Good evening, I'm quite excited because this is my first pure HP fanfiction, aka without a crossover in between ... by the way let's face it, I can't write about 'Harry Potter', I can write (or at least I try, I'll make disasters, but I have tons of fun) only about Barty Crouch Jr and who gravitates around him depending on the situation, lol

Disclaimer: the characters belong only to JK Rowling ... and I must be locked inside an asylum for the use I make of them XDD

I: Any good ideas?

September 18, 1979

"Well, well, look who's here, the young Bartemius!" Arthur Weasley greets him cheerfully.

"I don't understand why you have to get excited every time, Mr. Weasley, with all the times my father sends me to you." the boy snorts. "By the way, do you have those documents he asked for?"

Bartemius Crouch Senior treats his son like a handyman, his office and Weasley's are just a short distance away and he could very well go on his own to whom in the end he also considers a person pleasant enough, but he is keen to emphasize his prestige, humiliating at the same time his son.

What Mr. Crouch may not know is that in this way he facilitates his son to find information that may be of fundamental importance to a certain someone.

But the Head of the Department of Applications of Magical Laws must continue not to know this.

Usually the Office for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts is quiet and orderly, but that day does not seem to respect the norm and three little redheads are responsible for that, arranged in descending order.

Arthur notices where the young man's attention has fallen and he rushes to give him explanations.

"Today Molly was busy and ... I am allowed a little break from the rules in many years of work." he winks, giggling. "And thank goodness that at least she kept the twins with her, those little ones look like the children of the devil himself!"

"It's easy to get confused among redheads!" Barty rolls his eyes as he sees him walk away.

"I'll leave you with my crew for a moment, so I'll go get you what you asked for, I'll be right back."

If there's one thing Barty likes less than being in a Ministry of Magic office, it's being in a Ministry of Magic office that's overflowing with whelps.

"My dad does the best job in the world!" The eldest of the brothers breaks the awkward silence after a bunch of seconds.

Barty looks at that Phil or Will or whatever his name is.

He certainly can't say the same thing about his father.

Yet there was a time when, when he was about the age of the child who has just spoken to him, he also thought that his father was the most important person in the world and that when he grew up he would become like him, also yearning only a modicum of consideration from that icy man that never seemed to arrive.

Barty is seventeen now and has been tired of waiting for a long time.

"Ah yes, do you really think so?" the boy asks him, skeptically.

"Of course yes, he always takes home some weird but beautiful things to show us them, like the other night, when he showed us the camera!" says the little boy of almost nine, enthusiastic.

"It has such a stupid name, what is it?" Barty snorts bored, pulling the tuft from his wide forehead.

"It's something that takes photos, sort of... but they last longer and they not only move, but you also hear them talking!" the child confuses his mind even more.

"Bill's right," the second son of the Weasley family, who is almost seven years old, gives him support. "Dad promised that when he grows up he will teach me how to do it so then I will use it with dragons. They are beautiful and I want to see them all and show them to others with the rameca! "

"It's camera , you ninny, Charlie! You can't even say the right name, and you would even want to use it! " the eldest one slaps him on the back of the head.

"Silence!" the youngest rails. "Be quiet!"

"But listen to my Percy!" Arthur chuckles, returning. "It is no coincidence that that was his very first word. Now you are only three years old, who knows what you will do as Prefect! " he daydreams, ruffling the hair of the third child. "Did they bother you?" he turns back to Barty, handing him the package of documents requested.

This is just an internal census of the Ministry, nothing that would capture the interest of his Dark Lord, however he has discovered something rather inspiring and wants to find out more about what those bizarre cameras are and what they can actually do.

He also knows how to satisfy his curiosity ... if only they let him go.

"Barty," Arthur stops him, before he goes out, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"What?" young Crouch turns abruptly.

"Your father has a hard shell but I am convinced that he cares about you." the man smiles benevolently.

Barty just looks at him with his most skeptical expression.

"My father asked me for excellent grades in school and I obliged him."

"I know, by the way, congratulations on the excellent way you graduated this year, boy!" congratulates Arthur, who doubts that his children will be able to give him the same level of satisfaction from a scholastic point of view.

Barty shrugs.

He knows very well that he has obtained brilliant grades.

And his father didn't even let him have a party with his friends.

But it doesn't matter, he has already given himself a gift. The most precious of all, which pulsates deliciously on the inside of his left arm, away from prying eyes.

"Thanks, but that's not the point. I've always asked my father for just a little affection, and what he did? Nothing. Obviously my request must have been much greedier than yours. " he takes his leave coldly.

Barty smiles, unseen, as he walks through the corridors of the Ministry.

He doesn't give a damn about his father now.

He found a better one.

A mentor.

And much more.

September 20, 1979

Meetings with the Death Eaters are now his favorite event and one is scheduled for that evening.

Participating is so easy for young Crouch, he invents an excuse such as an evening out with friends and his father lets him without protesting, after all his son has done his daytime work in the offices, he is entitled to a little leisure.

Her mother on the other hand... well, he hates lying to her like that too, but he has a feeling that she would support her beloved son in any choice.

Maybe one day he'll tell her the truth.

Once he has moved away from Crouch Manor in fine tailored clothes, for Barty it is piece of cake to change outfits, as any girl would do to secretly go dancing in a disco.

However, for Barty, the fun is something else.

He is pleased with those night-black garments, perhaps a little worn, but certainly fit for purpose.

He wears the hooded tunic to cover his head and the beloved silver mask, with such grotesque charm.

Unrecognizable to anyone, he apparates in the indicated place.

After all, it was his favorite exam and he passed it without the slightest hesitation.

He arrives in the hall of Villa Malfoy with impeccable punctuality: the Dark Lord has not arrived yet.

Among those present she immediately recognizes Bellatrix, with her gothic style that fits her incredibly, with her thick hair and indomitable curls, like she is, with all the energy of her twenty-eight years and the desire to please Voldemort.

The same desire that Barty has.

Of course, he also recognizes her because she is the only one who does not wear the mask, she is never afraid to show herself for what she is: a talented and very fearsome Dark Witch.

Barty has a lot of respect for her and aspires to reach her levels.

However, he sees another friendly presence in Regulus's raven hair down to the nape of his neck and he approaches him as they wait for the Dark Lord to manifest himself to them.

And Voldemort does not fail to do so, looking at them one by one in awe-inspiring silence.

"My followers, my adepts, my faithful people," he begins, getting a nod from those thirty or so heads in that room. "I am pleased to see you here, even if in my opinion you are still a little too few. I would like to get as close to me as more as possible Pureblood Wizards and Witches, but it is also true that I cannot expose myself publicly, with those damned Aurors who are so after me! " he growls, annoyed. "Some ideas?" he asks, in his tone that is friendly again.

"M-my L-Lord," someone awkwardly raises his hand up.

"Yes, Goyle?" Voldemort asks him, who has already recognized him by his voice.

"We-we could organize a me-meeting, ma-maybe in the Forbidden Forest and ..."

In the dim ligth that surrounds the hall the only visible thing is a lightning red spark, followed by an angry ' Crucio .', before Goyle writhes on the ground from the pain, complaining in a very unmanly way.

Everyone else backs off in fear, while Bellatrix and Barty bask in the pain their Dark Lord is causing to that reckless victim.

"What part of 'I cannot expose myself publicly' did you miss, Goyle?" growls Voldemort, raising his wand and ending the terrible punishment. "Somebody else?" he returns to address his audience.

Another arm raises up.

"M-my Lo-Lord you-could-you-ap-apparate in wizards'-houses and ..."

"First, Crabbe, I didn't give you permission to speak," Voldemort interrupts coldly. "Second, for Salazar! This is an even more stupid suggestion than the previous one!" he gets mad. "CRUCIO!"

It's not a replica of before, this time it is more powerful and Crabbe's screams louder and more heartbreaking.

As well as the fun of Bellatrix and Barty is even greater, even if they do not show it.

"So should I be wasting my precious time, randomly going to the homes of each wizard, repeatedly, at the risk of running into a handful of Aurors who are waiting for nothing else?" yells Voldemort, intensifying the Unforgivable Curse, to the point that Crabbe doesn't even have the strength to apologize, before he stops. "What kind of idiots have I surrounded myself with?"

"Please, my Lord, calm down," Lucius approaches him, concerned more for the furniture in his house than for the frustration of his Master. "I am sure we will find ways to bring as many wizards as possible to your worthy cause."

"Do you have any suggestions on that, Lucius?" the Dark Lord questions him but the Death Eater shakes his head negatively, desolate.

"Any other ideas?" question the rest. "I mean any good ideas?" points out.

"My Lord, will your Lordship grant me the word?" Barty asks, without hesitation.

"Oh, little Crouch, I'm curious to hear from you." Voldemort urges him.

"I hate being called that!" Barty snaps, not thinking about the consequences of his actions.

Voldemort however seems to appreciate his intolerance, notable for his young age.

"Like what? 'Little'?" he enjoys teasing him.

"Also... but above all 'Crouch'. I don't want to be associated with that name anymore. " growls the young man.

"I already knew, but I wanted confirmation. For me you will always be just and only Barty, then. "

Barty doesn't want to delude himself too much but it would seem that Voldemort wants to create a certain intimacy with him.

Bellatrix must also think so, as she whirls around, giving him a fiery glare, which he can perceive even through the slits of the mask he still wears.

"Explain your idea, then." the Dark Lord begins to get impatient.

He does not like wasting time.

"Of course, my Lord, forgive me. We could use a camera, " Barty continues.

At the sound of that unknown word a chorus of contemptuous laughter rises.

"Shut up, all of you!" Voldemort shouts at them, with his wand giving off sparks in warning, thus restoring the silence.

"What is a camera?" he turns back to Barty, halfway between intrigued and distrustful.

"This is a Muggle invention that I have come to know, which, with the appropriate modifications, could be very useful to us," the boy premises, before divulging himself in more in-depth explanations.

Fortunately, the owner of the Muggle tech shop he visited proved to have a far more elaborate lexical property than Bill Weasley.

"Once we have your video, my Lord, we will be able to merge it into a spell, which I can create, and make it appear from the wand of those who can pronounce the correct formula. In this way, through simple word of mouth, we Death Eaters could make a selection of the interested Pureblood Wizards and then we will provide them the tools to get in touch with you. A first non-direct contact, where they would be able to see, in total privacy, your Video with You who illustrate the various points of your so noble project, without physically exposing yourself in public. Then, if the interest persists, subsequent videos could follow, where you give more and more information to the point of being approached in secret by those who are really ready to join your Lordship."

At the end of his exposition, which has not wavered even for a second, Barty waits for the verdict, while Voldemort closes himself in a reflective silence.

Silence that Bellatrix does not hesitate to break.

"But look, now that the child has got his stencil he already wants to play with the grown-ups?" she sneers impertinently, with a falsetto voice.

'Maybe a stencil is what that useless sister of yours, Narcissa, wears. She is as much Death Eater as a sink would be! " he blurts out, sprinting at her and taking off his mask to better deal with her.

His witty remark arouses the hilarity of the Dark Lord and deep inside it makes Bellatrix smile too.

As a matter of fact, her sister isn't even standing at that meeting.

"I am as worthy of this Dark Mark as you are," Barty pulls up his sleeve, showing it to her with a proud look. "And I'm not afraid to prove it!"

"Bella, Bella, am I supposed to believe that your reckless reaction is due to the fact that our dear Barty had a brilliant idea and you didn't?" Voldemort approaches her.

"I ... I'm sorry, my Lord," she becomes more submissive, bowing her head.

"Don't worry," Voldemort strokes her hair. "You give me other kinds of satisfactions ... and you will give me new ones, too." he smiles back at her, and now Barty is the jealous one.

"My boy, I like your way of thinking, it denotes a marked intelligence." he turns back to him, pleasing him beyond his most optimistic predictions.

He received more compliments from his Dark Lord over the course of those few months than from his father in his entire life.

"My Lord," he bows to him respectfully.

"Get one of those cameras," his Master gives him.

"Nothing easier, my Lord." guarantees the boy, getting up.

"Well, you will be in charge of the... filming, you said it's called that, right?" he asks for confirmation.

"Yes, my Lord ... will I really have this honor?" the young man is getting antsy.

"Your idea, you will take care of it. Do you know where the Gaunt Estate is? "

Barty nods, unable to believe his luck: he knows that this is Lord Voldemort's permanent home or at least temporary, given his continuous travels around the world.

"I give you three days to acquire the necessary knowledge and extricate yourself from the commitments with the old Crouch, we certainly do not want him to become suspicious," Voldemort recommends and he nods. "And then you will come to me," he puts an end to that meeting, to the general amazement and burning envy of a certain female Death Eater.

Notes:

So far I have always written about grown up and deranged Barty, but when I saw that image yesterday (the one you can see on the cover) I got such strong young Barty! vibes and this story was born from there, within a day and a half.
If you want to see Barty at Voldemort's estate and all the things that will happen after that, don't miss next part... (and you'll also get the meaning of the title of the story) if someone cares about this fic, of course, I'm sadly accustomed to be ignored by readers ^^'