#hp barty

barty crouch jr — headcanons ( for @loonsloon ily )

i headcanon him as any eastern asian ethnicity because i can .

barty being born an only son so all the pressure falls onto him and him only .

he was a hatstall between ravenclaw and slytherin — though for my personal indulgence i do adore ravenclaw bcj .

deriving from canon descriptions , barty always did excel in academics , but particularly in subjects barty sr never cared much for . he enjoyed literature and philosophy ( do they even teach those in hogwarts ? def not lol ) , questioning the world as it is , subjects that can’t make up a soldier out of a boy . but the fact that he was quite the dorky bookworm was always hidden, cast under his need to present as careless for knowledge and schoolings because his father stressed it was meaningless compared to the tough grit a soldier should embody .

barty was initially dyslexic & was born into the world deaf . i kind of … ick at the idea of magic correcting disabilities , it’s just erasure ? so yes ! he is deaf ! and when he acquires the right auditory tools to help him hear again ( because i’m sure hearing aids exist ) , barty relies on listening to read and study for the time that he’s unable to accomodate his dyslexia . i imagine it was probably why barty sr sought him hopeless in the academia department , and why barty never confided in his father about the struggle either . ( a little bartylus headcanon — he would get regulus to read out for him until they learnt a spell that accommodated his dyslexia ) .

barty was difficult to get along with at first with the rest of the skittles group . he has a sharp tongue and keeps to himself in underlying fear of not meeting people’s expectations , so he avoids it instead . regulus however caught his eye first , because he was the image of perfection and somehow barty envied that in a sense . it’s an academic rivals to close friends to lovers sort of thing for them .

barty warmed up to pandora next , before anyone else . somehow her peculiar nature reminded him of his mother’s witchiness ( in canon lore it’s said she was a wispy looking witch , wtvr that means ) . he grows protective over her in a way a brother would , and is probably the softest with her than anyone else .

barty copped more emotional / verbal abuse than physical but when it was physical he usually grew more reserved and pushy against those who care for him — again in avoidance because what if he isn’t good enough ?

barty sr had a habit of grabbing barty’s hair at times during physical fits , so one day barty begged regulus to shave it off to a buzz so nobody could ever tug on his hair again.

barty always is known to have an ‘ugly’ resonating nature — and is naturally attractive for the way he’s quite disturbing and confronting to look at . he isn’t completely good looking but he isn’t horrible to look at either . his buzzed hair and intentionally pierced ears , his split tongue ( because he can and will ) , all those bold elements of his making up contrast the perfection appearances of his lovers ( aka regulus being the image of perfection, evan being a beautiful looking boy i’ll speak more on it in another post ).

barty develops a phobia of magic when he breaks out of the imperious curse . in a canon divergence au where sad sad voldy dies or temporarily disappears until he reappears later in golden era , he probably disappears to the muggle world to live out his days and cope with an environment free of magic that can control him. he despises being around the essence of magic, feeling it bend the laws of existence , just as his father did him.

however barty coming back as moody and taking control of his body probably is his way of coping with the trauma his father inflicted on him by using the imperius curse ( yeah it probably takes place after he’s caught being a DE but i’m sure it wasn’t sr’s first time using it on him ) . if he can control someone else’s body freely , he doesn’t have to feel like he can’t control his own at times .

the imperius curse probably had dissociative impacts on him where barty , after his father dies , struggles with discerning between past and present . he’ll look at his hands and question if he’s the one in control or not , or feel outside - of - body experiences where his own body is a mere vessel or carcass .

he struggles to understand regulus at first because he learns of his silence in conditions he clearly is unhappy about . it reminds him of his mother in a sense who watched her husband do wrong , inflict harm to her and her son and yet never did anything about it . possibly why he holds an ounce of resentment or a grudge to regulus before he softens up and opens his mind .

innocence robbed, bruised youth

bartylus microfic / one - shot ( 1.3k words )

tw : mentions of abuse ( past tense ) inflicted on barty from crouch snr . this is the aftermath of an instance of it. a fresh wound is described. proceed with caution.

Barty Crouch Jr had shaved his head one time in his life. It was in middle school, when he had mistakenly gotten some sort of gum stuck in his hair. A fight had gone loose, between him and the other. Swinging arms and fists to the face, blinding impacts and splotches of thick crimson staining the ground when they spit. Barty lost a tooth too, though it needed to come out eventually, he’d still lost the tooth to someone else. He wondered if the tooth fairy would collect this one, knowing the violent way it had come out. Was she like Santa with teeth? Judged the worth of a tooth based on its origin? Would he go on the naughty list and have his financial reward cut down?

Students made fun of him for his hair— and likely his missing tooth too. There was a huge gap in the front that he found irritatingly sensitive. Until he got used to the way he could fit food through the hole and spit water out through the gap. It disgusted his friends, but made for a pretty good laugh at the end of the day. But Barty almost never did sit comfortable with his missing head of hair. The blonde mop down to a stubbly layer that shaped his head and the colour blended right into his fair skin— so he basically looked bald if someone didn’t stare long enough to tell the difference. He felt rather insecure about it, and the prickly sensation reminded him of his grandfather. He always was softer under the influence, his laughter a cracking thunder as he pressed his stubbled cheek to Barty’s young face, the six year old whining with stabbing discomfort.

Barty hadn’t shaved his head since. Hadn’t gone near the utensil his mother used on him in years after that. Sure, scissors were the exception. Neat and precise trims to the end to keep his hair from growing too long. The thing about it was that it usually grew upwards, rather than downwards the way Severus’ did. Sometimes he envied that boy— for his hair only, nothing else struck envious. But now Barty stands before the mirror of his bathroom, eyes drained of all innocence taking in the looks of him. A sight he knew would stick for a while, and rouse questions difficult to answer too. Though occurrences such as this were rare, Barty still felt it daunting going through them. Not the aching aftermath of a violent brawl with his father, but the emotional aspect— the exhaustion. The stress of having to avoid questions too probing for his liking, brewing excuses of all sorts, an intricate structure of lies that Barty has to keep up with so as not to have his strength and manpower questioned. The horrifying truth discovered and that too facing the tragic end of abuse.

Regulus enters the bathroom not long after and places the muggle utensil down on the marble countertop. If Barty let him have his way, he’d have used an enchanted one and be done with the damn task. But that was the problem— enchantment. Magic. He’d had enough of it all. Shortcuts and cheats and entrusting magic to control him further. Barty needed away from it all, and it began with this.

“Are you sure about this?” Regulus asks, caution firm in his voice.

Barty nods quickly. He doesn’t need to contemplate any further. “Just get it over and done with, Reg.” Regulus just eyes him, almost like he’s unconvinced. It makes sense, he had to deal with Barty’s whining when he last shaved his head. “Please.”

With a heavy sigh, Regulus plugs the utensil into the wall and assesses it in his hand. Turning it and brushing his hand over the buttons. They’d spent an hour going back and forth on whether to use it or not. Brainstorming the best ways to tackle a wound buried deep between his hair. It needed stitching, or a salve— some form of treatment to stop the bleeding Barty’s father had started. But everytime Regulus attempted to push aside the matted strands, Barty would hiss or flinch in a way that scared Regulus himself, startling him into a jump. Both of them are far too delicate to wing the matter. On one hand, Barty was still fresh out from the incident, an injured animal shaking from its scare. On the other, Regulus was scared of inflicting more of what Barty had endured today. Had been hesitant to tend to his wounds with trembling fingers if not for the fact that Barty asked for him. Regulus knew loneliness all too well to let him wallow in it.

Barty bites his tongue at the sharp pricks to his head, the ache growing when Regulus moves the locks away delicately. The machine vibrates in Regulus’ hand, and the two jump in surprise. It’s loud, almost cruel with the way it beckons a full head of hair. He catches the bob in Regulus’ throat, nerve wracking and hesitant when he approaches the tool to the front edges of Barty’s head.

It’s one simple glide. The flat base of the blade to Barty’s forehead, gliding upwards and all the way through the shape of his scalp. It tears apart the collected formation of raven curls, and Barty watches them scatter all around him. Snowfall on a joyous field. Tears to a wooden deck.

Regulus stops at the conclusion of just one line. Almost like he’s asking for more permission to continue. But Barty stares at his reflection, his head full save but the one line that divided his head into two.

“Well?”

Barty’s eyes drag to his reflection, the pang of guilt already forming. His lips drew thin. Starting. Familiarising. Forcing the inkling of dissatisfaction all the way back. You took this from me. This is all your fault. “There’s no going back now.”

“I can just summon a growth spell—“

“No!” Barty shot almost immediately. The flinch in Regulus made his shoulders drop, his incessant protectiveness tumbling down the second his best friend resonates with the state of him outside this bathroom. He softens up again, pulling through the bad habit of defensiveness. “Just … no magic. Please, no magic.”

It was a kind of begging neither of them had heard before. The ones Barty recalls would plead for forgiveness or for cracking whips of Senior’s hands to relent. It made him sulk, his eyes remaining downcast. Voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want any magic on me.”

Not anymore. No more spells or hexes or curses to take place. No more magic to cheat their way into something. Barty needed something real, practical, done with the trust of hands and someone’s own work. Denying the fate of the outcome to be left to the hands of magic. He wanted far from that— the binding wizardry.

Regulus doesn’t protest. The electric shaver buzzing back to life when he presses the button and resumes the gentle strokes to his scalp, traces them along the curvature of his head. He’s far more gentle when he approaches the gash. It’s tender, raw, and pulsates rapidly the more he panics at the blades nipping sensitive flesh. It tingles, and Regulus works cautiously around the area. Doesn’t dare to use a numbing spell, or anything else to protect it.

famous last words , an ode to eaters — chapter eighteen.