What You Never Knew

Bartemius Crouch, Jr.: The One Who Tried

1. He was an accident.

Well, not quite. His father had been quite set against having a child, he knew- Barty Crouch Sr. believed that having to raise a child would greatly hinder any progress he was to make regarding his career. But Alyssa Crouch wanted a child more than anything in the world. A former Hufflepuff, she was an affectionate woman, who wanted nothing more than a son or daughter to raise and love.

So, one night, Alyssa lied to her husband one night, claiming that she had used protection when she really hadn't. Luck must have been on her side, because she discovered shortly afterwards that she was pregnant. She was the one who chose her son's name; she thought that, maybe if her husband's unwanted son was named after him, he would be more disposed to liking, even loving the child.

She was wrong.

2. As a child, he idolized his father.

Barty Crouch Sr. showed little more regard for his son than he did for Winky, their loyal House Elf. And yet, Barty Jr. thought that his father was the most amazing man in the world. He was cold and calculating, ruthlessly efficient; a true Slytherin (even if he had been in Ravenclaw). He succeeded at anything he set his mind to, whether it involved career or personal relations. Not to mention he got his son whatever he wanted, no matter the cost (aside from affection, of course).

Barty Jr. wanted to be just like him when he grew up.

The young boy did everything he could to appease to his father. He asked his father to teach him how to fly; Barty Sr. hired him a personal Quidditch instructor. He began studying magic early, mastering spells far beyond his years; as a reward, he got a "Don't bother me; I'm too busy to deal with something so trivial right now. Go study."

Eventually, young Barty gave up trying to win his father's love, and settled for basking in the affection his mother displayed for him.

By the time he went off to Hogwarts, all he felt for his father was resentment. Barty Jr. liked it that way; he didn't get hurt as much anymore.

3. He wanted to be in Slytherin.

Barty Jr. had read a fair bit about the Dark Warts in a book that he was sure his father ought not to have, and found them fascinating; he knew that the house of the snakes was known for their affiliation with Dark magic. Not to mention that he was a pureblood and firmly believed in the prejudice against lesser beings like House Elves.

But the main reason he wanted to be in Slytherin? So that he could see the look on his oh-so-perfect father's face when he told him.

(It was just as priceless as Barty Jr. had imagined.)

4. He was best friends with Frank Longbottom.

Their friendship was an unlikely one: the two were complete opposites. While Barty was a Slytherin, Frank was in Gryffindor. Though Frank detested the Dark Arts with every fiber of his being, Barty itched to try some of it for himself. Barty's father ignored him almost completely, while Mr. Longbottom all but bowed at his son's feet. On a simpler scale, Frank excelled in Herbology and was one of Professor McGonagall's worst Transfiguration pupils in her entire history of teaching; in contrast, Barty was abysmal when it came to Herbology, but got straight O's in Transfiguration. Barty was the star Slytherin Chaser; broomsticks seemed to have something against Frank. Also, Frank was the oldest boy in the Year; Barty was the youngest. Barty was Hogwarts' playboy, but Frank had dated one girl- Alice Prewett- since Second Year.

This was, however, a case where opposites attracted- platonically, of course. Ever since first bumping into each other- literally- in First Year, the two were inseperable.

And everyone knew it.

5. He first met Bellatrix Lestrange when he was eighteen years old and had just graduated from Hogwarts.

He was at a bar, having a few drinks- by himself, since Frank was at home, taking care of a sick baby Neville- when a curvaceous woman with wild black curls, dark eyes, and a form-fitting dress slid into the seat next to him.

"Hello, stranger," she greeted him with a wink, the voice coming from her ruby red lips practically a purr. "What's your name?"

The young man gulped. "B-Barty Crouch. Junior."

"Interesting," the woman murmured, a conniving glint in her eyes as she leaned closer to Barty, so close that he could smell her intoxicating perfume. "Slytherin, I've heard? A pureblood?"

Barty could only nod, dumbstruck.

"Best mates with Frank Longbottom, I've heard? The Auror?"

"Yes, ma'am," Barty answered, his brown eyes wide. Why is this woman paying any attention to me? He thought, more than a bit shocked.

The woman laughed, loud and long, with a bit of a mad tint to it. "Oh, don't you 'ma'am' me," she said. "Call me…" she scooted her seat closer to Barty so that she was practically up against him. "…Bella."

"Bella," Barty echoed. The name fit her; in some language, he didn't remember which, 'bella' meant 'beautiful', and this woman was that, if nothing else.

"Yes," the woman smirked, "Bella. Now, tell me, Barty…" his name was like a spell coming from her lips, "…What's your favorite drink here?"

"Firewhiskey."

Bella pulled some galleons from her purse, and tossed them to the bartender. "Two firewhiskeys, please. Biggest size you've got."

She continued treating Barty to the drink, more and more of it, until everything in his vision was doubled. Slowly, Bella took his hand in a tight grip and dragged him out of his seat. "Come with me," she ordered, her voice suddenly colder, firmer than the flirtatious tone she had used for the rest of the night. Barty, drunk as he was, followed her without complaint, and was led to a dark alleyway behind the bar.

"Y' wanna get dirty, d'ya?" Barty slurred, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Bella scoffed, pure loathing the only emotion in her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous, you filthy excuse for a pureblood. I would sooner marry a Mudblood, like that miserable Andromeda." She pushed Barty into the far corner of the alley, swiftly looked around to make sure that no one was near, and then pulled out her wand.

"Whatcha doin'?" Barty asked confusedly, a frown on his face. Drunk as he was, he knew danger when he saw it.

Bella didn't respond. Instead, she smirked, pointed her wand straight at Barty's chest, and declared so softly that Barty had to strain to hear her, in a voice filled with malice, "Imperio."

6. The day that the Longbottoms were tortured was the worst day of his life.

Bellatrix's plan was flawless. She knew that Barty was Frank's best friend; therefore, Frank would undoubtedly let Barty into their home, and, of course, allow in whatever guests he brought with him as well. Then, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan would quickly Disarm the Longbottoms, lock all the possible exits so that they were trapped in their own house, and subject them to the Cruciatus Curse until they revealed the location of the Dark Lord (who, of course, couldn't be dead, it was simply impossible).

Of course, everything went off without a hitch. Bellatrix even made Barty do some of the torturing himself- just for good measure.

Then, once Frank and Alice Longbottom lay twitching, eyes wide and unfocused, on the floor, Bellatrix finally took the Imperius Curse off of Barty. He had stared, in complete shock and horror, at the terrible scene before collapsing in sobs, not even noticing when the Aurors came and captured him.

He hadn't been lying at his trial. He hadn't meant to do it; he hadn't known what he was doing. And yet, it was all his fault.

7. It was his father's fault that Barty Jr. came to truly become a Death Eater in the first place.

Barty Crouch Sr. hadn't stopped to hear his son's words or explanation; he had just sentenced him to a life in Azkaban with barely a trial. In the year between when Barty was first imprisoned and when he escaped, he had more than enough time- more than enough silence- to think about his life, about how his father had never cared for him, not one bit.

And then Bellatrix… in Azkaban, she talked to him. Not like the first time they met, at that bar. She told him about the Dark Lord, and how well he treated all of his subjects. How powerful and authoritative he was. He could be the father that Barty never really had, she said. If only Barty would embrace his Death Eater status- for the Dark Lord had given him the Mark when Barty had been under the Imperius Curse- then he would finally have a family. A true family.

By the time that Barty was smuggled out of Azkaban, solely thanks to the ailing mother who had always loved him enough for both herself and his father, he was as loyal to the Dark Lord as Bellatrix herself.

8. Every year, he visited his mother's grave.

His father may have put him under the Imperius Curse, but Winky knew Barty Jr. well. She knew how close he was to his mother; that, despite whatever else he may have done, he would always love his mother. So, he convinced Barty Crouch Sr. to let her take his son to Alyssa Crouch's grave- not the one in Azkaban- once a year, just her and Barty Jr.

Though Barty never showed it- he wasn't allowed to- he always appreciated it. Even if Winky was just kind to him out of pity and duty, as he suspected, his yearly trips to the graveyard always reminded him that, even if he was rather crazed, even if he was a Death Eater, he was still human.

Because for that one day, he was always able to break out of the Imperius Curse just barely enough to allow tears to slide down his face.

9. Neville Longbottom was his favorite student.

Sure, Barty wasn't actually Alastor Moody, and no, he didn't really care one bit about Harry Potter or his friends or any of the other students, really. Except for Neville Longbottom. Every kind word he had spoken to Neville, every wise piece of advice, every gift- he had meant all of it.

Because, even though Neville was practically a male version of his mother in looks, and even though he lacked confidence entirely, he was in every other way a miniature version of Frank. Even though Barty knew that other people couldn't see it, he could. He knew. When it came to Frank, or Neville, he always knew.

10. He went to Hell.

Plain and simple as that. Barty Crouch Jr., when he died, went to Hell. But before he passed on completely, he was somehow- and he still didn't know how- granted his final wish.

Barty landed on a wooden floor, steadying himself on his nimble legs. He knew he was dead- he had felt his heart stop beating- but this didn't look like either Hell or Heaven. Where was he?

Looking around, he found his answer: Frank and Alice's house. And there, facing him at the round kitchen table, was Frank himself.

"Frank," Barty choked out disbelievingly, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of his old best friend. Frank looked the same as he had in his Seventh Year at Hogwarts: fit and youthful. Glancing down at his own body, Barty saw that he looked the same way.

"Hello, Barty," Frank greeted, his voice not cold, but certainly not friendly. "I see you've died, too. I died a few years ago- it was welcome, really. Being dead is better than not knowing anything- not knowing yourself, or your loved ones. Better than being little more than a lump of breathing flesh." He looked at Barty pointedly. The former Slytherin gulped.

"I- I sort of know what you mean," Barty began shakily. "You probably haven't heard, but I was given the Dementor's Kiss a few decades ago… ever since then, it's been like the world is just one blank sheet of parchment."

"We finally have something in common then," Frank said. "We both lived for a large portion of our lives as barely living at all. Because of you."

Barty looked down, shamefaced. "I'm so sorry, Frank," he breathed. "I'm so, so, so sorry. I swear… I didn't know what I was doing."

"How could you not have known what you were doing? You tortured me and Alice, Barty. A person doesn't do that without knowing it."

"I was under the Imperius Curse, Frank! I swear it! Bellatrix Lestrange was controlling me. If I had been in my right mind, you know that I never would do something like that to you. You were- are- my best mate, Frank, and you always have been."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Frank broke it. "That doesn't excuse you for your other crimes, though."

"I know," Barty replied quietly, his eyes damp. "I know that I deserved the Dementor's Kiss, Frank. I'm not about to ask for forgiveness for bringing the Dark Lord back to life, because I know I won't get it. But, Frank, I am asking for forgiveness from you. Because I swear to Merlin, to God, to every deity that has ever existed, that I did not mean to do that to you and Alice, and if I could go back in time and change what happened, then I would, without a second thought."

Silence reigned for a few minutes. Frank's face was stony; he was obviously deep in thought. A single tear had escaped from Barty's eyes. "Please," the former Slytherin begged. "Please."

"Alright," Frank finally declared after a pause. "I forgive you."

Barty wasted no time in flinging his arms around Frank in what he was sure was a rather girlish manner. He allowed a few more tears to stream down his face, and he knew that Frank, being the emotional bloke he was, was crying, too. Eventually, the two best mates broke apart when they saw that a red hole had appeared on the far side of the room.

"You're going to Hell," Frank stated, his face wet, just as Barty had guessed.

"I deserve nothing less," Barty remarked solemnly. "I'll miss you, Frank… Thank you."

Frank clapped his friend on the shoulder. "You're welcome, mate. I'll miss you, too."

The two shook hands in a manly, final manner, and then Barty walked towards the red hole. He turned around and waved once at his best mate before willingly entering Hell.

And, even though he was forever condemned to the most evil place in existence, he was content.

Barty Crouch, Jr. was as flawed as a person could be. He was ruthless. He was manipulative. He was cowardly. He was a Slytherin, through and through. But his Hufflepuff mother's blood was half of him, and therefore, he had one all-too-noticeable trait of the yellow-and-black House:

He was a hard worker.

At anything he did, Barty Crouch, Jr. worked his tail off trying to be the best, to succeed. And so, throughout his entire life, though many different things were said about him- some nicer than others- one thing always prevailed above the rest.

He was The One Who Tried. And, sometimes, he even succeeded.

A pretty quick update, by my standards! So, what do you think? Like it? Hate it? Personally, this is one of my favorite chapters so far. I find Barty Crouch, Jr. as fascinating as he found the Dark Arts. :)

Please review, and thanks for reading!

-Joelle8