Another chapter for you! Thanks for your reviews and alerts :)

As for the chapter: I know that memories in HP world don't show actual feelings of their owners, but I thought that it would be better to show sometimes what Crouch is thinking right then. The trial scene is basically rewritten from the book. Here you have the long road of Barty: from quiet and gentle boy to mad, cruel Death Eater. Enjoy :)

The HP series belong to J.K. Rowling, etc, etc...


The clock pointed midnight. Rose lied in her bed, exhausted but unable to sleep. Barty had just left, picking up his clothes on the way out. The girl tried to shut out the pain she felt right now.

'I don't care,' she thought, 'It doesn't matter to me'.

But the pain was still there.

'Stay with me', she wanted to call, but she knew better than to do it. He would probably laugh at her silliness. She often laughed at herself.

Minutes passed and sleep wasn't coming. Rose clutched the pillow to her chest, cherishing the scent that Barty left there. Tonight, the witch wanted more of her husband, but she was afraid to tell him that. Still, she was sure that she wouldn't be able to sleep this time, not without him at her side. She lied there, fully awake, waiting for sleep to overtake her, but nothing happened. The room was completely dark. Usually Rose wasn't scared of darkness, but now she turned on the bedside lamp, feeling a strange anxiety. She didn't want to sleep alone.

After an hour or so, she slowly got up from the bed, tired of the sleeplessness. She put her nightie on and tiptoed to the doors.

It was then, when she heard hurried footsteps outside. She held her breath, but the footsteps died away, as their owner passed her bedroom. The girl waited for a minute and then opened the door. The hallway was silent, Barty must have left somewhere in a rush. Without thinking twice, Rose silently went in the direction of his bedroom. When she was near enough, she noticed that the door of his study where slightly opened. She carefully approached them and knocked.

"Barty?" she called. There was no reply. She knocked on his bedroom's door. No reply either. He went somewhere. Knowing that she'll regret her recklessness, Rose carefully entered the study. The room was dark, except one spot - a blueish light in the corner. The witch looked around. She didn't have her wand and she was too afraid to turn on the light, but she managed to distinguish the shapes of many different sized jars on the shelves, a bookcase, a desk and some other devices. She had no idea what they were, but she presumed that they did nothing good.

What was she doing here? If her husband caught her, she'd be Crucioed immediately. But she was curious and this was an unrepeatable chance to gather some information about him. Maybe something useful for the Order, if she'd ever see any of its members again.

The blue light in the corner intrigued her. She slowly approached it, careful not to stumble over the cauldron. The light was coming out of a shallow, stone basin, placed on a locker.

A pensieve.

The locker was left opened. Barty probably had received his master's call and left in a rush, leaving both the locker and the door of study opened. Rose had never before left her bedroom at night, so he hadn't predicted a threat. A foolish mistake, for someone as clever as him.

The girl peered inside and discovered a wooden case, filled with small vials. Each one of them had a small paper label. Rose looked closer at one of them.

'17 August, 1969', it read. His memories.

She trembled with excitation. Finally, she would get to know what he felt, what he thought. Without hesitation she poured contents of the vial into the basin. After that, she looked inside the pensieve.

A small, brown-haired boy sat at the table in the dining room. He wore a white shirt and brown waistcoat, the perfect image of a young heir an old, wizard family. His face was sad, though, in fact, he looked as if he was about to burst in tears any minute. Opposite him sat a fragile looking woman. She had the same brown hair and freckles on her face. His mother. The chair at the head of the table was empty.

"Don't you like your birthday cake, dear?" she asked, seeing her son's sorrow. He shook his head.

"Are you sure that father won't make it? Maybe he'll come, there's still some time..." he said. His mother looked at him sadly.

"Now, Barty, you're a big boy. Your father had to stay late at work tonight, but I'm sure he'll spend the whole weekend with you, instead."

The child's face contorted, as he forced the tears back.

"Last year was the same. And he didn't spend with me the weekend," he whispered.

"I promise that this time will be different. Now be a good boy, finish your cake and go to sleep."

The boy did as he was told. When Winky had tucked him in and bid him goodnight, he closed his eyes and fell fast asleep. After all, mother promised that this time will be different and father will spend with him some time.

She was mistaken.

The next day she lied with her son in his bed, hugging him to her chest and soothing his crying. This time, though, she made no more useless promises.

'22 July 1972'

The same boy, now taller, stood outside a wooden door. He knocked and a curt voice said: "Come in."

Barty entered. Behind the desk sat a middle-aged man with a narrow toothbrush moustache and stern face. He didn't even spare a glance at his son, too busy with writing something on a parchment.

"What is it?" he asked, still looking down at the papers.

"It's Saturday, father," the boy replied.

"And what of it?"

"Mother said you'd take me to the quidditch match today. You promised, remember?"

Barty Crouch Sr stopped his writing. He looked at his son before saying:

"Oh, yes...Yes, indeed..." He once again started to sort through his papers. "But, as you can see, I am very busy right now. I'll take you next time."

"But father..." the boy started. The older man cut him short, though.

"Enough of this nonsense. Go back to your room."

"But-"

"I've said enough. Now go."

Young Barty obeyed. He always obeyed. When he entered his room, his face was already red, tears were welling in his eyes.

"He never has time!" the boy cried before bursting into tears. In anger, he grabbed the vase which stood on the table and smashed it into the wall. Shards of glass sprayed through the air, a few missing his face by a mere inch. He stood there for a few seconds, panting heavily. It was the first time that he had done something like that. He knew it was bad, but it gave him the feeling of some kind of weird satisfaction. He had to relieve his anger, otherwise he'd explode. He took the next thing he saw and smashed it too. Once he started, he couldn't stop. He screamed and destroyed everything in his reach. By the time Winky and Mother found him, his room was devastated.

"Barty! What are you doing?" his mother exclaimed, clearly terrified. Winky brought her tiny hands to her heart and stared at her young master in disbelief.

The boy was breathing heavily. He was trembling like a leaf, but his tantrum had passed. He sobbed. It was the first time in the ten years of his life that he behaved that way.

"Barty, why did you do something like that?" his mother said, her voice cracking. She was very pale. The child opened his mouth to respond, to tell her how he felt right now, but he was cut short by another person which came into the room.

"What is the meaning of this?" Barty Crouch Sr demanded in a stern tone. He looked around. "Is it your doing?" he addressed his son.

"Y-yes f-father," the boy whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I a-am s-sorry...It won't h-happe-"

"BE QUIET!" the man yelled. Everyone in the room shrinked. "Never in my life I have seen such horrid behaviour! I am very disappointed, boy!"

Young Barty lowered his head. His mother started to shake, her breath became shorter.

"B-but father, it's just that you promised-"

Barty Crouch Sr approached his only son and slapped him across the face. Hard. The boy's mother gave a muffled cry.

"Enough of this back talking. Look what you did to your mother," Barty Sr said, looking at his son with repulsion. He approached his wife. "Are you alright, dear? Winky! Take the Mistress to her bedroom and give her something to calm her nerves."

"Please, father, I'm sorry-" the boy started, holding his cheek.

"Don't talk to me!" his father screamed. "You're forbidden to go out of this room for a week." And he exited the room, taking his wife with him. On his way out he said to Winky: "Don't talk to him. You'll bring him his meals, nothing more."

The house-elf bowed and followed her master, glancing tearfully at her young charge.

And so Barty spent the whole week alone in his room. No one talked to him. No one gave him a chance to explain why he misbehaved. He had much time to think over the damage he had caused to his mother's health and the disappointment he was to his father.

"1 July 1975"

Barty stood in front of his father desk, waiting for his approval. He was sure that this time father will praise him, he had very good results on his exams this year. He was naturally clever and worked hard, it finally paid off. Mrs. Crouch stood behind her husband's chair, smiling at her son.

"Very well, my dear, you have excellent marks!" she said. Mr. Crouch wasn't so happy, though.

"What is this?" he demanded sternly. Young Barty froze. His mother's smile disappeared, to be replaced by fear. She was usually frightened.

"Care of Magical Creatures - Acceptable," his father said in an icy tone, looking at Barty from over his results.

"But, dear, he has an Outstanding in every other subject," Mrs. Crouch tried to defend her son.

"Don't justify him. If he wants to accomplish something in his life, he must work harder than that. As for you, young man," he said to Barty "You're not going to any quidditch match this summer. Is that understood?"

"But father-" Barty opened his mouth, shocked at the clear injustice.

"Not another word. Now go."

"But, dear-" Mrs. Crouch started feebly.

"I've said enough!", Barty Sr yelled. His son blinked a few times before storming out of the study. He entered his bedroom and started to pace. He was breathing heavily, clenching his fists in rage. Finally, he grabbed the chair and smashed it into the wall. After doing that, he fell to his knees, crying silently.

"I'll never be good enough," he sobbed, rocking slightly. Father would punish him even more for breaking that chair, but it didn't matter. The boy needed to relieve his fury and pain. He needed to destroy something.

"15 October 1977"

"Would you like to go to the Hogsmeade with me this weekend?" Barty Crouch Jr asked the girl. She was pretty, dark-haired and had beautiful smile. He was very nervous, but finally gathered his courage.

"Sure, why not," she said and smiled at him. He loved that smile.

Later, when he was in the library, he spotted the girl (Susan was her name) and her friends. They were chatting silently. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he thought he had heard his name spoken. Curiosity took over him and he stalked to them, hiding behind the bookcase.

"So, Susan, you're going to the Hogsmeade with Crouch?" said one of the girls.

"Yeah, I must," Susan replied in a bored tone. "If it weren't for my parents, I would've never go with someone like him. He's a complete freak. Did you see how his hands are shaking nearly all the time?"

"I know," the other girl snickered. "He always has his nose in the books and rarely talks to anyone. What a bore. And he's so skinny! He looks like a tapeworm!"

The other girls giggled.

"But, if you don't like him," asked another one, "Why are you going out with him in the first place?"

"My father works with his father. He told me to be nice to him. Crouch's family is extremely wealthy and influential, he's also a prefect. I think I must endure it," she sighed heavily.

Barty heard enough. He stepped back and went out of the library. His expression was unreadable. After some minutes he approached the Room of Requirement. He entered it and stood for a while without a move.

Then, everything glassy in the room shattered, as the boy's fury had exploded. He screamed and screamed until he was so tired that he fell to the floor. He lied there, weeping for a while. After an hour or so he calmed down, wiped his face and exited the Room with a blank expression.

He was never good enough.

"12 January 1978"

Barty was strolling down the hall, watching out for any students out of their bed past curfew. It was raining heavily outside. The thunders were loud, but not loud enough to mute the soft moans that came out from one of the classrooms. Barty stopped in his tracks, listening. His face was devoid of any emotion. He slowly approached the source of noise with his wand out.

There was a loud bang and the doors burst opened. There she was, her dark hair disheveled, her shirt unbuttoned, her pants forgotten on the floor. Susan.

She was sitting on top of some seventh year Gryffindor. They were both panting heavily. The girl tried to cover herself seeing the intruder. Barty's face was completely blank.

"Can we help you?" asked the Gryffindor. Barty didn't even look at him. His eyes were set on Susan, who was blushing heavily, trying to hide herself behind her lover.

"50 points from Ravenclaw, 50 points from Gryffindor. I knew that you were a bitch, but a whore? I'd never imagine that."

"How dare you-" the seventh year was cut off by a spell. He flew across the room and hit the wall. Hard. The girl screamed.

"Barty, what are you doing?!"

"Don't you think that it's a wee bit too early to start shagging? What would your daddy say?"

Susan's face contorted with rage.

"I'm warning you, Crouch. Don't tell my father-"

"Or what? What could you do to me?"

"You're doing it because you're jealous. You're sorry that I was doing it with Michael, not you..."

"SHUT UP!"

Susan had stopped talking immediately, when she saw Barty's expression. He was completely furious.

"You traitorous bitch!" he yelled. "You've been going out with me and shagging him at the same time!"

"Barty, it's not like you were my boyfriend.", she said silently. "I was doing it only because-"

"I KNOW!" he screamed. The boy had put his face in his hands. "I know that you were pretending to like me because of your father. But I thought...I hoped..."

"Well, you thought wrong. Please, let me and Michael go, you've already taken points," Susan told him. Obviously, she pitied him. He was weird and kind of creepy sometimes, but she didn't want him to find out that way. Most of all, she didn't want him to tell her father.

Barty was shaking with rage, but he stepped aside. Susan had helped Michael regain his consciousness and then they left, leaving the prefect alone.

This time Barty didn't cry.

"22 November 1978"

"Look who we have here!" called one of the Slytherins. "Oi, Crouch! Where's your girlfriend?"

Barty tried to ignore the boy. It was hard not to curse the prick into oblivion, but Barty had to control himself in public. Later he would go to the Room of Requirement and release his fury.

"It looks like sweet Lucy cuckolded him with Davies. You know what, Crouch? Next time, try to spend less time in the library, and more snogging your girl, unless you want someone else to do it for you," the Slytherin said.

"10 points from Slytherin," was all that Barty said in response.

They didn't like him. He was an outsider. He never talked much and was shy. His hands often shook. When Lucy agreed to be his girlfriend, he was happy beyond belief. He thought that maybe not all of the girls are bad. He was wrong. He would never make the same mistake again.

Later, when he was going to the Room of Requirement he found the Slytherin boy who was laughing at him earlier that day. Pity, that the poor idiot just happened to try to toss some dungbombs in an empty dungeon. It was late after curfew and Barty as a prefect had the right to punish the boy.

"Come on, don't be like that, it was only one dungbomb!" the boy tried to persuade Crouch not to give him a detention. Barty's face remained blank. It was clear that the Slytherin didn't respect him as a prefect. No one respected Barty. They all thought he was just a shadow of his father, it was good to use him when it came down to business, but he was never truly appreciated. His name - an old, pure blood name and money - it was all that mattered to the world.

Barty was really tired of it all.

"Stop talking nonsense. You broke the rules, I must punish you," he said. The other boy's face twisted in anger.

"You're just pathetic, Crouch. It's not my fault you can't get laid."

Then the boy smirked, clearly satisfied by his insult. His smile was wiped away though, as everything in the corridor - the armors, paintings, tables - started to shake. Barty shook too.

Suddenly the Slytherin boy cried out in pain. His face became purple, his eyes were opened wide. It all happened very quickly, after few seconds the screams died away and the boy was lying on the floor, whimpering softly.

Barty stood there, panting heavily, shocked by the thing he just had done. It was the first time when a living being became the victim of his rage. Crouch was still shaking, partly from fear and partly from excitement. His mind was still working properly though, because he acted very agile casting an Obliviate and a simple healing spell on the other boy. The Slytherin's eyes became unfocused and clouded. He slowly got up and looked at Crouch in surprise.

"What had just happened?" he asked, clearly confused.

"You're asking me? I've just found you on the floor. Duelling in an empty corridor, are we? Go back to your dormitory. And don't even think about tossing somewhere those dungbombs," Barty said in a stern tone, his blank expression back on his face.

The boy didn't say anything in response, just hurried away to the Slytherin's common room, still looking dumbfounded. Barty observed him as he walked away.

"Well, that was impressive," came a female voice. Crouch nearly jumped out of his skin, pulling out his wand in one swift movement.

From behind the tapestry came out a girl from Slytherin. She was tall, with long, thick shiny dark hair, thin lips and heavily lidded eyes. Barty recognised her as a seventh year - her name was Bellatrix Black.

"I-I-" he started, but she cut him off.

"Tsk, tsk, such shocking behaviour...And from a prefect!" She was mocking him and he knew it. Bellatrix often laughed at people. She hung out with other purebloods such as Lestrange, Nott, Avery... All of them were admiring the Dark Lord. Barty knew it, he heard them talking about him in some abandoned classroom. With these kind of people there was no place for a weakness, so he cleared his throat and said:

"The fool insulted me. I've just given him what he deserved. He was not harmed severely."

The girl looked at him with a small smile on her lips.

"So, you're Crouch from Ravenclaw. It's a pity, you'd do better in Slytherin."

Barty didn't say anything. She continued, coming closer to him.

"I saw you in the Restricted Section. You were looking for some book about the Dark Arts."

She grinned, seeing that the boy became terrified. He quickly said:

"I was just curious-"

"I understand, don't be afraid, dear. You crave for knowledge, just like any other Ravenclaw does."

"Knowledge is power," Crouch said, calm, seeing that the Black girl wasn't going to report on him. He sensed that she meant no harm, that she was familiar to him in some way.

She giggled at his words.

"You're right. I know one person who thinks the same."

"Who's that?"

"Ah, you're curious again," Bellatrix laughed. "I can't tell you right now, but I'm sure that you would find this person worth admiring. He's like a father to me. Or even better."

Crouch suspected who she was talking about, but kept his mouth shut.

"I like you," she said. "Purebloods should stick together. Do you want to go with me and Lestrange brothers to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Barty thought about it only for a second, before he said:

"Sure, why not."

"7 August 1979"

"Excellent dinner, Mrs. Crouch. You must give me the recipe for this pie, it's absolutely delicious", said Mrs. Fudge, smiling politely at Barty's mother. Mr. Crouch was discussing politics with Mr. Fudge, the Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

Barty was sitting calmly in his chair, with an expression devoid from any emotions. He sat and ate like a proper pure-blooded aristocrat, answering Mrs. and Mr. Fudge's questions with the best manners.

"Soon you'll be 17, lad. What are your plans for the future?" asked Mr. Fudge. Mr. Crouch answered for his son:

"He'll work in the Ministry, in my Department. He's got top grades at his O.W.L.s by the end of fifth year and I expect him to do the same at the N.E.W.T.s."

He gave young Barty an appraising look. The boy didn't say anything. He hadn't even noticed that his father nearly praised him in front of other people. His mind was somewhere else, with his new mentor, his real father. He spent half of summer going on Death Eaters meetings - he told his mother that he was spending that time with his classmates. Father didn't know, he was too busy fighting the Dark Lord.

In ten days he'll turn seventeen, and he'll be rewarded for his loyalty with the Dark Mark. Barty hardly suppressed his hands from shaking at this thought. He was very excited, but he couldn't let anyone suspect anything. His Lord taught him how to wear this everyday mask in front of people.

The Dark Lord was the only person that understood Barty, the only person that considered him good enough.

"11 July 1980"

A naked woman lied in bed in one of the Leaky Cauldron's rooms. Barty was dressing himself, not paying any attention to his companion.

"Are we going to see each other again?" she asked, smiling seductively. Crouch looked at her with distaste.

"Yeah, probably, we're working in the same office, aren't we?"

She stood up and approached him, pressing her body into his back.

"You know what I mean," she purred. He removed her hands.

"It was only one night. Just for fun."

"Yes, but we could have fun more often, don't you think?" she said, unfazed by his rejection. She was easy and stupid - every woman was like that, maybe except Bella.

"We'll see," Barty told his lover and left the room. Yes, she was easy and stupid, like them all.

"1 November 1981"

A young man was sitting in the corner of his room, rocking back and forth, weeping like a small child. In his hands, he clutched the front page of Daily Prophet. The headline stated:

"You-Know-Who's dead. The Boy Who Lived saves the world".

Barty was not saved. He was doomed. He cursed million times this child, cursed it for destroying his life. He was ready to kill, torture those filthy muggles, just to see his Master's appreciation. Why were they hiding from them? Shouldn't wizards be in control of those ignorant creatures who killed and destroyed themselves in wars without mercy?

And now his Master was dead, the only person that could keep the world in order. The world that turned its back on them, both the Dark Lord and Barty.

"H-he told me," sobbed Barty, his eyes wide. "He told me about his filthy muggle father, how he had abandoned him, how he didn't care about him, just like mine, just like mine."

The wizard dug his nails into his hair.

"He told me 'We're the same Barty, you and I, so you belong with me,' that's what he said, I remember, I'm his most faithful servant, it's our secret, our secret, our secret..."

He closed his eyes and wept hysterically.

Hours passed. Barty stood up, his eyes wide with madness. He pulled a rope and a hook from his trunk, placed a chair in the center of the room. With a flick of his wand the hook became attached to the ceiling and the rope tied itself around it firmly.

He was going to hang himself.

It was then, when an owl knocked on the window. Barty hesitated for a moment, standing in front of his makeshift gallows, looking at the bird. After a moment he approached the intruder and opened the message that was attached to its leg.

'Don't do anything stupid. There's still hope. Longbottoms may know something. If you're ready to do anything for him, meet us at the Knockturn Alley in an hour. B.'

Barty's breath quickened, his face was alight from the insane hope he felt. Yes, he was ready to do anything. Anything to bring his father back.

"10 November 1981"

The courtroom was full of people. There was total silence, broken only by the dry sobs of a frail, wispy-looking witch in the seat next to Mr. Crouch, who was presiding over the court that day. She was clutching a handkerchief to her mouth with trembling hands.

"Bring them in," Barty Crouch Sr said.

The door in the corner opened. Six dementors entered, flanking a group of four people, Barty Crouch Jr being one of them. The dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms that now stood on the dungeon floor.

Crouch stood up. He looked down upon the four in front of him, and there was pure hatred in his face.

"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," he said clearly, "so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous -"

"Father," said young Barty. "Father… please…"

"- that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court," said Crouch, speaking more loudly, drowning out his son's voice.

"We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you 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!" shrieked the boy in chains below. "I didn't, I swear it. Father, don't send me back to the dementors -"

"You are further accused," bellowed Mr. Crouch, "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!" screamed Barty Jr, and his mother began to sob, rocking backward and forward. "Mother, stop him. Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"

"I now ask the jury," shouted Mr. Crouch, "to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"

In unison, the witches and wizards along the right-hand side of the dungeon raised their hands. Barty began to scream.

"No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him!"

The dementors were gliding back into the room. The boys' three companions rose quietly from their seats, but Barty was trying to fight off the dementors.

"I'm your son!" he screamed up at Crouch. "I'm your son!"

"You are no son of mine!" bellowed Mr. Crouch, his eyes bulging suddenly. "I have no son!"

Mrs. Crouch gave a great gasp and slumped in her seat. She had fainted. Crouch appeared not to have noticed.

"Take them away!" Crouch roared at the dementors, spit flying from his mouth. "Take them away, and may they rot there!"

"Father! Father, I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please!"

"3 December 1981"

Barty was sitting in his cell, staring at the wall. He stopped screaming weeks ago, he was too tired to do this anymore. The boy was skinnier than ever before, pale, sick. His life lost.

His whole body was trembling. It was only a matter of time, before he'd die and the pain would be gone.

That day, his parents paid him a visit. When he saw his mother, at first he couldn't recognise her - he had forgotten everything that was good in his life during his first week in Azkaban.

She took him in her fragile arms and he wept, wept like a small child.

"Please, mother, take me home", he sobbed.

"Shhh, dear, you'll be home soon, I promise." She looked him in the eyes. She was as skinny and ill as he was. "You must be a good boy and drink this," she told him, placing a small vial in his hands. His father approached them and cut off a small strand of Barty's hair, placing it with trembling hands in the other vial.

Barty wasn't paying any attention. His mother was holding him closely, stroking his hair, humming him an old lullaby. He drank the liquid, wanting nothing more than to sleep, to forget.

"I'm sorry, my dear," she whispered in his ear. "I love you very much, you know that?"

Barty didn't answer. He was in pain - the Polyjuice Potion started to work. He barely registered the change in his body and the strong, shaking arms of his father lifting him up and leading him out of the cell.

"And mother?" he wanted to ask, but he was too tired to think. Mr. Crouch half dragged him away from the prison.

It was the last thing he remembered, before he was put under Imperius Curse.

That was the last memory Rose saw. When she found herself again in Barty's study, she acted swiftly, putting the vials into the box, the box into the locker. Her mind was strangely clear while she closed the door of Barty's study, leaving everything the way she found it.

As in a dream, she walked to her bedroom and sat on the bed.

Now she knew.

The source of this madness, of this evil. No, there was nothing that could justify Barty's crimes, but it was good to see that he wasn't born like that. That he was human. A bruised, lonely human. He had his mother's and Winky's love, but it wasn't enough. His father disregarded him so much, that no woman's love could repay that.

And he hated women. That's why he was so cold towards Rose, that's why he never told her anything about his thoughts and feelings. He considered her too stupid to understand him.

Rose couldn't feel anger right now. It was only natural, the girls he knew were all shallow and stupid. The only intelligent (but mad) woman he knew was Bellatrix Lestrange. And maybe his mother.

'No, she wasn't wise', thought Rose, 'If she had been wiser, she wouldn't let her husband treat her only son in such way'.

Barty thought that way too. He though that his mother and Winky were weak. He didn't want to be weak.

The next day passed in a blink of an eye, Rose and Winky being alone in the house. Barty returned home late at night, but Rose was waiting for him patiently near the door. When he stepped inside, she immediately put her arms around his neck, kissing his lips and jaw. He didn't push her away, instead he lifted her up and carried to her bedroom.

Hours passed, the clock was pointing 3 a.m. Rose lied beside her husband, observing his still sweaty face, stroking his hair. His eyes were beginning to close from drowsiness. Feeling that, he attempted to sit and go to his own room, but Rose embraced him and told him:

"No. Please stay with me, I don't want to sleep alone."

As she predicted, he chuckled at her words.

"Don't be silly," he said, trying to get up, but she held him tightly.

"Please, I need you."

He rolled his eyes and sighed, but said nothing more. Instead he lied back down, pulled up the covers, turned his back to her and closed his eyes.

"Happy now?" he murmured in a bored tone. Rose smiled triumphantly.

"Very," she told him, snuggling closer. Barty gave another exasperated sigh, before falling asleep.