Only A Mother Would Love

December 13, 1981

Trista Crouch sobbed, heartbroken. Just hours ago, her only child- her son, her husband's namesake- had been led away by those monsters...those dementors. He had been sentenced to an existence worse than death...Doomed to madness, banished from life... by his very father.

"Barty..." she whimpered through the cries, not knowing if she was calling for her son or husband or both. She rocked back and forth on the kitchen floor, heedless of the cold tile chilling her skin. Trista pressed her hands to her face, trying to stifle her tears. Her body shook with the violence of grief. Then she felt the pressure of a hand on her shoulder. Unaware anyone had even been in the kitchen with her, she jumped slightly. Looking down on her with a troubled brow was Barty Crouch.

"Trista, dear-" he started, trying to comfort her. But she pushed him away with a hysterical shriek.

"Don't touch me!" she cried, the first coherent thing she said since fainting at the trail. Trista backed into the cabinets and scrambled away, repulsed by his presence. "Get- get away- don't you dare-" but she collapsed back into tears, unable to say more.

Barty hated to see his wife falling apart, but there was nothing to be done. He knelt beside her, wrinkling his dress robes. He still hadn't changed since leaving the Ministry.

"Trista," he said quietly, about a foot away from her. She ignored him. "Trista," he said again, more firmly. She looked up, gulping back more sobs and stared at him with wide eyes.

"I know you loved him," he began slowly, "I did too." She looked to say something, but Barty stopped her. "I did. How could I not? He was my son, my blood. The pride and joy of my life." His voice caught, showing the emotion he had hidden so carefully earlier. He pursed his lips a moment to regain his composure. "But he made a choice. He did terrible things-"

"You don't know that!" Trista yelled, powerless to hold back her anger. "We don't know if Barty was there or not, there was no evidence, no sign, only the word of that- that woman," she spat, and Barty knew she was referring to Lestrange, "and you believed her! Over your own son, you believed that bitch!" Trista bent over, resuming her sobs.

Barty stared at his wife, troubled. In truth, there had been more evidence than Bellatrix Lestrange's testimony. His wand had betrayed him. But he couldn't tell Trista that. Her son in Azkaban was torturing her. If she knew he had actually been a Death Eater, had gleefully followed the Dark Lord- the knowledge would kill her. Barty couldn't do that to her. Better she hate him than become lose her mind to grief. He loved her...god, if she only knew. And he couldn't watch her waste away, couldn't stand to let her slip. Her life, her entire universe, was firmly based on the innocence and purity of her son. If Barty took that away... but no. Better hate take hold of her. Hate would make her strong; she could thrive with hate, because hate meant her foundation remained unshaken. Life, even with hate, was better than death. So Barty would stay silent.

"Trista," he started again. He took a breath as Trista refused to look up at him. If only she would stop crying! "I cannot bend the rules for one man. He is no different than the rest-"

"Yes he is!" she burst forth again. "He's your son!!" She spoke through her sobs, in huge gasping spasms. "He's the boy-oy you raised... w-we raised! And sa-say his na-ame... it's B-b-bart-ty!" She looked up at him now, and Barty nearly fell over at the intensity of her gaze. Salty tears glinted off sickly thin cheeks; her eyes blood-shot, blond strands of hair were tangled and stuck to her face with sweat and tears. But her eyes -so pale it seemed they could see right through him -were strong with despair and accusation.

"Barty is our child," Trista said slowly, deliberately, every word trembling with emotion. "And you sent him to a fate worse than death. You sent him so far away he can never come back. Never." Her voice dropped, exhausted with misery. "My baby," she whispered, and two final tears slid down her face.

Cautiously, carefully, with utmost love and compassion, Barty wrapped his arms around Trista. When she didn't resist, he pulled her close. He tucked her onto his chest, brushing her hair and the tears off her face. He rested his chin on top of her head and leaned against the cabinet. He sighed with his own wretchedness, his own worries. For a while they sat, trying to find solace in the other. When Barty felt she was sufficiently calm, he spoke.

"Please believe me, I love Barty," he said. The name came out with slight difficulty, like an unpleasant taste stuck on his tongue. Trista, fortunately, didn't notice. "But the evidence was stacked against him... I'm not saying it was infallible," he added as she looked up at him with objection on her lips. "But it was enough. I have sentenced men to worse without trial and with half the evidence." Barty sighed again, faces of men flashing in his mind, accompanied, as they often were, with traces of doubt. But it was too late for that.

"How could I make an exception for my son? I have a duty to the community. It wouldn't be right for me to give license to any man, even my son. Can't you please understand?" he finished with a slight plea in his voice.

The thing was, Trista could understand. She was a politician's daughter and now a politician's wife. She knew better than anyone how government worked, how public image worked. As much as she didn't want to admit it, Trista knew Barty had done the right thing... the rational thing. Didn't mean she had to like it.

"But did you have to be so... harsh?" she whispered. "Not in sentencing, but in your actions. In the courtroom. He was screaming, pleading, begging for mercy... couldn't you have given him a sign? Just one bit of..." Trista's voice broke over her last words. "Just recognition, that he is yours."

Another stab of guilt pricked Barty, and he held onto the pain. He deserved it, he knew. "I know." Barty gripped Trista tighter, and she burrowed into him. Together, they rocked on the floor.

"I know."