He was tired. People often claimed they were tired, but he understood what it really meant to be absolutely and utterly exhausted. It had been years since he last knew what it felt like to be free, to not have to fight his own body. It wasn't his body; his father had decided that the day he put his own son under the Imperius Curse.
He scoffed inwardly. It was some brilliant parenting on his father's part; the perfect way to quell the usual teenage rebellion. Well, at least Barty Crouch Senior would have thought so. If the man weren't so blind and ignorant to the reality of the situation, he'd have seen this coming. How long could he expect to hold his child captive before he decided to rebel? The worst thing about it was that he'd have to carry his father's name; he was expected to be prim and proper like his father – a business man, of all things – and no doubt they wanted him to turn into a carbon copy of the man that came before him.
He supposed he had, in a sense. Over years of being controlled or tortured, something inside of him had turned cold. His father may have worked his mind most times, but he'd never allowed him full control over it. Nor his heart. Though that part of him, he thought, had never actually been there. He had always entertained the thought that he'd been born with some sort of black hole there; all the insults and curses his father threw at him, he imagined them falling into an endless pit. It must have been what saved his sanity in the end because he could never seem to fully rely on his free will. He had never had enough good in him, especially toward himself, to believe he could fend off his father.
The Dark Lord had once told him that he admired Barty's lack of empathy, lack of compassion, and he simply smiled back and nodded. It had been something that had drawn him toward the Dark Lord to begin with—their inability to understand love. After all, if you never experience it, how can you be sure it truly exists?
That was the same day Bellatrix had leaned over, laughing and mocking some muggle poet, that she looked him in the eye and said, "Some are born dark, some achieve darkness, and some have darkness thrust upon them." He knew then that he had chosen the right path and the right people to help him achieve his revenge.
Barty Junior grinned down at the newly applied Dark Mark. It stung in the same sort of way that the Cruciatus Curse had – he supposed it had something to do with the Dark Magic behind it – but he didn't mind so much. The pain wasn't unfamiliar to begin with, but this time, it was different. He was considered an adult by the Wizarding World and now that he was out of school, he was out of his father's reach. Now was his chance to fight back, avenge his younger self for having his childhood taken from him. This time he wasn't losing a battle; he was reclaiming what was rightfully his – his freedom – and he'd be damned if his father wasn't going to lose his in the process.
