"Get up, Crouch." A voice like sandpaper came from beyond the cell; it was a guard.
It wasn't like he needed telling to get up; he was up all night, every night. The cold in his Azkaban cell wouldn't let him sleep, the chills he felt when a Dementor passed by; it was horrible. He heard the cell door open, but he stayed put in his place at the end of the cell. He had tried countless amounts of times to escape, but they all failed. He listened as the door closed and then heard small footsteps approaching him. He furrowed his brow and stood up. Over time he had developed a slight slouch; such a shame, he was a very tall man. Then, a small old lady came into view.
"Mum?" Said Barty, he sounded childish.
"Hello Barty." She smiled, walking over next him.
She looked up at him, still smiling and put her hand on his shoulder. He placed his hand over hers. He'd never been so happy to see her. He watched as she reached into her purse and pulled out two small flask and place one in him empty hand. He looked down at his hand and shook his head, he knew what this meant, and he knew what she wanted.
"No. No mother, I won't." His eyes started to fill with tears.
"You're father has agreed to do this." She whispered. "I'm-"
Barty forced the flask back into her hand and turned his back on her.
"Damn my father!" He yelled.
She took his hand and turned him around.
"There's no need to shout Barty." She moved her hand up and stroked his cheek. "I'm dying, Barty. I don't have much time and you…you have a full life ahead of you."
She placed the flask in his hand again.
"Do it for me."
After wiping tears off his face with his sleeve, they both pulled out a hair from their heads and dropped it into the flask. Drinking the potion until there was no more, they turned into each other. When he saw himself standing in front of him he began to cry again.
"Mummy, please."
She was crying as well.
"Go Barty." She pushed him forward. "Be good."
The cell door opened and he walked out, looking back at her for the last time.