Written for The Houses Competition Y12 Practice Round
House: Ravenclaw
Class: Arithmancy
Category: Standard
Theme: An original character - Use your own original character as the main character.
Prompt: [Character] Barty Crouch
Word count: 1708
Warnings: imprisonment, succumbing to Azkaban madness, death, mentioned child abuse, depression.
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When I was younger, I believed in a better future; that everything I've had to go through as a child would somehow be rewarded one day. But there is no justice in the world. I understood that when I heard the sentence: imprisonment in Azkaban for being an unregistered Animagus.
Nobody cared to ask why I'd become one, but I tried to tell them anyway. I explained and pleaded; I told them my darkest memories and the worst nightmares I'd had to endure growing up with an abusive father; how I managed to learn to transform into a tiny mouse and crawl into a crack in the wall when he would come home drunk and angry.
My eyes fill with tears as his hateful voice sounds in my head. I haven't gone back to those times in years – I've tried my best to try to forget. But now, in this place, these visions play in my head, detailed and clear, as I am forced to relive everything I've worked so hard to bury in the back of my mind.
There is no justice. My father is long gone, having never been punished for a single thing he's done, and I'm here, placed together with murderers and Death Eaters, for finding a way to escape his abuse without a permit. A few cells further from mine, there's the infamous Sirius Black who killed twelve Muggles and one of his best friends, after betraying another to the Dark Lord. He's the only one who doesn't scream like a lunatic. Perhaps he's so rotten and without a conscience that even the Dementors don't get to him.
There is no justice. They bring in a new inmate to a cell next to mine. Through my hazy mind, I briefly wonder how long it's been empty, and a consuming wave of guilt washes over me. We're not very chatty here – we mostly mumble to ourselves – but in a rare state of clarity, mostly when anger pushes through the misery and depression, we're still able to have a short, slurry conversation. My previous criminal neighbour wasn't exactly a friend, but he was the only person I'd become familiar with. And I didn't even notice he died.
There is no justice. The new inmate they bring in is still in his teens, with a frightened face and tears streaming down his cheeks. What could this young boy have possibly done to deserve this? He cries and screams for his mother like a child, and my heart clenches, now no longer solely because of my pain but his as well.
He quiets down after a few days. Or weeks – I really don't know how much time has elapsed the next time I become aware of my surroundings. He sits by the wall, his head lolled back and eyes half-closed.
"I didn't do it," he whines. "Father, please… I'm your son… Mother, don't let him…"
My stomach twists. This poor boy reminds me of my younger self, and I feel the urge to protect him even though there's nothing I can do. I drag myself closer to the bars.
"Hey! Kid!" I slam my palm against the bars to help him snap out of the nightmares he's reliving. Slowly, he blinks, then turns his head towards me with effort. I ask softly, "What's your name?"
He frowns. The question seems too difficult for his troubled mind, but gradually, his eyes become more focused.
"What's your name?" I repeat.
"Barty," he drawls. "Barty Crouch Jr."
Named after his father then. Merlin, that's got to be a torture of its own. I changed my name as soon as I came of age. I didn't want to identify with my past. I almost suggest to Barty he should do the same, but then I remember none of us here are likely to do anything again. Unless one's released very fast, the only way out of Azkaban is in a coffin.
"I'm Sam Wright." The boy stares at me blankly. Trying to keep him lucid for a while longer, I ask the first thing that comes to mind, "Are you okay?"
I'm aware what an idiotic question it is, but at least Barty seems to snap more awake. He crawls closer to the bars separating us, his eyes darting around like he's losing his mind.
"I need to get out of here," he whispers.
Despite all the misery, the corner of my lips lifts in grim amusement.
"We all do, kid."
Suddenly, Barty throws himself up and grips the bars, making me recoil in shock, and I fall down onto the stone floor. I stare at him with wide eyes, surprised at the unexpected display of violent behavior. There's madness painted on his face, I notice with a sense of grief. We all go mad here sooner or later, but clearly, it didn't take this poor kid long.
"You don't understand," he breathes fervently. "My master needs me. I have to go find him."
He's right, I don't understand. Wondering what sort of lunacy this is, I mumble, "Your… master?"
The sleeves of Barty's loose robe slide down his arms, and my gaze stops at the mark in the shape of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. I gape, unable to believe what I'm seeing. This young frightened boy is a Death Eater? How can this be? He looks like he couldn't hurt a fly.
I want to be appalled, but I can't. After all, there is no justice in the world. No one cares why I've become an unregistered Animagus, as I'm sure no one cares why this miserable boy has become a Death Eater. Perhaps it was his only way to freedom.
"The Dark Lord is dead, Barty," I say. "Haven't you heard?"
The despair that distorts Barty's face breaks my heart. He slams his palms against the bars with fury and shakes his head like a maniac.
"You don't understand! Nobody understands! He can't be dead! He can't be…" he's shouting turns into whining. "He can't…"
I consider him with pity. His gaze is wild when he stares at me through the bars, his deranged eyes reflecting an array of emotions: heartbreak, longing, love.
I can't help but feel a little jealous. I've never had love in my life. I could never bring myself to trust anyone, not after what I've been through. But I always thought the good things in life were yet to come; that I still had time to fall in love, have a family, be happy. Now I never will.
The Dementors cannot feast on me, I suppose. I don't really have a lot of good memories. I suspect that's why I'm able to resist their influence a little better than the others and remain lucid for longer periods of time than my fellow inmates. I can feel madness slowly consuming me just like everyone else, but perhaps the process of succumbing to it is slightly milder in my case.
"The Dark Lord will return," Barty insists. His eyes flash passionately, and he seems surprisingly coherent for a second. "With or without my help, he will return. I'll wait for him."
"Okay," I say gently to call him down. "Okay, I believe you."
The momentary strength seeps out of him quickly. The spark in his eyes goes out as he slides down to the floor, his back against the wall.
"I failed him," he mutters to himself, hugging his knees and pressing his forehead against them. He sobs, "I failed."
"Barty…" I search for words that would comfort him, but there is no use anyway. He's already off, lost in his head under Azkaban's influence, mumbling to himself like a lunatic.
"They didn't know anything… Why didn't they know? I was certain… They don't know! Quit it, Bella, we must leave…"
Poor kid. I've never been for the Dark Arts, but the law hasn't been on my side either, so what do I care? I find myself hoping for Barty's sake that his beloved master is indeed still alive somewhere. Perhaps he will come to free his faithful servant. The vision of the Dark Lord bursting through the gates of Azkaban and breaking the boy free makes me smile before I'm dragged back into my worst memories and the overwhelming sense of helplessness once again.
-x-x-x-
His parents come to visit him one day. They must be someone important if they let them in. His mother calls his name, but Barty no longer responds, too lost in his own head. He just sits by the wall, motionless, his lips slightly parted and unseeing eyes fixed on a random spot on the floor.
I want to tell them they're too late, but before I can utter a word, my own darkness consumes me, and I drift off back to my own nightmares. I hear my father's angry yells, feel the paralyzing fright at the sound of his approaching footsteps…
When I come to, Barty's parents are gone, and he sits by the wall like he has for so long. I wonder if he even noticed he had visitors.
His state goes downhill even faster from there. He starts to cough a lot. Once or twice I see him drinking something from a flask – perhaps his parents brought him some medicine. It doesn't seem to work, though. His cough gets louder and more insistent until one day it stops all together.
I'm no longer able to move, and my eyelids are too heavy, but I watch Barty's body being carried away through half-closed eyes, and I shed a few tears for that poor young boy's tragic end. If there was any justice in the world, his beloved master would have come and rescued him. But of course he hasn't. The Dark Lord is dead, contrary to Barty's delusions.
I know I will soon share Barty's fate. I close my eyes to the deranged yells of Azkaban prisoners and the persistent visions of my childhood trauma, grief-stricken over the regretful fact that my life could have been so much more. Drained of the last of my strength, I close my tired eyes with a hollow premonition that I will not open them again.