A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first Harry Potter fic. I've written for Sherlock, Merlin, Doctor Who, The Hobbit and Supernatural before, check them out if you're interested!

This story focuses on Bartemius Crouch Junior and his relationship with my OC- Artemis Lynn, yes, I know, Arty and Barty.

I don't own anything except my OC

Please Review, it helps me stay motivated to write!

Chapter One- Arty

He sat there. Motionless. Despairing. Losing his mind steadily. So slowly that he didn't even notice his sanity leaving him. He didn't notice anything. Not anymore. No point. Why bother? Nothing to notice. Nothing to see. Nothing to think about. Nothing to care about. Nothing to live for. Not that there was before. If there was, he might not have ended up there.

Some might have said that his depression was caused by where he was. No. It had started almost a year before he went there. Because of her.

It wasn't her fault. Quite the opposite. She made him happy. Then, one day, she wasn't there. He had been told that she had gone. She had gone to go on some ridiculous, suicidal mission. He argued. Then he was tortured. He still objected.

She never came back. He told him, she's disappeared, she's gone, get over it, move on.

He couldn't.

He wouldn't.

He still followed him. He who had sent her away. He who commanded them. He who made her leave. He who must not be named.

She meant everything to him. But he followed him still. He followed him into darkness. Into pain. Into suffering. He followed him because he hoped. He hoped that she might one day walk back into his life. She never did.

He was told to torture them. To get them to reveal information. He followed him. He had to do it. His arm burnt when he hesitated. He didn't want anymore pain. So he did it. He tortured two people to death. And he enjoyed it. Of course he did. He was carrying on. Like she would want him to. After she… No. No. He wouldn't say it. Wouldn't think it. Wouldn't dream it. She was alive. She was out there somewhere. He knew it.

He wished he could see outside. Even if all he would be able to see was grey clouds and murky sea. He would rather see that than the dust and grime he saw now. The dark grey walls, brick after brick after brick. The rusty iron gate, keeping him there. Holding him captive with his own thoughts. His arm still burnt. It was over. It had ended months ago. But the dull throb in his left forearm continued on, almost like a second pulse. Never faltering. Never ending. Always there. Unlike her. She was gone. He continued, leaving her behind, lost in his memories.

That time they first met, on the train heading off for their first year of school, she fell over at his feet, tripping over her robe.

Or that other time, in second year, when Rodolphus tried to jinx her and she stood, facing the other way and it somehow backfired and he ended up throwing up slugs for a week and she hadn't even noticed.

And that time in third year when Slughorn had asked her to make a potion, showing the class how it was done and she was so nervous he had to help her.

And in fourth year, how she tried out for the quidditch team and ended up with a bludger to the head at the tryouts.

In fifth year, how she had asked him what he wanted to be when he was older and she didn't speak to him for weeks afterwards.

In sixth year, when she admitted the reason she didn't speak to him wasn't because of what he wanted to be, but because her interfering parents telling her not to talk to him.

And in seventh year, when she finally told him what she wanted to be- because he wanted to do it, so did she.

At their first meeting, the first time they saw him, when their arms burnt for the rest of the week

And the last day he saw her. When he was in hospital from too many bruises to the head from his father, and she didn't say goodbye, she said 'see ya later' and left, the last thing he said to her was 'come back tomorrow' she agreed to, but she never came and he felt heartbroken, because he never told her how much he…

His head snapped up, a sound coming from down the corridor, the first time he had moved in weeks. His muscles tired from being unused for so long, he tried to grimace, that hurt too. He was too immersed in pain that he didn't notice the gate opposite him opening, a body being thrown in, and the throb in his arm stopping.

'Hello Barty.' A voice called in his head. He opened his eyes, looking at the person in the other cell.

"Arty?" He asked. She smiled at him, across the corridor of Azkaban.