ABBEY
“For she does not lie awake in the dark and weep for her sins, and
whine about her condition, and discuss her duty to GodWhen I put my mouth to her ear
and shout her name. She walks away”
Introduction
Bartemius Crouch dealt in blood. He was the frontman, the person you went to for an in to the underbelly of the criminal world as a successful businessman, he traded in money, secrets, death and people.
There wasn’t a line he wouldn’t cross, anything he wouldn’t exploit for a profit.
Bartemius Crouch junior was his son, a mirrored incarnation of his father, birthed in an act of duty and named in honour of his infamous legacy. In actuality it only left him cursed.
Barty Crouch Junior was created to absolve his fathers sins as sons usually are and his birth was a celebration of a life made and a new thing to exploit.
He was born in blood on an unfortunate night and in the darkness he didn’t make a wail, a cry or a sound.
The doctors thought he was stillborn or simple and when his father came into the room in a flurry of fury he was enraged at having a defective son but at the sound of his shouts, Barty seemed to gurgle in his mothers arms, even then unconsciously knowing not to be a disappointment.
Knowing already how to obey, like it was built into his DNA or some sick feeling flowing through his blood.
Many years later when Barty had experienced genuine hell he would look back on his childhood as an odd purgatory full of his father’s orders and the gilded life they lived attending lavish events. But with his later outlook, all the expensive affluence and crushing expectations were born of the same evil men his father was part of.
His mother Marjorie was his salvation, even her detached and demure demeanour was a lifeline, like an oasis in a dry desert compared to any other affection he may receive.
The impressive Crouch manor was a dark and impending presence among the otherwise picturesque coastline of The French Riviera, his father a legendary name already building on an already respected family name and wealth had moved there for his wife who wanted to leave the city for her health, back to nature.
It was their happily ever after.
The manor was detached and gated in, filled with security and help and a general buzz of life that came with his fathers work. But the scenery was beautiful giving the place a gentle innocence and the sun streaked hills and idyllic view made the landscape brighter.
It was the very image of opulence and so undoubtedly Barty Crouch junior was spoilt.
When he wanted something it was quickly followed up with what type. When he decided he wanted a toy car his mother bought him an electric one he could ride inside, after he saw an exy match he got a large black racquet and his mother booked him to a local practice.
Barty liked Exy, it was alright. He missed his mother though, she couldn’t take him due to her health, instead one of his fathers scary men would take him in a big, dark car. He was taller than the other boys and quicker too but he would get bored, Exy wasn’t really anything important.
Even when he wanted a dog, his mother relented and knowing of his love of the wizard of Oz had got him one to name Toto on the promise he would always look after him.
“Dog is man’s best friend you have to take care of him”
“Yes maman, I promise.” he had responded quickly soaking up the big brown eyes and happy barks.
Toto was small, and fluffy and his.
Promises were important to his mother the only thing she would ever legitimately tell him off about, they were something to hold close to your chest, to keep.
So he didn’t mind sharing his bed, or taking him outside for fresh air. In the lonely abyss of his childhood minus tutors handpicked by his mother and the odd Exy practice he would spend his nights curled up with his mother and his dog.
All in all it was it’s own version of normal.
But the strangest thing about the house wasn’t his fathers haunting presence, the large parties that were hosted with dignitaries he spied on or the bloody floors or the screams from the cellars where he thought only wine was kept.
No the thing Barty remembered most about the property was the garden at the back. Hidden behind a green maze was a large fountain and bench where his mother usually sat. She was on odd person his mother quiet, reserved and religious but yet she loved him and that was more than enough.
He would come out of lessons in the afternoon and see her head full of dark curls bent over as she silently spoke to God under the orange trees.
“I salute you Mary, full of grace:
Our Lord is with you.
You are blessed among all women and Jesus,
the fruit of your womb, is blessed.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us poor sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.”
Looking up she would catch his eye and grab his hand as she pulled him onto her lap and would grab his little hands to point out the small beauties of the world.
Years later he would recall her thin frame and face sickly pale but oh in the summer light he thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
But the best thing she did under the orange tree, whether out of loneliness or genuine want to share knowledge onto him was tell him fascinating things about nature.
Barty had a near perfect memory, practically photographic he remembered everything, something he had inherited from her she told him, alongside the dimples on his cheek and his tall height.
Sitting alongside him under the sun she would turn towards him with a small sparkle in her eye as she tried to shock him with each one.
“Pluto hasn’t made a full orbit around the sun since it was discovered in 1930”
“Acacia trees can warn each other of danger”
“Goats have accents”
“Octopuses have three hearts”
“Black holes aren’t actually black”
“A frogs gender can be determined by its ear”
His absolute favorite were the facts his mother would say about birds, he had been obsessed with flying his whole life. One of his dreams he had told her was to fly a plane, not that he had ever been on one, his mother had told him they couldn’t quite yet due to complications with his fathers work.
Birds just intrigued him. They had the ability to fly anywhere, sometimes he wondered what that would be like to go anywhere. But not without his mother, he wouldn’t want her to be lonely.
Sometimes on especially perfect days she would read story’s to him and Toto.
Fairytales in particular were always memorable and Alice in wonderland always stuck out as his mother did the voices and would make him watch out for his very own rabbit who would introduce him to adventure.
Under the big blue sky inside the confined compound of the Crouch Manor his mother recalled facts of birds. For Barty it wasn’t a passing fancy but a longtime obsession and so his mother would by buy books so even when the oranges had fallen out like his mothers hair due to her medicine they could find out something new.
”You should never be scared of new things Birdie” she would mutter lovingly her voice soft and the nickname soothing.
”Crows have funerals for their dead and remember faces”
“Owls don’t have eyeballs”
“Flamingos are born gray”
“Mockingbirds can mimic sounds”
Most of all what he remembered was his mothers goodness, just like her love for nature and order some days she would lie on her back beneath the clouds.
Barty tried to be a good boy for his maman, anything to make her happy.
“How does God hear you” he asked one day when winter had passed and spring was setting in. His mother had just finished praying and was now bent over on her knees in her devout devotion.
Unlike his father, who preferred him to be seen and not heard on the odd occasion he made his presence known, his mother encouraged questions, listening and actively answering to the best of her ability.
He prayed with her a lot but it’s not like he got it. It all just felt like words.
God felt as mythical as his father, both with supposedly great presences and yet his mother said she heard and saw them but yet they never visited him for nighttime hugs or out in the garden. They certainly didn’t feel as powerful and important as her, who was God compared to his mother.
“God hears everything baby” she smiled gently as she beckoned him to join her.
Kneeling in a similar position he shut his eyes.
He didn’t hear God.
“I don’t hear nothing” he muttered childishly.
“I don’t hear anything” she corrected calmly “turn around and close your eyes”
Now in front of her with his eyes closed the only guiding idea was the clunking sound of a chain.
His mother had removed her small silver cross and placed it round his neck.
“But maman I can’t take this” he protested even Barty who had everything knew this was something precious to his mother.
“Nonsense Birdie” she laughed a little at his shocked face “Now go try again”
Getting on his knees while holding his hands together in prayer like his mother always wanted him to without moving and silently.
He didn’t get it then and when he innocently opened his eyes he saw his mother mischievously looking straight at him before they burst into laughter.
“I’m sorry I didn’t hear him maman” he said as she tucked him into bed, Toto was curled up at the end and his mother was sat on the edge stroking his hair.
“Don’t be silly Birdie. God isn’t there to tell you what to do, he’s a guide, someone to listen and support you. To be by your side”
“So he’s like a maman”
“Yes Baby” she said quietly her eyes surprisingly wet like she was holding back tears as she fluffed up his pillow “He’s like the Worlds maman there to listen”
She went to touch the small cross that was still round his neck.
“Do you want it back Maman” he said before she gently stopped him.
“No Birdie I think it’s best if you keep it” she nervously patted her red dress which would have been out of ordinary if he didn’t see his father at the door.
His father turned away and didn’t enter the room, any form of emotion caused discomfort for the man. His mother once joked he was half robotic but she was just as quiet as he was at dinner when he joined them.
Sometime they would go out together for the night after she tucked him in and Barty saw a rare smile from his father directed at his mother when he spied them leaving.
But when Barty saw him in the morning he had the same blank mask he wore on every other occasion. Barty thought it was rather silly not to smile but when he asked his mother that particular question she would just go quiet which signaled him to not ask again.
Giving him a small kiss on the head she went to leave.
“I love you Birdie you are such a good boy”
The next time Barty genuinely thought about praying wasn’t with his mother the next day at morning prayer it was weeks later in the hospital by the manor.
He remembered it was next to the whitest walls he had ever seen, unnatural, it seemed out of place for a waiting room to be so peaceful. His father was in the room instead he had told him to wait inside.
And so Barty waited.
He waited for a long time until the rooms cleared and the air became static.
Sat with his eyes at the door he didn’t move.
For some reason he couldn’t even remember breathing.
Barty had never been good at waiting, his mother hadn’t liked that about him, she had told him patience was a virtue.
Barty wasn’t sure what a virtue was but it seemed important, grown-up, so Barty tried it being patient. For his mother.
Always for his mother.
People passed by him, some were even sobbing or hysterical, Barty was silent and in that moment the weight of his mother’s cross seemed crushing around his neck, like some sort of sentence.
God still wasn’t listening which was sort of rude, hour of need and all. But he was going to try again. He was going to have faith. He was going to pray just how his mother taught him.
Our Lord is with you
You are blessed among all women and Jesus
the fruit of your womb, is blessed
Holy Mary, Mother of God
pray for us poor sinners
now and at the hour of our death
Amen
Holy Mary, Mother of God
pray for us poor sinners
now and at the hour of our death
Amen
I’ll be good. Barty promised. I’ll be as good as I can be for the rest of my life. If you save her. I love her. Barty thought he might just about do anything.
It was hours later when the mind numbing repetition of words were still spinning round his head and when his father walked out alone and with the same cold, calm mask. His eyes had bags under his eyes which showed exhaustion and his hair was messy and not slicked back. In short he was clearly devastated.
In that moment he was reminded how horribly human his father was.
And that’s when it hit him, crushing down on his chest like an open bruise.
“Bartemius” the elder Bartemius said standing above his shrinking figure “get up we are leaving”
Barty made a mistake, he began to cry. He couldn’t help the sobs that wracked out so heavy his stomach turned and his ears began to ring.
His father didn’t say anything, his eyes never leaving him before he obviously got impatient and grabbed him by the shoulders to shake him.
“Stop it”
Barty had stopped immediately his fear of his father outweighed his grief.
“Your mother is dead”
Well. That was not putting it sensitively at all. Even at nine years old Barty could have guessed that by now, he hadn’t expected him to be comforting but this seemed extreme.
“Grow up Bartemius” heaving a deep sigh like this was all one big inconvenience.
Barty bet he regretted having a kid now, his mother had always spoken about how much his father loved them not that he had really ever believed her, but he doubted he would love them now she was…gone and he was now his responsibility.
Having a son had been like a nice accessory by this point, but now he was going to have to deal with him.
Silently Barty walked behind him and got into the dark car, it still scared him but he doubted his father would care. He was right of course it was time to grow up.
At the funeral Barty almost found it in himself to hate her.
He hated her for leaving him and for the reason he had to wear a stupid suit and have to sit beside a man who was clearly drunk.
His breath stank of whiskey and his gaze flickered between disinterest and disapproval at the sight of his son and the open casket in front of them with the body of the woman they had both loved. Barty wasn’t sure which one he liked more to be on the receiving end of.
The service was small and filled with people Barty had never seen, grown up’s who in the hot summer heat were dripping with sweat and boredom. Barty had to squeeze his fingernails into his legs to stop himself from leaving…and crying.
“A wife. A mother. A friend”
The priest had stood on his podium and spotted how sorry God had been to take her, what a wonderful light she had been in everyone’s life.
He was right she had been bright and beautiful and kind. Not nearly deserving of a slow death in sickness the guests had gossiped. The poor crouches, the son and father, left behind so clearly devastated.
They had been wrong about that, she hadn’t left a son and father behind, she had left shells.
The two of them for the past week having floated around like ghosts in the manor haunting the place.
How ironic the real ghost was no where to be seen.
Marjorie Crouch had left behind no real legacy, her greatest accomplishments being the two black holes which were her son and husband in ruin.
Barty had tried not to cry. Honest he had. He had greeted all the guests silently and dutifully letting them pat his head and coo comfortingly, he had listened and waited and held in any forms of emotion. Attempting his own mask, one identical to his father even though his was clearly better.
He held it in until it was just him at the grave, when the guests had left and her body was gone into the ground. Had he not done his duty, could he not cry.
“What is wrong with you boy” his father slurred and even though the words were cruel they brought him back some sense of normality.
“Nothing I just-”
“Stop mumbling”
“Sorry” Barty replied even quieter.
“Yes I suppose you are” Bartemius Crouch senior stated his tone odd and his gaze accusing.
His father stood beside him was an odd sight, he was dressed immaculately in what was clearly a wealthy suit and his face was hard. If anyone had stumbled upon him you would have thought he hated the woman, not been married to her.
And yet Barty could tell he had in some strange way must have, or at least cared for her in a way he had not shown Barty and certainly not anyone else. He was there for one by her grave and if you looked close enough the controlling image was unraveling.
He was drunk at eleven on a Thursday and had taken some sort of pills that made eyes slightly bleary. No Bartemius Crouch was certainly not taking it any better even if he wasn’t crying.
The proud and stoic Crouches were surely a mess now, and there didn’t seem to be anyone there to fix it.
At the sight of a crow perched on a branch above staring down at him Barty began to cry again. Not even his fathers threats could stop the tsunami of his sadness, Barty thought he might drown in it.
His mother was gone. Birdie was gone.
“Bartemius look at me”
It was Bartemius instead.
“Yes” his words coming out sharper than intended.
“Yes Sir” his father was no longer slurring like his anger had awakened in him some form of control, some recollection of who he was.
Like red hot fury reminded him he was Bartemius Crouch, a man not to be messed with.
At this point the conversation had taken a nasty turn, his mother had barely passed but his father was not going to stay nice. The silence was over.
“Your mother had coddled you far too long you are soft, that will need to be fixed” like it was some sort of disgusting obsesrvation, a fact.
Barty couldn’t say what came over him, maybe it was the way he had spat the word mother, or that he was soft but Barty imploded.
“Don’t talk about her like that” he shouted quickly his mouth snarling and his face as hard as his fathers fist that swung into his face.
The feel of his father fist felt like his mothers hug, Barty wanted to be consumed by his namesake to bleed and seethe instead of cry.
It was the first time his father had ever struck him, not because he had finally snapped but it was just the longest time his father had ever paid attention to him.
The taste of blood in his mouth and the feel of the soft ground he had hit seemed to wake something up. Something animalistic and ugly came over him and has Barty pulled himself up he pounced on his father with a yell pushing weak fists into his side before his father was grabbing him and holding him into the ground face down.
Bartemius Crouch senior was a large, impounding man but Barty seemed to be following him in regards to height already the tallest on his exy team.
But his father was bigger and stronger and easily overpowered him.
The crow was still there watching was a surprising observation Barty made while on the ground. And strangely a feeling of rage threatened to overpower him and he wanted to grab it and scream in its face. To make it feel how he felt, so it would understand him.
Barty wondered if that was why his father was putting him in pain to remind himself he had the power to hurt someone else like he was hurt.
Bartemius was a self proclaimed ‘Titan of Business’ but he was no God and so even he had to bow to something, to death and to grief.
“You will learn respect” Bartemius commanded.
As Barty went to speak his father gripped him tighter in order to silence him.
“Don’t speak” clicking his tongue he loosened his hold “You will probably upset me more and we have places to be. Nod if you understand”
Barty nodded quickly.
His father let him go and pulled him up to his feet before he turned away back to the car held open by two of his most senior men.
The two of them had watched the scene with two different reactions Ludo Bagman with a quiet glee at the chaos in his eyes and Anthony Dolohov with a small sense of discomfort at the pair.
In the car back to the manor Bagman had passed another bottle of alcohol to Bartemius while Dolohov had passed Barty tissues with the excuse of him not making a mess.
By the time they arrived at the estate Barty had stopped bleeding relatively hard but he felt numb to the throbbing pain. Physical pain was easier to ignore, sometimes it was almost nice as a showcase that he mattered enough to cause such an intense reaction.
“At least your not as soft as I thought” Bartemius said as close to a compliment as he could before he walked off to the hosting area where his top men were joining him as they had the last few days to drink and to whatever it was that caused such extreme shouts in the middle of the night.
A pummeling was almost worth the arm grab his father gave as he got out of the car or a somewhat kind word.
But when he got into bed and Toto who was sat at the bottom began to whine for a bed time story he didn’t quite manage not to sob again. It was fine he could just pretend it hadn’t happened the next morning.
The next few months including his birthday passed, his father largely ignored him again, leaving Bartys company to Toto or Whinky the old lady who cooked in the kitchen.
That and the new tutors his father had brought in for a ‘higher education’ apparently. Not that Barty did much work spending his time doing stuff he preferred much more.
He couldn’t explain it but being ignored felt more of a slap in his face than a literal one. His father found plenty of time going out at all times of the day and night with his men like Bagman, Davey and Rookwood and some newcomers who Winky had informed him were called Burbage and Sturgis.
All the men were noisy and entered at odd times of the night leaving bottles along the floors and weird powders that left his father knocked out.
During the day when the others were out doing who knows what or his fathers work he spent his time on pills and beer.
So Barty was pretty much unsupervised and so he spent his time terrorizing his tutors to send them away.
The first had been a strict woman who after being pushed into pools from a balcony four times had called him a monster and handed her resignation.
The second was a younger man, cooler, handsome with a slow voice. Barty hated him and made a nasty habit to lock him in small space for hours on end or simply run off and after losing him for the fifteenth time had been fired. Turns out he had…claustrophobia that was it.
The third woman was mean and seemed to have a tracker on him but he got her to leave when he found out she had a nut allergy and he had put nuts in her soup secretly. She had gone into anaphylactic shock. Barty was unsure what happened after she went to hospital.
The fourth man who was Russian was ran off with his screaming fits and the smashing plates especially when a shard went into his finger and he lost his pinky. He called him the spawn of satan which Barty counted as half true as his father was surely somewhat demonic.
The fifth was clearly thought of as a great idea in regards to his mother but when the nun came Barty almost lost it completely. She was sweet and gentle and tried to talk about things that interested him but he ran her off in case she…well died.
Barty figured he was unlucky like that. He had used rats and after finding nearly a dozen times in her bed and clothes even a holy level of forgiveness could not manage to make her come back.
By this point his father who had attempted to ignore him altogether had got very fed up. It wasn’t that his father hadn’t hit him when he was hungover or he got in the way and even when each one left but by this point his insolence had caused him to go too far.
He had called him down into the ‘dining room’ which was now just the place he got drunk with the other men in the house.
And had been beat which was no surprise but what was surprising was that he didn’t stop, so much so one of the men, which he was fairly sure was Dolohov, had to pull him off.
“You are such a disappointment” his father spat
“Yeah I know” Barty deserved it, the pain, even for attention he had gone too far.
Five tutors in five months. A new record.
What he hadn’t known was poor little Toto had followed him into the room with him as he accompanied him everywhere and when his father had hit him square in the face and he didn’t get up finally broken and cried out she had jumped up and bitten his hand.
Small, loyal, spoilt Toto was vicious apparently if pushed too far.
It was his fathers turn to bleed.
But the rage and hunger in his face sent a terror down Bartys spine and as he grabbed Toto he began to apologize.
“I’m sorry she didn’t mean to, I’m sorry-”
“Stop babbling” his father spoke scarily calm as if his bleeding hand was of no importance, the men around his father had stopped their games now to watch.
“You know the problem with dogs is…” his father seemed to pause in thought “bad habits are brought on by its owner, it knows it’s their fault when they act out”
“Your right it’s my fault-”
“Bad dogs have to be dealt with” his father spoke clearer know and Barty could see why he was such a successful businessman, he was a godamn shark.
“Do you know what happens to bad dogs?”
The air was silent and all Barty could hear was his heavy heartbeat.
“Bartemius I asked you a question”
“I…don’t know” Barty answered honestly, with his father asking it could be a lesson, a punishment or a trick.
“That mutt is your responsibility, your pet” Bartemius was circling the two of them now and all Barty could do was not get up and run and keep his eyes on the ground “its punishment is your punishment”
“Barty”
Barty looked up avoiding eye contact and the whines of Toto as if he too picked up on the fact they were beneath a predator.
“You’ve been bad haven’t you”
Barty nodded. Yes. Yes. Yes.
I have been bad.
I am bad.
Sometimes being bad is the only thing that makes sense. I don’t know what to be without it.
He tried to be good but everything came back to the same conclusion in his head.
I am born bad.
“Bad dogs get put down”
It took Barty a second for him to get it and then another to comprehend but even then he was still confused.
Was his father going to take Toto away, put him in the cage outside with the bloodhounds his father took hunting, like his mother had sometimes threatened if Barty had ever accidentally hurt her or been naughty.
Was it all just a set up to another beat down, that Barty was the bad dog and it was his fathers job to deal with him.
Before he knew it he saw a metal hole peering into his face, for a second Barty thought he was going to be shot.
Barty wondered if death hurt, if he would see his mother, if God would be there.
Barty didn’t want to die.
But then his father moved the direction of the gun to poor little Toto, who didn’t even snarl at the threat just turned her head towards Barty like she was about to get a treat, he began to panic.
“Violent dogs get punished”
And then there was a beat of silence.
“Stay Bartemius”
Barty followed his instructions like as if under some sort of spell of control.
And when his father raised his hand to pet him condescendingly Barty couldn’t help the flinch he showed. The weakness was clear and Toto’s whine was loud as if she was too catching on, this was the lions den.
“Hadn’t I promised you that you would learn respect”
“Yes sir” dutifully answered his tone empty and his face void of any emotion.
“Good Boy” and his father had laughed at that reminding him once again this was not a sane conversation “Finally Bartemius your learning”
Good boy he was bad when he tried to be good and good at being bad. It didn’t make sense.
He turned to Bagman who had begun whispering in his ear.
“Yes, yes” sighing once more with no flair of the dramatics “I think it needs to be a more permanent lesson”
His father was now leaning into his face analyzing his face like he was waiting for him to break.
And Barty was calm, at least until Bagman picked up Toto and put a leash on him.
Then he saw his father stare at the gun.
No. No. No.
“What are you going to do?” Barty said quietly his voice cracking and his shoulders shaking with some kind of fury that lived under his skin.
“Oh Bartemius he’s your pet, don’t you think it’s your duty to deal with it”
Oh. Oh. Oh.
“Don’t you agree” his father reiterated that cold stare leaving him naked now.
He’d pushed and prodded too much. Mistaken what type of love this was, cruel and insatiable and bloody. Forgotten who he was provoking.
“Yes” blinking and biting his lips to stop himself snarling out something rotten “Yes sir”
Yes. Yes. Yes
The gun was raised and Toto was placed down softly from Bagmans arms by his father as he held the leash.
Poor Toto. Peaceful Toto.
Who had loved him, protected him, been his.
Regardless of how bad he was, or if he cried, he was never disappointed, happy for a treat and a hug. Always so easy to please. Even now too soft to know the danger he was in, not like one of those hunting mutts his father owned, no a domesticated present for a child.
It was not the first time he had seen a gun, not even the first time he had picked one up. Not with the type of business his father did. But with the weapon now being used as he was to be an executioner he almost felt sorry for it. That this was the guns purpose to be used, it was cool in his hands and the odd clicking sound felt wholly unfamiliar.
About a dozen eyes looked on and his fathers bore especially hot into him in anticipation.
The trigger was pulled and…click.
It was painless at least and quick.
The bullet aimed unprofessionally at its little head before blood began to pour out.
Regardless of Toto’s very nature he bared his teeth in his defence and had loved him till the very moment he had put him down.
Barty thinks he must have blacked out after that, not literally but enough so that when he managed to make his way to the bathroom in his room no one saw him throw up.
The poison in his throat was clawing out and choking him. The image of his dog. The scent of blood. The feel of a gun. Barty’s fist without even meaning to connected with the mirror fast and hard making his hand red and raw.
And then the sobs started when the foot of his bed was empty and Barty was alone. His only companion now was the familiar tingle of pain and the nightmares of the dead.
His father was not going to change. His father was not going to want him so what did it matter if he fought back. His father was not going to love him, even in the twisted painful way he tried.
Barty did not learn his lesson. He did not act better, in fact he was worse.
When he awoke the next morning one of his father men brought him another dog, like Toto had been disposable. Like a very ironic Christmas present wrapped in bows.
Something more appropriate for the house of horrors, one of his fathers bloodhounds who didn’t like to be touched and slept in a cage in his room.
Barty sometimes stared into the angry dogs eyes and wondered if that’s how the rest of the people saw him in the manor. A rabid animal who recoiled at noise and who had to be kept away, broken in.
He never even named the dog. What was the point.
More months passed in the endless repetition of nothing, Barty would wake up and until he went too bed spend his days terrorizing the halls of the manner.
Breaking vases with an exy racquet, running off the help and when he was presented in front of his father for bad behavior.
Not that it really bothered him, what was a few hits from his inebriated father when he got to annoy him, make him remember, to look at the painful reminder of what he had left. His fathers clear pain was really the only little pleasure Barty got in life.
So his days were busy hiding from his father and Winky who after the Toto incident he had decided he could never look at again, Winky who had loved Toto always giving him treats, who had cared for him as well.
He was sure he would just ruin that too, that the rage that simmered would pour out into an unintended target and just like Toto he would destroy something good.
How would she react if she knew he…well if she knew what really happened. As well as starting fights with his tutors and running off and avoiding his father the days stayed relatively uneventful.
That was until October and the visitors arrived. It was an especially unusual event because his father had clearly not known they were coming, as they had been up all of the previous night and how odd new people entering the property was.
Coming in multiple expensive cars were two men in suits with around thirty guards came early one morning, the tallest was a dark haired man which was slightly grey streaked who looked to be of some sort of Japanese descent. The second man was slightly younger with even darker hair cut shorter with a sharp face and a more muscular appearance. All in all they were intimidating and Barty wasn’t the only person to have that reaction.
Barty, who had methodically found the best hiding spots around the estate in the months, went to eavesdrop the alcove close to the dining halls entrance which allowed him the ability to eavesdrop.
But with the two men speaking a mixture of Japanese and English, two languages he didn’t know he promptly gave up.
As it was eleven and maths would be starting soon Barty took his Exy Racquet to break some things out in the grounds.
He liked aiming for the people in the outside stain glass windows, the statues on the hedges and the little gnomes. Sometimes it was even a game of how many a day, by the next week they were all replaced and it started again.
“Yes” Barty said quietly to himself as he had smashed the head of a rather ugly and large gnome quite a bit away.
“Good aim” a voice said behind him, it was clearly accented but the French was clear, he didn’t know why if he spoke French he didn't speak it to his father.
It was one of the two men, the younger one of the pair and he was relaxed against a pillar behind him.
Barty started to panic. If he had ruined something important for his father he was done for, the steady feeling of fear found his way back into his lungs.
“It’s not what it looks like it was an-“
“Don’t worry I understand” the man gave a small secretive smile that was rather nice looking, before he began approaching closer
“Your Bartemius’s son. What your name?”
“Bartemius”
“Oh how…unfortunate” the man’s face turned slightly uglier as it became a grimace at the suggestion the father and son had the same name strangely.
“I like to be called Barty” he added in quickly.
“Of course” he smoothly answered his face evening out before he gestured to the exy racquet “do you like Exy”
“Yeah it’s okay” Barty shrugged, the game was alright the racquet was perfect for hitting things thought.
“How old are you Barty”
“Eleven but I’ll be twelve soon”
“Oh how many months” the man’s head.
“Eleven months” Barty said somewhat bashful and embarrassed at thought of being seen as a baby.
“Mmm” the man said before turning away “Would you mind accompanying me to the main hall Barty”
“Sure” Barty said shortly leaving his racquet on the ground and walking the strange man to the hall, he wondered what he had been doing so far out.
The two of them walked over in an odd silence, Barty had half a mind to question who he was and why he was here, but it didn’t seem too wise.
Bringing him up to the main hall where the group seemed to be exiting he saw the other man speaking harshly as his father bowed his bloody head.
Barty wondered what type of people could strike fear into his father, make him bend and obey. He wanted to know who these people were, what power they held over his omnipotent father.
The man he had brought back went over to his colleague and muttered something in his ear before he pointed to Barty.
The two seemed to be talking in what seemed to be in quiet Japanese, having a completely private conversation in front of everybody else, which did not seem to help his fathers nerves or his fathers men who were greatly outnumbered and anxious looking.
“What did you do Boy” Bartemius whispered harshly his pale face, sheen with sweat and a bruise from where he had presumably been punched.
Barty didn’t answer distracted by watching the two men, before he felt the harsh grip of his father grab him to jerked him closer.
Whatever he was planning to do was prevented by the words the older man said in English and gestured something that made his father pause and look at Barty with wide eyes…oh god his father was definitely going to kill him about the gnomes now.
The two men approached his father and spoke in a hushed tone, yet at the speed in which his father approached them to properly hear it didn’t seem to matter.
Usually guns did the talking, showed who was in charge but in front of these two men Barty wasn’t sure that would even be enough.
They radiated pure power.
His father seemed shocked at the words coming out of the men’s mouths, some sort of disbelief but when he went to argue back, the words seemed to leave him and he just nodded in agreement.
The three of them seemed to be come to some sort of conclusion to whatever issue had come up.
Dolohov seemed nervous but Bagman was practically grinning as he sent looks between the group.
“So we have a deal” Bartemius said in French this time, his voice having returned to normal and finding the courage to speak in his natural tongue.
“A deals a deal” the older man said sparing an odd look at the man beside him before firmly looking back at Barty.
“You have twenty four hours to get things in order before our men come for collection” the man beside him smiled, yet instead of being pleasant like before it sent an odd shiver down his spine.
The two men shook his fathers hand, and just as he thought it was over the taller man whispered in his fathers ear and he gulped.
It was a clear message, a threat. And if his father wasn’t retaliating these men must be…well something.
Even as the sound of the cars rolled off into the distance and the gates creaked shut, no one moved like in fear that breaking the silence would cause them to return.
Then the cheers started, his fathers men getting back into good spirits but one shaky glare from his father was enough of a message for him to disappear into the shadows and go to bed thoroughly exhausted.
Strangely for the first time in months Barty dreamt of birds and the feel of his mothers cross across his chest felt like a hug.
The next morning things seemed to be back to normal as Barty walked over passed out men in halls and saw the mess they had left after returning to the estate from going into town.
It must have been a fun night.
What was odd was a long unknown dark car parked into the driveway and the noise coming from his fathers study. Usually his father was at this time in the day trying to sleep off whatever he had done but he was wide awake and pacing apparently.
“Bartemius” the silky voice of Bagman came from a doorway “what are you doing sneaking about, are you getting ready to…”
“Stop it Bagman” Dolohovs serious voice and rather solemn speech silenced Bagmans jittering “Bartemius your father needs you”
“Oh…”
This was about the gnomes, damn he was going to be killed, in front of company as well he knew that man couldn’t be trusted, too nice.
”I thought Boss wanted us just to bring him straight” Bagman complained slightly whiny and put out at having to do something else.
“No Ludo I think his father has some explaining” Dolohov responded cooly pushing a hand through his gelled hair as he began to open up the door to the study, Dolohov unlike Bagman was kept around because he was a businessman and respected not for a night of frivolity or an erratic idea.
The dark oak doors were burst open and his father was sat with his head in a stack of papers, writing checks, with lots of zeros on the end of them. Huh Barty didn’t think his father did anything besides be a nuisance these days.
“Bartemius” his father commanded always so stony “shut the door”
“I’m sorry about the gnomes I don’t know what you heard-”
“Stop babbling” Bartemius placed a hand to his head and took the thin reading glasses he was wearing off sharply, brilliant he was already irritated.
“Do you know who the two men who visited yesterday were?”
“No I didnt-”
“Don’t whine Bartemius, it’s beneath even you” his father huffed but his words came out a little more nervously this time “They belonged to the Lestrange family”
“The Lestranges are the people I work under Bartemius, the Head of the family came with his half brother”
Pausing to evaluate the wording he took a gulp of his drink.
“Some issues got brought to their attention and amends have to be made”
Barty nodded this made sense as people like his father above the law were usually answerably to a different chain of command.
His father beckoned for one of the men to open up the study doors
“Your wanted at the nest at the behest of Riddle, for whatever reason, but it ensures some of what they wanted is no longer owed”
“I need you to your duty Bartemius, too do what must be done. You will go to America and be under the Lestranges do you understand”
“No wait-” Barty was pushed out and the door was slammed in his face, Barty in a fit of anger hit it with his fist. It never opened up.
“I’d stop that junior” Bagman lightly interrupted “You’ve got places to be, have to be presentable don’t ya”
“I’m not going”
“Oh really”
“Yes” he harshly whispered, that was the wrong move when a set of large hands moved to grip the side of his neck.
“No touching Ludo” Dolohov nonchalantly cut in “Boss might not care but the Lestranges will”
“And you” Dolohov turned to grab him as lightly as the large hands seemed to be able to “This isn’t negotiable”
“But I don’t…” trailing off at the gravity of the situation “can I not bring some belongings”
“Unnecessary. Enough stalling time to go we were supposed to leave as soon as you woke, we’re behind schedule”
“God I wish the brat would just hurry up he’s such a buzzkill” Bagman whispered to another one of the guards by the door when he thought he was far enough away Barty couldn’t hear.
Barty caught sight of an open door which lead to the edge of the grounds he had avoided for quite sometime, with orange trees and birds.
Once the idea of going there was so painful Barty could hardly breathe. Now all it felt like was some foreign form of freedom, like the last place that had ever really felt like home.
If he could just reach out there, a place he knew like the back of his hand he could sneak into the woods, get lost and hopefully never found. Make a run from his father and some sick type of duty or punishment that was being set for him.
He could reach the coast find a boat, or live on some families farm. Maybe he could even find a way to flee to one of those far off places his mother had talked about…
“Don’t even think about it” Doholov broke through his thoughts and Barty realized he had been unconsciously moving slightly closer.
He was pushed outside in front of the dark car he had seen earlier and any possible attempts was cut off.
Escorted by Bagman and Dolohov in silence and varying expressions of boredom and with two other unknown men, the ride to the airport went by so slowly Barty thought he might be sick.
Would he be like Toto or his mother, removed from the estate and then never spoken about, being forgotten as if his presence never left the blood stained floors.
A small white plane was stationary on the tarmac, it was obviously private as apart from the armed men he seemed the only guest. Now the thought of flying did not symbolize freedom but a new form of imprisonment.
As it went into the air and the small remnants of the only place he had ever known disappeared an odd sensation made its way into his gut.
As the journey ahead seemed uncertain and full of unanswered questions…