Barty Crouch, Jr. is not Oedipus Rex. (culling) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-06-21 02:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1979-06] june, barty crouch jr, barty crouch sr |
Who: The Barty Crouches, Senior and Junior.
Where: The Crouch family home, Hertfordshire.
When: Saturday, 21st June, afternoon.
What: Barty Jr. is relaxing after NEWTs; Barty Sr. has other plans.
Rating: PG.
Status: Complete log.
Being done with school and the whole wretched process of standardized education -- for as awful as it had always been to sit and suffer through the ignorance of his less intelligent classmates, as demeaning as it had always been to be completely bored while his professors had to cater to said imbeciles, and as thoroughly sickening as it had been to listen to those children try to talk about things that they did not understand, Barty had never honestly looked forward to the end of school with the same fervor as most of his friends had. He could sympathize with wanting the education part to end so that one could get into the real world and have a real life, especially when it was Regulus who happened to want to get into life -- of course Barty could sympathize with Regulus's desire to get out of school and into the real world. Regulus had so much to look forward to in the real world and, while Barty had several common things to look forward too, he had only acquired them in the past year. He had spent his childhood with everyone being completely sure that he would just follow in his father and grandfather's footsteps after school and go right into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement -- maybe as a Hit Wizard, maybe an Auror like Grandfather, maybe a straight bureaucrat -- he'd hardly been allowed to think of any other career path but that of the DMLE.
Honestly, Barty supposed that he would not have been so ill-suited to the Department of Mysteries, even though it would have required continuing Divination to NEWT-level and putting up with that wretched Riley Quinn on a daily basis. He liked learning enough that the Sorting Hat had briefly considered Ravenclaw before focusing on his Hufflepuff and, ultimately, his Slytherin traits -- but he rather supposed that the DoM was out of the question. If not for the fact that he'd listened to his Mother and Regulus when they had told him to drop Divination, then decidedly for the fact that Barty could hardly stand Miss Quinn over the journals, let alone in real life (not that he had any first-hand experience or any desire to obtain it). Really, Barty was most attracted to some independent sort of magical research as a career option. He would not have the same access to rare, Ministry-controlled substances as the DoM did, but he also would not have to answer to the Ministry's hierarchy -- not that it really mattered. Until the Dark Lord's will was carried out, Barty really didn't need to think about an actual career; he only had to dedicate himself singularly to the Cause. ...Except for right now. Right now, Barty only had to relax, recuperate from his exams, and continue winning Aloysius Croaker's trust, as per Rookwood's orders. However, he figured that he could check the journals and talk to Croaker later; for now, he was just going to lie on the sitting room sofa and read his new book on the integration of Chinese and Arabic arithmancy. He was not bothering, offending, or endangering anyone important, and he was getting some pleasure reading done besides. All in all, it sounded like a lovely way to spend a Saturday.
Senior stood up from his desk shuffling a few papers around before setting everything down for the day. A quick glance at the clock told him that he was running a little bit later than planned but the new laws that were being passed took time. He needed to read them over and see if they were truly for the good of society or for the good of the individuals. So far, it seemed like a little bit of both, much to his disappointment. One of these days there would be a law that would be passed solely for the good of the community on the whole. He grabbed his robes and pulled them on easily before grabbing a quill, writing a quick brisk note to his secretary for Monday before he moved to the Floo. Grabbing a handful of powder he called out the address and stepped through in a whirl of fire and ash.
He came out at the other side and Winky was there instantly, asking him if he needed anything. He brushed her off with a brush of his hand as he moved, past the sitting room and saw his son laying on the couch, doing more reading of anything else. “Boy, meet me in the study in five minutes,” he barked, continuing past without even a hello, good day or anything else. He moved up the stairs and into the room where his wife was sleeping. He calmed down then, walking quieter as he removed his robes and moved over, smoothing her hair back to kiss her forehead. She had been getting better and for the first time in awhile he allowed himself to hope.
He would’ve liked to stay longer, talk to her about something but he didn’t want to stress her and he needed to talk to Bartemius about his plans for after this. Tugging down the sleeves of his shirt and on the front vest of his waistcoat he left, closing the door behind him softly before walking down the stairs. Fully expecting his son to already be waiting in the study he walked in, looking up for a brief moment seeing Bartemius there. “Good, we need to discuss your plans now that NEWT’s are done. Sit down, Bartemius.”
Barty was so absorbed in his book that he almost didn't hear Father's command to meet in the study. The effect of hearing the man's authoritative bark was a rather jarring one, though, and it successfully roused Barty from his book and the couch. As much as he hated having to obey his father's will, it went hand-in-hand with his cover story: he was the good, dutiful , and eponymous son of Bartemius Crouch, Senior; he loved his mother, favorite cousin, and late grandmother; he tried to be a Good and Positive Influence on his poor, wayward best friend; and he only ever wished to emulate his father. As he dashed up to the study, Barty reminded himself to stick to that story, completely and utterly and without faltering, in lieu of having a properly prepared and perfect lie ready. He stood at perfect attention, waiting for Father to show and, when he finally did, Barty waited 'respectfully' until told to sit. Only when he was seated -- straight-backed, but naturally deferring to his father; meeting the man's gaze, but only barely out of his aforementioned 'respect' -- did Barty venture to ask, "...My plans, sir?" He kept his voice small, even, and again 'respectful'; he could hardly go and ruin this all by showing his father a poor tone.
He was expecting something out of the boy, he had always seemed too careful and Demeter had said a couple things about what the boy wanted to do, but nothing concrete and so he merely waited for a response. Not that he would take it at face value, Bartemius was young, impressionable and simply currently not at the right age yet to be making decisions for himself. It would be best if he waited for the boy to tell him, and then he would make the decision and his plans for the boys to the world, so that there would be no mistakes.
Shuffling his papers as he sat down, organizing his desk out of habit even though he knew that there was not a single thing out of place, he looked up after a moment and moved his arms forward, resting his elbows on the table as he waited for Bartemius to reply. Once he was done he carefully folded his fingers together, keeping his back perfectly straight as he looked at the other man with one firm nod of his head. “Yes Bartemius, your plans. Those things that I hope you’ve made regarding what you are planning on doing now that you are done,” he said his voice perhaps a bit harsher even though it was an attempted easy tone, treating the boy like the young idealistic idiot all people his age were.
Oh, Merlin, not the so-called 'easy tone' again. Barty utterly detested his father's attempts at ever sounding casual with anyone -- especially with those who, despite being younger than him, were his superiors by right and by virtue of being far more intelligent than that man could ever hope to be. The truly tragic thing about Father, from Barty's perspective, was that, ostensibly, there should not have been anything wrong with him. He was a powerful and capable wizard, to be sure, and he certainly had intelligence enough to get by -- he just completely failed to see what raw power lied inside him, given to him by virtue of his blood, by the fact that his mother was a Black. He not only shirked that power, but he outright disrespected it! He could not acknowledge anything that actually merited being acknowledged, from his Blood to the fact that his son had singularly devoted sixteen years of his life to pleasing him.
...But none of that mattered now. Barty didn't have a lie ready for his father, but as long as he maintained the illusion of being the man's dutiful son, then there was hardly any problem. "I..." he started, inserting a small pause for effect. He was young, he was unsure, and all he wanted was to emulate his father; he could tell that lie without any anxiety. "I have not devised anything perfectly concrete yet, sir, but... well, I have been rather preoccupied, in the past few months, with preparing for my exams and with caring for Mother, but... I have always thought that I would go into the Ministry -- into the, into Law Enforcement, like you and Grandfather." There. Barty had hit all of the important points, and he'd even thrown in a demeaning little stutter. Perfect.
Senior was well aware of what people thought his blood would entitle him to, and there had been periods of time when he had used it to his advantage, but now was different. He knew that blood was not important. Everyone bled red when they were hurt, it was simply a matter of a hallucination that some people had that made their blood turn blue in their eyes. The arrogance he had had to deal with at school had been off putting, as well as the the cheating, lies and backstabbing he had been forced to grow up with. He had been sick of it by the time he ha left and so had stopped caring.
"Don't stutter," he said firmly as he watched his son. "You can speak better than that." He wasn't unaware of the length Bartemius went to to gain his approval, but he did know that it was not enough. He obviously wasn't doing something right if it meant that other people had come in front of him time and time again and he would be damned before his son was labeled a failure. "So you have no ideas, not a single one of what you would like to do has popped into your mind in the last eighteen years?" he said raising an eyebrow keeping his face carefully blank. "Have you been sitting with your thumb up your arse for the past seven years?" he demanded.
Well, Barty had hardly expected this to be easy; nothing was ever easy with Father. The man was nothing if not compulsively difficult, especially with regards to his son -- it hadn't ever mattered that Barty had consistently gotten top marks in his year, that he had the best OWLs in his year especially considering that he'd taken all twelve, that all he had spent sixteen long, miserable years slaving to chase was the acknowledgment that his efforts were not in vain. He hadn't won Prefect for whatever reason, but, in retrospect, Regulus had needed it more than he did, come sixth year. After the travesty that transpired with Sirius, Regulus needed to please his parents completely and utterly, and, since Barty had the best marks in the year, it only made sense that Regulus had the Prefect position. Barty could sympathize with Regulus's troubles concerning difficult-to-please parents.
"I'm sorry, sir," he replied in the same small, 'respectful' tone, being perfectly mindful so as not to accidentally stutter. If the man said not to stutter, then the objective was not to stutter; upsetting him just put him further in the way of Barty's ability to return to his book, or to his journal. It was probably getting to be time to talk to Aloysius again, or to see if Aloysius had anything new to say. "It is not that I do not have ideas, sir, and I certainly have not been... sitting with my thumb up my arse." Barty's pause was quite genuine this time, as was the twinge of pink that came to his cheeks. There was hardly a point to talking like that. He had no idea why Father would, beyond embarrassing him for its own sake.
It was for the best. There had never been a doubt in Senior's mind that this was the right way to go. The boy needed a firm hand, all children did; and although he loved his wife, she coddled Bartemius. Frankly, it was beginning to show, much to his dislike. He hoped that the hard standards would harden the boy up, turn him into man.
"Then kindly share these ideas," he said fixing Bartemius with a hard stare. He wanted to know what the boy was thinking to see if he held the ability to do so. "I am not going to be here to sway your hand forever so it would be in your best interests to think fast and to come up with a suitable idea," he said. Of course it wouldn't matter, considering he had his own ideas for the boy.
Barty had to admit: his father was losing him, somewhat, amidst all his talk of career ideas and the unfortunate (albeit, not so terribly unfortunate, in this case) fact of human mortality. The man had never been so vocally interested in Barty's plans before now and all it seemed to signify to Barty was that his father was up to something unpleasant. Being so forward about it was helpful, but, all the same, Barty could hardly think of what his father could possibly be planning. Didn't the great, bumbling imbecile have some new law to pass in the interests of angering the populace of Wizarding Britain and making his self-esteem raise just a tiny bit in so doing?
"Well, I mean... it is hardly anything elaborate," Barty explained, by now genuinely attempting to force himself to stay calm. He didn't like the way that Father was looking at him at all. While it hardly suggested that he was attempting to bore holes into Barty's brain and scour it for information, or that he was accusing his own, obedient son of anything engaging in anything reprehensible, it was far from being a comforting look. True enough, Barty was no stranger to getting less-than-comforting looks from his father, but nevertheless, for whatever reason, this one was far worse than any others that had come before it. It made Barty's hands shake in his lap, which then required him to exert extra energy forcing himself to keep them still -- which he was not perfectly successful in doing, and which made his shoulders and back tense up and start quivering ever-so-slightly as well. Although he had been doing somewhat decently in looking his father in the eye, he was compelled to break their gaze and look at the desk.
...Oh, Merlin. Dust was beginning to collect on the study. Of course, he had known that he hadn't been in here for extended periods of time since 23rd May -- that, after all, had been when that wretched Octavius Pepper had made his horrid journal entry about sexual intercourse, when that awful Quinn girl had harassed Barty and Regulus with her accusations of homosexuality and other deviant behavior, and when Barty had spent the night at Grimmauld Place, rather intoxicated on Calming Draught-laced tea; and Barty had taken part in Pepper's shenanigans here, in this very study; there was no reason at all why he would not have taken to studying for his NEWTs in his room rather than in the study after that. Still and all, Barty had known that he hadn't been in the study often enough of late, but he had kept up on cleaning it all the same, or so he'd thought. There was dust gathering on the surface; he could see every last particle of it. And, when he forced himself to look back at his father, he saw something even worse: ash. On his waistcoat. Honestly, even if the Floo was terribly convenient, couldn't the man have Apparated home? It was so much cleaner, and -- and how long had he been wearing the thing? Barty could not tell if he was hallucinating them or not, but he could swear that he saw stains on the thing -- oh, Merlin, he needed to clean something.
...But he could not clean something just yet. He had to survive this encounter first. Just survive telling his father about his sketchy plans that, so help him, he had no designs to follow through on. Survive that, and then he could go and clean something. And he could survive this. He had started wringing his hands -- which he was far too afraid to look at, but which he was sure were absolutely filthy -- (Had he touched the desk earlier? He couldn't remember whether he had or not -- oh, Merlin, what if he had? There would be dust all over them, and he would have to scrub them for at least an hour before he could even think of cleaning anything) ...But, right. Father. Father needed to be dealt with first. "It... it really is not something intricate, or involved, or sophisticatedly labyrinthine, but... I just thought... I mean, I rather... I always planned on rather... rather following in your footsteps, and, and, and... and take some decent, entry-level position in the DMLE but p-put in hard work and dedication and, and... rise to the top. Like you did." Barty hardly trusted his father's version of those events, true, but that hardly mattered, when his hands had to be giving millions of unseen organisms a pleasant home, at the moment. He needed to get them off now, why couldn't Father understand that?
Senior watched his son, eyes emotionless as he watched his son descend into a nervous wreck and he forced himself from rolling his eyes. He was disappointed that he had spawned this nervous, timid wreck. He knew he had allowed Demi to coddle the boy for too long and it seemed to be that it was becoming more and more apparent as time went on. He had wanted the boy not to follow in his footsteps, but to head towards becoming a Hitwizard or an Auror, something that would be good for him, something strong. Something he wanted more than his current job. He had tried his best to raise his son so he would go down that path, but instead he had gotten this and it only filled him with disappointment and dashed dreams.
“Stop stuttering, and stop fidgeting. Act your age and not your shoe size,” he snapped leaning back against his chair, fingers linked, pointer fingers tapping his chin in an almost absent matter as he watched the boy. He sighed a moment later, rubbing his forehead, now firmer in his belief that he was doing the right thing. The boy was spoiled, coddled and entirely too dependent on everything being given to him and he needed to get a wake up call. He would not have a spoiled arrogant brat for a son, it was bad enough the boy was friends with people of such a caliber. He listened to the half-arsed ideas and the slight ass-kissing and nodded his head, not saying anything for a little bit of time before raising an eyebrow, fixing his son with a hard glare.
“In other words, you do not have a single clue what you would like to do, is that what you’re telling me?” he asked, voice flat, emotionless and filled with disappointment. “I doubt you would hesitate to tell me unless this was true correct?” he asked.
Barty loved using circuitous logic on other people, but he absolutely and utterly loathed having it turned against him, especially when he was slowly losing himself to his anxiety. Or not so slowly. As much as he liked to think that he was beyond caring what his father thought, Barty was still easily affected by disappointing anybody and the utter lack of approval in his father's voice was more than enough to make Barty's anxiety that much worse. He had to focus, though. Father was already upset enough with him and that was not helping to further his designs of getting out of this study and to a sink where he could thoroughly scrub his hands. He paused briefly, to take two deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. They rather failed to do so, but at least he had enough of a center that forcing his muscles to loosen somewhat was a little easier. "I have ideas, sir," he managed to say with about as much calm as he could manage, "but no... nothing concrete. I... we did not learn the specifics of Ministry bureaucracy in school."
Senior watched carefully, eyes focused on his son as he visibly attempted to control himself and the tension seemed to dissipate, slightly, but still not enough and another wave of disappointment washed through him over the fact that his son seemed to even be unable to control himself. Perhaps his son was never going to be the Auror or Hitwizard he wanted him to be, and it hurt a little more. He had been vested in the idea, had wanted to push him towards it but Demi had told him to let him choose his own path and he loved his wife, but she seemed to have all the wrong ideas about raising a child. "I would've assumed that from the amount you read a simple book on such a subject matter would not be out of your league," he replied dryly back as he raised an eyebrow. "No matter, you will soon be well acquainted with the inner workings of wherever your plans might lead you," he said trailing off, leaving the statement hanging.
Barty had several things that immediately leapt to his mind as good potential responses to Father's remark about how much and how often he read -- but what Father followed that unnecessary slight with demanded so much more attention. ...Oh, Merlin, the man was, in fact, up to something. Oh, no. ...But what on Earth could he be planning? With that prompt of his... Barty had absolutely no idea what his father could have to teach him about where his plans were going to lead him. He was a wealthy, Pureblood boy whose plans had been laid for him since he could remember: go into MLE like his father and grandfather, marry a nice, Pureblood girl, and have several well-mannered, Pureblood children, with at least one of them being an heir to carry on the family name. What did he need to know about his plans? "What do -- How do you mean, sir?" he asked, rather hoping that Father just meant something along the lines of reading a book on planning, or Ministry bureaucracy.
"What I mean is that I think you have been too coddled by your mother over the years," Senior replied bluntly, not beating around the bush in his matter. And from what he had seen nothing else would ever change unless he took action to try and help mold the boy into a better, stronger, and more productive person who actually left the house. "And now that she is doing well and you are done with your NEWTs I think it is time for a change," he continued moving to pull a sheaf of parchment out from the pile on his desk before leaning over it, making sure everything was in order before turning it around. "This is an allowance," he said. "Starting today, you are going to be moving out, living on your own, and working for your pay. This is enough to cover the cost of a basic apartment in the Hag's Hovel. It will get you rent, water, lighting, and nothing else, everything else you will have to earn yourself. Books, clothing, food, the works," he said pulling his hand back to leave the paper in front of the other man. He kept his eyes on his son for a few moments. "It's time you grow up, Bartemius," he said his voice soft, but no less authoritative.
It was a massive effort for Barty not to allow his mouth fall open and gape at his father; keeping his thoughts from turning into a blank, anxious jumble was far more impossible. ...He was being kicked out. ...What? ...But... but this made absolutely no sense -- none! None whatsoever! He'd only ever attempted to be a good, obedient son -- even when he wasn't following Father's will exactly, he was good and obedient for someone else. Good and obedient sons did not get kicked out of their homes, and they especially did not get forced to live in the Hag's Hovel, of all places. ...Merlin, he had to stay calm. He had already been told off for being too anxious once during this meeting; he couldn't stand to be warned about his excitable nerves another time, but... but this made no sense in the slightest. Just... he could come up with a plan. He could not live in the Hag's Hovel, but there were other places, and he would have to take the parchment to Gringotts to get the money in the first place... he could manage to get something and find somewhere else, but -- "Mother," he inquired desperately. "What does she think of this? Who's going to watch out for her? Will she be alright? What if she relapses?"
Senior watched the looks of shock pass over his son's face with a blank, emotionless gaze. This only seemed to prove what he was doing was correct. If the boy had no plans as to what he would do when he moved out, because he was not going to support him forever, and now that he was out of school there was no need to beat around the bush. He looked down after a moment, shuffling thorough his papers to set them in order while he watched for the boy to say something in regardles. "Winky and I can take care of your mother fine, you will be allowed to visit her," he said. She would have his head if he didn't. "If she relaspses, then I will debate if you are allowed to move back in," he said. He wasn't going to deny the fact that having the boy around did help her and he was useful in that aspect.
...Debate if he was allowed to move back in? Debate it? That was hardly certainty, and it certainly wasn't enough to calm Barty's nerves -- but one look at his father was more than enough to let him know that there would not be any arguing on this matter. There was never any arguing when Father decided that he was set on some course of action and he was very obviously set in this. Just as every other will he attempted to exercise was to be subverted by Barty's friendship with Regulus (and... most of his other friends, actually, since he hardly thought that Father approved of any of them), membership in the Death Eaters, and allegiance and devotion to the Dark Lord, this plan of his would be thwarted. He clearly only wanted Barty to prove that he was spineless and incompetent and come simpering back home to be his father's boy again, and Barty would just have to prove him wrong by surviving on his own. ...He just had no idea how he would manage it; he had no idea how to do it for himself, and he didn't put it past Father to write to his friends' parents and tell them not to off him assistance. "...Will I be allowed to take anything with me?" he asked softly. Father had to let him take something -- clothes, or books, or... something. His journal, at the very least.
Senior focused on his papers, only looking up every now and then to make sure the boy had fainted or something else along those lines. He wouldn't put it past him and it could get messy if he hit his head at any point along the way. "Whatever is in your room," he replied beginning to read one of them before setting it down and looking at the boy. "No books from the Library. You may come here and read them, but they are not to be removed," he said sternly. "And you're no longer allowed to use the account at Flourish and Blott's to buy books, so don't even think about it," he said. He wanted the boy to be self-sufficient, wanted him to be able to survive on his own and if being this harsh was a good way, then he would do it. It would be good for him, character building because Merlin knows he seemed to lack it.
While Barty wasn't exactly a stranger to fainting or feeling as though he would do so, and while he had certainly felt a spell coming on during most of this conversation, he no longer felt faint; the need to prove that he didn't need his father was too strong to allow that. He would find something to do to survive. He might technically be stealing to make his present ideas work, but it would hardly be anything noticeable. Just enough to pay the base rent on a flat at Grindylow Gardens instead of the Hag's Hovel. On his own or not, Barty was not going to live anywhere with the word hovel in the name; just thinking about it was nauseating. "I... well, I suppose that's it, then?" he ventured quietly, trying not to sound as anxious about this whole business as he felt. "Unless there are any other restrictions or rules I should know about? I mean, I assume that I cannot stay with Persephone, or Regulus, or anyone else."
Senior looked up after a moment and nodded his head. "That'll be all," he said waving a hand and looking back down for a moment. "You can stay with them if you want," he said even though his tone said it would be a bad idea. He didn't want his son to starve after all, just grow up a little bit, but he wasn't going to deny him that, at least not openly. "But I wouldn't suggest it, if you do, you'll lose the allowance since you obviously do not need it," he said looking up and fixing Barty with a hard glare. "You have until Sunday to be ready," he said after a moment, as if it was an unimportant fact and therefore easily forgettable. Which, in the light of thing it was. He turned over a page and reached for another one, getting ready to settle down into work for a few hours before he would go to sleep and explain his decision to his wife, hopefully without too much trouble.