AU! Barty did not torture the Longbottoms. Neither does he escape from Azkaban in the Trio's Fourth Year. Therefore, the story is a bit different.
Written for Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
House: Thunderbird.
Class/Task Number: American Magical History. 3. [someone being wrongfully convicted of a crime]
Bonus Prompts:
[action] Crying
[quote] "Consequences cannot be the boundaries within which you exist." Daniel Fernandes
[word] Consequences
Word Count: 1738/4500
Imprisoned
Barty Crouch Jr is wrongfully convicted for the torture of the Longbottoms.
1981
The door in the corner of the dungeon opened, and four people entered. They were flanked by six Dementors.
Whispers rang out as the people in the room turned to look at Barty Crouch Sr.
The Dementors placed the four people in the four chairs with chained arms which stood on the dungeon floor in the middle of the room.
A boy in his late teens was among them. He looked petrified, as he shivered with terror; his straw-coloured hair hung limply in his eyes, his freckled skin was zombie-white.
A frail witch seated beside Mr Crouch sobbed in her handkerchief as he stood up. Pure hatred was etched on his face as he glared down at the four convicts.
"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," he said clearly, "so that we may pass judgement on you, for a crime so heinous –"
"Father," the frail boy whimpered in fear. "Father… please…"
"– that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court," Mr Crouch spoke louder to drown out his son's pleas. "We have heard the evidence against you. The four of stand accused of capturing an Auror – Frank Longbottom – and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He Who Must Not Be Named –"
"Father, I didn't!" The boy shrieked, his terror evident in his eyes. "I didn't, I swear it, Father, don't send me back to the Dementors —"
"You are further accused," Mr Crouch roared at the top of his lungs, "of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He Who Must Not Be Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. I now ask the jury —"
"Mother!" The boy screamed, as tears streamed down his face. "Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"
The frail witch beside Mr Crouch burst into loud sobs at his pleas and buried her face in her kerchief.
"I now ask the jury to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban. This is the consequence of your heinous deeds. Let every Dark witch or wizard out there know that we will not remain silent now," Mr Crouch finished with a loud shout.
The crowd around the dungeons started to raise their hands up in unison, like a trained orchestra. They clapped with savage triumphant and gleeful looks in their eyes.
"No! Mother, no! I didn't — I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me back there, don't let him!" The boy's shrieks of terror broke his mother's already-weak heart, but it had no effect on his cold-hearted father.
The Dementors floated back into the room to escort the silent prisoners to Azkaban.
"We alone were faithful! The Dark Lord will rise again and he will reward us! Mark my words! He will come for us!" Bellatrix Lestrange called out as the Dementors escorted her out.
The two men stumbled out of the room behind the woman, their eyes dead and blank. But the boy attempted to fight off the Dementors, despite being in chains.
"I'm your son!" He howled, as he continued to struggle. "I'm your son!"
"You are no son of mine!" Mr Crouch roared, as spit flew from his mouth. "I have no son!"
Mrs Crouch gasped and slumped in her seat, unconscious with the stress and anguish that affected her weak heart.
"Father! Father! I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please, I beg you!" The boy's tears dripped down his face in torrents.
"Take them away, and let them rot!" Mr Crouch hissed, before the Dementors managed to haul him away.
Mrs Crouch lay unconscious on the ground beside Mr Crouch.
"I didn't do it, I didn't do it," Barty Crouch Jr sobbed as he rocked back and forth, his arms wrapped around his knees protectively.
"Why couldn't he have just listened to me? I'm his son!" His eyes were blood-red as he stared at the blank wall in front of him.
Deafening thunder and forked-lightning crashed outside the dark fortress of Azkaban.
Barty whimpered when he felt the Dementors creeping closer to his cell. He clutched onto his elbows and sobbed, "Why didn't he listen to me? Don't I mean anything to him?"
As the Dementors crept closer to him, all the terrible memories he had rose up in his mind. And he was powerless to do anything to stop them.
The memory of his father smacking him when he was four.
The memory of his father silently tearing his childish drawings to shreds when he was five.
The memory of his father ignoring him when he tried to talk to him.
The memory of his father ignoring his cries for help when he fell off his broom.
The memory of his father dropping him off at Platform Nine and Three Quarters without a smile or even a goodbye.
The memory of his father simply nodding but never praising him when he received his OWL results.
The memory of people comparing him to his good-for-nothing father and thinking he didn't even come close.
The memory of his teachers saying he could be as good as his father one day.
Then, the memory of Bellatrix Lestrange torturing Auror Longbottom, and her husband and brother-in-law doing the same.
The memory of Aurors coming to the scene and capturing them red-handed.
But the worst memory that shattered Barty's heart into million pieces was of his father sentencing him to Azkaban for a crime he hadn't even participated in.
"Please, let me go," he whimpered into his hands as his tears flowed down his dirty face.
The Dementors passed by, and Barty took a deep sigh of relief as his memories slowly receded to the back of his mind.
Except his worst memory.
Oh, how he wished to go back in time and refuse to accompany the Lestranges! How could he have known they were up to no good?
Rabastan — a few years older than Barty — had asked him to come on a raid; Barty had naively assumed he meant a pub crawl. And he'd been caught and sentenced to Azkaban with the rest of the Lestranges for a crime he hadn't committed.
2002
Barty winced when the Dementors closed in around him. Every positive memory he'd possessed had disappeared over the years.
"Crouch! Someone wants to meet you," said a patrolling guard as he opened the door to Barty's cell.
Barty barely lifted his head at the surprising words. Meet him? Who?
The guard stepped back and a brown-haired young woman stepped inside briskly.
"Mr Crouch?" She called out. Her voice startled Barty and he looked up at her.
His breath caught in his chest. She was beautiful. Her eyes caught his attention — they were the most beautiful brown he'd ever seen.
He'd been in Azkaban for so long, he barely remembered the joy of gazing at the brilliant colours around him.
"I'm Hermione Granger, Mr Crouch, and I'll be your defence attorney." Her musical voice sounded heavenly to the flabbergasted Barty.
"Wh–what?" His own voice sounded like he hadn't used it in a long time — he hadn't, actually.
"I understand you were wrongly accused of a crime and I'm here to rectify that mistake in front of the Wizengamot," she declared as she sat down across from him.
Barty stared at her with barely-registered shock. What did she mean? Why was she his defence lawyer? What was happening?
"Let me explain," she started bossily, "from the beginning. I am a defence lawyer and I have learned from a few sources that you weren't a Death Eater — you were framed. It is my job to rectify this mistake. Therefore, I will be your representative in front of the Wizengamot — unless you wish to appoint someone else."
"B–but w–why? Wh–what changed out th–there?" Barty croaked out as he stared at her.
Merlin, she was really gorgeous! He hadn't seen a girl in so long — maybe he was exaggerating. But he had a feeling it wasn't exaggeration.
"Oh, yes. You're probably not aware of this, but back in the year 1994, a Death Eater by the name of Igor Karkaroff tried to bring back Voldemort from the dead with the help of a traitor named Peter Pettigrew; they failed and accidentally destroyed the items which would help Voldemort regain his previous body. In the resulting blast, the two of them were killed and their bodies were recovered by the Aurors. Now, just a few months ago, a group of Healers worked with Squib psychiatrists to uncover a way to heal patients who'd been kept under the Cruciatus Curse and had lost their sanity — particularly, the Longbottoms. You'll be glad to hear that the Longbottoms are completely fine now and they told the Aurors that they had been tortured by only three people — not four. The Ministry immediately exonerated you for your supposed-crimes, but I'm not very happy with that. I suggest you allow me to represent you in front of the Wizengamot — the judge who convicted you needs to be brought to justice for the wrong sentence he gave you," Hermione finished her long rant with a loud sigh of anger.
"My.. father.. convicted me," Barty whispered, his eyes lowered to his hands.
"And would you like to get revenge?" Hermione asked him pointedly.
"Yes. B–but I don't understand why you're so interested in this," Barty quietly commented.
Hermione stiffened and spat through gritted teeth, "I don't like injustice. I don't like to see people who've done bad things walk away scot-free."
Barty gazed at her with a weird feeling in his chest. He hadn't felt his heart stir with longing in so long. When he agreed to Hermione's request he let her represent him in the trial, she lit up the room with her radiant smile.
Barty's heart skipped a beat at the wonderful sight.
In that moment, he swore to himself, "I will not let the consequences of my father's actions be the boundaries within which I exist. I will break free soon, and I will forever be grateful for this miraculous angel for saving me."
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