And the sharpest words wanna cut me down
Barty lay in the hospital bed coughing and hunched over in pain. An incurable disease, that is what it was. The reason he couldn’t interact with people. And this may have been the first time he waited for death but it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last time.
You may think that being told that you have three weeks to live and remembering that your 7th birthday is exactly three weeks away. This was made worse by the fact that his parents weren’t even with him. So he had a complete stranger politely informing him that he would live to see his seventh birthday but he would go no further, as if they were merely discussing the weather.
Barty’s health had been slowly deteriorating since he was born and now it was time to die. Time for his suffering to end.
But did he really want to leave everything behind. It had been his dream to attend Hogwarts, he could never do that now… NEVER!
He felt the anger bubble inside him. How dare his parents not be there for him! Leave it to a stranger to deliver news of the six year old’s imminent death .
This was most likely the moment that his mental state started becoming so fragile that so much as a breath could break it.
He stayed still for a minute before breaking down. He didn’t cry though. He physically couldn’t but the doctor still held him close enveloping the young child in his warmth.
After this rather beautiful moment Barty proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach right onto his lap and hospital white bedsheets .
The reality didn’t settle in until later, when on his seventh birthday his parents tucked him into bed and said their final goodbyes to the dying boy.
…
The next day the young Barty ran into his parents room shouting “mama! Papa! The doctor was wrong! I’m alive!” He then promptly passed out and fell into his mother’s arms. He was rushed to st mungos but they could no longer estimate when he was going to kick the bucket.
The next years were hell for Barty. Going to hospital every day, having his condition monitored 24/7, some days he would eat and almost immediately throw up. And sometimes he would even just collapse.
As he got older his condition didn’t get worse but it didn’t get better either. He was still passing out and throwing up more than was healthy but he was having check ups at the hospital once a fortnight and check ups with his parents when he wasn’t at the hospital.
He was told that it was highly unlikely that he would live past thirty but he would at least attend school.
…
On his eleventh birthday dumbledoor payed the Crouch family a visit.
“Barty, can you explain to me the specific details of your illness?” The old man asked.
“Um… yeah,” Barty agreed hesitantly “I get really ill really quickly… I uhh… I pass out or collapse randomly, and… I throw up a lot.”
“Ahh, weekly checks with Madame Pomfrey should suffice,” suggested dumbledoor
“Professor,” Barty’s mother said “can we speak to you in private? It’s about our son’s… condition.”
“Your son deserves to know everything about his condition,” dumbledoor explained. Barty was intrigued. What were they not telling him?
“Okay … when… uhh…” Dumbledoor nodded encouragingly “when… even something small happens… he spirals into depression… or madness.”
“He will have friends to look after and support him, I can be sure of that,” dumbledoor reassured
Barty knew this, he didn’t understand it but he knew it.
What no one mentioned was that Barty had no social skills, and therefore had no friends.
He would find it very hard to make one.