Barty Crouch Jr. was never a Death Eater, but that doesn't mean the war didn't leave deep scars. He always stood on the sidelines, watching as his friends, those he once considered his family, became involved in a struggle he could never fully understand. Regulus Black, Dorcas Meadowes, Pandora, and Evan Rosier—the Slytherin Skittles—meant everything to him. Together, they formed a united group, a silent resistance amidst the chaos.
Regulus was the first to disappear, leaving a void that no one could fill. The news of his sacrifice spread like wildfire: Regulus had destroyed Voldemort’s Horcruxes, ensuring that the Light Side had a real chance to defeat the Dark Lord. But his death was only the beginning of Barty's losses.
Dorcas, with her indomitable spirit, was next. She was captured and killed by the Death Eaters while trying to save a Muggle-born family. Her death was brutal, and Barty felt as if the world had lost one of its purest hearts.
Pandora, with her brilliant mind and haunting visions, couldn’t escape the horrors she foresaw. Her death was a devastating blow to everyone, especially Barty, who had always admired her for her courage and wisdom. Watching her fall was like seeing the light extinguish from the world.
Evan, his best friend since childhood, fought until the end. He died in a confrontation with the Aurors, facing the inevitable tide with the ferocity that had always defined him. Barty couldn't be there to help him, and that guilt haunted him every day since.
In the end, Barty was the only one left. All of his friends, those who once filled his life with meaning and color, were gone. The victory of the Order of the Phoenix over Voldemort brought him no solace, only a deep and persistent pain. He became a symbol of resilience, the lone survivor, but to him, he was nothing more than a shadow of what he once was.
The voices of Regulus, Dorcas, Pandora, and Evan echoed in his mind, constantly reminding him of what he had lost. He could imagine Regulus telling him that his sacrifice wasn’t in vain, that he did it for the greater good. But those words brought no comfort; they only deepened his sense of disconnection from the world.
He walked through the empty house of his childhood, now a mausoleum of lost memories. The corners where they once laughed together were now filled with an oppressive silence. His parents were dead, also victims of the war, and he was the last Crouch. The last of the Slytherin Skittles.
At night, insomnia consumed him. He would close his eyes and see the faces of his friends, but when he opened them, there was only darkness. He felt like a ghost, trapped in an endless cycle of guilt and loneliness. He wondered if he would ever feel anything other than this numbness, this absolute disconnection from everything he once loved.
But he knew he wouldn't. The war had taken everything, even his ability to feel.