Barty Crouch, Jr. is not Oedipus Rex. (culling) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-09-17 21:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1979-09] september, antonin dolohov, barty crouch jr |
Who: Barty and Antonin.
Where: Antonin's room; Spell Damage Ward, St Mungo's
When: Late-ish, Wednesday night, 17th September 1979.
What: Coma Guy wakes up. :O
Rating: PGish, probably.
Status: Logged!
Barty had to wonder if he was getting too accustomed to sitting in Antonin's room, waiting for something to happen, never seeing it happen, and still just expecting that, maybe, something would change. There had not been any major changes, at least none that Barty really considered to be major. Admittedly, his standards for what did and did not constitute a "major change" were rather high -- Antonin faring better than he had been was a decent enough change, but it was not, in Barty's eyes, a major change; waking up would have been a major change -- but, nevertheless, Barty did not think that he was expecting too much. Expecting it too quickly, perhaps; he could easily admit that he was more than guilty of that, but he preferred to think of it as simply wanting something that was for the best.
Since he had managed to sneak in after visiting hours and escape being lectured about it -- Blood Traitor that she was, Andromeda was quite useful for that; Barty only had to frown slightly and he instantly pulled at the woman's heartstrings -- Barty had been somewhat more careful about attempting to spend more time with his comatose unofficial mentor. He was, right now, mostly minding Antonin, with occasional checks over his shoulder to see if anyone was coming to interrupt this. Vaguely, Barty wondered if he had really been doing as good a job of things this week as he'd thought that he had. He had been sleeping, and eating (which had been much easier once Olga had started bringing him food as well as bringing it for Anzhelina), and minding Anzhelina as best he could, but everything else had been rather questionable.
Tending to Severus had been, at best, mildly painful, if only because Barty hated seeing the other boy so upset and feeling helpless to stop it, beyond minding his wounds and making hopeful attempt after hopeful attempt. Seeing Julianne and Jacqueline had hardly been difficult at all, beyond attempting to coerce Julianne into allowing him to tend her cut. Mother had been lovely, on her own, until her worrying had threatened to overcome her once more, and Father... well. Father was himself -- he had even needed to be dragged away from work, almost literally. And now Barty was alone with a comatose man, wondering if anything could be done to expedite this process; all he came up with was attempting to make sure that Antonin knew, in some small way, that he was not alone.
"This week has been rather... inverted from normalcy," Barty commented, trying to tell himself that this was just like talking to Antonin under any other circumstances -- aside from, of course, the fact that Antonin probably could not hear him. "I almost don't believe it myself, and I have actually been here for it. ...I stood up to my father. ...Twice, as a matter of fact. And I stood up to Severus besides that." Barty paused, smiling dryly. "It has been different; I will say that."
In all likelihood, Barty hadn't been expecting a reply, but he got one, albeit in a voice that was weak and rusty from disuse.
"Good," Antonin mumbled, his accent stronger than normal. "You need to be more assertive."
The weakness, disuse, and stronger accent of Antonin's voice aside, it was still recognisably his, a fact that meant more, right now, than the fact that someone had bothered replying to something Barty had said. In some way, small or large, Barty had thought every day about what he would have said or done in this instance, whenever it happened to come about, but, now that he was here, he did not even find himself in the position to remember what diagnostics he should have performed or what observations needed to be made.
All he could do was grin, excessively relieved, and say, "You're -- welcome back." Rather without any judgement at all, he added, "...You have been missed."
Antonin's answering smile was faint, marred by the confusion in his eyes. He could tell he'd been asleep -- unconscious -- for some time, but how long?
And was his daughter alive?
"Is Anzhelina all right?"
"She's perfectly fine," Barty answered simply, trying to be as calm and reassuring as possible when he quite wanted to go and tell everyone that Antonin had come to. "Her only complaint is that you have been comatose for several days; she sustained a few minor injuries in the battle, but the Healers saw to both of us on Saturday. I think she is sleeping, at the moment; we... she did not wish to go home, and we have been sleeping in the on-call room, but Olga has been bringing food for us and Anzhelina has been caring for herself."
He smiled again, closing his eyes for a moment. He still felt so tired.
"Olga is a good woman. You have been looking after yourself, I trust?"
Barty smiled as well, even managing a small laugh; he had known that this would have been one of the things that Antonin would ask after. He had gotten the sense that no one he had informed of his unofficial mentor's potential displeasure had properly believed him, or at least not believed that he was not exaggerating the extent of things. "Of course. I was lucky enough not to have been terribly injured, and there have been people to look after; it hardly seems fitting to do so while risking joining their ranks by my own doing."
"Good." He looked up at Barty then, entirely serious. "What is my condition?"
"Critical, but stable," Barty answered, equally serious. He had tired, over the past few days, of informing everyone of the same thing, but this was quite different. "Your Healers are still worried about the damage done to your leg, and the extent of your injuries has been forcing them to proceed slowly. ...They're very worried about your left lung; it... it was punctured by one of your ribs." As much as Barty had no desire to be saying any of this, he had to remind himself: firstly, this was Antonin and no one else was around to tell him; secondly, this would be good practice for later.
"Ah." That would explain why breathing was painful, although nothing on a scale he couldn't cope with in the short term. "You say I have been comatose for several days; how long, precisely? And you did inform the healers of our cover story?"
"Four days," Barty answered simply. "It's Wednesday night; I... do not know what time, off-hand. After visiting hours, technically. ...And Anzhelina and I both told the cover story; it has been believed by everyone who has heard it so far." He paused, swallowing thickly and wondering why he was drawing a blank on any protocol he should have known and on whether or not he knew it in the first place. This, he concluded, was why there were concerns about allowing Healers to treat people to whom they were close; emotions too easily clouded everything.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked carefully. "How do you feel?"
"My journal," he said thickly, closing his eyes again. For all he'd been unconscious for four days, he was still tired. "I need to... get up to date. A Dictaquill. There is work to do."
Barty nodded; his first question had gone without a direct answer, but he could more than make due. After all, Antonin had just come out of a coma; they could discuss feelings later, if that was what he wished. "Of course," he agreed. "I will owl Olga for your journal, and I have seen enough Dictaquills around here in the past few days that I should not have trouble locating one for you."
"Thank you." Distantly, the diagnostic part of his mind supplied the information that his lung must still be healing, and that the odd numbness in his leg was no doubt the result of pain potions; there must be more damage there. "Were many of our number badly injured?"
"I believe so," Barty answered honestly. "Given who I have seen in the rest of the ward recently, I believe that the DMLE and the vigilantes came out worse than we did, but there were still a fair amount of injuries. Even our women were injured, though I think that they escaped anything terribly serious -- Alecto might be the exception, but she was actually in the fray, so this is understandable."
"Did we lose anyone?"
Keep focused on what was important. Ignore the pain. He'd had worse, during the winters back in Russia; he could cope with this.
"No; at least, I do not think so. I believe that we came close with a few -- and Severus has been intent on attempting to make himself worse, despite not having injuries as serious as some -- but there have been no deaths reported." After all, Mister Lestrange would have had something more to say had someone died.
"I shall have to have words with him," Antonin remarked, coughing harshly. Inhaling too deeply was unwise, evidently; he made a note of it in the back of his mind. "But otherwise, that is good news. Our main objective was achieved, I trust; faith in Dumbledore will be shaken. It will be worth it."
"I already have," Barty said with a small smile. "Several times, actually. ...He has been stubborn, but I have gotten him to listen, and, truthfully, his stubbornness is better than nothing. With him, it means that he's healing." Pausing, Barty nodded. He felt more comfortable saying that the battle had been worth it now that Antonin had returned to the realm of the waking. "The Prophet has already indicated that this is the case; it is even moreso given that all of us evaded capture."
"Good." Antonin settled back against the pillows, eyes still closed; doing terribly much, even talking, was taking far more energy than it should. But that was normal for someone waking from a comatose state. "You have done well. Thank you for taking care of my daughter while I was unable to. It means a great deal that I may trust you with the wellbeing of my family."
"It isn't any trouble, Antonin," Barty replied earnestly, half-smiling at the compliment. The only thing at all tempering it was the fact that Antonin was still not perfectly well, but of course he would not be, after being in a coma for four days. This was not going to stop Barty from caring, though. "You and Anzhelina are important to me; I would not leave either of you to suffer if I could do anything to prevent it, or alleviate it, even only slightly."
Antonin smiled a little, tiredly. "You have been like a son, Barty. I hope one day you will realise your worth, to me if not to your own father. Now, my journal, if you please. I have a great deal of work to do."