably damaging his reputation in the underworld.
“I’m in, give me the guy’s number,” Barty said easily and he could feel Evan’s disdain dripping out from him.
“You’re not even going to ask a single follow up question?” Evan asked even though he clearly already knew the answer.
“Not needed,” Barty reasoned, holding out his hand until Evan started rummaging around for something.
Eventually he produced a small business card that read ‘R. Kreacher, Household Expert’.
“Fancy,” Barty said, stuffing it into his pockets “Lover of yours?”
“Get out.” Evan said with finality and Barty laughed as he left, no matter how annoyed Evan pretended to be with his antics, he knew that the man enjoyed his presence more than he cared to admit.
He was still in a good mood when he got in the car and started dialling the number listed. It was always better to make calls like this on the go. One, it made it harder to track his already untraceable phone. Two, it made him seem very busy which would usually make people panic and pay him more in order to catch him.
The phone only rang for a few seconds before a stony old voice picked up.
“Kreacher,” The voice said in lieu of hello which made Barty picture a very serious gentleman like his father. Which of course meant his first response was to annoy the man endlessly.
“Criminal,” Barty responded
“Excuse me?” The man responded, sounding utterly perplexed
“My bad,” Barty said laughing to himself “I thought we were introducing ourselves by what we were,”
“Right,” Kreacher said with a sigh of someone who was used to people taking the mick out of his name “I believe your the man Evan Rosier suggested,”
“Yeah, I’m his favourite thief,” Barty said cheerily, taking it as a personal challenge to get the man to show some emotion.
“Wonderful,” Kreacher responded “I take it your interested in the proposition,”
“Slow your roll partner,” Barty began “I called you, that doesn’t mean I’m saying yes, tell me what the job is first,”
“The job,” Kreacher stressed “Is for you to kidnap the Black heir,”
He said the name with such importance like it was the Queen or something. Barty’s only thought was ‘Who the fuck refers to someone as an heir these days?’.
“As opposed to the white heir?” Barty asked, enjoying the slow breath Kreacher took to control himself.
“No, as in the heir of Orion and Walburga Black, owners of the Black Family Foundation,” Now those names rang a bell. The Blacks had been staunch enemies of his father, but in the polite sort of way in which their mutual associates invited them to the same events but if either of them hosted an occasion it slipped their mind to invite the other party.
“Why do you want their heir?” Barty’s curiosity got the better of him, he didn’t really care per se, but it would be good to know what exactly he was getting himself into.
“They are my current employers,” Kreacher answered, which gave Barty absolutely no clue as to what he did specifically but it gave him an idea.
“So you want me to take their kid to teach them a lesson?”
“Something like that,”
“So I take them and do what?” Barty asked, he wasn’t above murder but he was definitely going to charge extra for murdering a child.
“I have a house I would like you to hold them at,” Kreacher said easily, like he rehearsed it “It’s in Italy, is that possible for you?”
“No problem,” Italy was one of Barty’s favourite countries to be, it was where his mother used to sneak him to on weekends when his father was especially busy. “And when we get there?”
“Leave that to me,” Kreacher said firmly
“So I’m just your transport guy?” Barty asked
“Essentially yes, will that be a problem?”
“Depends on how much you’re willing to pay,” Barty responded easily
“Ten million pounds,” Kreacher responded and Barty felt himself stop the car involuntarily.
“Come again?” he asked, sure he must have misheard the statement
“Ten million pounds, half up front and half when you deliver the heir safe and unharmed to the house in Italy,” Kreacher said clearly and Barty was sure he heard him clearly “Is that doable?”
“Yes it’s fucking doable,” Barty said in utter shock, if he had known kidnapping was this lucrative he would have started years ago.
“Wonderful,” Kreacher said, “I’d like you to complete this job within the next two weeks,”
“Sure,” Barty said, for that amount he probably would have done it within the next two hours “What’s the kid’s name?”
“Excuse me?” Kreacher asked sounding slightly surprised
“His name,” Barty repeated, if he was going to kidnap someone he had to make sure it was the right someone.
“Regulus Arcturus Black,” Kreacher added “He lives with his parents at 12 Grimmauld Place,”
“No problem,” Barty answered, he could have found the address on his own but the extra information was appreciated. “How old is he by the way?”
Hopefully if he was under ten Barty could lure him out with candy or something. He almost laughed to himself at the irony of it all.
“He’s twenty two,”
Well that definitely changed things.