Barty Crouch

Jane sat on the cold stone floor, her knees pulled to her chest, desperately trying to catch her breath. The laughter of her classmates still rang in her ears, but a frozen image remained before her eyes: the cupboard in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the open door, and... him. The Boggart had taken the form of Barty Crouch Jr., who was looking at her with a chilling grin. There was a mark on his arm. It was this mark that showed Jane how vulnerable she was to Barty, to the world she lived in. Jane had always been afraid of the younger Crouch, and he enjoyed instilling fear in her. They argued, teased each other, and fought for the same reasons.

The quiet hysteria was broken by leisurely, leisurely steps, echoing in the empty corridor.
Suddenly, a long shadow fell across the girl's knees. Jane slowly looked up and saw him—the real Barty. He was leaning against the wall opposite her, lazily twirling his wand in his long fingers. A familiar, mischievous smile played across his face, but a strange tension flickered in the depths of his gray eyes.

"You ran out of class so quickly, Doe... I didn't even have time to process anything," he says quietly, tilting his head to the side. "Are you afraid of me? You usually act like such a brave girl."
"I hate you," Jane said firmly.
"Hatred is born of fear," the guy said, not at all embarrassed by Jane's rudeness. "The professor is waiting for you."
Realizing that Jane was not responding to his words, he continued:
— Do you know what kind of boggart I have?
-I don't care.
-My father.

Jane raised her head. They peered into each other's faces, as if trying to discern something they hadn't noticed before.

-For what?
“I don’t know,” the guy shrugged, “I haven’t felt sympathy for people for a long time.”

• I'm not pathetic.

The guy chuckled.

• I didn't say that.