Barty Crouch Sr. came home from work that evening in a bad mood. Things had not gone his way that day, and he was pissing and moaning about it to his wife as soon as he stepped foot in the door. He was complaining in a loud, almost shouting voice about his co-workers, his job, and his life in general.

His 14 year-old son, Barty Jr., knew better than to get in his way when he was angry, so the lad was sitting on his bed trying to nonexistent. Father liked him better that way. As Crouch Sr.'s voice grew louder, Barty could hear that his father was now yelling at his mother about the 'dip-stick' who's head of his department at the Ministry. Barty rolled his eyes and went back to writing his letter to Regulus Black; it was only the second week of summer break, but already Barty was missing his friends.

As his father took a break to breathe and find something new to yell about, the small click of the mail slot filled the empty space, "Who is sending a letter at 8:30 at night on a Sunday?" Barty wondered. Then it hit him; Hogwarts final grades were sent out today.

"BARTY!" His father yelled from the first floor of the house.

Barty sprang off his bed to lock his door, but got tangled up in his long, awkward legs; sudden growth spurts sucked. Barty managed to stand up in front of his bed by the time his father stormed, red-faced and fuming, into his bedroom. He held up a piece of parchment with the Hogwarts seal tight in his fist, "What the hell is this?" Crouch Sr. demanded.

Barty stayed silent and tried to catch his mother's eye in the doorway, but she was too focused on what her husband was doing. His father gave him a look that said 'answer me' and Barty said, "What's what, sir?"

Mr. Crouch narrowed his eyes, "This 'C' in Herbology! Explain!"

"I'm just not good at Herbology. I tried, but—"

"You didn't try hard enough!" His dad roared, throwing the parchment to the ground.

The ghostly thin teen flinched and resisted the urge to run; the open window to his left was looking pretty good just then, "Father, I did." His voice rose a little, "I'm sorry I'm not perfect!"

"You're damn right, you're not!" Crouch Sr. yelled as he lifted his hand.

Barty flinched and squeezed his eyes shut just in time to feel the sharp sting of his father's hand across his face. He heard his mother gasp and the thud of his father's shoes as he left the room. He opened his eyes and found himself lying on the wood floor; he didn't remember falling. Mrs. Crouch flung herself on the floor and put her arms around her son, hot tears streaming down her face.

Barty pushed her away gently, "Leave me alone."She sat back and stared at him, before wiping her tears and leaving the room.

Barty didn't get up off the floor; he lay there all night, thinking; his face throbbing every time his father crossed his thoughts.

That had been the first time Barty's dad ever hit him, but it certainly wasn't the last time.