Snow was falling outside, Barty Crouch Jr. shivered, for not only was the cell cold but those creatures came. He laughed madly and began to sing. He did so, not to amuse himself ... no ... those creatures would not make the simple task of amusing oneself possible. He sang simply because he was going mad.
the Dark Lord gave to me
A body to be buried.
On the second day of Christmas,
the Dark Lord gave to me
Two traitors' heads.
And a body to be buried.
On the third day of Christmas,
the Dark Lord gave to me
Three Henchmen,
Two traitors' heads.
And a body to be buried.
On the fourth day of Christmas,
the Dark Lord gave to me
Four Dementors,
Three Henchmen,
Two traitors' heads.
And a body to be buried.
On the fifth day of Christmas,
the Dark Lord gave to me
Five Death Eater's masks,
Four Dementors,
Three Henchmen,
Two traitors' heads.
And a body to be buried.
On the sixth day of Christmas,
the Dark Lord gave to me
Six marks a-flashing,
Five Death Eater's masks,
Four Dementors,
Three Henchmen,
Two traitors' heads.
And a body to be buried.
On the seventh day of Christmas,
the Dark Lord gave to me
Seven Aurors dying,
Six marks a-flashing,
Five Death Eater's masks,
Four Dementors,
Three Henchmen,
Two traitors' heads.
And a body to be buried.
On the eighth day of Christmas,
the Dark Lord gave to me
Eight children wailing,
Seven Aurors dying,
Six marks a-flashing,
Five Death Eater's masks,
Four Dementors,
Three Henchmen,
Two traitors' heads.
And a body to be buried.
On the ninth day of Christmas,
the Dark Lord gave to me
Nine houses burning,
Eight children wailing,
Seven Aurors dying,
Six marks a-flashing,
Five Death Eater's masks,
Four Dementors,
Three Henchmen,
Two traitors' heads.
And a body to be buried.
On the tenth day of Christmas,
the Dark Lord gave to me
Ten Mudbloods bleeding,
Nine houses burning,
Eight children wailing,
Seven Aurors dying,
Six marks a-flashing,
Five Death Eater's masks,
Four Dementors,
Three Henchmen,
Two traitors' heads.
And a body to be buried.
On the eleventh day of Christmas,
the Dark Lord gave to me
Eleven spells for killing,
Ten Mudbloods bleeding,
Nine houses burning,
Eight children wailing,
Seven Aurors dying,
Six marks a-flashing,
Five Death Eater's masks,
Four Dementors,
Three Henchmen,
Two traitors' heads.
And a body to be buried.
On the twelfth day of Christmas,
the Dark Lord gave to me
Twelve heroes falling,
Eleven spells for killing,
Ten Mudbloods bleeding,
Nine houses burning,
Eight children wailing,
Seven Aurors dying,
Six marks a-flashing,
Five Death Eater's masks,
Four Dementors,
Three Henchmen,
Two traitors' heads.
And a body to be buried.
Suddenly the creatures left, yet he continued to sing madly to himself. A woman by the shadows listened; tears welled up her eyes.
“He cannot take this. He’s too young, and to go like this…”
“Dear, he had it coming. He knew the consequences of his action,” the man by her side tried to soothe her.
“He IS our son,” she stated sadly.
His eyes hardened as he watched the youth within the Dark cell. “He’s no longer a son of mine.”
“Bartemius, pleased we talked about this. I don’t have long, but our son will have a chance,” she pleaded.
He bowed his head. “For you. Only for you,” he whispered.
The couple left Azkaban, Bartemius Crouch Sr. looked up towards one of the cell windows and thought of his son:
your mother will give to you
her last days so that you may live.
On the second day of Christmas,
your mother will give to you
Two strands of hair,
And her last days so that you may live.
On the third day of Christmas,
your mother will give to you
Three words of love,
Two strands of hair,
And her last days so that you may live.
On the fourth day of Christmas,
your mother will give to you
Four soft goodbyes,
Three words of love,
Two strands of hair,
And her last days so that you may live.
...
He stopped these thoughts. He could not stand the thought of losing his beloved wife. But she's already dying, this was her last wish. Barty does not deserve her. He doubt that even he deserved such a woman. He clasp his hand onto hers for he knew he will not be able to do so again in a few days time.
He watched her smile, her face although tired and worn, was peaceful. She wanted nothing more than to give her son a chance: For there’s no greater love than a mother’s love for her son.
”Merry Christmas, Barty,” she whispered softly.