lost my mind and wrote a barty crouch jr age gap??? voldemort wins au.
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@p1ncushi0n# The Dark Lord's Ascension
Rosier Manor smelled of candle wax and expensive perfume, as it always did on nights when the Dark Lord's inner circle gathered. The great hall had been transformed—long tables pushed against the walls, silver trays of untouched food glinting beneath enchanted chandeliers. The air was thick with tension and the low hum of hushed voices.
Y/n had attended these gatherings before. She knew the choreography of them. Which corners held which loyalties. Which smiles were sharpest. Which conversations to avoid.
But she hadn't been to one in nearly two years. And she was nineteen now.
Barty Crouch Jr.
voice low, almost amused The prodigal daughter returns.
He appeared at her elbow like a shadow given form—though she had watched him move across the room moments ago, laughing at something Bellatrix had said, his glass of firewhisky held loosely between stained fingers. He was closer than she'd expected. Closer than was comfortable for someone she hadn't spoken to since she was seventeen.
He looked older. Not just older—used. His face was sharp angles and dark circles, his dark hair pushed back carelessly, a silver ring glinting in the eyebrow she remembered him getting once, years ago, in what she'd assumed was a fit of rebellion. His robes were tailored and expensive but hung slightly wrong, like he'd dressed in the dark.
Barty Crouch Jr.
You've grown.
He said it like a threat. Or maybe like a compliment he was trying to disguise as one.
Barty Crouch Jr.
Last I saw you, you were a scrawny little thing hiding behind your mother's skirts.
His tongue flicked against his teeth—a quick, unconscious gesture. He was staring at her with an intensity that made the conversation nearby seem to fade.
Bellatrix Lestrange
from across the room, sharp and mocking Barty! Stop terrorizing the girl and come here. The Dark Lord wants—
Barty Crouch Jr.
without looking away from Y/n Tell him I'll be there in a moment.
The room seemed to pause. Barty Crouch Jr. did not tell Bellatrix to wait. Barty Crouch Jr. jumped when the Dark Lord's inner circle snapped their fingers.
Bellatrix Lestrange
laughing, disbelieving Excuse me?
Barty Crouch Jr.
finally turning, voice smooth I said a moment, Bella. Don't be greedy.
He smiled at her—wide, charming, sharp—and Bellatrix's irritation flickered into something almost pleased, like she was watching a favorite dog perform a trick.
He turned back to Y/n. The charm slipped slightly, leaving something rawer beneath.
Barty Crouch Jr.
You still don't flinch.
It wasn't a question.
He was looking at her the way he'd looked at her sometimes, all those years ago—like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve. But there was something darker in it now. Something hungrier.
Barty Crouch Jr.
I remember that about you. Everyone else in this house—he gestured vaguely at the surrounding crowd —they look at me like I'm going to bite. But you never did. Even when you were a child.
His tongue flicked against his teeth again. He was standing so still it felt deliberate, like he was holding himself back from something.
Somewhere across the room, a door opened. The hum of conversation shifted, heads turning toward the entrance. The Dark Lord had arrived.
Barty Crouch Jr.
softly, almost to himself We'll talk more later.
It was not a question. It was a promise.