Edgar has retired his stilettos. FOR NOW. (goodoldbones) wrote in find_horcruxes, @ 2010-01-06 19:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | barty crouch jr, edgar bones |
06 January 1980
Who: Edgar Bones & Barty Crouch Jr.
What: Interrogation.
When: Wednesday, late afternoon
Where: The DMLE.
Rating: PG-13 for disturbing themes.
Status: Completed log!
Barty Crouch Jr. had seen this interrogation room countless times, but he'd never actually been one of the ones inside it. The body-bind held him firmly in place in the chair, so there would be no chance of escape, and he was certain that his wand was in evidence by now, labeled up and sealed away for future perusals by curious DMLE personnel. This had never been a situation that he hadn't considered. Barty had known ages ago when he'd first taken the Dark Lord's mark that he walked a thin line. But it had been worth it then, and it was certainly worth it now. As disgusting as it was to think that his father still walked freely - or that his father still walked at all - at least he'd gotten the information Lestrange had requested, and at least he'd seen to it that Meredith Watkins should live outside of her father's own horrific shadow. The light was stark and strangely hot; he was sweating in the chair. The room was sound-sealed, and though he could see nor hear anyone, he knew that the double-mirror on the far wall was offering an enticing view for whomever had been authorized clearance. Crouch's son, arrested for murder and suspected of treason. What an exciting circus for the animals to enjoy. He'd feigned surprise only momentarily when they'd come for him - one look at Bones's tight expression hinted that the older man wouldn't be here unless he was certain, unless he had evidence by the throat and was throttling it until it was lifeless and pliable. So Barty had dropped his innocent act and had allowed a silent smirk to rest upon his features, and that was how he was even now, nearly an hour later. Edgar had debated considerably on whether or not to do this himself. He was a strong man, a patient man, and a levelheaded man, but with someone with so many screws loose as Barty Crouch Jr seemed to have, Ed was unsure of where this inevitable conversation (whether it was him, or someone else) might lead. The son of a Ministry man, passing information to Voldemort. The son of Barty Sr, no less, who seemed to have made it his personal mission in life to get his own hands wrapped around the "Dark Lord's" throat. What throwing his son into Azkaban was going to do for that reputation, Ed couldn't say, but he didn't doubt for one moment that the public would be clamoring and swearing, wondering what in fuck the elder Crouch had been doing (or not doing) at home to see Junior end up such a way. But the evidence was all there. This case was sealed tight. There was no doubt in Ed's mind that putting this sociopath in front of the Wizengamot with all the information Ed and Frank had collected over the months, he would be sent to the North Sea without a second thought. And better for all of them really. But still, Edgar had debated entering the room for a chat with Junior. You could never predict what a perpetrator might say, how they might try and justify breaking the law. Finally, in he'd went. He sat opposite Junior without saying a word, tightening the tie he'd loosened during discussions with McKinnon and Crouch Sr following the kid's arrest. He lit a cigarette, perching the fag between his lips calmly, lighting it with a snap of his fingers. "Quite a track record you've compiled," he said evenly, pulling his wand out of it's holster on the inside of his auror robes. He twisted it between his fingers for a moment before casting a silent Finite on Junior, bringing the body bind to an end. He raised an eyebrow at the younger man as he inhaled deeply from his cigarette before letting the smoke filter out, curling up toward the ceiling. "What's the motivator here, Junior? Not enough hugs as a child?" Barty wished for his glasses. He hadn't been wearing them when they'd arrested him, and he would have enjoyed seeing the nuances of the Auror's expression now that he could get a sense of what he'd missed in these recent years. Right under Bones's nose. Barty had been hiding his true self from his father most of all, but the bonus of wrecking anyone else's faith in the DMLE... well, that was pleasant as well. "You always were funny," he said with equal softness, his shoulders still careful and straight despite the lack of body-bind. Barty studied the Auror across from him. "Especially when frightened." Edgar snorted, the corners of his lips twitching. While so many of the dark wizards he'd sat across from at these tables over years had begged and pleaded for compassion and a bargain, an equal amount had sat cold and calculated, batshit and defiant. And while there were a lot of things that Edgar was afraid of in this war and otherwise, right at this very moment, Junior wasn't one of those things. Least not anymore. "I've been watching you for a long time now, Junior. Surprised you didn't notice, given your penchant for espionage. But then, you have gotten very, very sloppy. Have you been preoccupied? A little too much time appropriated to Meredith Watkins?" Meredith. Barty thought of the girl with fondness, even if it was tinged with exasperation now. He'd thought that she'd have been smart enough to be grateful that her tyrant of a father was dead, but oh well - couldn't win them all. "They say you get your strength from the people you love," he answered with a shrug, because they said a lot of things, and who knew what was of value and what was fated for the rubbish bin. "You'd agree to that, wouldn't you? What drives you is protecting your family? Calypso?" He added, a smile crossing his face. "Your children? I don't see that there's anything wrong with that. Foolish, maybe, but foolishness is rarely purely wrong." "Mmmm, there's a difference between strength and obsession, though," Edgar mused, inhaling deeply again. He studied Barty's face for a moment. "Who are "they"?" "The very same who say to honour your elders, to look both ways when crossing the street, and to brush your teeth every night before bedtime," Barty said, bored. "You know. People. Common laws and sayings." They had no imagination to them, no scope, and it was deeply irritating to hear that his devotion to Meredith was a mere 'obsession' to Bones. Was that how the department planned to frame it? They didn't know a thing. He'd train her beautifully, he was sure, and if she was too stupid to accept the training with gratitude, well... there were other bodies to use, other Muggle handguns. Edgar flinched only slightly at the bored tone, briefly entertaining the possibility that he and Barty might be having, or about to have, two different conversations. "Ah," he said, feigning indifference. "You seem to listen closely. Obviously you've collected more than enough information since you took your mark. Is your prerogative exposing weaknesses, or exposing yourself? I can't help but see the irony in your failures being brought together by your own weakness, however, should that be the case. Murdering Meredith's father... a bit of overkill there, if you'll pardon the pun." "Actually," Barty couldn't help but sound a little bit cheerful with a half-swallowed laugh, "in that particular case, I think it was just enough kill." Merlin knew the vision of the crime was enough to stave off any fear he might've had about Azkaban. They could toss him away, but they wouldn't be able to bring back what he'd taken with him. "As for my weaknesses, enjoy the irony." A cold smile. "I hope it brings you amusement within the upcoming months." "And what's that mean?" Edgar asked, putting the butt of his fag out in the ashtray sitting in the middle of the table. That smile didn't bode well. "Grand, dastardly plans puppeted by your Lord's inner-circle?" "I'm terribly sorry," Barty answered with an echo of his old obsequious voice, thin and people-pleasing, "is this the part where I'm supposed to spoil the surprise? That's hardly any fun, Mr. Bones. I'd always thought you liked your fun. Never pegged you for one of those humorless, dry, soldiering types." "What I consider fun as to what you consider fun, Junior, are very different things," Edgar commented, pursing his lips. "For instance, you get a gas out of brutally killing people, whereas I have a good time, oh, I don't know, attending a quidditch match. A considerable deviation, wouldn't you say?" "In that case," Barty answered, his tone back to bored again, "you'd better derive what pleasure you can from assessing my weaknesses and enjoying the irony, because you're going to have a terrible 1980." Barty smiled then, curious despite himself. "You spoke of my track record. What have you found out? Belatedly?" "Oh, you know," Edgar replied, getting annoyed. "Murdering Gavin Avery. Passing information about Benedict Rump, and countless others, so well as security plans for patrols, and for the Masquerade in October. Leading a team of lunatics to kill a muggle family. Playing with the likes of Persephone Jugson." "Impressive start," Barty said, sincerity in his voice. "I can tell you've been working hard." It really was delicious, having it listed out like all of that. Oh, there were some holes in activity, certainly, and as much as Barty would have loved taking credit for that idiot Rump's death, he knew it wasn't wise. "Angling for the kiss, you think? Or am I too young?" An academic question, really. The smoke from Bones's cigarette reached his nose, and he coughed despite himself. "Filthy disgusting habit," he muttered. To that Edgar couldn't help but laugh. "I could say the same of your extracurricular activities, Junior." He paused for a moment, tapping his fingers idly on the table before reaching for and then lighting another cigarette just for the hell of it. "And no, I don't think a kiss is in your immediate future. You'll rot and you'll remember why." Barty eyed the cigarette with muted distaste before he flicked his gaze back at the Auror. Now that - that was funny. Bones actually had an idea that he'd be put away for life? Naivety was almost cute. "I'll rot, I'll remember why," he said in agreement, "and when the Dark Lord throws the doors of that mighty island prison open, I'll be returned to wreak petty vengeance upon those that wronged me, ecetera, ecetera, more bloody allegory right here." An amused smirk. "You used dramatic language first. It really must bother you not to know who else is helping me." Edgar's eyes widened momentarily at the almost passe way that Barty spoke. He could hardly comprehend the seeming indifference the young man had to all of this. Adamant zealotry Edgar could handle. Screaming and flailing insanity, Edgar could handle. The calm sort of nonchalance that was Barty's attitude toward this? It was more disturbing than the rest of it put together. "Your little death eating cohorts, you mean? Because those names I can pick and choose as it applies, Junior." The little shit wasn't the only one with sources. "Or do you mean other idiots infiltrating the Ministry to further your 'cause'?" "They can't be that idiotic," Barty said with a grin ripped from the face of a skull, "if you're not aware of who they are. Picking and choosing names, Bones? Ed?" What a laugh; Barty had always been forced to talk to the older man respectfully, and now he could say as he wished. "Very well, then! If you're so knowledgeable, who are they? Who's infiltrating the Ministry? Who's a Death Eater? Their names? It's not like I can pass along the information in my current predicament. Go on and enlighten me." "I'm not here to answer your questions, Junior, you're here to answer mine," Edgar responded expressionless, having had to physically stop himself from flinching at Barty's use of Ed. He had no intention of telling the kid anything about what they'd gained on the Death Eaters. With a pretty solid roster inner-circle wise, everything else was coming together, and with Regulus' assistance, they'd pull down the outer-ring peons and the rest would crumble from there. "For instance. Why kill Seymour Watkins?" "Why not?" Barty shot back, irritated at losing control of the conversation. Taunting the Auror was fun, but not getting what he wanted wasn't, and now that his boredom had lifted, there was a great deal of anger lacing through his words. "A terrible man, a terrible father. You saw the mess. Brains on the street. His existence was a joke; I certainly laughed at the punchline." Well. That was more like it. A real reaction. Furrowing his eyebrows, Edgar questioned, "A terrible man and terrible father how, precisely? Something he did to Meredith?" Barty clamped down on his words, but it took some effort. This wasn't what he wanted to discuss. He'd wanted to be the victorious Death Eater who's gotten away with it for months right under the DMLE's nose, not be a footnote in the somewhat-pedestrian murder of an Oblivator. "I don't know," he said through grit teeth. "Why don't you ask Meredith?" "Because I'm asking you, Junior," Edgar replied. "Meredith didn't kill her father, you did. So saying 'he was a terrible man and a terrible father' isn't really much of a motivator without something concrete to have spurred the action, wouldn't you say? Did he hit her? Yell? Demean? Was he condescending? Cruel?" Barty's eyes narrowed. "Is that really all your imagination can come up with? The classic cases? The battered daughters, the merry team of hitwizards running over to the Watkins' for a domestic disturbance? No," he said clearly, shaking his head. "There are lots of ways to be a terrible father, Mr. Bones. Control. Neglect. Going by day by day and then looking up one morning and realizing you've been at work for fifteen years and haven't a clue who your children are - that's a different breed." Edgar raised his eyebrows. "Yes, I suppose so," he conceded, though he guessed that that was all left to interpretation. Edgar couldn't help but feel that this exercise with Seymour Watkins had been merely such, like a trial; as if Junior were preparing himself for something else. There was a personal sort of edge applied to Barty's tone that Edgar thought had nothing to do with Meredith and everything to do with Barty himself. "But what gives you the right to kill him for it?" "I haven't the right to kill him for it," Barty answered with a short laugh, gesturing about the interrogation room. "Ed! You arrested me, remember? Pay attention!" "Oh, I remember," Edgar commented idly. "Let me rephrase that. How can you justify the fact that you did it?" "Justify?" It was as if Barty had never heard of the word. "He was a terrible person and he needed to die. How do you justify wanting to kill the Dark Lord?" "Killing him doesn't serve him any purpose beyond stopping him outright. Personally I'd rather see him locked up. Death is so much as an escape, really. You don't pay any real penance there," Edgar said honestly. "I don't want to play God." "Then you're missing out," Barty answered with a mean little smile on his face. "And missing out terribly. Because what do they say about shooting for the sky and landing among the stars? Of course; I doubt there'll be much in the way of stars when we're done with the world, but all the same. It's a charming little inspirational saying." He pursed his lips, then, already thinking of something else. "Are you there for your children, Bones? I see the hours of overtime you clock. The late nights, the early mornings. Are you there for them?" Edgar sighed, balancing his cigarette between his lips as he pondered the question. He been fighting it for years--his workaholism--trying to balance his dedication to his job and his responsibilities as a husband and parent. Ultimately he decided it was better not to answer, to keep himself out of it, and not add any fuel to Barty's fire. "Why, Junior? You going to use mind-control on a muggle and have him try to kill me too?" "I wouldn't presume to know what the Dark Lord has planned for you, but if rumours are true, well - it's going to be a lot messier than anything I might come up with." Barty's eyes glinted, furious and pleased at the thought of one of the worst blood traitors in the upper echelon struck down. Even if he was in Azkaban, he was certain that the Inner Circle would take care of Bones - take care of Bones, Scrimgeour, and everyone else who needed to learn some manners. Oh, yay. Something more to look forward to. Edgar almost desperately hoped that whatever was being planned, Regulus would catch wind of it beforehand to give Edgar an opportunity to prepare for it. A chance to ship his entire family off to Canada. "That so?" he questioned evenly, crushing yet another butt into the ashtray. He was losing patience with this conversation, and it was obviously going nowhere. "And what a shame you won't have a chance to participate, being you've got a date with dementors." Barty smiled wistfully. "It is a shame, but at least Meredith's going to be taken care of, now. And with any luck, your family as well." Always fathers fucking up, leaving their children to fend for themselves. "So oh well. 'Til next time. I suppose now I don't have to worry about my internship being statused... do give my compliments to Hope; she's quite the looker beneath those tatty dresses she wears." At that last comment, that direct one... that bothered Edgar almost more than anything else thus far. Hope was completely innocent in all this, but Junior had had to drag her into it, to attempt to sully her reputation when the kid was nothing but the secretarial backbone of the DMLE; not an Auror, not a Hitwitch. "Mmm," Edgar said, his frustration getting the best of him as he stood, emotion evident in his facial expression. "And you can go fuck yourself, you piece of shit." Ed didn't wait for a response. He set the body bind back on Junior with a flick of his wand, and then out the door he went. |