Worst Christmas ever
Saturday, December 22, 1973
Since the incident last week, there have been occasional bouts of dizziness for him. He even fainted last Thursday, although it wasn't as dramatic as it sounds. He felt dizzy, his vision blurred, until everything went black, and he collapsed to the ground. Barty hoped it was a one-time thing; it was uncomfortable waking up to find Professor McGonagall standing over him. In that moment, he wished he could faint again, though, of course, it didn't work.
Thankfully, the holidays had finally arrived. Barty had been counting down the days until he could see his mother again. When he arrived home, he was immediately enveloped in a hug. He hadn't even fully entered the door yet. After his mother gave him enough room to breathe again, he closed the front door behind him. It was late, and he was exhausted from the train journey. He slumped onto the couch next to his mother in the living room and leaned against her.
"How do you like Hogwarts?" his mother asked after a bit of small talk.
"Fine," he replied quietly, while his mother stroked his blond hair. "I've made friends," he added. He told her about Mattheo and briefly about Sam (Samuel) and Dan. His mother listened intently, as if it were something special.
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Sunday, November 23, 1973
Barty woke up early in the morning. He went to the kitchen to have breakfast when he heard his mother speaking irritably from the bedroom of his parents. He eavesdropped at the door to hear what she was saying and if someone was with her. He could recognize the voice of her family doctor, probably some examinations due to her seizures. His mother occasionally had seizures of some sort when she got too agitated. They varied; sometimes she remained calm, and sometimes she thrashed around, unable for anyone to touch her. Barty didn't know much about it, and he didn't dare to ask.
"I've increased your dosage a bit, it's getting worse."
"But... I don't understand... why me..."
"Unfortunately, I can't answer that for you. You just had a stroke of bad luck. It could happen to anyone. Your mother had them too, it's just a family thing, neither you nor anyone else can do anything about it."
Barty heard the woman exhale sharply.
"It's like a curse, everyone on my mother's side of the family had the same seizures, and everyone got them at about eleven; it's..." the woman stopped mid-sentence, and Barty heard her burst into tears. The doctor seemed to try to calm her down. Her sobbing became louder as she spoke. "It's not fair... it's not fair... I can't take this anymore.." Barty could barely make out any words that were said, but he didn't want to listen anymore.
He continued his way to the kitchen and made himself a sandwich. He sat at the table and stared at it, sometimes he did that. He would stare at the poor sandwich until he lost his appetite. After a while, even his mother and her doctor came in; the doctor was already putting on his coat, Barty liked him, he was nice. The man waved at him friendly and disappeared as he went out through the front door.
His mother glanced at the door for a moment before sitting down at the table and rubbing her slightly reddened eyes. Barty wanted to ask if everything was okay, but he didn't dare.
In the afternoon, he sat on the couch and read a book. Mrs. Crouch was knitting something. It was so quiet, so he broke the silence a bit.
"Mum... is Dad coming home tomorrow?" he asked cautiously and hesitantly. It had happened before that Bartemius Crouch Sr. wasn't home for Christmas Eve. He always claimed it was due to important Ministry work.
"..You know, Barty... he's very busy at the moment..." she began. Barty's hands clenched a bit; it was clear, the same thing every year. He knew if she started like that, it was most likely a 'no'.
"But... maybe he'll drop by for a bit..." his mother finished her sentence. Barty nodded briefly and continued reading, or rather pretended to read.
He decided to do something meaningful. Writing a letter to Mattheo sounded like a decent idea. He got a sheet of parchment and a quill. Barty thought about what to write; he didn't want to sound weird. He started with a simple 'Hello Matt,' but immediately crossed it out and took a new parchment. This time, he thought more before starting to write. Is 'Heyy Matt,' or 'Hi Matt,' better? Or maybe no greeting at all?... No, that would be rude. He began writing 'Hello Matt,'...
*****Letter*****
*To Mattheo Brown*
Hello Matt,
How are you? I just wanted to wish you Merry Christmas in advance. I hope you and your family are well. And I should remind you about your Transfiguration homework; I know you tend to forget about it.
Best regards,
Barty
P.S. I should also remind you about your essay for Professor Flitwick.
***************
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Monday, December 24, 1973
Barty woke up; it was Christmas Eve. He didn't even want to get out of bed; he felt weird. Not normal weird but 'weird' weird. He had a slight headache, but never mind... He went to the kitchen to have breakfast. His mother was packing some gifts for the neighbors and a few 'friends' of the family.
Barty bit heartily into his salami sandwich and observed his mother. "Mum, why do we have to send gifts to the Blacks? They're creepy." Mrs. Crouch laughed a bit and ran her fingers through his hair. "No, they're not, they're... unconventional," she corrected her son. Barty shook his head and swallowed another bite. "Still, they're weird. I don't like them."
She shook her head laughing and smoothed out the wrapping paper a bit. "Will you help me with dinner later?" Barty nodded and finished the last bite of his sandwich.
He helped his mother with the remaining gifts and letters and then with dinner.
After dinner, the front door opened, Barty went to the hallway to see who it was. It was his father, apparently he had found some time after all. They had dinner. The atmosphere was very tense, more so than usual. Barty could practically feel the argument brewing, as it did every Christmas Eve when his father was home. The tension seemed so high, as if it could be cut with scissors.
He looked from his mother to his father, back to his mother. No one spoke; everything was silent, except for the clinking of the cutlery on the plates.
Surprisingly, the two adults managed to hold out without arguing for quite a while, until his mother started speaking after dinner, and Barty sat on the couch reading.
"How's work going?"
"Fine. How's the house?"
"Fine. Very fine indeed." Mrs. Crouch seemed quite irritable at the moment and added. "When do you plan to leave again?"
"What's that supposed to mean now?" Mr. Crouch asked annoyed
"Oh, just one question, when do you plan to leave again?" she glared at him angrily, Barty stared somewhat blankly at the wall, waiting for something to happen and for someone to explode first.
"I think I can stay a bit longer, thanks," he replied irritably, his voice slightly raised.
Barty hoped that would be it, but of course, it wasn't. The two adults continued to annoy each other, escalating into louder arguments. Barty set aside his book, stood up, and wanted to go to his room. But he hesitated, afraid of being drawn into the argument.
"You're truly unbelievable, Bartemius!" Mrs. Crouch screamed at her husband. Her husband retorted, shouting back. It was so loud, Barty felt dizzy. His headache grew so intense, everything hurt.
"If you're going to behave like this, you might as well go back to the Ministry!"
"I told you I'm staying!" His gaze fell on his son, who was completely pale. His expression softened slightly, but also turned somewhat panicked as he saw Barty struggling to breathe.
Barty grew increasingly dizzy, trembling. "Barty?" his father's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Barty, what's wrong?" his mother asked, sounding somewhat frightened. "Barty, talk to us," Mr. Crouch suddenly sounded very concerned.
His eyes rolled back slightly, and he collapsed to the floor, his entire body convulsing violently. It was a horrifying sight for his parents; his father immediately knelt beside him, and Mrs. Crouch began to cry, but she too sat beside him.
Mr. Crouch held him tightly as he began to thrash around.
After a few minutes, the tension in his body subsided, and he lay motionless and exhausted on the floor. His mother brushed his hair from his face, still with tears in her eyes. Barty couldn't think of anything except the excruciating pain, unbearable, as if he were about to be torn in two. He couldn't move at all; it was too exhausting. His father immediately sent an owl to their family doctor to come visit them.
Shortly after, the doctor apparated to their doorstep, examining Barty as gently as possible. He was given a potion for the pain and one to help him sleep.
---
Tuesday, December 25th, 1973
His mother sat beside him on his bed as he slowly opened his eyes. His arms and legs felt so heavy, as if they were filled with sand.
He was examined again by the doctor later, prescribed tablets that he now had to take every day, morning and evening. His father explained to him what had happened yesterday since his memory had some gaps, probably from the shock. Professor Dumbledore was also informed by owl so that he would know if the same thing happened at school, which wasn't supposed to happen with the medication, but there was always a chance.
He spent the whole day in bed. His mother brought him his lunch and dinner, but he ate very little as he had hardly any strength for it. Later, his father burst into the room. "I've got something for you!" he said in a livelier tone. He placed a few letters on his bed, and Barty stared at them before opening one. It was from Matt!
*****Letter*****
*To Barty Crouch Jr.*
Heyy Barty,
Thanks for your letter, Merry Christmas and happy holidays to you too. My family and I are doing very well. I hope you're not feeling too bad; I already miss you.
Best regards,
Mattheo
***************
*****Letter*****
*To Barty Crouch Jr.*
Heyy,
It's me, Katie. From your class. I wanted to wish you Merry Christmas; I hope we'll see each other soon.
Love you,
Your Katie <3
***************
Among the other letters were ones from Dan and Sam and a few others whom Barty barely knew, yet they surprisingly knew a lot about him. 'Such stalkers,' he thought. Nonetheless, he was genuinely happy about the letters, even Katie's, although her clinginess was sometimes frightening.