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hh_writersblock2009-04-28 02:26 pm
pretty-liquor.livejournal.com) wrote in hh_writersblock2009-04-28 02:26 pm
challenge 045, 1000+, pretty_liquor
Title: He didn't hit me.
Rating/Warnings: PG - allusions to sex, arguments, angst, etc.
Characters/Pairing: Barty Crouch Sr, Barty Crouch Jr, mentions of Barty/Regulus, Bellatrix.
Summary: When Barty's father finds a colourful letter in his room Barty flees to Grimmauld Place for reassurance and comfort.
Word Count: 1503
Additional comment: This is a hurt/comfort story, but in the interests of not allowing it to descend intosmutromance, it's been given a twist. Also, inspiration for the letter scene taken somewhat from Poppy Z Brite's 'Exquisite Corpse'. It's pretty wordy, and was mapped out in my head beforehand, though I think it could have been better with more than 30 mins. Though h/c isn't really my strong point. Either way, here it is.
Purchases: quill&parchment
The boy hadn't been sleeping. Barty Jr had always been light on his feet, but the ears of a cautious parent must adapt, atune themselves to the clever child. And there was no denying that Barty had always been clever.
At fifteen Barty couldn't say he felt any differently about his son than he had when he'd been three. He'd never been well acquainted with children, and had always found his son to be a strange being. He loved him, of course he did. He'd always supposed that has Barty grew older, gained more mature interests, they'd grow closer.
After two weeks of hearing Barty pad around in the early morning, he decided to get up. It was putting him on edge, all this creeping around.
He found his dressing gown and wrapped it around himself, venturing out onto the landing. Barty's room was at the other end, dark for all that he could see. He walked across, glancing towards the stairs then catching the noise again coming from Barty's room.
It was late, and the boy ought to be asleep. His wife had been in bed since the morning with a bout of sickness, and he didn't want to wake her with knocking.
"Dad," Barty said, freezing for a moment.
Barty Sr looked beyond his son, to his desk. "It's late to be writing isn't it?" he asked, his voice dry. "Why are you still up?"
"Couldn't sleep, so I'm doing some homework," Barty told him, staying quite still.
Something wasn't quite right. Perhaps it was the way that Barty hadn't moved since he'd come into the room, or the way his eyes seemed to quite determindly not stray back towards the parchment on his desk. Barty Sr walked across the room past him and looked down at the desk.
"What the bloody hell is this?" he asked, seizing the parchment. Barty Jr's mouth opened and then closed again. It seemed his usually eloquent son had found himself lost for words, and quite rightly so. "Why are you writing this?" he asked angrily "are you doing these things?"
Barty crumpled the parchment in a fist. "You're fifteen, Barty! What the hell are you thinking?" His son seemed even paler than before, and just gazed at him. Barty had only read a few lines and that had been enough. He didn't want to read such filth in his son's handwriting, and he certainly didn't want to acknowledge the name written out so carefully across the top of the letter.
He wanted to fling out his fist, or say something that would reprimand the boy. But punishment meant acknowledging it was real - that his son was doing these things - and for a boy who didn't make friends easily, who had always been a little strange and too fond of books, it was easy to believe that his son preferred a fantasy world to a real one, even if this fantasy world was beyond disturbing.
"Get to bed," he said dismissively, and left the room.
*
Barty knew that his father wouldn't look him in the eye for weeks. He stood where he had all along, staring at the door after him. Inside him there was a trembling feeling that he hadn't pinned down to fear or anger. One question persisted in his mind - why had his father walked away? He must have been angry, to read those things. He must have seen Regulus' name at the top of the letter. Oh Merlin, he was supposed to be clever, and he couldn't even hide a letter. Maybe Regulus would be in trouble now; maybe his father would tell someone, or he'd say something to Regulus' parents. No, no, he would never do that. He wouldn't ever tell anyone, Barty reckoned.
He turned back to his desk, catching the screwed up ball of parchment in the corner of his eye. That wasn't the letter to send anymore.
Regulus,
I'm coming to see you.
Barty.
*
The knight bus was almost empty, not exactly the most subtle of environments for a teenager at three in the morning. However, the elderly man who took Barty's money seemed less concerned with Barty's presence, and more intent that he had enough to pay for the journey, and so the trip into London to Grimmauld Place was undertaken in near silence.
After sending the owl ahead of him, it was Regulus that Barty expected to greet him at the door. Instead he was confronted by the imposing figure of his older cousin, Bellatrix. At once she managed to appear both bored and challenging - a look that Barty had grown used to, and so he managed to keep his already shaken nerves at bay.
"Barty Crouch the younger," she said, unsmiling "come in."
As she moved back into the house Barty stepped in, looking instinctively towards the staircase where Regulus might be waiting for him. The house was dark and as Bellatrix led him through to the kitchen Barty didn't even spot the Black house-elf, Kreacher, who was usually lurking about the area.
"No cases, or pillows?" she asked, slipping into one of the seats around the kitchen table.
Barty didn't know what she meant, and so kept silent.
"You haven't been kicked out then?" she asked, looking him over before indicating a seat for him.
He sat down and looked at her. He hadn't been kicked out, and he hadn't really run away either. "No, I've just come to see Regulus," he said plainly "I sent an owl."
"Argument with your father?" she said raising a dark eyebrow, "the pair of you can't possibly need to plot at this time of night. Besides, Regulus is sleeping. He's been out for hours."
Barty wasn't sure why Bellatrix cared about him arguing with his father. Though he supposed it might be something to do with protecting Regulus. It wasn't as though the Black family didn't have enemies, or that their standing was particularly good with the Ministry. Everyone knew their family had dark roots; there were rumours, suspicions. The ironic part was that to Barty they seemed more normal than his own Ministry loyal family. At least they cared for one another.
"I bet Mr Black would have hit me," he said aloud, not really looking at Bellatrix.
She cocked her head to the side and stared intently at the blond teenager. They had all been very surprised when Regulus had made a friend in this boy. The son of a man rumoured for a future Minister - a man who was notoriously keen on justice, which of course meant keen on punishing those outside of his own twisted beliefs. It sometimes happened with the old pureblood families. Their own wealth and comfort somehow made them feel guilty, and morphed that guilt into misplaced feelings concerning muggles and mudbloods.
"Why would you want Orion to hit you?" she asked, a twitch of amusement in the corner of her mouth.
Barty didn't see any reason to be dishonest with Bellatrix. She knew much more than he did about everything. Half the time he suspected she knew things before she was told them.
"Dad saw a letter I was writing to Regulus. He was really weird. He said stuff really angrily, then sort of...walked out." He didn't bother trying to gauge her reaction as he spoke. Even if Bellatrix hadn't been well versed in schooling her expression, Barty was awful at reading them.
"Did he see Regulus' name on there?" she asked.
"Yes. At least, I think so. He didn't say anything about it."
Bellatrix was silent for a moment, then stood up and moved around the table. Barty kept still as she sat down beside him. "And you think he should have hurt you for the letter?" she asked in an even tone.
"I just don't see how you can be angry and not. Do you think he-"
"Barty, your father is never going to be happy about anything you do. He's disappointed in you. He wants a son who loves muggles, and wants to save the world. He doesn't like you." Her comments were delivered in the same tone as everything else, neither comforting nor scolding. Barty looked up at her, unsure of what to say or how to react. "He doesn't see things like we do. He doesn't know how special you are, and he doesn't understand the things we believe. The right things."
"Then what should I do?" Barty asked.
He felt her arm shift, and her hand move towards his head. Her fingers threaded through his hair, playing with it like his mother used to when he was younger. Bellatrix didn't cut much of a motherly figure, and Barty couldn't help feel like a mouse whom a cat had temporarily fallen in love with. But he wasn't afraid, and something inside him quietened. These people were powerful, they would look after him. They wouldn't be disappointed in him, and as Bellatrix's hand cradleded his skull, Barty felt that he had a family here.
Sam//Slytherin
Rating/Warnings: PG - allusions to sex, arguments, angst, etc.
Characters/Pairing: Barty Crouch Sr, Barty Crouch Jr, mentions of Barty/Regulus, Bellatrix.
Summary: When Barty's father finds a colourful letter in his room Barty flees to Grimmauld Place for reassurance and comfort.
Word Count: 1503
Additional comment: This is a hurt/comfort story, but in the interests of not allowing it to descend into
Purchases: quill&parchment
The boy hadn't been sleeping. Barty Jr had always been light on his feet, but the ears of a cautious parent must adapt, atune themselves to the clever child. And there was no denying that Barty had always been clever.
At fifteen Barty couldn't say he felt any differently about his son than he had when he'd been three. He'd never been well acquainted with children, and had always found his son to be a strange being. He loved him, of course he did. He'd always supposed that has Barty grew older, gained more mature interests, they'd grow closer.
After two weeks of hearing Barty pad around in the early morning, he decided to get up. It was putting him on edge, all this creeping around.
He found his dressing gown and wrapped it around himself, venturing out onto the landing. Barty's room was at the other end, dark for all that he could see. He walked across, glancing towards the stairs then catching the noise again coming from Barty's room.
It was late, and the boy ought to be asleep. His wife had been in bed since the morning with a bout of sickness, and he didn't want to wake her with knocking.
"Dad," Barty said, freezing for a moment.
Barty Sr looked beyond his son, to his desk. "It's late to be writing isn't it?" he asked, his voice dry. "Why are you still up?"
"Couldn't sleep, so I'm doing some homework," Barty told him, staying quite still.
Something wasn't quite right. Perhaps it was the way that Barty hadn't moved since he'd come into the room, or the way his eyes seemed to quite determindly not stray back towards the parchment on his desk. Barty Sr walked across the room past him and looked down at the desk.
"What the bloody hell is this?" he asked, seizing the parchment. Barty Jr's mouth opened and then closed again. It seemed his usually eloquent son had found himself lost for words, and quite rightly so. "Why are you writing this?" he asked angrily "are you doing these things?"
Barty crumpled the parchment in a fist. "You're fifteen, Barty! What the hell are you thinking?" His son seemed even paler than before, and just gazed at him. Barty had only read a few lines and that had been enough. He didn't want to read such filth in his son's handwriting, and he certainly didn't want to acknowledge the name written out so carefully across the top of the letter.
He wanted to fling out his fist, or say something that would reprimand the boy. But punishment meant acknowledging it was real - that his son was doing these things - and for a boy who didn't make friends easily, who had always been a little strange and too fond of books, it was easy to believe that his son preferred a fantasy world to a real one, even if this fantasy world was beyond disturbing.
"Get to bed," he said dismissively, and left the room.
*
Barty knew that his father wouldn't look him in the eye for weeks. He stood where he had all along, staring at the door after him. Inside him there was a trembling feeling that he hadn't pinned down to fear or anger. One question persisted in his mind - why had his father walked away? He must have been angry, to read those things. He must have seen Regulus' name at the top of the letter. Oh Merlin, he was supposed to be clever, and he couldn't even hide a letter. Maybe Regulus would be in trouble now; maybe his father would tell someone, or he'd say something to Regulus' parents. No, no, he would never do that. He wouldn't ever tell anyone, Barty reckoned.
He turned back to his desk, catching the screwed up ball of parchment in the corner of his eye. That wasn't the letter to send anymore.
Regulus,
I'm coming to see you.
Barty.
*
The knight bus was almost empty, not exactly the most subtle of environments for a teenager at three in the morning. However, the elderly man who took Barty's money seemed less concerned with Barty's presence, and more intent that he had enough to pay for the journey, and so the trip into London to Grimmauld Place was undertaken in near silence.
After sending the owl ahead of him, it was Regulus that Barty expected to greet him at the door. Instead he was confronted by the imposing figure of his older cousin, Bellatrix. At once she managed to appear both bored and challenging - a look that Barty had grown used to, and so he managed to keep his already shaken nerves at bay.
"Barty Crouch the younger," she said, unsmiling "come in."
As she moved back into the house Barty stepped in, looking instinctively towards the staircase where Regulus might be waiting for him. The house was dark and as Bellatrix led him through to the kitchen Barty didn't even spot the Black house-elf, Kreacher, who was usually lurking about the area.
"No cases, or pillows?" she asked, slipping into one of the seats around the kitchen table.
Barty didn't know what she meant, and so kept silent.
"You haven't been kicked out then?" she asked, looking him over before indicating a seat for him.
He sat down and looked at her. He hadn't been kicked out, and he hadn't really run away either. "No, I've just come to see Regulus," he said plainly "I sent an owl."
"Argument with your father?" she said raising a dark eyebrow, "the pair of you can't possibly need to plot at this time of night. Besides, Regulus is sleeping. He's been out for hours."
Barty wasn't sure why Bellatrix cared about him arguing with his father. Though he supposed it might be something to do with protecting Regulus. It wasn't as though the Black family didn't have enemies, or that their standing was particularly good with the Ministry. Everyone knew their family had dark roots; there were rumours, suspicions. The ironic part was that to Barty they seemed more normal than his own Ministry loyal family. At least they cared for one another.
"I bet Mr Black would have hit me," he said aloud, not really looking at Bellatrix.
She cocked her head to the side and stared intently at the blond teenager. They had all been very surprised when Regulus had made a friend in this boy. The son of a man rumoured for a future Minister - a man who was notoriously keen on justice, which of course meant keen on punishing those outside of his own twisted beliefs. It sometimes happened with the old pureblood families. Their own wealth and comfort somehow made them feel guilty, and morphed that guilt into misplaced feelings concerning muggles and mudbloods.
"Why would you want Orion to hit you?" she asked, a twitch of amusement in the corner of her mouth.
Barty didn't see any reason to be dishonest with Bellatrix. She knew much more than he did about everything. Half the time he suspected she knew things before she was told them.
"Dad saw a letter I was writing to Regulus. He was really weird. He said stuff really angrily, then sort of...walked out." He didn't bother trying to gauge her reaction as he spoke. Even if Bellatrix hadn't been well versed in schooling her expression, Barty was awful at reading them.
"Did he see Regulus' name on there?" she asked.
"Yes. At least, I think so. He didn't say anything about it."
Bellatrix was silent for a moment, then stood up and moved around the table. Barty kept still as she sat down beside him. "And you think he should have hurt you for the letter?" she asked in an even tone.
"I just don't see how you can be angry and not. Do you think he-"
"Barty, your father is never going to be happy about anything you do. He's disappointed in you. He wants a son who loves muggles, and wants to save the world. He doesn't like you." Her comments were delivered in the same tone as everything else, neither comforting nor scolding. Barty looked up at her, unsure of what to say or how to react. "He doesn't see things like we do. He doesn't know how special you are, and he doesn't understand the things we believe. The right things."
"Then what should I do?" Barty asked.
He felt her arm shift, and her hand move towards his head. Her fingers threaded through his hair, playing with it like his mother used to when he was younger. Bellatrix didn't cut much of a motherly figure, and Barty couldn't help feel like a mouse whom a cat had temporarily fallen in love with. But he wasn't afraid, and something inside him quietened. These people were powerful, they would look after him. They wouldn't be disappointed in him, and as Bellatrix's hand cradleded his skull, Barty felt that he had a family here.
Sam//Slytherin