Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling!
Author's Note: This story kind of goes along with my other story, Mosmordre: The Assassin, but you don't have to read both stories to understand what's going on. The characters are pretty much the same, except there's a lot less of Draco, and the both stories are from the Death Eater perspective, so the Order of the Phoenix members/Aurors are the main villains. Barty Couch Jr. is not insane and evil in this story (but he's definitely not a saint either).
Enjoy, and please review!
Chapter 1 – Barty Crouch Jr.
A Few Not-So-Pleasant Childhood Memories
Most of the time, when I use magic, someone gets hurt. It's been that way ever since I can remember; I think that that's just part of being Barty Crouch Junior. During my time at Hogwarts, I controlled my magical abilities as much as I could and I tried to use magic only for academic purposes. After my time at Hogwarts, I had a real reason to use magic in an offensive way (we'll talk about that later). Before my time at Hogwarts, when I used magic, it was unintentional.
I started showing signs of magical ability when I was about two years old. That wasn't at all surprising since I came from a pureblood family. For a pureblood family, my parents and I lived in an area full of Muggles. I never got along with the Muggle children, and horrible things often happen to people whom I don't get along with.
I never tried to socialize with them. Why would I want to? I found most of the Muggle children that lived near my family's home dull and rather stupid. When I was about seven years old, I enjoyed being alone in the garden in front of my family's house. It was a great place to test out my magical abilities. I could barely control them at the time, but I could make a few branches on the trees move when there was no wind and I could make small objects float about an inch in the air.
One day, a group of Muggle children saw me doing magic. They were trying to watch me without being noticed, but they really weren't discreet about it at all. They kept muttering and whispering things to each other, and after a while it got extremely annoying. So, I went up to them to tell them to go away, but when I did they started pestering me about how I made a pile of rocks float or shift around without going near them.
The first time that it happened, I simply told them that they wouldn't understand. The next day they were back, and they asked me non-stop to teach them how to levitate objects. I responded by saying that they could never do anything involving magic because they were Muggles, so it would be impossible for me to teach them anything. They didn't know what "Muggle" meant, and when I mentioned the word "magic" they became even more interested.
They returned day after day, until I yelled at them to leave me alone. They didn't listen and that resulted in them being hit by a number of pebbles that somehow flew right off the ground. I didn't mean to throw anything at them, although when I look back, I'm glad that I did.
The Muggle children reacted as though I had hurled boulders at them. I don't think the pebbles even hurt them, but they started shrieking and screaming so loudly that my father came outside to see what the fuss was all about.
Immediately, the Muggles started to babble on and on about how I'd "hurt them". My father listened to them for a few minutes before quickly using a few memory charms on them. Afterwards, he dragged me back inside and started lecturing me about using magic around Muggles and how I had distracted him from some very important paperwork.
I didn't really mind the lecture all that much; I was used to him ranting about those sorts of things by then. I didn't use magic outside in the garden anymore, but that didn't mean that the Muggles left me alone.
I still enjoyed going to the garden, not that there was anything fascinating there. I mainly went there to get away from my father; believe me, you'd do the same thing if you had to live with someone who's cares more about getting a promotion at the Ministry than his own son.
A group of Muggle boys were walking near the garden one day.I was eight. They didn't confront me, but they began talking about me amongst themselves. I didn't like what they were saying at all (well, no one really enjoys being called a "lonely freak") and people don't usually get away with saying things about me that I don't approve of. I don't know why they thought that they could talk about me in such a way when I was within ear-shot of them. It was a truly idiotic idea and I quickly made that clear to them.
There was a loud snap and a branch from the tree above the Muggle boys came crashing down. It hit them directly on their heads. It wasn't a very large branch, but it still gave them some pretty bad bruises. They yelled out in pain.
One of them looked at me, but had to look away after a few seconds. I could give a person a look of pure rancor that could make them feel very nervous, even at the age of eight. That is a skill that I still have to this day, and I'm quite proud of it.
I admit, that there was probably a better way to deal with the Muggles, but as I have stated before, I had little control over my magical abilities at the time. They were lucky that I didn't accidentally drop something heavier on them. Anger always sparked my magical abilities. That's the way it is with most magical children.
Just like my previous encounter with Muggle children, their screaming was heard by my father, who stormed out, modified the memories of the Muggle boys and dragged me into his office by the ear. It was Saturday, that day, so he wasn't at his office at the Ministry of Magic.
My father's office was a dismal room. It had a desk with way too many drawers, two chairs, stacks of paperwork, a bookshelf full of books with the dreariest topics, and a large grey owl named Troy. Troy strongly resembled my father. They were both spiteful, old, and had a perpetual tired expression.
As I stated earlier, my father's work meant everything to him, and if anyone disturbed his work, he completely lost his mind. I was only half listening to what he was saying that day and I don't remember exactly what happened. I usually only pretend that I'm listening to diatribes. All I know is that it started with my father ranting about my carelessness and how I could have lost him his job if he had to keep performing memory charms on Muggles that I hurt (I think that was a huge exaggeration) and it ended with him striking me across the face.
These are probably the most interesting things that happened to me before Hogwarts. I kept to myself and spent most of my time in my room away from my family. The lack of excitement in my life frustrated me, but believe me, that all changed with the arrival of my acceptance letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
