5 times Barty lost a bit of sanity and the one time he went insane

2. hit

Usually after a death of a family member the other members still alive get closer. They find each other again in the pain the death caused. They realize that the dead one brought them all together and that now they need to navigate living together so they start being closer.

But with Barty and his dad, it took them apart. Crouch senior would blame his own son about stuff he never even noticed before. He'd suddenly become super strict, when before he wouldn't even know what Barty was doing. He started showing attention, but rather than noticing Barty's good side he noticed all the infinitesimal mistakes.

And how he hated having the same name as his father. After his mother's death it was much easier though, as she was the only one capable of calling both of them, making them never sure which one she wanted. Now the only people saying their names were fancy business men from the hit father's work and the few kids he saw from time to time, but it was much easier to figure out which Barty they meant. The younger one was quite sure his dad didn't  introduce or even mention his son to his colleagues.

So on that Thursday, Barty Crouch Jr. decided to head out into the village for whatever things he would usually do there. He pressed his ear against the living room door that closed off the house into two parts. The men from the ministry were talking about some stuff, Barty would need to know years from that day. As he was heading back to his room to get his bag and broom, he saw the doors of his mother's room being open. He hadn't seen the inside since she died, and it's been almsot two years. So he decided to take a walk around.

The first thing he noticed was the big chandelier he was always a bit scared of. He was afraid it would fall down and kill his mother as they were sleeping. He walked further inside, getting closer to the big fancy window. That's when he noticed his mother's vanity. He slid his fingers over the dusty top of it. He walked closer and sat down on the small chair beside it. His fingers fell over the handle of the drawer and he pulled on it. Inside, there were some things Barty had seen for the first time.

It was full of little brushes, tubes and palettes. After taking one of the tubes and reading the label, he figured out it was makeup. He carefully took out one of the brushes and a palette. Using his knowledge of watercolour he brushed the brush over the palette. He brought up the picture of his mother with a full face of make up in his mind and figured out where he should put it on. He applied it onto his eyelids constantly checking himself in the mirror to make sure it would look good. And when he finished it did indeed look good. He put the brush down and smiled.

He decided he was going to explore the world of makeup another day so he closed the drawer and stood up. He took one last look at himself in the mirror and walked out of the room. He went to his own room, grabbed his bag and walked back downstairs. He decided to just open the door and walk out, even if that meant meeting his father's colleagues. When he came out the door all eyes turned to him. And yet the last on to turn around was his own dad.

He took a quick look at his son and noticed that makeup on his face. He scoffed and looked at his colleagues.
"Do you see this, gentlemen? My own son? Looking like that?"
The men laughed.
"I wouldn't let my son look like that even if you cursed me." one of them said.
"Oh I'd curse him if he even did." another replied.

"Glad you know I'm still alive father. It's not like you literally forgot I existed for the sake of these men. I guess they mean more to you than your own son." he spoke, in such a calm and monotone way with a straight face, that it was kind of scary.
"Well at least they don't put makeup on their face! Go wash that off, just because your mother has died, doesn't mean you get to become a woman!" he slowly raised his voice.

"I don't care what you have to say father! I don't care! I'm not my mother and you don't get to manipulate me into this fever dream you're trying to create for yourself. I don't care what you think about my makeup! I'm not taking it off. I. DON'T. CARE."

Crouch senior got up from the armchair he was sitting on and walked over to his son. They held silent eye contact for a few moments before he slapped his son. Barty faltered but remained on his feet. The look on his face remained without emotion. The gentlemen in their living room all gasped but didn't do anything. This was standard for them, father-son relationships were meant to be abusive. They were men after all, they weren't allowed to show feeling.

Barty stormed out, slamming the door after him. He just walked, in a straight line, up the hill and down on the other side and just didn't stop until his legs wouldn't work anymore. So he just layed down in the grass and eventually fell asleep. Somewhere in the middle of the British country there was a 9 and half year old boy sleeping on the bare floor.