The Trial and Tribulations of Barty Crouch
"I thought I would be expecting you," Dumbledore said, nodding towards the chair for Ila to sit down. She took the seat, wiping her palms against her skirt. Maybe she should have done the spa day before the meeting. "How are you – well, how are you after everything that has happened?"
Angry? Scared? Sad?
"Confused," she said earnestly. "I – er – I thought someone would have talked to us about what happened or at least, inform us about…anything really. I mean – what happened with Bar – Mr Crouch? Is he alright? And the – the thing that attacked us. What happened with that?"
Dumbledore took a lemon sherbet for himself, asking Ila if she wanted one but she politely declined. He unwrapped the sweet before pushing his chair out. He walked in front of Ila and leaned against the table.
"First, I would like to apologise for the lack of information provided by us. An unlawful apparition into the Forbidden Forest, as well as an attack on the students, are things we do take very seriously. We have alerted the Ministry as to what happened, and they have already sent a few Aurors to start working out about what happened and who attacked you. At the moment, it seems that no one knows who these people could be."
There was something from the way he said the last sentence that Ila knew he was lying. Or at least partially. You didn't need half a brain to know who it could be.
"You don't need to comfort me by not telling the truth sir," she said bitterly. The lemon drop was left in its wrapper as he placed it on the table.
"I cannot be certain that it was Him, Ila. If I even mentioned it, they would have to ask for proof. We don't know who we can trust yet and I'm not ready to risk it all."
"I thought you would have at least had some theory about what happened," she said.
"Perhaps you know me too well," he said smiling. "What would you like to hear first?"
"What happened with Mr Crouch?" she asked. His smile dropped. "What? What is it? He wasn't…you know - "
"No – no, of course not," Dumbeldore said quickly before pushing off the table and walking behind her. He headed to a glass cabinet. When he opened it, Ila could see hundreds of vials placed neatly on the shelves. "He isn't dead because…he had disappeared by the time we go there."
Ila snapped her head to face him. "Disappeared? But how's that possible? He literally – he was lying on the ground. He was coughing blood. Surely you would have seen the puddle of blood. He was there!"
"I'm not accusing you of lying if that's what you think Ila, I – perhaps it would be easier if I showed you." Dumbledore stood beside a table with a large basin floating above it. Made out of stone, the sides were carved with strange symbols that Ila knew Hermione would have a field day trying to decipher what they meant. There was a silvery effervescence that was occluding Ila's view of the bottom of the basin as she peered over.
"It's Pensieve," Dumbledore explained. "I pour a memory inside the basin and you'll be able to see everything that memory contained."
"When you mean pour…."
Dumbledore showed Ila a vial in his hand before uncorking it with a loud pop and pouring a blue liquid into the basin.
"But-but how is that a memory – it doesn't - "
"While I would love to teach you the ins and outs of how magic works, I'm afraid we have much more important things to discuss…Place your head inside," he said, as though what he said was a normal thing.
Nonetheless, Ila slowly placed her head into the liquid, unsure if she should hold her breath. She did so, just in case. She found herself falling steadily into the cauldron, zooming through the smoke, her breath whooshing out of her as she finally landed on her feet. She looked around to see the Forbidden Forest starting to be built up. Ahead of her, were her professors. McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Snape. They were at the very edge of the Forest, right before the castle. They were in the exact same spot Ila had guided them to the night before to aid Barty Crouch. Except there was something wrong.
"Where is he?" McGonagall said, looking back at the trees. "Are you sure this was the right place?"
"I'm sure of it," Dumbledore said, though he too looked confused at the empty clearing. "This was where Ila had said."
"But that was where he was – he was literally right there!" Ila yelled before Dumbledore explained that they couldn't hear her.
Snape, on the other hand, looked annoyed. "Clearly this was some poorly executed trick from Potter. If Mr Crouch was here, we would have known about it. He would have let us know beforehand."
"Unless he had been poisoned and was unable to let us know," McGonagall retorted.
"Then why come here? Go to St Mango's if you've actually been hurt."
Before she could open her mouth, there was a noise coming from the trees. All three professors reflexively held out their wands.
"Who is there?" Dumbledore said.
The rattle of leaves and trees grew louder. All three professors were starting to become unnerved, though they didn't show it. First, their students had been attacked, meaning an intruder was present, secondly if they were able to find him, a high up Ministry official had been poisoned in the school.
"Come out now!" Dumbledore announced, his voice though calm, boomed through the forest around them.
"Don't get yer knickers in a twist," a gruff voice replied, "it's only me!" The sound of wood hitting the floor gave it away to the professors and McGonagall and Dumbledore put their wands down. Snape on the other hand wasn't quite ready to do so.
"Stop right there!" Snape yelled. Moody looked annoyed, though that was what he always looked like, as he stopped where he was and watched Snape walk closer to him, circling him as if he was ready to pounce on his prey. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard a bit of commotion down here – though I'd check it out. Is it illegal to be a good teacher and protect students here, is it?"
"How could you hear what was going on?" McGonagall asked. "I sent them to the Moly field. That's right in the centre – it would be impossible to hear something like that."
"I was in the area before" – Snape had pointed his wand directly at Moody now – "beforehand. I needed a bit of things for meself."
"What things?" Snape drawled.
"Merlin what am I being interrogated for? A bunch o' students were attacked. Go after them!" Moody grumbled.
"He is right Severus," Dumbledore said calmly. "Lower your wand." Snape did so begrudgingly and walked back to the other two. Moody was about to join them when –
"Before we leave, you didn't happen to see Barty Crouch here?"
Moody's eyes sprung open, his glass eye nearly popping out. "Barty? In here? I'm pretty sure I would've remembered something like that. Poor sod doesn't even leave the house nowadays unless it's for work. What's he doing here?"
Dumbledore remained silent. He roamed over the professor, and around him. Ila was trying to see what he was looking at but there wasn't anything. Dumbledore took one final look. It was strange. It was the kind of look she had seen only once or twice when someone would push his buttons – which rarely happened. It was a look for a final warning. A final confession. After this, if Dumbeldore had found something suspicious, he would show no mercy on Moody. It only lasted momentarily before the twinkle in his eyes and the warm smile returned and four professors headed back to the Forest. Ila felt herself slowly float away from the scene. She felt her legs leave the earth and moved towards the sky until –
They were back in Dumbledore's office. She was standing right where she was. It was strange. She didn't feel as if she had dunked her head into a cauldron of water. From the way Dumbledore looked, it probably didn't look like it either.
"So, he just disappeared?" Ila asked, replaying the empty space of where the once poisoned Ministry official was, just moments ago. "He was on his hands and feet – there's no way that he could've walked or crawled away – hang on – I could give you my memory!"
"I believe you, Ila. When I went there, it did feel off-putting. I could feel a form of dark magic, though will all kinds, it may leave a trace but that is all it'll give…what exactly happened when you saw him. I'll need to write a statement to the Aurors," Dumbeldore said.
"Well – me and…me and Draco were trying to find a way out, so we used the…the map," she said hesitantly, wondering she just defeated the purpose of having a secret map that showed the entire layout of Hogwarts, "and we saw that Mr Crouch was there. We thought he'd be able to help us, so we made our way to him only to find him on the floor. He was coughing up a lot of blood. He said that he'd been poisoned before – it was weird. He kept saying that he was sorry for – well the exact words that he had said was 'Tell him I'm sorry.' He never mentioned who he was but…I don't know, I was a bit too spooked out to figure out anything else."
"When you checked the map, did you ever see anyone else that could have been near him?"
Ila shook her head. "There wasn't anyone. Not even the people who attacked us."
Dumbledore made his way back to the table to scribble everything that Ila had said, while she left to her own vices, looking through the cabinet full of, who she assumed was all of Dumbledore's memory. There was one that had caught her eye. As they were talking about Mr Crouch, it had occurred to her that knew nothing of him apart from all the things that Percy had mentioned, which were nothing important. It had occurred to her that moment that she knew nothing of him since she saw a vial, labelled – 'The Trial of Barty Crouch Jr.'
Three thoughts superimposed at that moment.
Mr Crouch had a son.
Said son was on trial for something.
Whatever this son had done, must have been so horrible that Mr Crouch never mentioned having a son to anyone. She was pretty sure that Percy didn't know.
"Did Mr Crouch have a son?" Ila asked Dumbledore, though she already knew the answer.
In the reflection, she saw Dumbledore's head look up, staring at the cabinet than at her.
"Yes," Dumbledore said. "I assume you find the vial containing his son's trial?" He walked over to her before taking the vial out and placing it next to the cauldron.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Again, it'll be better to show you," he said. "I must thank you for reminding me about this. Perhaps this was who he was apologising to."
Before Ila could say another word, Dumbeldore poured the vial before taking her hand and pulling the two down to his memory of the night of Barty Crouch Jr's trial.
She was surrounded by members of the Ministry, though most of them were all wearing weird plum-coloured uniforms. As she peered closer, there was a badge pinned on all of their lapels that were all read: 'Member of Wizengamot.'
Ila saw a few familiar faces. Professor Dumbledore – a more younger-looking one – was sitting right in front of them. She glanced at the current Dumbledore, who was checking the back of his head, muttering under his breath that he should have brushed his hair at least a few more times before paying attention back to the trial. She did so when the judge of the trial placed a sonorous charm to get everyone's attention.
"May everyone be quiet so that we can start the trial?" Ila could see Barty Crouch's impassive face linger in the middle of the courtroom. The bottom of the courtroom – a small circle that was barely wider than her had opened. Slowly, what Ila assumed to be a torture device, rose up. The cage was black, in the shape of the body, with spikes pointing out, ready to impale anyone that was going to help the defendant escape. It was even stranger to see that it wasn't Barty Crouch Jr that was in the middle of the cage. It was rather, a familiar headmaster.
"Igor Karkaroff," Barty boomed, as the crowd watched him twitch and look around, all ready to see him explode, "you are on trial for the murders of several muggle-borns, half-bloods and muggles. As well, you have also been accused of several accusations of sexual assault and inappropriate behaviour towards minors."
"I HAVE NOT DONE ANYTHING OF THING OF THAT NATURE!" Karkaroff screamed, his hands holding onto the bars that had no spikes for him to hurt himself. He shook the bars once more. "I have told you before – I didn't do anything or even if I did, I have no memory. I'm innocent I tell you – I've been set up!"
Ila looked more closely to see just how different the man that stood before her and the court looked to the present headmaster. Bags deeper than someone who hadn't slept for a weak clung to the bottom of his eyes. Wrinkles were etched into the forehead that of someone who couldn't go any longer than two minutes worrying. His hands were bandaged, his nose was crooked, perhaps it had been knocked out of position. His eyes were constantly roaming around the room, hoping to see a familiar face. He was dressed in grey, the same shade of his hair.
"We have already done your trial for your crimes Karkaroff – I will not play further into your delusions. However, in case you need to be reminded, you were found my Auror Moody in the same room of five children, all aged between ten to seventeen, all seeming to have been abused. All naked."
The crowd roared with disgust, booing, throwing things at the man, while he was screaming for his innocence, trying to convince anyone who hadn't already made up their mind about him, but it was more of a lost cause.
"How do you plead Mr Karkaroff?" Barty asked, his voice as boring as ever. As if this was a daily occurrence for him.
"I – I plead…" There was a slight hesitation in his voice as he stared at Mr Crouch who looked bored as ever. "I plead guilty."
"What kind of innocent man pleads guilty?" a young man whispered to Dumbledore.
"You must always remember Kingsley, there are find nuances that aren't always seen when first shown," Dumbledore replied.
"But sir, Moody said it himself, he found him with of all those kids. He still gets nightmares about it!" Kingsley said, slightly annoyed at Dumbledore's disagreement with what he thought was a universal evil.
"I don't disagree that Moody found him like that, but we must remember that Voldemort is much more manipulative than we give credit for. He makes everyone unable to trust each other, making it easier to get more people on his side. Perhaps Karkaroff is telling the truth."
Kingsley kissed his teeth, crossing his arms. "I'd rather believe those Moody than the man who could have potentially been a pedo!"
"But I take the deal!"
Many of the wizards in the room gasped, shocked at what had just come out of the defendant's mouth.
"He can't be!"
"It's a death sentence!"
"So is going to Azkaban."
"
He could be lying. Don't take it!"
"He'll have to. He can't back out now!"
Barty Crouch silenced the room with the wave of a hand. He stared at a now, slightly more confident Karkaroff, finally relieved that perhaps someone could listen to him speak his truth.
"You do know what entails if you take the deal?" Barty asked, and for the first time, Ila had heard slight curiosity.
"I've already said I'll do it," Karakoff said.
"For the members of the court that do not or have not heard the deal," he said, addressing the courtroom, "when trialling Death Eaters or members of the…of the Dark, a deal will be given to them. It's an opportunity given to be a whistle-blower, to retain any shred of dignity that have tried so hard to get rid of. They are given the opportunity to out any of name or names of Death Eaters they know, or if they are not able to do so, any previous location that You Know Who has resided in. The Aurors will then look into the list of names, investigating and seeing if they are telling the truth. If they are, their stay at Azkaban will be reduced. If they aren't however," Barty said, his voice hardening as he turned back to Karakoff, "they will be executed without hesitation….It is important that members of the court will not speak about what goes on in the trial. For the sake of the investigation, it is imperative that the Death Eaters that Karkaroff cannot be mentioned to anyone, not your mothers, fathers, co-workers, wives, husbands. You will not say a word, or be aware that you will be in the same position as Mr Karkaroff…"
Barty Crouch waved over a few Aurors. They muttered a few words before Crouch took a piece of parchment paper. The Aurors then went into the crowd. Reports of all sorts were then escorted out of the room, all of whom were begging that they won't say a word.
"I thought it was magically bound," Kingsley said. "Surely, they could still stay here?"
"Journalists are always able to find loopholes," Dumbeldore said. "It said that we cannot speak but does not say anything about writing it down."
"Mr Karkaroff, you have pleaded guilty but have taken the deal. With every truthful member of You Know Who's fighting force, will be a year taken off your sentence. You may start."
The rest of the public, as well as the members all, seemed to edge forward in their seat, making sure their hearing was to the best of their abilities as they watched Karkaroff utter the names. Even Ila found herself interested, though she already had an idea about a few people.
"Lucious Malfoy."
Once more, the crowd was shocked. Perhaps Lucious had made a significant positive impact on the Ministry, so much so, that there were few people that were trying to defend him. With hindsight, it wasn't hard to realise that Lucious MALFOY was a member of Voldemort's clan.
"Peter Pettigrew."
At this point, he was still alive. In fact, Ila's parents would still be alive, Sirius would have been free. Peter was planning a way to murder his best friends. Her hands formed into fists reflexively. She hadn't realised just how hard she clenched her hands until present-day Dumbledore placed a hand on them. She glanced down. A few drops of blood stained her jeans.
"Bellatrix, Rodulphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Evan Rosier, Antonin Dolohov, Amycus and Alecto Carrow, Augustus Rockwood, Severus Snape - "
"Slow down Mr Karkaroff," Crouch interrupted.
Snape, she thought. While she wanted to be surprised, she could have seen that coming. What she couldn't have seen coming was just how calm Dumbledore – both Dumbledores were when his name was announced. Neither made a move nor made a defence. Perhaps it wasn't true…
Nah.
"Carry on and could you speak more slowly?" Crouch demanded his quill at the ready to scribble any more names that to investigate.
"No need, there's only one more person left," Karkaroff said, staring deadpanned at Crouch.
"Well go on, don't keep us in suspense," he drawled, his quill now touching the parchment. He didn't even bother to look at Karkaroff. He just wanted everything to be over and done with. He was sick of having to go to all of these trials, only for them to repeat each other. It was always the same. They would go on trial, the defendants would always say something along the lines of having been bewitched some way or another, even with many witnesses seeing them slain hundreds of innocent wizards and muggles. They would either plead innocent and hope that their sentence could get reduced – it doesn't. It was a common misconception due to the fact that in muggle court, that is allowed. No one cares here. You cannot feel remorse, especially with the crimes that Death Eaters have committed, in the span of a few days without doing it for your own good. The members all agree to a sentence, Crouch would announce it. He'd watch the horror on their faces, not because of what they had done, but more that they had been caught. He wondered why he still had this job. Why couldn't his younger self had chosen something as simple as the Department of Sports? That would have been a breeze. Perhaps it would have been boring, but at least it didn't deplete Crouch's faith in humanity every time he would do his job.
There was something different with this case. Karkaroff had gone for the deal. Though it didn't mean anything about his guilt or innocence, Crouch couldn't help but wonder.
But he couldn't do it here.
He had a job to be doing.
Crouch liked that about himself. He was able to draw the line between his work and his personal life. Any thoughts pertaining to his family, he quickly caught on and pushed aside to five in the afternoon. Sometimes it was tough considering his son, always had an interest in the work he would do. As much as he hated divulging into details about the cases he was working in – the strongly hated hypocrites – he couldn't quite help himself say a few details across the dinner table. Not a lot but enough to keep the boy's curiosity at bay. He seemed even more interested in the cases he was working in recently. Crouch was sure anyone would be. There was a morbid fascination to find out just how diabolical the other side was. For anyone who wasn't affected by it, it was hard to know just how bad the consequences were.
You Know Who had severed many families, not just physically. Many families would start to cut ties with one another, after finding out the other's view. Though he wouldn't call himself a religious man, Crouch found himself creating yet another small routine for himself. Just before he went to sleep, he would pray. Nothing elaborate. Just small, one-sentence prayer that would take into him and his family's safety into concern as well as a small plead for all of this to stop. He had been dealing with this for a long time. It was getting to the end of the 70s and still there seemed so a sign of You Know Who stopping.
Though he should be grateful that at least part of his prayers seemed to have been heard. His family was still safe. He could see them every day and still converse with them and they could converse back.
But as the words emitted out of the Karkaroff's mouth in slow motion, the last drops of his faith in humanity dissolved. He couldn't move. He couldn't bear to move his quill into the shape of the name he had known for a long time, a name that he had chosen himself. In fact, he couldn't look up from his paper. He wasn't ready to deal with that reality. He wanted to stay in the dream that only for a few moments ago was still present. He wanted to go back to his home at five and find his wife had finished plating the table. He wanted to go up to his son's room, call him down for dinner. He wanted them to ask about what happened to go. He would, once again remind them that he couldn't say anything but slip a few details when he saw his son go quiet.
But the more he tried to retain the memory, it was starting to change. Now Crouch would notice small details, details that he couldn't quite catch before. For such a detail-oriented man, he was surprised he couldn't see them before. His son's interest in the cases that he was working on. The silence and sadness when he couldn't say anything. The happiness when Crouch would slip those details in. The promise his son had given to him that they wouldn't say a word.
Horror paralysed him. To think that Crouch could have possibly aided in You Know Who's plan. That every night he prayed to God, he was talking about himself. That he was a greater hypocrite than he could have ever thought. Perhaps God was real. Perhaps he was listening to Crouch's prayers after all.
Ila watched as Barty Crouch Jr, who was actually present in the courtroom, sprung to his feet and tried to run. Most of the Aurors present had tackled him to the ground, stopping his escape.
"Don't listen to him – he's clearly insane," Crouch Jr roared, which surprised everyone. "You can't believe it. He's not with it!"
She watched the Aurors drag Crouch Jr towards the podium that his father sat at. He hadn't moved his position. He was about to write something down. He couldn't bear to deal with the possibility that his son was involved with people Crouch vehemently hated.
"Father – don't listen to him. He's wrong – don't listen. Father please – Mother – you have to listen to me, not him – please - "
"Take him away from me," Crouch said in a low voice. "Today's trial will be disbanded – court adjourned until further noticed!"
With the crack of the gavel, the trial room vanished. Only for it follow the same trial room, however long later. They were in a different position now. They were much closer to the front. Mr Crouch was still there, though he looked worse. He looked much more like his present self.
"Bring the defendant in!"
There was a sudden roar within in the crowd of members, as well as a few outsiders that were allowed in. In the midst of the chaos of everyone trying to catch a glimpse of the defendant, Ila saw another familiar face. The scarred face of Mad-Eye Moody walking into the centre of the courtroom. Linked with his arms, chained by handcuffs – Ila assuming them to be magical handcuffs, was Barty Crouch Jr.
The first thing Ila noted, how just how similar he looked to his father. Lips that were downturned to form a grimace, the straight nose that ready to turn away at the slightest of imperfections. His forehead wrinkles were already deeply etched, though he looked no younger than twenty or twenty-one. The only difference that kept him from looking like a clone of his father was…Barty Crouch Jr looked what Barty Crouch would be if he hadn't let loose once in a while. Or…his entire life. Barty Crouch Jr had a mane of black hair, reminding her of Sirius, though, while Sirius' was on purpose, Barty's was more unkempt. As if he was too busy to even find the time to cut his hair. As well, for someone was walking into their own trial, he still had a swagger about him as he walked into the courtroom. He was almost enjoying the attention he was getting from fellow members of the court. When he reached the middle of the courtroom, he took a bow.
Some bastard, Ila thought.
"Barty….Barty Crouch Jr, you are on trial for the heinous crimes against innocent muggles, half-bloods and muggle-borns. You, along with Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodulphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, have been accused of using one of the Unforgivable – the Cruciatus Curse against Alice and Frank Longbottom on Friday 13th of November."
"He killed Neville's parents?" Ila exclaimed.
"No, Neville's parents are still very much alive," Dumbledore replied, "but I think perhaps it would have been a better fate."
"Why?" Ila said, shocked to hear Dumbledore advocating for Death rather than against.
"The way the four of them tortured his parents was a very common tactic used by Him and His Followers. 16 minutes of the curse before 4 minutes of a break. It would be done four times. It was a way to not only take them to the brink of Death but also gave them false hope. The four minutes gave people enough hope to think that it would be the end. Until it wasn't. The four had done it all at once more than four times. While they aren't dead, they aren't alive exactly either. They're merely…existing. They haven't been aware of anything really since the incident. They don't even remember Neville."
Ila remembered what he was like after Moody's first lesson. While it had clicked when Seamus explained what happen to his parents after the lesson, it was more of…appreciation as to just how hard Neville had it. To see one of the four people who tortured his parents to oblivion, smiling and loving the attention. To see that nothing had happened to him, while a family would be forever broken. There was a son out there who couldn't keep a conversation with his parents probably because they kept forgetting who he was. That one moment, Frank and Alice Longbottom were planning the future for Neville, predicting when he would start to show signs of magic, wave him off for Hogwarts, to get a letter about which house he had been, who his friends, which class had been. They were excited to see their son grow up before their eyes. Alice would be crying at his wedding, while his father was proud of the man he had grown into. The two would be delighted to find out they were grandparents. They would love their grandkids as if they were all Neville himself. They would watch them grow up before, together they would peacefully pass away.
The man standing in front of Ila had taken all that away from the Longbottoms.
"How do you plead?" Mr Crouch said, his voice breaking slightly, though from the way he stared down at his son, hadn't given it away.
"Innocent, of course," his son said. His voice had softened. He slouched into himself, cowering away from the hundreds of eyes staring down at him. He was acting like the child he wanted his father to see. Mr Crouch looked away, looking at the rest of the members of Wizengamot. What was interesting was that he waved a wizard over.
Dumbledore had come to his side. The two began to have a conversation.
"I thought you had been a headmaster," Ila said to the current Dumbledore.
"I am a headmaster slash many other roles, Ila," he said with a smile. "At the time, I was the head of Wizengamot. I was the one to make a decision as to whether or not someone was guilty or not."
"Why did you stop?"
He looked at her. "There are many…hypocrites, I say lightly, that work within this system. I naively thought I could change the system for the better…unfortunately, corruption always wins."
Once again, her mind drifted back to Moody's first lesson. The way he broke his chalk right after talking about the ways members of the Ministry would try to plant evidence or set up defendants. Why would he be angry at Dumbledore when they were both angry at the same thing?
"He had asked me what to do," Dumbledore explained, pointing to the two whispering to one another. His son was starting to look bored. "I told him that this was a situation where he couldn't get his biases involved, considering he was the last person to make the final verdict. He said, of course, he knew that" Dumbeldore said, just as Mr Crouch looked angry, "before realising that he couldn't make the final verdict. He knew that he wanted to keep his son innocent. I had to remind him of what he had done to Frank and Alice. About what would happen to his son. About what it would mean for him if he had let his son set free. How not only would be ruining his own career, the integrity of the Ministry, what that would mean for Voldemort's reputation."
"Did you convince him?" she asked. Dumbledore remained quiet. The head of Wizengamot/ headmaster of Hogwarts Dumbledore had left Crouch's side. Crouch no longer had his crutch. He was by himself.
Crouch and Crouch were eye to eye.
Whatever verdict Mr Crouch would say it would never end well for him. For a moment, he wondered what would happen if he just left. Took his wife, handed the gavel to Dumbledore and escaped the Wizarding society. He could have a house by the beach. He would watch the waves crash against each other, smelling his wife's shepherd's pie, never knowing what happened to his son.
Though the more he thought about it, he knew it was a bad idea. He wouldn't be able to go to sleep knowing that he didn't know if his son was being pelted by tomatoes, or worse in the streets of Diagon Alley or stuck behind bars, his soul being sucked out a dementor or two.
"Bartemius Crouch Jr," Mr Crouch said shakily. He glanced at his wife, who was crying silently into her handkerchief. He always wondered how she could easily allow her feelings to suffer. At this moment, he finally understood. He too wanted to do nothing more than to cry into the tissue and pretend this wasn't his son. That it wasn't him who tortured a poor couple. That he didn't look remorseful for what he had done. He didn't want to be pitied. To be forever labelled as the man whose son had been seduced by the dark forces of You Know Who. He hated that he still loved his son. He hated that he hated his son. "I find you guilty of your crimes" – the crowd cheered, finally seeing the justice that his son deserved. For the first time, his son wasn't bored, attention-hungry, or pretending to be a child. He was genuinely terrified. "You will receive a death sentence. You will spend the rest of your life in Azkaban until a further trial will be held to discuss the date…the date of your – of your death. Court adjourned!" The moment the gavel hit the block; all hell broke loose. Crouch Jr broke free from his chains and Moody climbed up the podium his father was on. He was clutching on the edge, tears pouring down his face.
"You can't do this father! I told you – I'm innocent!" The Aurors sprung to action, trying to grab hold of Crouch's feet and legs to pull him down, but he wasn't going down without a fight. He started kicking at the Aurors all the while begging his father, "Don't kill me, father! Please! I'm your son! Listen to me – I've been set up – I didn't know what I was doing – please! Father, listen to your son! I'm innocent!"
Mr Crouch stared in horror at the scene that was in front of him. The crowd's uproarious applause, the Aurors grabbing at his son's feet. His son, clutching to a string, trying to get to the last of his father's humanity.
Mr Crouch leaned over the podium until he and his son were nose to nose.
"You are no son of mine!" he growled.
"We share the same name. Whatever happens to me, it'll go onto you."
"AND I HATE YOU FOR IT!" Mr Crouch yelled. The entire courtroom slowly fell into silence. "I HATE THAT YOU DIDN'T THINK! I HATE THAT YOU TORE TWO FAMILIES APART. THE LONGBOTTOMS AND OURS. NO SON OF MINE WOULD DO THAT. I RAISED YOU TO BE BETTER THAN THAT – LOOK AT YOUR MOTHER! WHAT KIND OF SON MAKES THEIR MOTHER CRY LIKE THAT? NOT MINE!"