Barty Crouch, Jr. is not Oedipus Rex. (culling) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-06-24 04:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! . placeholder, ! [1979-06] june, adelaide quinn, barty crouch jr |
WHO: Bariley (Barty Crouch, Jr. & Riley Quinn)
WHAT: Barty's first day in Grindylow is not ruined by Riley, tyvm.
WHERE: Grindylow Gardens.
WHEN: Early afternoon, Tuesday, 24 June 1979
RATING: Probably PG.
STATUS: Logged; in progress.
The initial reaction was surprise: after all, the only way Bartemius Crouch, Jr and his NEWT-loving soul with his abso-scary-lutely strict father would move out of home was if he were drugged or something. Of course, Riley's feeling towards the Senior Crouch was always something of an enigma -- he was, perhaps, one of the only workers in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that she had any bit of respect for, but whether that was respect was out of genuine respect or mixed fear was something for debate. As the words that were clear as daylight made an imprint in her mind, like the camera in her brain snapping that picture, she began to wonder why exactly would Barty Crouch, Jr., son of mildly infamous head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Crouch Senior, would be coming down to somewhere as "low" as Grindylow Gardens. Yet there they wore, tangible as anything, "Please welcome our new tenant, Bartemius Crouch, Jr!"
That was two days ago, and in the days afterward the surprise and shock began to wear down to some sort of enigmatic confusion. Of course, Riley hardly had the time or energy to muse too much about the whole matter -- she did, after all, have brains to take care of. But in her somewhat free times she was granted enough relaxation in order to think -- why did Crouch Senior, the man that Millicent Bagnold had decidedly described as an "over-officious, interfering pain in the neck" (and frankly, Riley somewhat agreed, after her observations of his attitude in the workforce, and was quite glad that Rookwood did not seem to intrude upon her so often, instead, affording her a sense of freedom with her work) loosen his grip enough to let his son live somewhere as lower class as Grindylow? Weren't they a rich family or something? But then her mind flickered back to the journal entry that had appeared on Sunday -- Junior's mildly desperate call for housing help.
A smirk appeared -- it all began to fit together. The puzzle pieces of a story began to make sense. Crouch -- senior, that was -- must have kicked out Junior. For whatever, reason, she wouldn't know, but she let the thought linger as she decided to be a good neighbor to Barty and make him muffins and waffles as moving in gifts. Food was, after all, something no one could deny, not even Junior, she was certain. So she spent the remainder of yesterday night preparing her bakery treats, which she now held in a basket as she waited at the door of Grindylow Gardens for the new tenant. It was awkward, though -- having never seen the boy before in real life -- but thankfully the landlord was there to helpfully lend a hand.
For as much as he didn't like this arrangement, and for as small as his new living space admittedly was, Barty had to admit: having his own space for once was a very appealing thing, now that he actually had the space and could properly put things into context. Admittedly, it was not appealing for the same reasons that Aloysius Croaker had given him -- feeling free, making one's parents proud by being able to survive, et cetera -- but it had its merits, first and foremost of which was that Barty did not have to answer to anyone else about how clean he wanted to keep his space. Finally, he did not have to work around his roommates (while Regulus certainly understood Barty's need to keep things neat and orderly, the same could not be said for the other boys they had spend six-and-a-half years living with) or give his father or grandfather reasons for why he had seen fit to clean the study three times in two days. It was a lovely thought.
What was less lovely was the lack of space. Barty had hardly expected, from what he'd heard from Peter and Severus about studio flats, to find himself in a palatial space -- but, by the same token, he had not really expected everything to be this small. He had, by his own admittance, packed rather a bit when he'd packed up his bedroom. True, his suitcase looked small, but, by virtue of the creative application of an Undetectable Extension Charm and the shrinking of several things, Barty had managed to fit into his suitcase: a dresser of clothes, a large shelf of his favourite books, a smaller book of his less favourite books that he still considered to be essential, his bed, more books with which he could not bear to part, two changes of sheets, towels, and most of the clothes in his old wardrobe. He would never let it be said that he had been a slouch at Transfiguration or at Charms -- and he had even managed to unpack it all without excessively straining himself. After curiously pondering the food-cooling thing that had apparently come with the flat, Barty had laid down to enjoy a relaxing read.
...Until he'd heard someone knocking at the door. He was unaware of the fact that his existence in Grindylow Gardens had been announced to anyone and he certainly had no idea why any of his friends would be here. Aquila only knew about the flat because he'd had to suffer through Barty thinking aloud while searching through the 'to let' section of the Prophet, and Barty hadn't yet gotten into his journal to spread the word. Rubbing the bridge of his nose irately, Barty went to the door and looked through the peephole. ...It was his landlord. And he had some girl with him. Utterly perplexed, Barty opened the door enough to show himself and asked cautiously, "May I be of some assistance, sir?"
It suddenly occurred to her that their previous interactions were limited to that of the quill and journal as she noticed his confusion. Of course, Riley herself had the landlord on her side -- she caught his nod out of the corner of his eye, confirming that this young blonde man was, indeed, Bartemius Crouch, Jr. She gave him the quick "up-down", a glance over him, evaluating him in her mind. Yes -- he seemed to bear a resemblance to the elder Crouch. He was on the shorter side -- shorter than the landlord, at the very least, though he was significantly taller than Riley herself (a sore spot, really, she refused to acknowledge that there was that large of a height difference between them, not even in her mind). He was thin, and seemed almost sickly, but for the most part the junior Crouch appeared to be a perfect gentleman.
Riley wouldn't let him steal the spotlight -- she too had to be the perfect neighbor. "This is Mister Crouch, the new tenant," said the landlord jovially. "Mister Crouch, meet your neighbor--" but before Mr. Abergavenny could introduce Riley, she stuck out a hand and interrupted him quickly. "Thank you Mr. Abergavenny," she said before he could reveal her name. "We're glad to have you here," putting on her best Sunday church smile. "I live a couple doors down." Whether or not this was an intentional action was something she hid quite well -- she was certain Barty would never know whether or not it was accidental that she interrupted Mr. A right before he was about to reveal her name. However, it was intentional, for when it dawned upon her of their lack of each other's physical appearance she realized -- she didn't have to be Miss Adelaide Riley Quinn -- no, she could be someone completely different and gauge what kind of person he was from an "outsider's" point of view.
She nodded thankfully and meaningfully to Mr. A, who understood the sentiment and chuckled and left. Was she playing with him? She hoped not -- her intentions weren't quite so cruel. She was just curious, that was all. She only wanted to know -- how much of a gentleman was he? How much of his true self does he leak with the pen? After all, Riley knew better than anyone that a journal was the perfect mask. You could not judge one's character through just their writing.
Under most normal circumstances, Barty would have been rather put off by Mister Abergavenny's insistence on being so genial with absolutely everyone, but, truth be told, it was rather helping him during this wretched process. While he had actively looked for and inquired after the flat, Barty had only glanced at his journal briefly and this whole business was making him very acutely aware of the fact that he could not rely on people to cheer him up all the time. His friends would certainly do their best, but Regulus just fed his less than pleasant feelings a great deal of the time -- which was helpful in its own right, but was less so, at the moment -- and, really, Marius, Aquila, and Severus had proven to be the best things for Barty's mood on Saturday. Similarly, he could not count on other people to necessarily be helpful all the time. If his own father (regardless of how utterly disappointing he was, as a parent, a Wizard, and a human being in general) could throw him out without a moment's pause to reconsider, then the rest of the world could hardly be expected to be much better. ...Mister Abergavenny was refreshing, though. He was one of the people that Barty would gladly describe as a 'credit to all Halfbloods,' even if it was only because he had made Barty feel welcome.
As for the girl... Barty was not sure of what to think of her. She certainly looked pleasant enough, but, with the way that she'd cut Abergavenny off... Barty had to wonder about her. She was shorter than he was, which was refreshing, given how used to looking up at people Barty had gotten, in between dealing with Father, Mister Lestrange, Marius, and... most of the Lestranges, actually. Her smile seemed as though she greatly wanted him to trust her, and that she wanted this perhaps a bit too much; likewise, her eyes seemed rather terrifyingly alert, despite their misty color. And then her basket... there were waffles in that basket, which made Barty rather suspicious, but he was far from able to turn down food, not when he had spent most of his money procuring the flat. Besides, people other than Riley Quinn and Marlene McKinnon ate waffles, and being too suspicious of genuine kindness could not be good for him, at present.
Opening the door a bit wider, he moved aside and smiled. "I'm afraid it's not much just yet, but would you like to come in, Miss...?" Ideally, she would take the bait and let her name drop.
This sort of thing was only asking for fishermen imagery, for as Barty the fisherman lowered his hook, Riley only swam idly by. She dropped to a genteel curtsy -- surprisingly enough, she could be a gentlewoman if she wanted to -- with a soft smile she spoke, "Thank you for your offer," before walking into the room with a measured pace, all the while ignoring Barty's questioning words. A brief thought flashed in her mind -- it would be all too easy to trick the boy into believing she was someone she was not, like a Miss Archibald or something of the sort, but she decided not to. After all, now that they were neighbors she was not quite so much of a fool to be blinded to the possible rage that would occur had he ever realized her trick.
His own suspicion and hesitance was quickly noted by her, however. She caught his glance over the waffles -- Oh, bugger she quickly berated herself in her mind. Waffles were a bit too indicative of her identity. She could only hope that the waffles did not signal Barty's alarms too much -- after all, there were probably other people out there that considered waffles as an appropriate welcoming gift, right? Hell, there might even be a whole religion dedicated to worshiping and gifting waffles!
But that was beside the point. Barty's glance over her basket set off another alarm in her mind -- she had been too busy playing out the whole scenario in her mind than to remember to give him the basket! "Oh!" she said with a sheepish, self-deprecating giggle. "I almost forgot--" She handed him the basket, a rather large, oval shaped wicker basket filled with all sorts of delights, though mostly comprised of waffles. It was something she had prepared the night before -- waffles and cake and muffins and oh! a little butterbeer as well -- Riley had enough sense to realize that all the candy would naturally bring about thirst. "It's a welcoming gift," she explained, in case he was bewildered by her sentiments. "For moving in. Mister Abe -- the landlord, I presume you already know--" she nodded towards the door where the middle-aged man had just been "-- is always promoting good neighbor relations. I figured I could start it off with some food. You must be hungry," she said with a bit of a shrug.
Barty watched his visitor closely as she made her way in and began displaying everything she'd brought for him, partly to see if she would give him any clues as to what sort of person she was and partly out of what he expected was some kind of territoriality. He'd always been a fairly possessive person -- he had always had marked difficulty sharing his books, he didn't enjoy sharing his Quidditch supplies, and he had never been good at sharing his personal space -- and even if he didn't properly own the flat, he was renting it and he lived in it. Although he may not have spent his first night in it yet, but he did not see that as looking too difficult. He had his own bed, after all, and many of the accouterments from his bedroom; all it would take would be sleeping.
He had more pressing matters at hand, though, like this new neighbor of his, who she was, and why she was bringing him highly suspicious food. "Not excessively so, actually," he replied, making sure to keep his tone even and sweet. "I was just -- I've been staying with a friend for a few days and his sister's a marvelous cook; she saw to keeping me fed rather well. Thank you for this, though. I'm fairly sure I'll need it in the coming days. I haven't much money after getting the flat, and I... well. I need to find a job, but I haven't yet, and... oh, Merlin, I must sound so silly. Prattling on at you like that and all."
A gentle, sympathetic smile managed to pull up the corners of her lips into a genuine sort of grin -- probably an opposite reaction of what Barty had expected -- and no, it wasn't forced or anything, she really did feel sorry for the boy. After all, had she screwed up last week's meeting with Dee's parents she would be starving right now. Food, after all, was of utmost importance, and so she sympathized with the poor junior Crouch. "You poor thing -- don't worry about it, you don't sound silly at all. Living by yourself is hard -- I take it you just moved out of the house?"
It was then she bit her tongue -- perhaps she had revealed that she knew too much? Well, she could always pass it off as being extra observant -- his words and youthful appearance would have dropped hints of this being his first time living away from home -- or that Mister Abe told her -- that would be highly likely, seeing how much of a busybody the man could be -- but regardless, the paranoia that spies often felt when taking upon an alternative identity suffered began to creep behind her like a stalking cat. She let out the breath she held -- slowly, as to not arouse suspicion. She had to be very careful, but she once again tread careful grounds -- after all, making small talk was important. "I can help you look for a job, if you like? And cook you food -- starving is never a good thing, and I promise my food is edible!" Shit. Did she say too much with the last comment that she tried to pass off as a joke but might not have been too good of one?