A / N : Barty Crouch Jr, as requested by Rainey Dae. This one gave me the shivers . . . .
Barty Crouch Jr
He doesn't remember being a child. Not really. Or at least, he doesn't remember having childish thoughts. He's thought pretty much the same way his whole life.
He isn't scared, at first, by the idea of Azkaban. After all, he's been happily acquainted with the awareness of his own insanity for most of his life. He's never really minded it. Sane people, in his opinion, are boring. The ones that everyone else calls mad - his master, his mentor Bellatrix – they're the interesting ones. They're the ones who are really alive.
So he isn't scared of Azkaban. He's already mad. What more can the Dementors do?
In Azkaban, he learns what it is to be a child. Crying in the dark. Terrified of everything, and for the first time in his life, he can't stand to be alone. But alone is what he is, of course, all the time. Trapped in his own head, in a hell that encompasses just him. If he could only collect his thoughts, he could find a bleak sort of humour in the realization that Azkaban has driven him to a madness that is much, much worse than his old one. He wants the madness he knows, the one he's comfortable with.
But it won't come back.
Not while the Dementors are here.
There is a voice in his head, the voice of the child he doesn't remember being, and they shiver together, alone in the dark.
The child screams, at first, screams for his mother, something Barty hasn't done in years. But it's alright to scream for her -
- because she never comes.
He's allowed to scream for mother. That's alright, because she won't come. But he can never, ever scream for father.
Because he will come, the voice says, small and scared. And we don't want that.
"No. We don't want that."