User Profile

the character.

Name: Barty Crouch Jr.

Gender: Male

Year & House: 6th Year Slytherin

Affiliation: Death Eater

Appearance:

Slender and lithe, Barty stands at about 5'10. He carrys around no extra weight, no extra muscles. What he has is cleverly concealed behind a small frame. That isn't to say he doesn't have any strength, he just chooses to exercise them in other ways beyond simply the physical. Barty has rather shaggy hair, it's dark and loose, and falls about in an organised chaos. His mother constantly nags on him to cut it, but Barty has grown accustomed to its length. It only reaches down to his ears, after all. It isn't that long, but she worries that no one will be able to see his beautiful clear blue eyes. He thinks he doesn't want anyone to see his eyes. His eyes hold no emotions in them, he doesn't view the world like that. Whenever wearing anything not the designated Hogwart's uniform, Barty is impeccably dressed. His father works for the Ministry. His father makes enough money. His father can afford to buy Barty all he needs to fit into this fashionable world, to never disgrace himself by wearing something out of trend. Barty's concern is not really in the fashion, but in how he is perceived by others.

History:

Named for his father, Barty was born on a rather dreary night in September. It was raining, as his mother likes to recount with a rather rapturous look on her face. Barty thinks that giving birth to him was her sole joy in her life. She retells the story, sometimes. About how he never caused her any pain, and that it was as if he just appeared there. When faced with this anecdote, Barty simply leans over and kisses his mother on the cheek. She is a simple person, he thinks, and thus treats her in a simple way. It isn't that he doesn't appreciate her, because he does. He just has never understood why she puts up with everything she does from his father.

Of course, this was never a very good thing in his father's eyes. Bartemius Crouch Sr. was a strict man. Barty lived under his iron rule with a certain degree of deference up until he left for Hogwarts. Without his father's strict guidelines, and his miserable house elfs simpering, Barty learned what it was like to truly live. Not that he ever found much solace in the rest of his dorm. It was never that Barty was shy, it was that he kept to himself, harboured his own secrets. Barty was not one for sharing.

His childhood was characterised by Ministry functions and silly outfits. When Barty was young enough that he had no say in what he wore, his mother was dressing him up like a doll. A perfect little gentleman, with just a touch of frill and lace. By the time Barty was seven, he was gritting his teeth and ripping off the lace at the first opportunity. He became an expert at sulking when in the privacy of home. In public, he slid the mask on his face, and his parents were happy. They were the perfect family. His father made it so. Barty could not have resented him more.

When his father and mother left for society functions without him, Barty was left in the care of the family house elf: Winky. Barty always regarded her with some sort of fascination. She was deathly loyal to the family, to the point of absurdity. Some nights, Barty would sit and invent new ways to torture her. She never told his parents. She never brought them up. Barty could only figure that she assumed she deserved the treatment for something she had done. His clothes were always smelling fresh the night morning, and breakfast generally had an extra flair added on. This would cause Barty much amusement.

But at Hogwarts, Barty lost his plaything, his source of amusement. He had to find other things to do. And that entertainment came in the form of manipulating other students. It was fascinating to watch them play their games. Watch them reveal their secrets so easily. Barty could never understand how such imbecilic people were allowed to continue their existence. But he set high standards: himself.

Suffice to say, Barty made little friends through his years at the school. He studied, and did his work. He did not bother with other people, except when making a suggestive comment here or there. Usually it was a whispered word, given by the person no one ever saw, no one even noticed. His grades never suffered, and he obtained better than average OWL scores.

When Barty heard the news of a man called Lord Voldemort, he was more than willing to sacrifice everything for the man and what he had to say. It fit with everything that Barty had ever believed growing up. It made sense to him, and put a fire in his head. Barty more than relished their assignment of initiation. Harm another human being? That was something that he could do. And more. Barty threw his lot in hard and fast, almost falling in love with the dream and the fanatacism.

Personality:

If there is one thing to remember about Barty Crouch, it is that he likes pain. He likes to inflict pain, more importantly. It is a deep and dark part of himself, that truly terrifies him. But as he ran the tip of his wand against a young man's wrists, slashing them open, watching the life spill from him, inflicting more wounds as he went, Barty truly realised what his calling in life was. Pain. And he would never give that up now that he has found it. Now that he has killed.

On the other end of the spectrum, receiving pain has always put Barty in a snarling mood. There are many ways to look at it. He's never quite believed in mixing pain and pleasure. But that could lie within his inexperience. Barty does not get turned on by pain, he does not get aroused when he hurts another. He feels a cold and dark satisfaction at his task. An overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

To the cause, Barty is loyal almost to a fault. He would do anything asked of him. You could call him over eager. But Barty believes in the sincerity of the promises made. They would cleanse the world of all that is impure and disgraceful with the world. It would happen, he would help make it so.

When forced into a conversation, Barty tends to have a biting wit. Humour is not something that becomes him. Sarcasm is his best friend. But he never uses it as a means to get a laugh. That is not what life is about. Sometimes, he is sure that joy is the antithesis of all that he embodies. What use has he for joy? Joy does not accomplish anything. Joy is left for the old and decrepit. But Barty can be an open person, if the occassion calls for it. He is not outwardly evil, at all. In fact, many would find him just another bookworm, if that's what you'd like to call it. He doesn't do anything to draw attention to himself.

Barty has a small streak of caring, and that probably applies only to his mother. She is the only person who would never think of intentionally hurting. His father, not surprisingly, would never fall under this umbrella. His work in the Ministry has shunned him from Barty's good graces. Help mudbloods. Barty doesn't pretend to understand what his father's reasoning is. He doesn't care. It is disgraceful, and shouldn't ever be considered in the first place. Pureblood elitism is not something that Barty learned from his parents. It was something he picked up from the other young kids his age. What they told him at all the ridiculous society events. What Barty clung with a fierce grip.

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