Tom Riddle (Voldemort) 1958

It had taken him years to trace down who exactly the old man had rasped about in parseltongue. He hadn't approached her then, she of course was merely a small child at the time. Her hair braided in ridiculous pigtails, and constantly being fussed over by the mudblood aunt. Always peering through the windows of her family's shop. Obliviously to the wizards who were acutely peering back in, watching her grow over time. Being a popular spot in Diagon Alley, she had been seen by many but never really paid any real investigation. It was a bit of a challenge getting the information of her lineage, purebloods were experts on hiding their dirty laundry. Purebloods didn't physically endanger other purebloods. Certainly not unheard of, but definitely overlooked in this slight. He had observed her from afar over the years, ever since Morfin had let it slip that he had his fun with a pretty, pureblood lass. Tom had understood those implications; rape. As cruel and malicious as those tactics were, they were beneath him.

This frail bastard child was supposedly his cousin. She looked neither powerful nor special enough to be carrying the blood of Salazar Slytherin, his blood. She grown into a meek woman with no extraordinary talents. She had some magical application in charms, and some in potions, but not nearly enough to be noticed or excel beyond the foreign family she hid behind.

He on the other hand vastly surpassed the filthy beings that had raised him. Besides his magical strengths, his muggle father blessed him with an appearance others had vainly thrived on. A handsome boy, unlike the inbred scoundrels that the Gaunts were reduced to. The girl's true mother, Generosa, had committed suicide before adulthood. She had been unable to handle the burden of teenage motherhood and trauma of her reputation sullied. As stated before, Purebloods didn't physically endanger other purebloods. So in turn everyone assumed, she had asked for it. She had purposefully whored herself to an older man, despite being only 15 years old at the time. No one would want Generosa, not with a bastard daughter. After her death the infant was left in care of her elder brother, Gervaise Ollivander, who had raised the girl with his own family. His own son Garrick Ollivander already was nearing adulthood himself, when they took the girl in. The girl was doted on as a prized little sister, but Camilla Ollivander was a fraud. Albeit, 13 years his junior, she was a modest girl who's birth had led to macabre ending for both her real parents. Today, he was going to finally confirm whether all the tomfoolery and use of precious resources had not been unfounded. He fixed his cloak, as he went to have lunch during his work break. Nothing suspicious, nothing out of the ordinary for him to come to this pub. Certainly not to spy on questionable girl.

He stepped into the pub zoning in on her immediately, slightly disinterested than before. She looked hardly worth his time, this fringed girl, half Gaunt? A pureblood, and a part of a wait staff? Unheard of, and yet her family defended their choices, it was to humble her. This prospect was great in his sleuthing, but demeaning of her ancestry. She should be served on, as him. He had managed to encroach into her section demanding her service before needing to. She was attentive of her customers, quickly shuffling passed other tables to properly greet him at his booth. She smiled lightly laying a napkin down for his perceived future refreshment. She nervously tucked her hair back, while he scrutinized her appearance without shame. He'd leer all he damn well pleased, she was rather plain in her appearance but her actions held such warmth. He gave this apparent cousin a charming smirk in return.

"Good morning sir. How may I service you today?" His eyes crinkled in amusement, her cheerful tone was too much.

"Some Mince pie would be welcomed."

He watched her hand flutter slightly to the left, a large stone veer her fingers downward. He grimaced in disappointment, that brute had finally proposed. Barty Crouch was a political force not to be trifled with. It had only been a few measly years and Crouch had quickly rose throughout the ranks of the Ministry, acquiring a reputation for hard, swift punishment. This precarious pairing had stumped him at first glance. But now, interacting with her in person, a go getter like Barty Crouch would be ensnared with such implied innocence.

"Is something wrong sir?" She quickly asked, worried she had done something offensive.

"Not at all." He hissed out in parseltongue. She quickly nodded, visibly relieved.

"Okay. I will be right back with your order." She hissed back. His smile returned, following her form as she strolled away. She hadn't even noticed her understanding and reply had been in an entirely different language. His suspicions had been confirmed.

Camilla Ollivander (Gaunt) 1960

Her cheeks burned as Mr. Burke had fawned over her invite. Her uncle had asked her to invite some of the other shop owners to her upcoming nuptials, even the ones in Knockturn alley. She had ignored the creeping shiver, making her way to Borgin & Burkes. She would never admit it but her original intention was to see if her handsome regular, Mr. Riddle, would also be present. His quiet observing stance had been a pleasant constant in her hosting job. Although it was shameless, she had pined for the older gentleman. Secretly, and quietly, to herself. Other than Barty not many men had really vied for her attention. Even though, he had never given any notation of romantic interest, she feel almost a kinship to him. Barty had connections, considerations, there would be Ministry workers of all ranking crawling around her ceremony. If he had wanted to widen his horizons, making Ministry contacts would be one of them. She bid good day to the three men, hurriedly trying not to miss her appointment with the seamstress, Barty would be so displeased.

Camilla Crouch 1961

She smiled meekly as she sat at her wedding table by herself. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, watching Barty chat up various groups of people. She had bit back the crestfallen pool of emotions that threaten to creep up. It was her wedding day, and here she was waiting for him to ask her to dance. But she knew she couldn't be petty, she was a Lady Crouch after all, and their family were refined wizards. It would be soon though, her belly would be swollen with a child and she wouldn't worry about being so lonely.

"Mrs. Crouch would you honor me with a dance?" As much as she would have liked to agree, she politely refused. Her first dance of the night was strictly reserved for her new husband and not Mr. Riddle. As much as she would miss his quiet company, she knew that her new chapter in life was devoted to her husband and not meaningless work.

"Thank you for the offer, but I simply am exhausted." He smiled while giving her a knowing look as she stood and greeted Barty with a small peck on the cheek. He placed a stiff arm on the small of his new wife's back, unhappy with the attention this stranger was giving Camilla.

"We have guests to greet before we retire for the night my dear." He glared at Tom before replying, "Pardon us." This was to be the last time he was to see his cousin, and he had great assurance that she would be well guarded and taken care of. Her husband's overprotectiveness and feigned charisma gave her a wealth of security if she were to abide by it for the rest of her days. Besides she was too vulnerable to be any use to his cause.

Camilla Crouch 1962

It had been 3 very long days that she had been in labor and finally her son had come. His squeals and cries for air brought her anxious husband back into the room.

"Barty come meet your son." Her gentle voice called out. Her body was utterly drained from childbirth, but she was happy. She had done her duty as a wife, she had provided her husband with a male heir. Barty stared down Camilla and his new son. She looked absolutely spent but pleased with their growing family. He pressed a well-deserved kiss upon her cheek, while coaxing the boy from her arms.

"You did a wonderful job Camilla, he looks rather healthy." He proudly stated.

"What do you want to name him Barty?" He gave them a once over before settling on a choice.

"Junior." He quickly said noticing a Ministry owl perched at the window. "Martha!" He called out for mid wife. She scurried into the room removing the bundle from his impatient arms, his wife's glare went unnoticed as he trudged towards the window.

"Barty?" She questioned. His demeanor had changed. She could almost taste the dread as she knew what was going to happen. He was going to leave. "Barty, please don't. You were supposed to take the week off." He ignored her, coming up placing a chaste kiss on her cheek while lightly touching his son's face as well.

"Duty calls Camilla." He hadn't bothered to look at her disappointed face, and turned toward the midwife. "She needs her rest. Put the boy down as well." She did as she was told, as he disappeared. Camilla swallowed, the loneliness crept up on her again. She ignored her pride and listened to her husband; he was only trying to make a better world and provide for them. She smiled watching her son wiggle back and forth in the bassinet. At least she had her own little Barty to now keep her company.

Camilla Crouch 1973

She dabbed her son's quiet tears, wishing her husband would keep more of his promises at least for their son. He was devastated at the fact his father ignored him once again. He had only wished for his attention. He absolutely craved for the dominant figure to show some interest in him.

"He's very busy Barty. He's a very important man at the Ministry. He would have come if he had had the time. He's very proud of you." She lied, trying to comfort her upset son. The boy chuckled through the tears, disturbingly so.

"Father doesn't care about anyone. Not you, certainly not me-" Camilla cut her son off.

"No Barty. He just has a hard time showing it. Your father has never really been an affectionate man. But he really does love you, us."

"He has a peculiar way of showing it." He stated before chucking the letter to the ground and storming away. Camilla huffed as she bent down to pick up and smooth out the letter. His acceptance to Hogwarts had finally came.

Camilla Crouch 1976

Minister Minchum was laughing heartily at one of Camilla's jokes. She had turned towards her husband happily taking in his pleased expression. This was the first time she and her son had seen her husband in many weeks, and he had brought home the Minister for Magic with him. Their house elf Winky had been overjoyed to be making extra for her master and the Minister; her son though was rather cranky at the whole idea.

Her husband cleared his throat, "As I was telling you Harold, Junior here will be an exceptional addition to the Ministry. He has O's in all of his coursework." He proudly exclaimed of their son's achievements. She had hoped to see her son beaming back at his boastful father but they were only met with quiet anger.

"Like you care." He snarled. The two adult men were astonished at the boy's behavior, while she was utterly appalled. She raised him to have better manners than this.

"Barty," she scolded. The tickle in her throat, started to act up. Coughing loudly into her napkin, she needed her potion. Her eyes began to tear as she struggled for air.

"You've upset your mother. Take her to the other room and apologize for your deplorable manners." She felt her teenage son's arms grip around her waist as he directed her out of the room, quietly admitting his error. He felt guilty for stirring up her latest attack, she was so weak already. Her husband had covered her physical weakness for petty woman drama. He knew how to protect them, as he should. She curled into her son's side as he forced her to drink all of the potion. Junior was always such a good boy to her, his mother.

Voldemort 1978

Bellatrix marched in the group of potentials wishing to join his ranks. His red eyes paused on one young man. A boy really, with familiar eyes and a slightly frame. Camilla's son had finally grown, and was here to serve him. How fitting, he mused.

"Bartemius Crouch Jr. I had wondered when I would be seeing you." The boy nodded in approval, a click of his tongue showing his impatience. "You are a bit younger than my usual stock. Barely 16 now, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes my lord." He replied eagerly, nearly knocking over the next whelp with his excitement.

"How is the family young Barty?" The boy's eyes looked a shade darker, his face stern.

"My father," he spat out with such animosity it made his lip curl, "I honestly could care less. Mother is mother, fragile little woman she is." Camilla was still as delicate as ever, and the boy had developed a rather strong resentment towards her husband, as she should have had. He could work with this, but only if Barty passed one important test.

"Everyone out. I need to talk to young Barty here alone." Bellatrix made quick work of throwing the newer recruits out of the room. Voldemort gestured for Barty to move closer, he stopped to kneel at his feet. Camilla raised such an obedient boy. "Barty," he hissed carefully, "do you pledge your loyalty to me and my cause?" He nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes my lo-" he tried to hiss back before he coughed hard. His mouth was dry and his throat felt stretched at the moment. Voldemort was pleased, the boy could unknowingly understand as well. "Yes, my lord. Anything." Probably never had spoken in the exclusive language. Camilla's poor choice in a husband had brought him the most loyal servant yet.

"Your left arm Barty."

Camilla Crouch 1981

"I've heard about one more," Igor quickly added.

"What is that?" Crouch senior had asked, semi interested in what he had left to offer.

"The name." He slowly added.

"Yes." Crouch senior was becoming impatient, Igor was trying to stall.

"I know for a fact that this person took part in the capture and by means of the Cruciatus curse, TORTURE, of Auror Frank Longbottom and his wife!"

"Give me the wretched name!" He demanded.

"Barty Crouch!" The entire room gasped, "Junior." He finished. Senior had frozen in place, blindsided by the information that had been brought in front of the Wizengamot. Camilla began to shake, this couldn't be the truth! This was her son, this was her baby boy! She could hear the voices sputtering and began shouting as her son whipped passed them. Alastor Moody shot her son down, making him land harshly on the ground, while Wizengamot members swarmed to detain him. He began a manic struggle against his captors. They dragged him before the both of them much to their horror. This crazed man was not their son, truly this man couldn't be her son. The utter hatred in his eyes were too much for her.

"Get your filthy hands off me, you pathetic little men!" He clicked his tongue several times staring intently at the both of them. He directed his focus away from her bloodshot eyes. "Hello father." He cheerful greeted. Her husband paused before coldly regarding their son.

"You are no son of mine." Today was the day where her heart, her soul felt heavy. Today was the day she cried, she lamented to her husband for her son's safety. Selfishness and insecurity was her reasoning for her pleas, maybe even a hint of fear. Why was her pacifism being stuck down with senseless shouting and violent cursing? Her husband held her flailing arms as they dragged their son away. We're they so blind that the fear of difference was met with crippling and unthinking reactions? Her son was just barely a man, a man now who had no future because of her husband.

Camilla Crouch 1982

She could hardly walk, her husband had to hold her as they travelled through the sickly walls of Azkaban. She knew her end was near, death was rallying in her corner, and it something her husband had recently learned to accept. She was dying and as her last wish she had wanted was for her son to come home. Barty had proved his devotion to his wife, and relented to something that stood against everything he had fought vigorously for years.

The heartbreaking screams had her and her husband on edge, but it strengthened her resolve. Her young son didn't belong here, he had made a mistake. He was young, and he was very impressable. He had only done what he did to get back at his father's negligence. They stopped in front of darken cell, it was desolate, and dreary. She looked to her husband, as he barked for the cell to be opened for them.

"Barty?" Her voice croaked, calling out in the black cell.

"Mother?" His ashen voice answered in disbelief. He crawled from the shadows, her baby boy a shell of the man he previously was. He stared at them curiously. "Are you hallucinations?" He quietly muttered, she shook her head. They were real, they were very real. She pushed from her husband, harshly dropping to her knees pulling her broken son into her failing arms.

"No son, we are here." She cooed as he cried in her arms. Azkaban had broken their son, her heart burned with regret. How could she have left him here so long?

"Mother, I've missed you so much. I just want to go home, please take me home." She nodded, cradling her son as tight as she could. She could feel the faint feeling of exhaustion spread across her brittle muscles, death was so close.

"Yes, baby we're here to take you home. Please baby, drink this. Drink this and it will all be better." She had to have her husband uncap the vial as she poured the potion down her son's throat. He began to convulse in her arms as she nodded to her husband one last time. Hesitantly he poured the second vial down her throat. Her flesh began to stretch uncomfortably, but she bit back her cries. She was doing this for her son, she would save her tears.

When she opened her eyes next, she was staring down at her own body. It was disheartening to see how pathetic she had actually looked. She literally mirrored death, and yet her husband had brought her here as she had wished. He must have loved her as much as she did for him. She pressed a loving kiss to her (her son's) head. "I love you Barty." Despite the forlorn look upon her husband's face, he gave her a stiff nod, he loved her too. Her husband quickly ushered their disoriented son from his cell leaving her in his place. She let out a heavy sigh, she could feel the Dementors as they closed around the cell. Her time had come, at least her son was safe. She had made peace with that.

So, I know its such an obscure person to write about but it was a thought I had over the last couple days. I guess it's something that I haven't personally come across, so maybe, I don't know...why I felt to compelled to write this. If you have the time let me know what you think?