"Mummy, tell me a story." Barty scampered into his mother's lap near the flickering fire. His father sat in his squashy armchair, smoking a pipe and frowning.

"All right honey, what story would you like to hear?" the frail, wispy witch asked kindly.

"One about Daddy!" Barty replied, his bright eyes sparkling with the innocent excitement of a five-year-old. His mother smoothed down his straight, straw colored hair and held him close.

"Your daddy is a great man, Barty." she began, smiling at her dark haired husband, who straightened stiffly in his seat. "He has given many evil wizards the sticky end they deserved." She paused here to let out a loud, rasping cough.

"Dear, prehaps tonight is not a good night for a story." Barty Crouch gave his wife a worried look. "You really haven't been feeling well lately..."

"Oh Bartemius, how you worry. I'm fine, really." The man gave her another look, but settled back into his chair with a frown.

"So, as I was saying..." The woman paused for a monment, but continued. "Right. One of these evil wizards had the name of Antonin Dolohov. He did bad things, Barty. Things that are not fit for your young ears to hear!" She gave his ear a tweak to lighten the mood a bit. "And your daddy-

"He sent him to the bad place!" Barty burst out, his young face radiating a mix of fear and respect towards his father.

"Yes he did. Your daddy sent him to Azkaban, Barty. The place that wizards go when they do bad things. And thanks to your daddy, he will will never do bad things again. And neither will many other wizards! But we don't have time to get into all that tonight..."

"Okay." Barty agreed, satisfied for the time being.

"Off to bed you go!" She smiled at him and pushed him gently towards the staircase that led to his room.

"Goodnight mummy!" he called, from the first landing.

"Goodnight sweets. Love you!"

"G'night dad!"

The man let out a small grunt and continued smoking his pipe. Barty's face fell for just a moment as he trudged upstairs to his room.

A few years later...

"Barty!" The deep, fierce voice echoed through every inch of the old house. "You get in here this instant!" The pale, skinny boy appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. "What is this?" The man bellowed, shoving a white porcelain bowl at his pale, frightened son.

"A- a bowl of oatmeal?"

"No. A bowl of oatmeal is what I asked for. This is a bowl of cold, lumpy MUSH!"

"S-sorry dad," the boy whispered, his eyes wide and moist.

"Oh Bartemius, don't be so hard on the boy." The boy's mother appeared from the shadow's of the kitchen. "I will make you another bowl."

"No, you are in no condition to cook. I asked Barty to make me some oatmeal, and that is what he will do. He needs to learn how to do it right!" The man's small, black mustache quivered as he shook with anger. "Hurry, you idiot boy! I have to get to the office."

"Yes father." the small boy took the bowl of porridge, dumped it into the garbage, and set about making his father a new one.

The man straighted his tie and took a sip of his coffee, watching as his son raced fearfully around the kitchen. Why did he have to be so stupid and worthless? Hadn't he taught this boy anything? Sometimes he just wanted to strangle his skinny little neck...

"Here dad," Barty presented a fresh, warm bowl of oatmeal to his father, a pleading look on his face. "I even added cinnamon and vanilla like you like." He added this part quietly, and held his breath as his father sampled the first spoonful of his breakfast. His face was dull and expressionless as he set the spoon down on his napkin.

"Well, it's certainly not perfect." He snapped at his son. "No time to make another bowl now, though. I've got to go. And I will be working late tonight. Don't wait up."

With these parting words, he grabbed his briefcase, and strode quickly out of the house.

A couple more years later...

"Mum?" Barty sat at the kitchen table, watching his mother prepare dinner. "Why does dad hate me so?"

"Oh, fiddlesticks. Where would you get an idea like that?" the short witch flicked her wand at a bowl of pasta, and the wooden spoon started to stir in circles by itself.

"He never... well he's never told me he loved me." Barty flushed, embarrassed by this deep thought he was sharing with his mother.

"Oh I'm sure that's not true," Mrs. Crouch soothed him. But as she thought about it, she realized she had never actually heard her husband say those three little words to their only son.

"It is true and you know it!" Barty cried, watching his mother's face carefully.

"Darling..." Barty's mother sighed quietly. "Love can be expressed in many ways..."

"Oh really? Like forcing me to make him breakfast? Like shouting at me that I'm stupid and worthless? Why does he act so awfully to me..."

"Barty..." his mother was at a loss of words.

"It's all right mum. It doesn't really matter anyway. Forget I ever asked."

"Honey..." Mrs. Crouch watched helplessly as her son strode quietly out the door of their home. She sighed, and started to stir the pasta by herself once more. Sometimes she did wish her husband would go easier on their son... he was barely eleven after all... not nearly old enough to be expected to act like a man.

Then as suddenly as he had left, Barty was back.

"Mum! MUM! I got it! I GOT IT!!"

"Got what, dear?" She notcied for the first time the small envelope he was waving in the air.

"I ran into Little Merlin on my way down the driveway, and he dropped this from his very talons... and... its from Hogwarts! I'm accepted!!"

"Oh Barty! Barty that's wonderful! Why that's great news!" Mrs. Crouch cast the spell on the pasta again, and hurried to engulf her son in a warm embrace. "Oh I just can't wait to tell your father! He'll be so thrilled!"

The two hugged eachother tightly and jumped up and down, not caring if they looked stupid. Barty was going to Hogwarts!!

"Dinner's ready, dears!" Mrs. Crouch beamed as she set down the bowl of pasta in front of her family. Mr. Crouch grunted and spooned some spaghetti into his bowl. He then continued to cut it up neatly, his knife and fork grating loudly on the plate.

"So, Barty..." Mrs. Crouch smiled at her small son. "Don't you have something to tell your father?"

Barty took in a deep breath and smiled hesitantly at his father. His father looked up and grabbed a piece of bread, waiting.

"Um, dad?"

"What is it boy," he frowned at him.

"Well, I got an owl today."

"Yes, yes, get to the point," his father chewed off a chunk of bread.

"Okay, well, it was from Hogwarts," he paused, looking at his father. His father stared blankly at him.

"And, well, I've been accepted!" he burst out, his face glowing, his eyes longing for some adoration from his father.

"Oh. All right. Is that it then?"