Black Roses - A Barty Crouch Jr fanfic

[Chloe]

Prologue

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, places and events from the Harry Potter universe belong to the genius of JK Rowling – I’m just meddling.

Rating: 12

Warnings: Brief mention of character death

Summary: As the Triwizard Tournament reaches its shocking conclusion, one woman must leave the safety of the tallest tower and confront her past...


***


As another wave of screams crashed across the grounds, Professor Sinistra tore her eyes away from the Quidditch pitch and ran from the parapet.

She had been watching the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament since dusk, training her telescope on – and through – the walls of the maze, following the Champions’ progress with a kind of detached interest: she only came into contact with staff, students and the general tournament hype in lessons and at mealtimes. Staff meetings had been largely reduced to bets on either of the Hogwarts champions, plus the occasional squabble that left an unusual tension between Minerva and Pomona; no-one noticed the absence of the quiet, self-conscious Astronomy professor who now spent this free evening in her private realm of the tallest tower in the castle, exploring the endless heavens, sometimes falling asleep in the stars…

Because the stars will not betray you. The stars are always there.

And here they were again, twinkling innocently as ever, as if they had not been obscured by a flash of red sparks and the gasps and moans that went with it; as if a thousand witches and wizards weren’t tumbling over each other to escape the stadium stands below; as if two young wizards hadn’t disappeared in the middle of the maze only to return an hour later, one clutching the lifeless wrist of the other…

Professor Sinistra hadn’t moved for fifteen minutes, her unblinking eyes stuck to her telescope while her brain struggled to keep up, before something had clicked into place – something so obvious, so horrifyingly right, that she had almost fallen off the parapet with shock.

And now, having recovered the use of her legs, she was hurtling down the steep stairwell, rushing to the back of her office where the suspiciously bare wall dissolved into gold dust to reveal her cramped quarters. Stacks of exam papers, star-charts and astronomical journals went flying to meet the walls of rickety bookcases before the bookcases themselves were emptied and subjected to every revealing spell the panicking witch knew. A few more precious minutes flickered past; she was truly distressed now. It was there, so clearly behind her shut eyes; so focussed and detailed in her mind she could almost touch it –

Of course. Kicking herself mentally, the professor raised her wand and whispered the Summoning Charm.

The pendant broke out of its hiding place immediately, ripping a hole in the old Sicilian rug across the floor and jerking to a halt inches before her face. Already knowing what she was going to see, Professor Sinistra opened her eyes and gave an inward sigh, letting the delicate object fall into her hand.

Ignoring the contrast in temperature between the pendant and her half-frozen fingers, she found herself running again, down another three flights of stairs, her feet taking over as her mind filled with the same thought over and over…He’s back…he’s back…

She had never realised quite how far the Defence against the Dark Arts office was from the Astronomy tower until now – It’s only on the second floor, she told herself in exasperation, every time she met a dead end or got caught on a staircase that seemed, just like the ones before it, to move the moment her feet touched the first step. Finally she found the familiar corridor; and was suddenly besieged by searing memories of her time as a student at Hogwarts: not all painful, but uncomfortable nonetheless…

As she rounded the corner, she caught a glimpse of the Headmaster and a shaking, bloodied Harry Potter disappearing up the stairwell at the end of the passageway. A dark figure stalked past her; Snape gave her a dismissive glance before moving on, rubbing his left forearm surreptitiously. The only people left were herself and a tartan-clad witch standing just inside the office, wand arm raised straight in front of her.

Professor Sinistra stepped forward; the Transfiguration professor jumped and turned, then quickly positioned herself in the doorway so that the scene behind her was blocked from view. Professor McGonagall forced a smile onto her face – then gave up and looked at the other witch with such grief that Sinistra was tempted to hug her former favourite teacher.

“You need to go, dear,” the Scottish witch started heavily –

“Barty.”

The name echoed in the empty corridor; both women shivered, and something behind McGonagall shifted; McGonagall herself opened and closed her mouth in distress. Sinistra wished she could have articulated her thoughts better, but before she could rectify the strained silence, McGonagall spoke once more.

“How did you…” She stared into Sinistra’s eyes; her face suddenly lit up in remembrance, then plunged further down again. “I…I cannot possibly let you…”

“Please, Minerva.” The older witch tried to respond, but Sinistra remained calm, determined: she was no longer a child, no longer unable to defend herself…

“Very well.” McGonagall’s voice pierced Sinistra’s thoughts, and the women swapped sides of the door, McGonagall closing it behind her.

The Astronomy professor turned around, clutching the chain and glowing pendant in her right hand, her wand in her left. A strange expression swept over the features of the tightly bound man before her, whose eyes captured hers once more.

He chuckled mirthlessly.

“I always said I’d come back, Rosalie.”

[Prof. Cinders]

I've got goosebumps You've really captured the moment, Chloe, I don't think I could've done better myself. I can just see... well, Tennant actually, sitting there, bound in chains Can't wait to see more! 10/10!

[Chloe]

LOL! Tennant...in leathers...bound to a chair...*drools*
Goosebumps? Really? Wow...

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, places and events from the Harry Potter universe belong to the genius of JK Rowling – I’m just meddling.

Rating: PG to be on the safe side

Warnings: None

Summary: The night before Barty's first ride on the Hogwarts Express.

A/N: This was originally going to be longer, but I kinda ran out of inspiration and time

***

August 31st, 1973

The last flickers of sunlight behind the forest were slowly weaving away; the moon was already visible on the other side of the house, moon dust seeming to trickle through the small window in the roof and land on the yellowed pages of a book being pored over by what looked like a straw-coloured mop.

Scattered around the book were several scraps of parchment, each covered with writing miniscule almost to the point of illegible – apart from one, currently only half full, resting under a quill held by a small but elegantly made hand that was shaking slightly having met the demands of its owner. Suddenly, the straw-coloured mop shook violently as if woken from a trance; it tilted back to reveal eyes, soft and brown and pure, fixed on the full moon in all its beauty. Thin lips curved in a faint smile as the boy’s gaze returned to the Transfiguration text before him, and his hand became still, poised, ready –

“Master Barty?”

A large ink blot appeared on the parchment as the boy’s body jumped three inches off the chair and twisted itself to face the house-elf, whose brown eyes looked even more enormous and watery than usual. Barty suppressed a sigh of annoyance – she was only the messenger after all – and managed half of his trademark cheeky grin.

“Yes, Winky?”

An expression that was a strange cross between anguish and relief plastered itself onto Winky’s face. “Master and Mistress want you in the dining room, Master Barty.”

“Which one?” The Crouch family home was extensive, to say the least: it had taken Barty 5 years from the moment he was allowed out of his mother’s sight to fully explore the secret passageways and hidden doors that were littered around the house – and that was without the advantage of magic! From what he had heard from his parents, Hogwarts wasn’t much different in this department, and Barty couldn’t wait to find out exactly how much different – but he glanced again at Winky’s mournful eyes, and knew he’d see the same look mirrored in his mother’s face…

“The one by the garden, Master Barty.” The young boy raised his left eyebrow: this particular dining room was normally reserved for important guests, the more the merrier, and never one who was less influential than the one before. Not for the first time, Barty found himself thinking about his increasingly distant – and powerful – father; but why would he want to eat there? Only the three of us tonight, he thought, almost worriedly.

After a few seconds he nodded; then, on impulse, flicked out his tongue and was rewarded with a mischievous smile and stifled giggle. “Thanks, Winky. I’ll be right down.” The house-elf bowed and scurried from the room as Barty started to tidy his desk, then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Besides, he told himself, I won’t be using it for a while…

***

A couple of minutes later, Barty slipped into the dining room as inconspicuously as possible, choosing to ignore the fact that he was one of three people in the room, the other two of whom were staring at him in distinctly different manners.

His father was dressed impeccably as always, his robes and the parting in his hair unnervingly straight, his small moustache combed and freshly trimmed. This surprised Barty even more: Bartemius Crouch Sr hardly ever made an effort with his appearance when he was with his family – probably ‘cos he hardly ever is, Barty thought somewhat heatedly as he took his place opposite his mother.

She smiled at him, a warm genuine smile that Barty knew came straight from her heart, but tinged with the same distress he had felt when Winky had entered his room. “Those robes do look so lovely on you, dear,” she said, the sadness in her tone partly masked by years of standing beside her husband in politics. Barty grinned back – she said the same thing every time he wore them, but he was still more than grateful for it – and involuntarily flicked his tongue, mentally kicking himself even before it was back in his mouth.

“Barty!” His father half rose, then eased himself back into the stiff dining chair as a couple of house-elves delivered the meal. “Need I remind you that such behaviour will not be tolerated in this house – and what your professors will think of it!” Barty hung his head as required, and directed his attention towards his plate of lamb shank, inwardly rolling his eyes. He had grown used to these comments long ago; but even so, the mention of Hogwarts caught in his ears, and he shivered with a new feeling of apprehension and excitement.

“Barty darling? Are you cold?” Barty felt rather than saw his father bristle at the use of such “intimate phrases” – but his mother could do no wrong in the eyes of the father or the son, who shook his head and looked up into his mother’s face.

“No, no, just…” Barty struggled to express his thoughts, and eventually settled with another grin. His mother nodded, content; the meal passed in silence, and when Barty had cleaned his plate, he went over to kiss her on the cheek. She blushed, but quickly took advantage of the situation by pulling her son into a brief hug; after an embarrassed few moments and a subtle cough from her husband, she let Barty go.

“Sweet dreams, love,” she whispered as he grinned uneasily and left the room; and for once, Barty Crouch Sr did not roll his eyes, but gently took his wife in his arms and carefully wiped the stray tears from her face.

[Chloe]

Ooooh, thanks for reviewing guys

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, places and events from the Harry Potter universe belong to the genius of JK Rowling – I’m just meddling.

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Summary: The big day finally arrives; there's a train to catch, and friends to be made.

September 1st, 1973

He was running again, fighting his way through the endless cobwebs and curtains of dust, trying to shut out the voices that mocked every panicked step he took. Every now and again a portion of damp and crumbling wall was illuminated by a sudden burst of light, revealing another jeering portrait, another vaguely familiar face whose mouth spat yet more insults that echoed not in the narrowing corridor but around his head, heavy and spinning and draining…

The lights came more frequently now, but so did the cries of derision, anger, fear… Somehow he was on his hands and knees, the low ceiling scraping painlessly against his head; he was going upwards, he was going to make it, he could feel the warmth of the glorious red light above him as his hand clutched at empty air…

And met earth. The hole closed in on him, stifling his yells; cold, slimy tentacles bound to his legs and slithered up his body, which twisted frantically against the feeling of horror and helplessness that oozed menacingly up from his toes; he was done for now, his whole head covered by the dirt and the dread, even though he could still see the red… It was less brilliant now, and he could just about make out the shape: a strange, bumpy outline, with something like smoke billowing out and towards him, solidifying to form a face that obscured his view completely…

His father stared into his terrified eyes, puncturing what must be his soul with a single cold gaze. Then he slowly shook his head.

“You always disappoint me…”

And the ground dropped away and he was falling, speeding up as his mouth opened in a silent scream; the scarlet train was rushing away from him, he’d missed it, he’d lost his chance, losing everything to the darkness –

“Barty dear?”

The young boy woke with a jolt, his straw-coloured hair in sweaty disarray. Sunlight streamed through the small window; he covered his eyes, trying to remember –

“I’ve missed it!” Barty hurled himself out of bed in front of his mother, who gave a little yelp of shock before taking as firm a hold as she could on her son’s shoulders.

“It’s gone, I missed it, I’ll never get to Hogwarts now, they’ll never accept me, and he’ll be so mad…”

His mother smiled inwardly as Barty gradually came to a halt, his voice having jumped a couple of octaves in his alarm. He jerked his gaze away from her to the old clock in the corner. Only half past seven, he realised; and it seemed that a huge hand that had been clenching his heart had suddenly let go, allowing him to breathe normally again.

He glanced back to his mother’s now smiling face, and felt a blush creep up his own.

“Sorry, Mother,” he mumbled finally. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She shook her head hurriedly. “Don’t you worry about me, dear,” she replied lightly; then, to Barty’s slight annoyance, she laughed softly. “You do look so sweet when you blush, dear. Brings out your freckles,” she finished with another schoolgirl giggle.

“Mum!” Barty grimaced and clapped his hands over his cheeks. But he was secretly glad: there was no trace of the sadness that had hung over the previous night’s meal, and he hadn’t heard her laugh like this – a genuinely delighted laugh, not the horrid fake chuckles of business meals and party receptions – for such a long time…

His mother smiled again, and Barty recognised his own cheeky grin. “We’ll be leaving for Platform 9 and ¾ in about two hours’ time.” She tentatively patted his head – then gave in and ruffled his hair hard, producing a few more false indignant squeaks from Barty. “Come down for breakfast soon, alright? And make sure you’ve packed everything.” She hesitated, as if she was holding back such a torrent of thoughts that might never end if she spoke but one. Conscious of the sudden silence, Barty grinned back and let his eyes wander to the Muggle clothes he’d prepared the night before; his mother followed his gaze and, after a long moment, nodded knowingly and left the room.

***

Three hours later, and Barty had never been so excited in his life. He’d forced himself to amble calmly through the barrier, even though his mind was screaming at the notion of walking through a wall – his legs shook slightly at the memory of falling through a portrait back home, and Barty swiftly suppressed it. All of a sudden, he found himself on the platform, surrounded by more children and teenagers than he had ever seen before. He flicked his tongue out in relief, and caught the eye of a pale-looking red-headed girl, who grinned nervously and turned away just as Barty’s parents came through the barrier.

Both wore suitably solemn faces, and Barty turned to his mother first, whose eyes were suspiciously shiny. She quickly found a smile – though only a shadow of the grin he’d seen earlier. Suddenly, she pulled him into a hug; Barty started, then slowly put his arms around her and closed his eyes, not especially caring about who would see him. He felt his mother take a long breath.

“I’ll miss you so much, Barty,” she whispered in a trembling tone. “Just remember how much I lo-“

“Mary, please.” His father gave Barty a stern look, whilst gently placing his hand on his wife’s. “You’re embarrassing the boy,” he continued, a little more softly.

His mother eventually nodded, and as the first whistle sounded across the platform, she drew back her arms, taking care not to touch Barty’s unusually well-combed hair. His father turned towards him, looking him up and down with a hint of condescendence. Barty was about to tear his eyes away and run for the nearest carriage when his father abruptly stuck out a hand, which Barty shook quickly but firmly.

“Good luck, son.” Barty looked up into his father’s eyes, and to his surprise found more than the hard glare he was used to; the whistle blew again and his father handed him his trunk. Barty grabbed it thankfully and, giving his mother a final, fond glance, rushed onto the train just as the clock chimed eleven, and the wheels of the Hogwarts Express began to turn.

***

It seemed that every compartment Barty passed was already full, or at least half full with unfriendly-looking students from higher years. The corridor was also cramped; seconds after Barty un-flattened himself from the wall and watched the Prefects pass down the train with awe, he cried out in pain as a couple of dark-haired Griffindors pushed him roughly into the compartment door handle. One of them glanced back, brows furrowed but eyes lit up in amusement.

“You haven’t been practising transfiguration on your little brother’s face again, have you Padfoot?”

The other turned around to face Barty and grinned. “No – but thanks for the idea!” The pair chuckled as another, smaller boy came running up to them and glared at ‘Padfoot’, who leisurely produced a wand from his back pocket. “You’d be wanting this, then?”

The younger boy jumped up to grab the wand, but his brother only laughed and held it higher. “It’s only fair, seeing the number of times you’ve ‘borrowed’ my broom – in fact, let’s see how much you managed to learn, eh?” A slightly ugly expression crossed the teenager’s face. “Catch.”

Barty saw the wand fly over the horrified boy’s head in slow-motion; he concentrated, and thought he could see its future path – straight out of the window…

On impulse, Barty leapt up from his crouching position, all the pain in his side gone; with a twist of his body, he stretched his arm out so fast he swore he heard a crack – the wand thudded into his hand, inches from the open window. The older boy swore, immediately turning on his heel and stalking further down the corridor; his friend merely lifted an eyebrow before following ‘Padfoot’, leaving Barty alone with the wand’s owner.

“Here,” he said to the other boy, who studied Barty’s face for a few moments before taking the wand and stuffing it into his jacket, then grinning.

“Thanks,” he replied. “Regulus Black, at your service.” The two boys shook hands gravely. Barty smiled back.

“I’m Barty Crouch,” he said with a hint of uncertainty, hoping that the boy wouldn’t be startled: he refused to be judged by his father’s name. Not here, at Hogwarts, where Barty hoped to leave all the influence of his family behind…

But Regulus simply shrugged, and picked up his trunk. “Nice to meet you. Anyway, there’ll be some free carriages right at the back; shall we?”

Barty grinned and followed the boy, hoping that he’d found his first friend.

***

“Hey look – that one, two doors before the end!”

Barty rolled his eyes again. He’d lost count of the number of compartments they’d tried – how can a train be so damn long! But Regulus’s enthusiasm was catching, and for what seemed like the hundredth time that afternoon, he dragged his trunk down the corridor and waited as Regulus knocked on the door, charming smile firmly in place.

The door opened to reveal a short, raven-haired girl with a dark, Italian complexion – and, behind her, the pale redhead from the platform! Barty’s face lit up as she raised her head and smiled shyly at him; he flicked his tongue out again, and the two grinned happily at each other.

The dark girl in the doorway picked up the exchange and arched an eyebrow. “I see you two have already met?” Regulus’s bewilderment showed on his face as Barty ushered him into the compartment, the girl shutting the door behind them.

“Well…not exactly,” the pale-faced girl retorted sharply – then suddenly went red and smiled uneasily.

“We saw each other on the platform,” Barty explained, then went on to introduce himself and Regulus, both girls nodding a greeting – the pale redhead starting slightly at Barty’s name, but saying nothing.

“I’m Rosalie – Rosalie Sinistra – and this is Amy Brennan,” replied the dark girl, gesturing to Amy, who smiled again in her nervous way. A strained silence followed, broken suddenly by Regulus rummaging in his bag, then surfacing with a shiny new deck of cards. “Anyone for Exploding Snap?”

They played until the tea trolley came, Barty cheerfully looking up every now and again into Amy’s bashful eyes – and Rosalie’s watchful ones.