#apvrp

Not even the crunch of leaves beneath his feet could deter the concentration that Barty had in finding his red headed sibling. Their pale tree was in sight, and once he found it- he was already sat upon it’s roots in wait for the only woman he’d certainly ever love. Well, not in the proper sense, but in the sense that he cared rather deeply for her.

Gloved hands rubbed together only a moment in anticipation. He was eager to share some rather pleasant news with his companion for the eve. Once he’d grown bored of this gesture, he drew something from within his pocket. He twirled his knewest knife, the knife Alecto had given him upon their first hunt together, the hilt of the blade against his pointer finger- the tip against his middle. A soft hum rose from his lips, a song that he’d heard being played in one of the windows he’d passed on a jaunt through Knockturn Alley. He didn’t dare get too loud, lest someone or something passing by, heard him; however he did use the silence to indulge in one of his other simple pleasures.

Barty’s head swayed slowly back and forth, feeling as if the very night air that wafted past him was full of fireflies, primed to do a little dance upon his siblings entry. Interesting how suddenly he had his childhood back, and it was as if they were tiny tots- no more than eight years old. They were ready to go on an adventure, to make some mischief, to make pinky promises not to tell a soul in the dark. He fancied that idea, and let it paint the inside of his eyelids as they shut. She was such a large influence on him now, and had been since the last time they had met.

Date: September 18th, 1978 Time: 11:00AM Location: The Rabbit Hole

The night before, Walker had casually entered a pub that housed a number of titillating women. He had been alone that night as his parents had been out to do Merlin knows what. It was safe to say that galleons were spent, drinks were downed and things had been done. He had awoken the morning after with an excruciating headache that he couldn’t charm away due to his inability to think straight. He sat up with a grunt and slap himself around the cheek to keep himself from falling asleep. He instinctively slammed his hands on the ground, to keep himself from toppling over, as the room spun. Only, this time, he wasn’t greeted with the soft linen sheets of the four-poster in his flat but a puddle on the cool tiled floor of the pub. He had always been a noceur, but he always found a way to get home before he lost consciousness. He squinted at the bright light that greeted him as a sea of bodies decorated the floors, sucked dry of the festivities that had occurred. Retracting his hand, he grimaced at the pungent smell that seemed to emerge from it. He had sunk his hand into a pool of vomit. He shrugged and searched his person for his wand. Making sure that he wouldn’t splinch himself, he stood and apparated to his flat, feeling a sharp tug in his stomach before he collapsed on a velvet rug. 

Rolling onto his back, he pushed himself up and checked the area for possible intruders. When he was satisfied, he prepared the bath and stripped himself bare, putting on a silk robe. A wrapped parcel sat on his table, and he ripped it open to reveal the day’s copy of the Daily Prophet. He sat cross-legged across the telly and proceeded to browse through it. A few Order members seemed to have been reported missing. He wondered if the Death Eaters had anything to do about it. 

Steam started to spread through the room, so he went to stop the water with his wand. Dropping his robe on the ground, he dipped his toes first before submerging himself entirely. He stared up at the ceiling underwater before he ran out of breath and reemerged. The bottle of bubble bath stood right on the stand by his head and he poured a generous amount into the tub. He felt a pang of pain around his groin and he wondered what had gone on that night. He wracked his brain for memories only to be greeted with dark circles that clouded his vision. There may be a chance that he was sore all over from the after effects of being hungover.

// Barty Crouch Jr. Youth - " Adulthood " Head Canon story \\ 

* Young Crouch Junior draws his peacoat collar up about his neck as he meanders down Knockturn Alley, headed for his flat that intersects the " nice part " - and the " bad part " of their little wizarding trove. *

Date: August 28th 1978 Time: 19:56 ( 7:56 PM ) Location: The cusp of Diagon/Knockturn Alley

That moment when the day turned to night- that perfect blend of colours that caused a person to realize that the evening was nipping at the ends daylights heels and soon it would be cold. That was his favourite time of day, it was a peaceful moment to him. He could have laid outside on his back watching the stars slowly begin to spark life into the darkened sky- just breathing in the cool English air. Barty had arrived back at his little rats nest just in time to look out over his shoulder and catch the last fleeting glimpse of days glow disappear over the edge of the housing across the way. Knockturn Alley always seemed so much more dark and dank than the rest of the wizard housing/ market districts, and to be quite honest, it suited him to live in this little piece of crap place. Knockturn Alley was like the physical representation of his mind.

With a deep breath, the young blond settled his forehead against the frigid surface of the door. Slender lips found themselves wet as his tongue peaked out across the bottom of the pair- appreciating the ability to sit back and relax before he’d be yet again thrust into school where there would be no privacy for him whatsoever. No amount of learning would ever be enough to deal with the constant jeering of his classmates, or the letters. Those bloody letters. Why did his father find it so imperative, despite how little he actually put himself in his sons vicinity, that he just had to write and pester him. Hadn’t he gotten the hint that he no longer gave two fucks about what the elder man had to say? He was done with trying to please someone who chose to distance himself from him, and not only that but chose to bloody well criticize everything he’d ever tried to do for him.

Wasn’t it enough that he’d forcibly taken the courses that his father had wanted him to? Or that he’d tried and failed miserably to play quidditch? No? Obviously not- he was still getting those damned letters- and the thought of which caused the young man to lift his head from the door and slam it down at that very moment, before turning his dark, beady eyes towards the roof. Two clicks of a key, and he’d be inside. Two clicks of a key- and he could go on a rampage and tear his crappy little shit hole to bits as he often times did. He could scream as loud as he wanted to because he’d enchanted the place into silence.

He really needed to get this under control. He needed to stop self destructing, needed to tame this raging beast, before he really hurt someone. That- however, was exactly what he wanted to do, and had been wanting to do for so many years. The only opposing thought in his mind was that thought. This miniscule voice that sat in the deep recesses of his mind and told him that there was so much he’d yet to experience and that maybe- maybe there was a glimmer of a chance that there could be something else meant for him. Everything else begged to undeniably differ with a snarling voice within his ears, and dramatically overshadowed the rest. All the other evidence told him he was a murderer at best, and he wouldn’t be getting any of those chances- he’d had them stolen by the one man that was meant to protect him.

The End of Days - 

———————————————————————————————————-

Things were starting to unblur before his eyes as he slowly began to see the vague details of a stoney ceiling. He felt utterly cold. What was this feeling? In all his many years, he’d never felt so bloody cold in his entire life, and that was something to be said for he had spent a lot of time in plenty of climates, doing the bidding of the Dark Lord.

But this was different, it was a chill so very deep to his bones that he could not shake it even when he rubbed his hands together.

Rub. Rub rub rub. Rub?

Why could he not feel his hands rubbing together? After sitting upright far too fast and fluidly than he had expected, Barty lifted his hands upwards before his eyes and saw them- or rather, saw straight through them. No. This couldn’t be right. How? He couldn’t possible be- There was no way. He wasn’t..Dead?

But there were so many things he had left to do- and in that moment it hit him hard.

He had died, with things he still needed to accomplish- that was why he was still lingering.

The visions of his death flooded into his mind. The sight of the dementor looming over him, the gnarled teeth of its putrid mouth. And a face, a face out of the corner of his eye that he had cherished.. All these things drove him into a rage as he jerked himself to his feet. Severus was that face.

The man he had once trusted with his life, had been standing idly by as he was put to death. With a heavy chest, he made a movement to step forward, but he did not move normally, he sort of slid. It was unfathomably awkward.. How did the others do it? How did the ghosts in the castle move? Was it always this bloody awkward trying to get around when first realizing you were a spectre?

With a rather exasperated exhale, he balled up his fists and focused on simply moving forward- and propelled himself through the castle walls after some time and effort. He assumed that despite his rather translucent state, he would need to still be stealthy or else he would be getting any number of people still in cahoots with the Dark Lord, in a heap of trouble. He gave caution where it was needed, and found himself standing in front of Severus’ door in a short while.

He waited there, floating incorporeally as he gave thought to what he would do. Should he torment him for having left him there? For showing no remorse when he’d used that truth serum on him?

No. He couldn’t.

He knew how much the death of Lily had affected him, whether he let onto it or not. The thought of which made him just as angry as the lack of care he'd shown to him, had.. All those fucking years of waiting and watching as the one person he could have finally settled in with, the only person who could have turned him from the dark and made him see the light of things, sat and brooded over some dimwitted redhead who didn’t even understand him.

Silently he seethed as he narrowed his eyes at the other mans door, before pushing through it without even turning the knob. The place was dark, it was as if someone hadn’t been in here for at least a few weeks, it was akin to feeling sterile. Then again- it was odd to be in a place where often he had only dreamt about seeing.. Possessions were strewn about everywhere.. Bed was unmade, and one window lingered open to gaze out upon the darkened school grounds during the pitch of night.

This couldn’t have been a result of losing him. There was no way in hell that Severus Snape ever could have cared about him that much to have done something like this. He doubted that very much. After ghosting out onto that small ledge, he stood there for quite some time, gazing upon the school grounds. Barty watched the tree’s sway, giving life to thoughts that perhaps he shouldn’t. Their leaves shifted with the wind, and he felt it then; a jerking in his chest. He hadn’t given himself enough time to even soak up the fact that he had died. He would never be able to feel the breeze blow through his hair, or feel the warmth of the sun. He would never feel hands on his face again, or taste someone’s lips.

It had been so long since last he’d experienced such things, that he mourned their loss immensely. He couldn’t remember them, but he cherished them all the same, and now they were gone from him. Perhaps the reason so many of the ghosts here acted so fruity, was that they’d spent so long alone, that they scarcely could retain any semblance of their former humanity. Barty was uncertain, but he didn’t want to end up like that. He dreaded it. It was best to let go of his rage though, at the very least. To just simply let it wash away, because despite how badly he felt, how little he’d gotten done- there was something else he needed to do. There was a sense of foreboding in the air.

Severus. He knew, he knew above all else, that if he - someone that the Dark Lord had himself trusted quite considerably, though not nearly as much as Severus; could die, then the other was in danger as well, and he could not chance that. Well, he could- but he wasn’t that cruel. Not anymore- he wouldn't allow for it. He needed to find Severus, and so he set out to wander the halls again. Barty took his time- wandering here and there, but inevitably he found him where he spent most of his time, sitting in his classroom staring into a cauldron, though this one was empty. There was no potion to bring back the dead. If this was so, Lily would have been back by now, and surely she would have been in Severus’ arms, and none of this would have been happening, well- he wouldn’t have been there at least.

The look on Severus’ face however was odd, or rather- unfamiliar. He looked upset. Something Barty was not accustomed to seeing painted on his face. What was it that he was so bothered over? “ Severus. “ - He heard his voice break his lips before he could even stop himself, the curiosity was far too strong.

With a start, the Potion Masters head snapped upwards, staring at Barty with wide eyes. This couldn’t be real. Why was he still lingering? He’d been gone for a month now, why was it that he was showing him his face? Had he truly been that mad, that he’d come back to haunt him? No. He didn’t need another face carved into his mind that he could no longer forget. Especially not this one. Had he not suffered enough? Had he not lost everything and then some, and then had to deal with this snottish boy that bore the features of his beloved Lily, and that undeserving prat Potter?

“ Not so easy to call me a fairy now- is it Severus ? “ - he smirked as he sat on the mans desk, even if he couldn’t feel the weight of his own body settled just there. “ I’m not here to torment you.. I just.. wanted to see you. That’s all. Can’t exactly kiss, or do other things, with someone you can’t even touch- guess that alleviates one of your issues, doesn’t it? Plus.. “ - Barty shifted his shoulders and looked away from him,” Always told you, you’re the only bloke I ever fancied. Can’t just leave you be now can I? I don’t blame you for bein’ uptight though, but you were always a fuckin’ git to me no matter what I did. “ - Barty rose his brows in gest and tilted his head to the side at the mention of these things,” Guess this is just a perfect happening for me. Stuck in an ugly place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces like I always have been, chasing after someone I can never have- whom will always be chasin’ after someone he’ll never have. Or rather.. Has lost. “ - He couldn’t feel it then, as he lifted a ladle off the mans desk and stared at it. “ Guess that’s just how things have always been though, aye? Not much I could do about it then, and certainly can’t do anything about it now.. “ -

“ Barty I’m so- “

“ Sorry? Really Severus. Come now. Don’t lie. “ - he turned to look at him,” With me, died the last evidence that you ever had anything to do with another bloke, are you really that sorry? You were always afraid someone was going to find out. But was it worth it- thats what I’d like to know. Was it really worth it?? “ - he put down that wooden instrument and turned to face Severus’ sliding off the desk with his hands bracing its surface,” .. What are you really torn up about? Is it the fact that you didn’t do anything to help me? “ - Barty shook his head.

“ What you're torn up about- is that the last person in the world who actually gave a shite about your well being, is now a fuckin’ walkin’ bedsheet, and you are now shockingly, and unbelievably alone. “ - he snuffed,” Now you know how I felt..don’t you? While you were busy pushing me back, and keeping me at arms length, I was trying to find anything to cling to. What reputation did you even have Severus, that you needed to do that to me?” -

“ Barty - “

“ Barty nothin’. I don’t care if you’re sufferin’ right now Severus- I’m fucking dead and their isn’t a damn thing anybody can fuckin’ do to fix that! Especially not with some bloody excuse or apology! “- he snapped, something flying from one of the shelves across the room in his rage. He heard the glass shatter and grimaced, taking in a slow, and unnecessary breath- in attempts to calm himself down. Dark eyes glanced upwards to catch the look on Severus' face, and felt his chest twinge in contrition. He couldn’t do this to him. He couldn’t just let himself be this angry, or that aggressive towards Severus. “ .. I’m.. sorry. “ Barty spoke up, lulling his eyes,” .. You are not to blame for all the things that I suffered through, even if you - “ he paused and decided to leave something out, before continuing on.” You did what you had to do and I shouldn't lay my burdens on your shoulders. . I’m just.. I’ll leave. “ - he nodded with finality, before fading away to leave Severus in the wake of what had happened..

He would never see him again. Not if Barty had anything to do with it.

Over time, the youngest Crouch mostly kept to himself, watching over Severus’ in silence, watching all the pressure that was left upon the other man. And as hard as he tried to hide his pain- it was heavy, lonesome, and tiring. He hadn’t any clue that the other man was a double agent for Dumbledore, that he had plans to watch over Harry, and make sure that he brought him down.. Sure he knew that there had to be some sort of sympathy for that child, but he bore the likeness of James Potter- the single person that Severus’ hated unyieldingly.

Many nights he sat while Severus’ slept, watching him in his solitude, like a faithful guard dog.. What else had he to do? When the other man had fallen asleep at his desk, he had drawn a blanket over him. When he’d been cold, he’d closed those windows.. Turned out lights, left him food for the morning- even if he couldn’t taste things, he could fetch it for him. He sat, and he watched the life slip from Severus over those many months and years. It was a demoralizing task. How had he managed to endure so much, for so long? What was driving him? He followed him nearly everywhere he went, sheltered him from anything he could manage- without letting him know he was there.

He didn’t need to. Better to receive a nameless, faceless kindness- than put that name and face to a man he’d let die- Barty thought. As time trudged on, Barty found himself patiently awaiting the end, to watch and see what Severus’ would do when the Dark Lord finally succeeded, but inevitably- it never came. There was no grand finale.

There was only nothingness.

The end where he was standing alone and even Severus’ had moved on. Things changed, in time- Severus’ room, his things were taken away, and a new Potions Master was found. There was nothing left for him at Hogwarts, but where Severus was buried, that was where he would call his home. That headstone was where he would stay. Through endless seasons, no matter whom it was that found there way to his grave, that was where he would stay. It was better than going mad in a place where he had nothing and no one. Better to be alone in a place that gave him some form of comfort.

Stock piling this in my files under U- for useless information I will never use. Going on the record to say that I prefer to be the one giving one, than getting one, so this is particularly useless to me.