Fic: Sing Blue Silver PG-13 (Barty Crouch Junior)
Title: Sing Blue Silver
Character: Barty Crouch Junior
Prompt: Sing the blues
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1406
Summary: Barty is having trouble adjusting to having his soul back in his body. The visions and voices in his head aren’t helping him recover either.
Author's Notes: Not mine, only wish they were. Contains spoilers for the first five books. Written for the 7spells challenge. Contains spoilers for the first four books.
The first fic in the challenge can be found here
Now on with the story…
Barty sat slumped in the corner of his room, he hadn’t moved from his slumped position since he was brought there four days ago. He just sat slumped against the wall, staring into space, lost in thought. He would cower away from the people who bring him food and water. Sometimes he would speak out aloud, talking to voices only he could hear. His sleep was restless, tossing and turning on the cold floor. If he was put on the bed, he would climb off and huddle in the corner.
Poppy sat in the next room observing Barty through an enchanted painting. The young man, broken, and huddled in the corner, almost broke her heart. She knew she shouldn’t feel sorry for him but when she looked into his scared eyes and he backed away from her as if she was going to strike him, she felt like she had failed him in some way. He was a murderer and yet he got her pity.
Inside the adjacent room, Barty was not having a good time. The voices had come back and were talking to him. “Go away!” he yelped, trying to back into the wall.
“Barty,” a male voice said, inside of Barty‘s mind, “is that anyway to talk to me, especially after what I did?”
“Leave me alone,” Barty stated, standing up suddenly and throwing himself onto the bed. “You should’ve left me alone.”
“Well, at least you got yourself out of the corner,” the voice stated sardonically.
Another voice, a female on this time, broke in. “Leave him alone, can’t you see he’s scared? You‘re scaring him.”
“I’m not scared,” Barty insisted, trying to sound brave, although he was shaking slightly.
“If you insist you’re not scared then you’re not scared.” the female voice answered.
“Look, Barty, be quiet and listen,” the original voice ordered, with what sounded like a mental sigh, “your soul was restored because you‘re not quite finished. You‘re needed.”
“I’m not needed,” Barty said, sounding very young, “no one cares about me.” His voice changed, not caring that he was speaking aloud, into a harsh bitter tone. “My father never cared for me. All he cared about was the family image. I had to be the perfect little son but I got nothing in return.”
The female spoke again. “I’m sure he loved you, deep down.”
The male voice spoke just one word in a warning tone. “Don’t.”
Barty snarled, startling Poppy in the other room. “You better not have been talking to me, Ferret face,” he spat as if the voice was standing in front of him.
“Ferret face? Oh the gratitude,” the male voice spoke. “You bust a gut trying to help the guy out and he throws it back in my face and calls me ‘Ferret face’. Well, I suppose it’s better than some of the things I’ve been called over the years.”
“He’s just scared,” the female spoke again. “The fear is coming off him in droves.”
“I’m not scared,” Barty insisted, pressing his body against the headboard. “I’m a big bad death eater. I’m the big bad. I’m just bad.” he blurted out.
The male voice spoke again. “You’re not. You just fell in with the wrong crowd.”
“What did you do to me?” Barty asked. “I-I-I-I feel so empty. Why do I feel this way?”
“Ah, well, it went a little wrong,” the male replied, sounding embarrassed. “Not to worry, we’ll have it all put right in a jiffy but first it‘s about time we took you for a trip down memory lane.”
Barty flinched as an image of his father’s murder flashed before his eyes. Instead of the Avada Kedava curse that Barty had cast on his father, Barty saw himself casting numerous other spells on his father, making him scream out in pain. Barty saw himself drawing out his father’s agony before, as he lay on the ground, a small broken man, Barty decided to put his father out of his misery and cast the Avada Kedava curse. He wore a smirk on his face as his father’s dead body slumped to the ground.
“That never happened,” Barty insisted as the room grew dark and he found himself floating in the void again..
“No but you wished it had, don‘t you?” a voice from a dark corner of the room said, making Barty jump. Barty watched as the owner of the voice stepped out of the shadows. It was a perfect duplicate of him, right down to the accent in his voice.
The man smiled grimly. “You wish you had drawn out his torture until he lay at your feet in a quivering mess and was begging for mercy, don‘t you?”
Barty shrugged. “Yeah, so? I wanted to make him pay for what he had done to me over the years.”
His duplicate walked over to him. “But you killed him off too quickly. Not enough time to really ‘teach him a lesson’, why?”
“I was afraid he would draw the attention of everyone else,” Barty replied.
The duplicate smirked. “Ah, so it was fear of discovery that stopped you torturing your father? Not the fact that you had gone soft and you couldn’t bring yourself to torture him?”
“I was never soft,” Barty snarled. “I didn’t want to be discovered. The plan would’ve been ruined.”
The duplicate laughed. “Right, and it’s the same reason you didn’t just kill Harry off, you had to gloat beforehand, hence your discovery and soul suck.” He paused and added, “If you go back to Voldemort, the Dark Lord, he will kill you on the spot because he will sense your weakness. They’ll torture you first. Never mind all your loyalty and your hand in Voldemort’s resurrection, he will kill you. He doesn’t tolerate weakness. If you show the slightest sign of weakness, you will be tortured, killed and maybe your body will buried, if you’re lucky.”
“No!” Barty yelped, holding his hands over his face. “I’m his most loyal servant.”
“Loyal? Hah!” the duplicate replied, circling Barty in a predatory manner. He walked over to Barty, pulled Barty’s hands from his face and forced Barty to look at him. “You’ll be dead as soon as you set a foot in his circle again. Loyal or not, you‘ll be dust. You lose.”
“I won over my father. He’s dead and buried.”
“No, your victory took mere moments but his defeat of you will last a lifetime.” the duplicate stated.
The duplicate’s words hit Barty like a ton of bricks. “He can’t defeat me now,” Barty said, looking horrified.
“Nor can he approve of you, either here or where he is now,” the duplicate said, running a hand through Barty’s hair. “Tell me, do you regret any of the deaths that you caused?”
“No,” Barty lied, “I don’t.”
The duplicate’s hand tightened on Barty’s hair and pulled. “Now, that wasn’t exactly truthful, was it?”
Barty cursed under his breath and let out a small squeak as he knew he couldn’t lie to his duplicate. “No,” he admitted.
“Who?” the duplicate asked, as he held onto Barty’s hair with one hand and ran his fingers through his hair with the other hand.
Before Barty could answer, a bright light brought him back to reality with a bump. He blinked and focused on Pomfrey, who was bent over him. “What happened?” he asked, trying and failing, not to move away from her.
“You collapsed,” Pomfrey answered as she checked his status and handed him a tray of food. “Here, eat something.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Barty asked, feeling a little better. “I mean I’m your prisoner. I know it‘s not a cell but I‘m just a glorified prisoner.”
“You may be a prisoner but you’re my patient,” Pomfrey answered, as she checked him over. “Now eat something,” she ordered and smiled as he started to eat.
Barty paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “He asked me if I regretted any of the deaths.”
“Who?” Poppy asked, watching Barty finish his food and put the tray on the bed next to him.
“The voice in my head. He’s my duplicate. He asked me if I regretting causing all the deaths I did but I couldn’t answer. I can’t answer! What did he do to me?” he put his head in his hands and spoke five words. “I need help. Help me.”
The End
Character: Barty Crouch Junior
Prompt: Sing the blues
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1406
Summary: Barty is having trouble adjusting to having his soul back in his body. The visions and voices in his head aren’t helping him recover either.
Author's Notes: Not mine, only wish they were. Contains spoilers for the first five books. Written for the 7spells challenge. Contains spoilers for the first four books.
The first fic in the challenge can be found here
Now on with the story…
Barty sat slumped in the corner of his room, he hadn’t moved from his slumped position since he was brought there four days ago. He just sat slumped against the wall, staring into space, lost in thought. He would cower away from the people who bring him food and water. Sometimes he would speak out aloud, talking to voices only he could hear. His sleep was restless, tossing and turning on the cold floor. If he was put on the bed, he would climb off and huddle in the corner.
Poppy sat in the next room observing Barty through an enchanted painting. The young man, broken, and huddled in the corner, almost broke her heart. She knew she shouldn’t feel sorry for him but when she looked into his scared eyes and he backed away from her as if she was going to strike him, she felt like she had failed him in some way. He was a murderer and yet he got her pity.
Inside the adjacent room, Barty was not having a good time. The voices had come back and were talking to him. “Go away!” he yelped, trying to back into the wall.
“Barty,” a male voice said, inside of Barty‘s mind, “is that anyway to talk to me, especially after what I did?”
“Leave me alone,” Barty stated, standing up suddenly and throwing himself onto the bed. “You should’ve left me alone.”
“Well, at least you got yourself out of the corner,” the voice stated sardonically.
Another voice, a female on this time, broke in. “Leave him alone, can’t you see he’s scared? You‘re scaring him.”
“I’m not scared,” Barty insisted, trying to sound brave, although he was shaking slightly.
“If you insist you’re not scared then you’re not scared.” the female voice answered.
“Look, Barty, be quiet and listen,” the original voice ordered, with what sounded like a mental sigh, “your soul was restored because you‘re not quite finished. You‘re needed.”
“I’m not needed,” Barty said, sounding very young, “no one cares about me.” His voice changed, not caring that he was speaking aloud, into a harsh bitter tone. “My father never cared for me. All he cared about was the family image. I had to be the perfect little son but I got nothing in return.”
The female spoke again. “I’m sure he loved you, deep down.”
The male voice spoke just one word in a warning tone. “Don’t.”
Barty snarled, startling Poppy in the other room. “You better not have been talking to me, Ferret face,” he spat as if the voice was standing in front of him.
“Ferret face? Oh the gratitude,” the male voice spoke. “You bust a gut trying to help the guy out and he throws it back in my face and calls me ‘Ferret face’. Well, I suppose it’s better than some of the things I’ve been called over the years.”
“He’s just scared,” the female spoke again. “The fear is coming off him in droves.”
“I’m not scared,” Barty insisted, pressing his body against the headboard. “I’m a big bad death eater. I’m the big bad. I’m just bad.” he blurted out.
The male voice spoke again. “You’re not. You just fell in with the wrong crowd.”
“What did you do to me?” Barty asked. “I-I-I-I feel so empty. Why do I feel this way?”
“Ah, well, it went a little wrong,” the male replied, sounding embarrassed. “Not to worry, we’ll have it all put right in a jiffy but first it‘s about time we took you for a trip down memory lane.”
Barty flinched as an image of his father’s murder flashed before his eyes. Instead of the Avada Kedava curse that Barty had cast on his father, Barty saw himself casting numerous other spells on his father, making him scream out in pain. Barty saw himself drawing out his father’s agony before, as he lay on the ground, a small broken man, Barty decided to put his father out of his misery and cast the Avada Kedava curse. He wore a smirk on his face as his father’s dead body slumped to the ground.
“That never happened,” Barty insisted as the room grew dark and he found himself floating in the void again..
“No but you wished it had, don‘t you?” a voice from a dark corner of the room said, making Barty jump. Barty watched as the owner of the voice stepped out of the shadows. It was a perfect duplicate of him, right down to the accent in his voice.
The man smiled grimly. “You wish you had drawn out his torture until he lay at your feet in a quivering mess and was begging for mercy, don‘t you?”
Barty shrugged. “Yeah, so? I wanted to make him pay for what he had done to me over the years.”
His duplicate walked over to him. “But you killed him off too quickly. Not enough time to really ‘teach him a lesson’, why?”
“I was afraid he would draw the attention of everyone else,” Barty replied.
The duplicate smirked. “Ah, so it was fear of discovery that stopped you torturing your father? Not the fact that you had gone soft and you couldn’t bring yourself to torture him?”
“I was never soft,” Barty snarled. “I didn’t want to be discovered. The plan would’ve been ruined.”
The duplicate laughed. “Right, and it’s the same reason you didn’t just kill Harry off, you had to gloat beforehand, hence your discovery and soul suck.” He paused and added, “If you go back to Voldemort, the Dark Lord, he will kill you on the spot because he will sense your weakness. They’ll torture you first. Never mind all your loyalty and your hand in Voldemort’s resurrection, he will kill you. He doesn’t tolerate weakness. If you show the slightest sign of weakness, you will be tortured, killed and maybe your body will buried, if you’re lucky.”
“No!” Barty yelped, holding his hands over his face. “I’m his most loyal servant.”
“Loyal? Hah!” the duplicate replied, circling Barty in a predatory manner. He walked over to Barty, pulled Barty’s hands from his face and forced Barty to look at him. “You’ll be dead as soon as you set a foot in his circle again. Loyal or not, you‘ll be dust. You lose.”
“I won over my father. He’s dead and buried.”
“No, your victory took mere moments but his defeat of you will last a lifetime.” the duplicate stated.
The duplicate’s words hit Barty like a ton of bricks. “He can’t defeat me now,” Barty said, looking horrified.
“Nor can he approve of you, either here or where he is now,” the duplicate said, running a hand through Barty’s hair. “Tell me, do you regret any of the deaths that you caused?”
“No,” Barty lied, “I don’t.”
The duplicate’s hand tightened on Barty’s hair and pulled. “Now, that wasn’t exactly truthful, was it?”
Barty cursed under his breath and let out a small squeak as he knew he couldn’t lie to his duplicate. “No,” he admitted.
“Who?” the duplicate asked, as he held onto Barty’s hair with one hand and ran his fingers through his hair with the other hand.
Before Barty could answer, a bright light brought him back to reality with a bump. He blinked and focused on Pomfrey, who was bent over him. “What happened?” he asked, trying and failing, not to move away from her.
“You collapsed,” Pomfrey answered as she checked his status and handed him a tray of food. “Here, eat something.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Barty asked, feeling a little better. “I mean I’m your prisoner. I know it‘s not a cell but I‘m just a glorified prisoner.”
“You may be a prisoner but you’re my patient,” Pomfrey answered, as she checked him over. “Now eat something,” she ordered and smiled as he started to eat.
Barty paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “He asked me if I regretted any of the deaths.”
“Who?” Poppy asked, watching Barty finish his food and put the tray on the bed next to him.
“The voice in my head. He’s my duplicate. He asked me if I regretting causing all the deaths I did but I couldn’t answer. I can’t answer! What did he do to me?” he put his head in his hands and spoke five words. “I need help. Help me.”
The End