Written for the Quidditch Fanfiction League Competition
Team: Holyhead Harpies
Position: Keeper
Prompt: Asylum – I dare you to make it vaguer next time, I double dare you.
Word count: 1211
A.N/ Welcome back, everyone, to my slow descent into madness. For this week's entertainment, we have me trying to exploit your angsty feelings to hide my inability to function as a writer. Big thanks to gingerdream and The Cinder Crown for the betas and the whole Harpies team for the idea! Hope you enjoy our delightful feast, now on to the pain and misery of a certain Mad-Eye Moody!
The duel had been grueling but ultimately fast. Alastor had fallen for Barty's lies and welcomed him in his home without a second thought. The young man had always been his blind spot and so he didn't recognize the snake ready to strike until it was too late.
"I yield," Mad-Eye panted, the blood dripping down his eyes making it impossible to see. Damn these head wounds… They always bleed too much. "I yield," he repeated. "I surrender."
He had never surrendered before. Not once in his entire career. If only the department could see him now, cowering at wandpoint like a mere trainee on his first mission. However, Alastor would not allow himself to fall victim to just anyone. No, Bartemius had always held a special place in his heart.
Back when he had first joined the Auror Department, he had struck a quick friendship with Crouch Sr. Both were ambitious men, both fanatical defenders of justice, both sidelined by their peers – their traits were too similar to be ignored. In hindsight, Sr. had only used Moody's potential in his favor – as the wannabe Minister, it would serve him well to have the most respected Auror family by his side.
Until Mad-Eye saw his friend's true colours though, he had been loyally devoted to the Crouch family. The first years of little Barty's life, they had truly felt like a united front – Bartemius, his wife Persephone, Alastor and the baby. However, Barty Sr.'s ambition soon resurfaced – the young Auror should have known his friend would have never been satisfied with just his family.
Thus, as Crouch Sr. rose through the Ministry ranks, Alastor stepped in to be the father young Barty would need. Moody had never been interested in having a family of his own – much to his parents' dismay about the bloodline dying down. But he had found the paternal instincts he never knew he possessed as he watched his best friend's son grow up.
Alastor knew he had been wrong to abandon the boy when he had fallen out with his father. Leaving Barty to Sr.'s neglect was the sole regret of his life. Maybe if I had been there, I could have saved the boy. Maybe if I had been there, he wouldn't have tortured them.
And although Alastor felt sick about what happened to Frank and Alice, he had hurt even more when he heard of Barty's fate at his father's furious hands. So, when the boy – man now, he had to remind himself – had rang his doorbell and claimed he'd escaped from his father's vicious clutches, he had believed him without a second thought. He had been desperate for a chance to atone – his guilt blinding him to the curse that followed
"Crucio!"
Alastor's whole body felt on fire, every last nerve snapping angrily, his brain overloading on information. It felt like his bones were broken, set and broken all over again, like his blood was boiling and burning him alive. He had been subjected to many curses before but none as potent as this one. To make an Unforgivable work, you need to mean it, you need to really want to cause pain. That knowledge caused Moody more anguish than any physical pain ever could.
"What do you have to say for yourself, scum?" Bartemius Jr. sneered as he lifted the curse, the retired Auror still writhing with the aftereffects on the dirty floor.
"Your father spoke many times about having you committed." Alastor started when he could finally speak again. He couldn't go down without a fight – and the battle for Barty's sanity was one where his wand would be of no help.
"I begged him to at least take you to St. Mungos for examination, but he wouldn't hear any of it; he didn't want anything to taint his family's perfect record. No, he was planning to have you shipped off to an asylum in Russia, have everyone believe you died to hide his shame. Well, I guess he got what he wanted, at least partially. But I talked him out of it, Barty, I vouched for you! You're not lost, son, don't let them fool you!" Moody begged. The man in front of him looked nothing like the boy he had practically raised but something in his eyes made the Auror hold on to hope.
"I AM NOT YOUR SON! I'm afraid you've become foolish in your old age. My Lord has only set me free – soul and body! Did you know how my father kept me hidden? Did you know how I suffered under the Imperius every day for TWELVE YEARS?! If you got one thing right, it's that my father only cared enough for me to make sure I didn't mark our pure blood line with a blemish. But he was the one who's sullied! Filthy! Nasty! Siding with blood traitors and Mudblood scum! Fools, all of you!"
"Barty, please, this isn't you! You were a kind boy, you were sweet. You still can be, just let me get you some help!"
"You should have let them send me to the asylum!"
"I was supposed to be your asylum!" Alastor finally broke down. "I was supposed to be your refuge, your shelter! I've known you since you were born and I've treated you as I would my own blood! You are my son in every other sense! I was there when you performed your fist bits of magic, I was there for you when you bought your first wand! The same wand you're now pointing right at me. The one I used to teach you how to duel with! Please, Bartemius, there's still time. I don't know why you ever thought I turned my back to you but I'm here now. It's not too late!"
"That's where you're wrong, Moody." Barty's mocking sneer ran like a dagger through Mad-Eye's heart. "It is too late, but not for me. It's too late for my father, who's finally serving the one master he should have been from the start. It's too late for you, who probably won't see the light of day again. And it's too late for the Order and for your precious Potter! I will personally take him to my Lord and then I'll finally take my righteous place by his side! If I'm feeling graceful, I might keep you alive until you can witness your only hope becoming extinguished!"
With a flick of his wand, ropes slithered around the retired Auror and tightened, barely allowing him a gasped breath. Not that there was anything more to say; years of experience had taught him to recognize a futile situation when he saw it. His soul broke into pieces as he watched the one person he had ever truly cared for in his whole life turn into a stranger right before his very eyes; a stranger hellbent on terror and manic destruction. The last thing he saw before the Imperius washed over him and took his will away was the face of the son he almost had, morphed into an ugly grimace of a cold and vengeful grin. I'm sorry, my boy. This is all my fault.