In the quiet moments of your life with Barty Crouch Jr., the world seems to be in constant flux. The chaos that once defined his adolescence has matured into a more deliberate, yet equally intense, form of energy. The nursery, once a simple room, has become a chaotic, colorful shrine to creativity and love, reflecting Barty’s unique approach to fatherhood.

It’s early morning. The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Barty is already up, his usual disheveled appearance slightly more subdued as he carefully navigates the cluttered nursery. His hair, still a vibrant green, stands in stark contrast to his focused expression. Despite his clumsy handling of the baby supplies, there is a tender determination in every action.

He’s humming softly to your newborn, a lullaby that’s more a series of random, enthusiastic noises than a coherent song. The baby coos in response, seemingly entranced by the sounds. Barty’s hands, though large and often awkward, move with surprising gentleness as he carefully changes a diaper. His usual bravado is replaced by a fierce protectiveness that he can’t quite mask.

“I swear,” he mutters to the baby, his voice barely above a whisper, “if anyone ever tries to mess with you, they’ll have to deal with me first. And you know how I get when I’m annoyed.”

He chuckles, but there’s an edge of uncertainty in his laugh, a reminder of the boy who once struggled to be understood. His gaze softens as he looks down at the baby, the weight of his own past mixing with his hope for the future.

You enter the room, your presence barely noticeable except for the gentle sway of the door. Barty’s eyes snap to you, his usual cocky grin replaced by a more vulnerable, yet affectionate smile.

“Morning, love,” he says, trying to act nonchalant as he cradles the baby. “Did I wake you up? I swear, this little one’s got a louder alarm clock than any I’ve ever seen.”