Summary: Happenings in the Crouch household from the time Barty
Jr. was smuggled out of Azkaban to Voldemort's arrival on the
scene. As far as I know no one's ever done anything like this
before.
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, they belong to J.K. Rowling. (But if you've actually *gasp* read GoF you already knew that.)
Thicker Than Blood
By: rainmaker
Chapter 1: Awakening
When Barty awoke, he realized that he was lying on something far softer than the cold stone surface of his bed in Azkaban. And without opening his eyes he knew also that he was wrapped in layers of warm blankets that contrasted sharply with the threadbare sheet he had almost become accustomed to. "Mmmmf.." He groaned as he opened his eyes. Sunlight, streaming in from some unknown source pierced his eyes for the first time in months. This was *definitely* not his cold, stone-walled, windowless cell. Barty tried to sit up, but his body was too weak, completely drained of strength. Lying down again he turned his head groggily, still not sure where he was, and completely at loss as to how he'd gotten there.
His vision was blurred, and he had to shake himself to clear his head. Lifting his head to have another look around, he found himself gazing at the familiar surroundings of his old room in his family's manor. It was just as he had left it almost a year before, when the aurors had arrested him in that very room. The remains of a small mirror still lay on the floor in pieces. (He had not gone quietly with them, and the mirror had fallen during his desperate struggle.)
"Wha..?" He surprised himself by trying to utter the word, realizing just how long it had been since he'd heard his own voice. It was hoarse and gravelly from going for months without use. Barty tried once more to get up, finally managing to pull himself up into sitting position with his back resting against the headboard of the bed. He listened intently for any noise but he seemed to be completely alone in the house.
Finally venturing to use his weak scratchy voice, Barty croaked, "Hello?" and listened again to see that he was really alone. Hearing no one, he dragged himself to the edge of the bed, and rested his feet on the hardwood floor. Looking down at himself, he saw that he was still dressed in the robes he had worn in Azkaban. They were torn, frayed, and covered with grime from sleeping on the dirty stone bed in his cell.
Groaning again, he forced his weak, cramped muscles to stand and tried to drag himself across the room. He hadn't gone two feet before he collapsed in a heap on the ground. His head spun, and he felt as though his limbs were made of lead. Even free of Azkaban, the physical toll the dementors took on him remained strong. He lay there until he heard footsteps running along the hallway outside his door.
Barty braced himself for the worst, imagining Ministry officials rushing into the room and dragging him back to Azkaban. But to his astonishment, the house elf, Winky, burst in and began wringing her hands when she saw him on his feet. "Oh! Master Barty, you is not to be getting up!" she said, doing a nervous sort of dance as she attempted to usher him back into bed. Too weak to protest, Barty let her drag him back towards the bed, but he suddenly stopped dead, refusing to go another step.
He was angry all of a sudden. His head was spinning and he was still completely confused. Turning on the nervous elf, he growled, "What's going on Winky? How did I get here? Tell me, elf!" He grabbed her small shoulders so tightly that the house- elf gave a small squeak of pain.
Winky was shaking like a leaf, waving her thin arms and trying to quiet him. "Master Barty, please don't be speaking so loud! Your father is having guests downstairs, he is telling Winky keep you very quiet! He-"
She stopped abruptly. They both heard voices downstairs. Barty could hear his father's curt voice speaking urgently to someone. "No Minister, I'm sure it's just my house-elf working upstairs, I'll see to it she quiets down." His heavy footsteps hurried up the stairs, and he stormed into the room. He glared at Winky. "Elf!" he said sharply. "I believe I told you to keep him silent if he were to awaken!"
Winky cowered, shrinking back against the wall. Her small voice rose an octave as she tried to explain herself. "I is sorry Master, Winky is coming up as soon as she hears him wake." But Mr. Crouch ignored her stuttering voice, his cold gray eyes sweeping across the room to where his son lay in a ragged, disheveled heap, still too weak to stand on his own. There was disgust in his voice when he spoke, as though he were addressing some drunken muggle tramp he'd discovered sleeping on his doorstep, and not his only son.
"Another word out of you, boy, and I'll have you dragged straight back to that prison rock and leave you to rot there!" He was about to turn and sweep out of the room when he turned to his quivering house-elf again, snapping angrily at her. "Put him into some decent clothes while you're here. I don't want to see him in those moth-eaten rags again!"
Barty Jr. opened his mouth to yell something at his father, in his anger forgetting to be frightened of the Minister of Magic hearing from down the stairs, and even forgetting to fear a return to Azkaban. But Mr. Crouch stormed out of the room as quickly as he'd come, and Barty only managed a weak, gagging noise before his illness forced him to collapse on the floor again, shaking with anger.
Winky dashed over to him, and with some difficulty, (he was far bigger than the tiny house-elf) managed to hoist him back into his bed. She shook her finger scoldingly at him. "Master Barty, you is staying here and being very quiet while Winky is fetching you some new clothes."
"What if I don't want to put on different clothes? What if I prefer to wear these?" he snarled. Of coarse, Barty would have preferred almost anything to his tattered Azkaban rags, but his head had begun to spin again and he suddenly felt rebellious. Winky threw up her tiny hands, pleading with him.
"Master Barty, your father is telling Winky put you in new clothes!"
"What if I don't feel like taking orders from him!?" Barty was looking positively menacing now, his voice cracking slightly, and the terrified elf took a step back from him. The pale-faced young man was suddenly hit by a spell of dizziness, and slumped back on the bed, exhausted by his violent outburst. He uttered a few meaningless, slurred phrases and slipped back into unconsciousness.
Winky crept out of the room and down the hall to the closet where all of Barty's clothes had been stored since he'd been sentenced to Azkaban almost a year before. She picked out the forest green robes which had always been his favorite and hurried back, hoping he hadn't woken in her absence. She could still hear Mr. Crouch and Cornelius Fudge's voices coming from the main floor of the manor. The Crouches being a very old pureblood family, and Mr. Crouch being such an important member of the Ministry of Magic, their house was very old and very large. Generations of Crouches had added rooms until it became a veritable mansion.
Creeping softly back into Barty's room, the elf relaxed when she saw he was still out cold. Using her own small magic to see that he remained that way, she managed to wrestle him into the clean garments and disposed of his old rags. They weren't worth repairing.
Bartemius Crouch Sr. breathed a sigh of relief when Cornelius Fudge disapparated later that afternoon. In his opinion they would have done the better in giving Ludo Bagman the position of Minister of Magic. Of course, in his mind he would have been the ideal man for the job. To think people had wanted Albus Dumbledore to run for Minister! Dumbledore was a great wizard, certainly, but how would he ever have gotten anything done? The man was so random and disorganized. Crouch shuddered at the very thought. He had always prided himself on being perfectly methodized in the way he ran his office.
He started up the staircase towards Barty's room, but thought the better of it. The longer he delayed the dreaded reunion with his son the better. Walking through one of the manor's older areas towards his own room, he frowned. Damn the boy! It was his fault. His fault he had lost his one chance of becoming Minister of Magic!
"I should have never agreed to this." He chided himself angrily, entering his bedroom and settling into a chair by the fireplace. "I should have left him there to rot. He deserves no less."
He felt a terrible sadness beginning inside of him. Barty deserved Azkaban, but Sicilia, his beloved wife, was enduring his terrible punishment instead. Trying his hardest not to think about his wife wasting away in Azkaban, he picked up a book off the nearby shelf and read to keep his mind off things. It was an old muggle novel, Les Miserables, which had belonged to Sicilia. She had always been fascinated by muggles.
Crouch sighed. Everything reminded him of her now.
Someone knocked softly on the door. "Who is it?" he called in exasperation. Of coarse, he knew without an answer who it was. The only people in the manor were himself, Winky, and Barty, who had never once in his life knocked before entering a room, and certainly wasn't likely to begin practicing common courtesy now.
A tiny, stuttering voice answered him. "I-it is Winky, Master."
"Come in then."
The elf cautiously entered, opening the door with some difficulty, as she had to jump to reach the handle. "Winky is wondering when Master is wishing his dinner to be fixed."
Crouch sighed. He always ate at exactly 6:30, but the elf always persisted in asking him, just in case Hell should freeze over and he made a change in his schedule. "6:30 Winky, as always." The elf bowed and turned to leave, but he stopped her. "I trust that Barty was asleep when you left him? He is ill, but he might still attempt an escape."
"He is sleeping when Winky is going from his room, Master." She said, nodding her head so that her large ears flapped.
He nodded curtly, waving her away. "Very well, you may go."
A/N: Couldn't think where to end this chapter, so I just left it at that. Pretty please review? No flaming though, it's my first fic!
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, they belong to J.K. Rowling. (But if you've actually *gasp* read GoF you already knew that.)
Thicker Than Blood
By: rainmaker
Chapter 1: Awakening
When Barty awoke, he realized that he was lying on something far softer than the cold stone surface of his bed in Azkaban. And without opening his eyes he knew also that he was wrapped in layers of warm blankets that contrasted sharply with the threadbare sheet he had almost become accustomed to. "Mmmmf.." He groaned as he opened his eyes. Sunlight, streaming in from some unknown source pierced his eyes for the first time in months. This was *definitely* not his cold, stone-walled, windowless cell. Barty tried to sit up, but his body was too weak, completely drained of strength. Lying down again he turned his head groggily, still not sure where he was, and completely at loss as to how he'd gotten there.
His vision was blurred, and he had to shake himself to clear his head. Lifting his head to have another look around, he found himself gazing at the familiar surroundings of his old room in his family's manor. It was just as he had left it almost a year before, when the aurors had arrested him in that very room. The remains of a small mirror still lay on the floor in pieces. (He had not gone quietly with them, and the mirror had fallen during his desperate struggle.)
"Wha..?" He surprised himself by trying to utter the word, realizing just how long it had been since he'd heard his own voice. It was hoarse and gravelly from going for months without use. Barty tried once more to get up, finally managing to pull himself up into sitting position with his back resting against the headboard of the bed. He listened intently for any noise but he seemed to be completely alone in the house.
Finally venturing to use his weak scratchy voice, Barty croaked, "Hello?" and listened again to see that he was really alone. Hearing no one, he dragged himself to the edge of the bed, and rested his feet on the hardwood floor. Looking down at himself, he saw that he was still dressed in the robes he had worn in Azkaban. They were torn, frayed, and covered with grime from sleeping on the dirty stone bed in his cell.
Groaning again, he forced his weak, cramped muscles to stand and tried to drag himself across the room. He hadn't gone two feet before he collapsed in a heap on the ground. His head spun, and he felt as though his limbs were made of lead. Even free of Azkaban, the physical toll the dementors took on him remained strong. He lay there until he heard footsteps running along the hallway outside his door.
Barty braced himself for the worst, imagining Ministry officials rushing into the room and dragging him back to Azkaban. But to his astonishment, the house elf, Winky, burst in and began wringing her hands when she saw him on his feet. "Oh! Master Barty, you is not to be getting up!" she said, doing a nervous sort of dance as she attempted to usher him back into bed. Too weak to protest, Barty let her drag him back towards the bed, but he suddenly stopped dead, refusing to go another step.
He was angry all of a sudden. His head was spinning and he was still completely confused. Turning on the nervous elf, he growled, "What's going on Winky? How did I get here? Tell me, elf!" He grabbed her small shoulders so tightly that the house- elf gave a small squeak of pain.
Winky was shaking like a leaf, waving her thin arms and trying to quiet him. "Master Barty, please don't be speaking so loud! Your father is having guests downstairs, he is telling Winky keep you very quiet! He-"
She stopped abruptly. They both heard voices downstairs. Barty could hear his father's curt voice speaking urgently to someone. "No Minister, I'm sure it's just my house-elf working upstairs, I'll see to it she quiets down." His heavy footsteps hurried up the stairs, and he stormed into the room. He glared at Winky. "Elf!" he said sharply. "I believe I told you to keep him silent if he were to awaken!"
Winky cowered, shrinking back against the wall. Her small voice rose an octave as she tried to explain herself. "I is sorry Master, Winky is coming up as soon as she hears him wake." But Mr. Crouch ignored her stuttering voice, his cold gray eyes sweeping across the room to where his son lay in a ragged, disheveled heap, still too weak to stand on his own. There was disgust in his voice when he spoke, as though he were addressing some drunken muggle tramp he'd discovered sleeping on his doorstep, and not his only son.
"Another word out of you, boy, and I'll have you dragged straight back to that prison rock and leave you to rot there!" He was about to turn and sweep out of the room when he turned to his quivering house-elf again, snapping angrily at her. "Put him into some decent clothes while you're here. I don't want to see him in those moth-eaten rags again!"
Barty Jr. opened his mouth to yell something at his father, in his anger forgetting to be frightened of the Minister of Magic hearing from down the stairs, and even forgetting to fear a return to Azkaban. But Mr. Crouch stormed out of the room as quickly as he'd come, and Barty only managed a weak, gagging noise before his illness forced him to collapse on the floor again, shaking with anger.
Winky dashed over to him, and with some difficulty, (he was far bigger than the tiny house-elf) managed to hoist him back into his bed. She shook her finger scoldingly at him. "Master Barty, you is staying here and being very quiet while Winky is fetching you some new clothes."
"What if I don't want to put on different clothes? What if I prefer to wear these?" he snarled. Of coarse, Barty would have preferred almost anything to his tattered Azkaban rags, but his head had begun to spin again and he suddenly felt rebellious. Winky threw up her tiny hands, pleading with him.
"Master Barty, your father is telling Winky put you in new clothes!"
"What if I don't feel like taking orders from him!?" Barty was looking positively menacing now, his voice cracking slightly, and the terrified elf took a step back from him. The pale-faced young man was suddenly hit by a spell of dizziness, and slumped back on the bed, exhausted by his violent outburst. He uttered a few meaningless, slurred phrases and slipped back into unconsciousness.
Winky crept out of the room and down the hall to the closet where all of Barty's clothes had been stored since he'd been sentenced to Azkaban almost a year before. She picked out the forest green robes which had always been his favorite and hurried back, hoping he hadn't woken in her absence. She could still hear Mr. Crouch and Cornelius Fudge's voices coming from the main floor of the manor. The Crouches being a very old pureblood family, and Mr. Crouch being such an important member of the Ministry of Magic, their house was very old and very large. Generations of Crouches had added rooms until it became a veritable mansion.
Creeping softly back into Barty's room, the elf relaxed when she saw he was still out cold. Using her own small magic to see that he remained that way, she managed to wrestle him into the clean garments and disposed of his old rags. They weren't worth repairing.
Bartemius Crouch Sr. breathed a sigh of relief when Cornelius Fudge disapparated later that afternoon. In his opinion they would have done the better in giving Ludo Bagman the position of Minister of Magic. Of course, in his mind he would have been the ideal man for the job. To think people had wanted Albus Dumbledore to run for Minister! Dumbledore was a great wizard, certainly, but how would he ever have gotten anything done? The man was so random and disorganized. Crouch shuddered at the very thought. He had always prided himself on being perfectly methodized in the way he ran his office.
He started up the staircase towards Barty's room, but thought the better of it. The longer he delayed the dreaded reunion with his son the better. Walking through one of the manor's older areas towards his own room, he frowned. Damn the boy! It was his fault. His fault he had lost his one chance of becoming Minister of Magic!
"I should have never agreed to this." He chided himself angrily, entering his bedroom and settling into a chair by the fireplace. "I should have left him there to rot. He deserves no less."
He felt a terrible sadness beginning inside of him. Barty deserved Azkaban, but Sicilia, his beloved wife, was enduring his terrible punishment instead. Trying his hardest not to think about his wife wasting away in Azkaban, he picked up a book off the nearby shelf and read to keep his mind off things. It was an old muggle novel, Les Miserables, which had belonged to Sicilia. She had always been fascinated by muggles.
Crouch sighed. Everything reminded him of her now.
Someone knocked softly on the door. "Who is it?" he called in exasperation. Of coarse, he knew without an answer who it was. The only people in the manor were himself, Winky, and Barty, who had never once in his life knocked before entering a room, and certainly wasn't likely to begin practicing common courtesy now.
A tiny, stuttering voice answered him. "I-it is Winky, Master."
"Come in then."
The elf cautiously entered, opening the door with some difficulty, as she had to jump to reach the handle. "Winky is wondering when Master is wishing his dinner to be fixed."
Crouch sighed. He always ate at exactly 6:30, but the elf always persisted in asking him, just in case Hell should freeze over and he made a change in his schedule. "6:30 Winky, as always." The elf bowed and turned to leave, but he stopped her. "I trust that Barty was asleep when you left him? He is ill, but he might still attempt an escape."
"He is sleeping when Winky is going from his room, Master." She said, nodding her head so that her large ears flapped.
He nodded curtly, waving her away. "Very well, you may go."
A/N: Couldn't think where to end this chapter, so I just left it at that. Pretty please review? No flaming though, it's my first fic!