Returning home
It is late night when Barty returns home. Thick raindrops leave uncomfortable traces on his scalp as they run down his head. A few of them jump down from is wet blond strands and land on his grey sweater or the floor of the small entrance hall of his home. The 18-year-old turns on the lights with a casual flick of his wand and kicks his muddy black chucks off his feet. Everything he is wearing is soaked with rain water, sweat and dirt. Yes, Barty can't wait to change into new clothes! Finally, after days. He could not wait for this.
Before climbing the stairs to reach his room on the first floor, the 18-year-old listens carefully for a sound. When he doesn't hear anything, he softly calls for the house elf. It takes a couple of seconds before Winky appears. Longer than usual. The elf blinks at him out of obviously tired eyes and hides a yawn behind her skinny hand.
"Master?", she asks and bows.
Impatiently Barty stares at her. "Hurry up, prepare a hot bath for me. I am freezing", he complains, sounding as if it was his normal behaviour to take a bath shortly before midnight and only her fault that he has to wait for it now. It is helpful that he can enjoy the warm air of his parents house after days alone in the rainy autumnal forest, but it will cost him a lot more effort to make himself comfortable again.
"Of course, Master. Shall I bring a cup of tea, too?", she asks in her squeaking vioce, sounding pretty nervous.
"Yes", Barty answers, delighted with her idea. The tea will warm him from the inside. "Bring me also a healing potion for headache. Come on, hurry", he adds.
The elf quickly bows again, nodding, and then disappears with a silent "plop".
Barty dares to take a look into the mirror hanging on the wall next to the entrance door. His milky freckled skin has become more pale than usual, the tone appears unhealthy. And so do his cheekbones as they shimmer sharply through the skin. No wonder, the teenager lacks of sufficient sleep and food for days while hiding in the forest... His blonde hair stucks in wet strands against his head. With his fingertips he starts to glide through the strands, seperating them, searching for the bump responsible for his annoying headache. If only he knew more about healing magic to help himself. When he feels the edges of the hard bump, he turns his head slightly to the right hand side to examine it with the help of the reflection. Unfortunately he cannot see it properly. Just a vague crimson red spot in the corner of his eyes. As soon as he touches the red spot to find out if he is still bleeding, the boy flinches due to the sharp pain shooting down from there through his whole body. Frustrated he lets go off the injury and glances at his fingertips. At least they are dry.
Barty then grabs the seam of his sleeve, intending to take of fthe grey sweater, when his mother enters the entrance hall through the door leading to the kitchen. Surprised Barty blinks at her. "Mum, you're here?", says he, feeling silly right after the words rolled of his tongue. Of course she is not a hallucination. He blames his hammering headache for the stupid statement.
Mrs Crouch wears a nightdress made of shining green satin and a pair of slippers. Her unruly blonde hair hangs over her skinny shoulders and like Winky before she blinks tiredly into the light. "Barty?!", his mother responds, "Where have you been?" She quickly walks over to him to pull her son into a tight embrace.
He has not expected her to be home. "I like going for walks late in the night, being just for myself", he says, following a sudden inspiration, as he hugs her back, "It helps me to deal with... with your illness, you know." The 18-year-old feels a piercing sensation in his throat because of lying to his mother. At least there is a sad truth in the lie.
"Yes, I know this is a difficult situation for the whole family and I wish it wasn't like that", she says, her voice becoming higher and tears glitter in her eyes when she lets go of her son, "But the healers discharged me a lot sooner. They say I'm over the hump." Mrs Crouch forces her lips into a weak smile to comfort Barty.
Sudden joy fills his body, making his stomach feel like hundreds of butterflies celebrating in it. So she does not have to die...! Immediately he pulls her back in an enthusiastic embrace. "I don't know what to say, I'm so relieved...", he mumbles.
They stand like this for a couple of minutes.
"You need to promise me...", she then says, her hands on both of his shoulders, holding him in a short distance, "Do not run away again. No need to deny. I know it was not just in the evening. I came back the day before yesterday and you were not here the whole time. I am aware that it is not easy with your father-"
Barty interrupts her. "It would be not easy, if he was at home. Which is seldom the case", he corrects her, growing angry. What is his mother after?!
"I know, I know...", Mrs Crouch agrees, "But we are living in dangerous times. I even began to think you were kidnapped by the Death Eaters to blackmail your father."
He shakes her hands off his shoulders. But before he can say anything, his father appears on top of the stairs leading to the first floor. Aggression drowns the rest of the joy he felt before, when the man walks down the stairs.
"I want to know where you have been!", he bellows, pointing at Barty's face with his index finger while approaching. He stops right in front of his son, watching him with narrowed eyes for a short moment. "It is dangerous to wander around outside. So, where have you been, boy?", he repeats.
Barty lets out an annoyed sigh. "As if you would have noticed my absence if Mum hadn't asked for me", he snaps back, "You sit in your office the whole day long." He bravely blinks away tears of frustration that threaten to spring into his eyes.
"In case you did not notice, it is my job to protect Britain in these times. Of course I have a lot of work to do! Not to mention the worry due to your mother's sickness!", his father yells, "Don't you think I already have enough trouble? Without you having nothing else to do than producing more instead of making yourself useful?! If anything, think of your mother and all the people in danger! Will you? In your selfishness?"
His father comes nearer and nearer.
Mrs Crouch stares silently from her son to her husband and back. She takes a few steps aside while her husband forces their son backwards until the wall stops him. "Barty, please...", she whispers.
"I will get you a job at the ministry. I've got enough, once and for all", his father states.
Barty reaches for his wand, feeling more and more threatened. His heartbeat quickens when his back touches the wall. Shall he attack his own father? The 18-year-old knows he could. He knows what he is capable of. It would be a risk, his father is a skilled wizard, too. But his hatred is hardly tamable - and he has learnt many interesting spells during the last couple of months. What satisfaction would mean for Barty to finally curse this man that does not care the smallest bit! Never had.
The wood of his wand feels oddly warm in his hand, his fingers close tightly around it.
"Barty, stop", Mrs Crouch begs, not sure which one she actually means.
"I do not want to work for the ministry! I do not want to become like you! You do not care for people, all you really care about is your own career. I know you have desired to become Minister of Magic for years. You would sacrifice literally anything for your goal!", Barty shouts, causing coulorful sparks to fly from the tip of his wand. His own voice ringing in his ears as if someone else has spoken. In the next second hot pain explodes on Barty's left cheek while his head flies to the side from the blow. It takes a moment for him to realize that his father has hit him. Tears burn behind his eyelids.
And before he can act, Barty feels another burning sensation: the Dark Mark on his forearm!
The prospect of being in the presence of the Dark Lord again and leaving this horrible, dangerous place that is only the mockery of a home motivates him.
"Get outta my way! I'm not staying here!", Barty demands, lifting his wand, pointing it at his father's face.
His father doesn't move.
"I will not repeat myself!", Barty shouts.
"Oh, darling, please!", his mother cries.
He meets her disappointed eyes and swallows heavily. Then the teenager simple pushes his father aside and leaves the house through the door. As soon as he is outside, he disapparates, following the call of the Dark Mark.
Calling him to where he really belongs.
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Meeting the Dark Lord
Following the call of his burning mark, Barty finds himself in the library of Riddle Manor which appears to him a lot more like a kind of temple where wisdom itveryself is worshipped. The large room is illuminated by a wonderful chandelier. Its crystals shining brightly in the golden light. High bookshelfs conceal the walls from the floor to the ceiling - except the small spaces between the windows which are now covered by curtains. But Barty knows that he could not see anything outside anyway due to the fact that it must be around midnight. He is absolutely sure that you can find some magical books among all the Muggle literature and he would love to read all of them. Books that would be kept in the restricted part of the Hogwarts library. Books you can only buy in shops of the Knocturn Alley or on the Black Market if anything. In the middle of the room stand a sofa and a pair of armchairs around a heavy low wooden table. The furniture looks a lot as if it was once modern in 1890s. And extremely expensive. Barty assumes that if anyone would try to sell these antiquities, large profit could be made from which you could by a house.
The Dark Lord - standing next to a bookshelf when the 18-year-old arrives - indeed closes a book and puts it back into the gap where he took it from. Then he approaches the boy who waits patiently behind an armchair to be adressed.
Barty watches his Lord watching him from top to toe and back with a piercing gaze from his sharp black eyes with the mystical reddish. Causing the boy to feel like a fish at the market, about to be sold. The even and noble features of Lord Voldemort clearly harden with coldness as soon as his gaze reaches Barty's cheek. The area where his father has hit him. The abuse is undoubtly already visible. It causes Barty to feel more nervous. There are things to explain.
"Take a seat", the Dark Lord demands, gesturing towards the sofa. He really dislikes the condition he finds the boy in: obviously exhausted and tired, wet, dirty clothes hanging from his slim body, shaking from the cold and nervousness - and also injured.
On weak legs Barty walks over to the sofa to sit down, even though he would prefer one of the armchairs as Voldemort sits down right next to him, his robe almost touching his stiff jeans. As much as Barty enjoys being in his presence, there is also a certain distance created by respect and, to be honest, fear. Who would not fear Lord Voldemort? Like one would worship an ancient god. Or a haunting demon... Lord Voldemort is clearly the deity of this temple.
Still the 18-year-old turns bravely to face his Lord properly.
Again Barty wonders how old the man is. His skin lacks any lines and wrinkles, but at the same time you look for innocence in his features in vain, to only find aesthetics, knowledge, power, perception and experience. A few fine silvery strands mix with his shiny black hair.
"Let me cast a quick drying charm", Voldemort says for an explanation, before he points his wand at his very young servant. It prevents the boy from flinching at the sight of the Dark Lords wand being pointed right at his body. Voldemort perfoms the spell nonverbally and within seconds Bartys battered clothes are at least dry. The charm also effects the blond hair a bit, leaving it semi-dry for more comfort.
A little angry with himself for not having cast the charm before meeting his Lord, Barty welcomes the sudden growing warmth his now dry clothes create. What must the Dark Lord think of him, a wizard from an ancient pure-blooded family... ?
The Dark Lord conjures a cup of steaming tea and a porcelain bowl filled with cookies. Both appears on the table, invitingly. With another wave of his wand the cup floats right into Bartys opened hands. The hot material immediately comforts his clummy skin. "Thank you", the boy mumbles, refusing to ponder about the difference in behaviour between the Dark Lord and his father at this very moment. He will come to that later. For now, he takes a long sip from his cup, enjoying the taste and temperature.
Content with the result of his magic so far, Voldemort finds it is time to start with his questions. "Now, tell me what happened? I have expected you to return to me five days ago. What happened after your obviously sucessful mission at Moody's house?", he wants to know, speaking purposely in a calm, even tone. "I explicitly cannot wait to learn what happened to that cute face of yours, so do not leave this detail out, my dear", Voldemort adds to his demand.
Barty swallows, but the praising fills him with excitement. Disappointing the Dark Lord is his worst nightmare. "I was forced to hide in a forest, my Lord", he begins to report, "Bella and I managed to confront Moody at his home. She cursed the dustbins so they jumped around in the garden and threw their garbage in any direction you can imagine, causing much noise. This chaos was all it took for him to leave the protection of his home and we were able to attack him. Bella then left almost anything to me, because I asked her to. It was an interesting duel... Challenging." The 18-year-old flashes Voldemort a cheeky smile that makes him look even younger, lightening up his pale, exhausted features.
"Bella has already informed me about that. She was impressed at how you lurked him in traps, always reacting flexible and quick when faced with unexpected changes. And she also described your Confundus Charm as extraordinarily powerful. It happens not quite often that I hear her talking like this about the skills of another wizard. And the result is amazing. Moody still has to be treated in St. Mungo's and will not disturb our actions at least for a while", the Dark Lord comments and returns the smile freely.
"Unfortunately right after I placed the charm, things got a little outta control", Barty quickly continues, because he feels his cheeks flush at the praising, "...when three Aurors arrived. Two of them immediately attacked me and I had to flee. They chased me and I just could not shake them off, even though Bella tried very hard to distract them." This situation was partially really scary, Barty remembers and suppresses a shudder.
"Yes, she told to me about that", says the Dark Lord, "She lost you in nearby a forest in Scotland." A fact he he hated to be informed about. What if he had lost this kid?!
"So I was forced to hide in the forest for days with only my magic and mind to take care of myself", Barty remembers with a proud tone in his voice, "The Aurors stayed nearby and checked the area regularly like watchdogs. It wasn't until today in the late noon, until I could risk a leave. It was pretty annoying." The boy takes a sip from his cup.
"Has anyone watched you leave?", the Dark Lord asks.
"No. They had left before, I made sure, but one of them was not that lucky", Barty insures him with a wide grin.
"As I said, you have acted very smart in a dangerous situation. I am proud of you and your work for me", Voldemort praises again, "You have impressed me once again, Barty."
"Thank you. Your words mean so much to me", the 18-year-old confesses. When did he last hear an honest praise from his father? That he cannot remember. And even though Barty Crouch sr. is a skilled wizard, there is a huge difference in receiving acknowledgement from Lord fucking Voldemort - the greatest wizard of all time, and his father in Barty's opinion. He again feels his cheek slightly blush and wonders whether this is visible. Hastily the boy takes another sip from his tea cup feeling the hot liquid warming up his throat, running deeper.
The Dark Lord watches him closely, thinking about the teen's statement, the hurt in his voice barely audible. But Lord Voldemort, of course, is far too attentive to miss it. Barty's whole behaviour nourishes a particular suspicion, so he decides to look for more indicators. "Do you have more injuries?", he asks, mixing his voice with empathy, nodding towards the bruise on the 18-year-old's cheek.
"Something's hit me on my head yesterday evening; it feels like my skull is about to explode", Barty replies and a strange warmth starts to grow in his chest. Like the feeling of safety. He swallows and points at the area where his bump tortures him continuously. "This is how I got the ugly bump on my head", Barty adds, pointing accusingly at the very spot, not daring to touch it again. Voldemorts shimmering dark eyes glance piercingly at his hair. The boy puts his tea cup down on the table.
Voldemort reaches for Barty's chin, slowly again to not frighten the boy and to gain more of his precious trust - so, so much more! He gently turns his head to the side and lets his fingers wander searchingly through soft blonde strands. They would without doubt shine golden once they are properly washed.
"I transformed one of the aurors into a tree", remarks Barty, trying hard to distract himself from the fact that the Dark Lord personally touches him. The back of the sofa that he is facing appears to be very interesting right now.
The Dark Lord halts his fingers at these words and smirks. "I know you are quite good at transformation as well", he proudly comments, before continuing his search for the cause of Barty's headache.
He has not even touched the bump, when Barty already flinces and escapes Voldemort's fingers by turning his head away while his heart beat becomes faster. "I am sorry...", he quickly says, realizing what he doing and not wanting to disobey.
Voldemort lays one hand on the boy's bony shoulder to calm him through physical contact. "It's ok, I'll be extra careful with you", he assures him, waiting for his ok. And only with you, he adds in his thoughts.
"At first, I intended to transform him into an old yew. But then I changed my mind", Barty returns to his report instead of giving an answer, looking into Voldemort's deep dark eyes and enjoying the feeling of the older man's hand on his shoulder, "I wanted a more ordinary result, but beautiful at the same time. So I finally chose a young birch tree with soft, shiny light green leaves. The rain drops looked like beads on them. This was also easier to transform into anyway, I am sure, compared to an old majestic yew." The 18-year-old flashes his Lord a shy smile.
Lord Voldemort watches the young face with the interesting freckles in front of him for a moment. It is a great blessing to have this boy in his ranks. He is smart, creative and loyal. Over the years Barty will evolve into a powerful wizard, there is no doubt.
"Do you like yews?", he asks.
"Pretty much so", Barty replies, "They call it the tree of death" because the yew is highly toxic. But personally I would rather call it "tree of life". You can brew potions for healing magic from its' poison, too. The yew can reach a high age and it is destroyed with difficulty. Even if it gets burnt down there is still life in its trunk and roots and the tree will regenerate and grow anew. As if this tree just never gives up. The oldest tree species in Europe, but has become rare, too, nowadays."
Somehow he feels like being back at Hogwarts, explaining to a teacher. And Voldemort quite often appears like a teacher to Barty. There are so many awesome things he has learnt from him no one else could teach and the 18-year-old cannot wait to learn more.
The Dark Lord falls silent after Barty's explanation, lost in his own thoughts.
"You've got a bug in your hair", he states when Barty begins to feel nervous because of his Lord's sudden silence. He pulls the crawling black insect out and then examines the large bump under the blonde strands.
"Do you feel a sickness?", Voldemort asks. The boy gives a nod.
"Now, where do you got this from?" He points accusingly at the dark spot on Barty's cheek.
The 18-year-old takes a deep breath. "My father's hit me", he admits and feels his face heatening. He lowers his gaze, not being able to hold the Dark Lord's anymore.
"Because your long absence annoyed him?", Voldemort questions. The Ministry of Magic father is a risk for him. He might find out one day what his son's doing in his free time.
"No."
"Look at me", Voldemort reminds him patiently.
Barty's gaze wanders upwards until he meets Lord Voldemorts beautiful dark eyes with the mysterious red shimmer emanating calmness. But the boy feels a thick knot in his throat and tears burning behind his own lids. "He would not even have noticed that I hadn't been at home for almost a whole week if my mother hadn't unexpectedly been released ealier from the hospital", he explains in a shaky tone. It embarasses him to admit to his Lord that he allowed his father to treat him like a stubborn child. "He just did not like what I think about him, that is why he hit me. He hates being confronted with the truth", Barty adds and his tears begin to stream down his pale cheeks.
He swallows heavily. "If only I wasn't named after him!", he growles and clenches both his fists.
At this statement Lord Voldemort rises his elegant brows. Again, he places a hand on the boy's shoulder, making him focuse on him. "You are a remarkable person, my dear boy. Such a talent is rare. You are far more skilled than most elder wizards. And your father does not know what precious treasure he has lost forever. How foolish...", he says in a firm voice, "Did you know that I myself, too, was named after my worthless father?"
Barty's eyes widen and he opens his mouth to say something, but is not able to force words out of his mouth. He feels so much closer to the Dark Lord than ever to his own father. His anger fades.
Voldemort flashes him a charming smile. "I will tell you about it. It is a story I have never shared before with anyone", he promises, "but first, I want you to follow me upstairs so that I can hand you some potions for your injuries. And I also insist that you take a hot bath." He lets go of Barty's shoulder and gets up from the sofa.
Immediately the 18-year-old rises as well, grinning. The worries and stress of the past few days and his headache and disappointment almost forgotten. He burns with curiosity to hear this exclusive story about his Lord's past and the thing they got in common...
...and Barty is also longing for his bath.