----> Ardor

[Bartemius Crouch Jr.]

Walking long distances wasn't something Barty was very talented in. It may have slipped his mind that he could have not exposed the base of their little organization by walking all the way back to the house, and he could have instead apparated. Apparently, one of the many, many voices inside of his head had told him that he needed to get off his lazy arse and start exercising. Now the rest of him was chastisizing his body for walking several miles in the pouring rain. Not too smart, those voices in his head, eh?

The shock probably hit his body past the tiny coffee shop in Little Hangleton. Nobody had been out on the streets, thank Merlin, or else the general public would have seen a sodden young man, nearly going crazy from the convulsing muscles that covered him. And that would have been bad for his reputation; as the son of the future Minister of Magic. The son. He should start writing autographs, starting with the current members of the Knights of Walpurgis.

Autographs, his arse.

Even at nineteen, he couldn't comprehend what was so spectacular about his old man. Sure, he could talk a billion languages, which would be more tedious than anything to listen to; and sure, he was well recognized around the whole damn wizarding world; but nothing else really sparked his son's attention. All he was to Barty was an old man - an old man with a perfectly groomed moustache and an uptight air, and an airy head. He wouldn't be surprised if his father started signing autographs for those willing. This provoked a snort from him as he pushed open the front door with difficulty, having gone through the various traps that lay from the street to the first square inch of the estate. In the pouring rain.

But wait, it gets better.

The house was freezing - nothing new, of course. Snape would never ever get heating in this house. It was a house and they didn't need the luxuries; obviously, if it was in shambles. Barty was genuinely surprised that the door hadn't rusted off its hinges yet. The only thing that seemed to be in pristine condition was the library, probably because no one ever set foot in that place. A thin layer of dust over everything was to be expected.

So, he shambled in, covered in relatively cold raindrops. Maybe he'd just.. lie on the floor.. as dirty as it was.. and have a seizure there. Gods it was cold. The dungeons were the place to be, nobody would pick on him there. He made his way over to the door, with difficulty, propped it open and found himself in the main basement type room. He shambled over to the nearest couch, nearly in tatters, but when he rested his weight on it it didn't break into a million tiny peices. He rested his head down on the cushions, his cheek feeling the rougher part of what was once expensive material. It smelt awful, he couldn't deny, but it was better than the floor.

Barty was now too cold to shiver. His body would probably go into a state of hypothermia, but he'd rest for the time being. This was the absolute last time he was going to listen to any of those damned voices in his head. There had to be a way to shut them off.. somehow..

He needed a shrink.

ooc: Recycleness = This post

[Alecto Carrows]

[[may I join in?]]

The nights were damn freezing this time of year.

Ali had spent the better part of the day in bed, curled up with cup after cup of dark tea and a few books from the library. She wasn't one to stay holed up like that, but it was just too cold to wander around the house. But the fire had gone out shortly after six, and that meant she had an excuse to get up.

Convenient how they kept the firewood next to the wine cellar. As she padded down to the basement, Ali was suddenly encouraged by her little mission. Wine was good.

Alecto had often wondered why Snape had chosen Riddle Manor to house the Knights. Judging by the way the organisation prided old money and old blood, one would think he would have found somewhere...better. Ali was used to fine things, and the Manor was old and unkempt. She wondered if the charms on the grounds were in place because the Knights were ashamed of their living conditions.

Her lip curled slightly as she tiptoed down the damp, warped stairs. It was out of habit and not stealth; Alecto had always wandered the house when everyone else was asleep. No rest for the wicked, right?

Someone was getting it. At the foot of the stairs, Ali smiled as she noticed Barty Crouch asleep on an ancient velvet sofa. Crossing her arms, she approached him and looked him over.

He was absolutely pitiful, soaked to the bone, looking half-dead, limbs akimbo as he lay on the couch. Barty had never looked all that...happy...but he was worn out. Alecto wondered what had given him the idea to run about in the downpour.

"Is it raining again?" she asked incredulously, a song in her voice. She furrowed her brow at the man sprawled out on the olive-colored cushions. Her face grew a bit more serious as she stared Barty down.

"What the hell are you doing down here, Crouch?" she asked softly.

[Bartemius Crouch Jr.]

ooc: Of course.

"Is it raining again?"

“That it is,” he managed to say out of a constricted throat. Who would ask such a question, in the first place? The voice was female, which showed promise. Perhaps it was his wife, although the back of his mind told him she was smarter than that. One look at him and that question would be answered. Or perhaps she just wanted to rub in the fact that he had left her alone again. They were having a bit of an ongoing dispute about that. Maybe that was it.

How he managed to turn his face around to look at his guest, he didn’t know, as he heard perhaps fifty or so little bones crack in the general area of it. As much as it pained him, his curiosity won him over. The picture of Alecto Carrows took a little longer to register in his thawing out brain, and his bearings went down. Ali and him were pretty tight, for Death Eaters that is. They didn’t talk a whole lot in school because of the whole house gap (the major house gap), but as they were the same age and lived in a huge house, they had to bump into each other once in a while. There was probably no one else his age in the house – everyone was too old for him. Including his wife. Who had been doing the math then, he wanted to ask.

"What the hell are you doing down here, Crouch?"

“Good evening to you as well, Alecto,” he replied, his body in a strange position on the couch while his head was craned to maintain eye contact with her. He often enjoyed how blunt she went about things. It was no wonder why she wanted to know why he was down here, soaked to the bone, and sprawled out on an old, filthy couch. He’d ask the exact same question, only with a bit more beating around the bush, he presumed.

“If you really want to know, I’m resting,” he said simply with a sigh, fixing himself so that his back was on the couch, his feet were dangling off the side, and his cheek managed to stay on the deteriorating cushions. He couldn’t quite explain why he had been walking for an ungodly amount of time in the pouring rain, as it would spark up some questions. Why hadn’t he apparated? Why hadn’t he gone upstairs to dry off? Why hadn’t he notified someone that he had gotten in? The list goes on.

The truth was, he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone ‘important’ at the moment – meaning people who really didn’t care but wanted to know anyway. He was quite sure that Ali would understand, and leave it at that. He at least hoped she would.

He was quite sure if he didn’t change out of his wet clothing and take a shower that his muscles would begin to freeze. The basement was not the smartest place to go if he didn’t want freezer burn. But on the other hand, wouldn’t it be fun to point and laugh at the kid who was stupid enough to walk home in the rain? Yes, he was still a kid. But he was better than most Death Eaters combined.

You know who you are.

[Alecto Carrows]

“Good evening to you as well, Alecto.”

Alecto's shuddered in the cold, dry room, the corners of her full lips curving upward. Ah, yes, where had her manners run off to? She didn't bother to stammer out an apology, because that would be as good as lying to Barty. He knew her way. And he knew that when she apologized to someone, more often than not it was a lie.

“If you really want to know, I’m resting,”

She wrinkled her nose as he congealed into the threadbare cushions and slid onto the arm of the couch near his shoulder. Ali stared down at her bare toes before glancing up at Barty again.

"Alright then," she murmured with a little laugh. She could tell he would be less than enchanted with her if she interrogated. She had known Barty to be a complete ass sometimes. He didn't have to have a calculated reason for everything.

The boy wasn't yet twenty years old.

Brushing her hair out of her eyes, Ali shook her head. Barty and her were the low ones on the totem pole, but he was the one who had been brought into the Knights on talent. Having Barty in the Manor made it a little less shameful to be nineteen. It was nice to be able to pretend she had peers in this little society.

"At least you have a wife," she remarked, "because I'm thinking you're going to catch pneumonia or something down here."

[Bartemius Crouch Jr.]

"At least you have a wife, because I'm thinking you're going to catch pneumonia or something down here."

Pneumonia, eh?

Now, he was no Healer. Neither was she, but she was probably right. Dampness and cold weather usually did not mix into something spectacular. In fact, he might be bed ridden for the next few days, and that was no fun. Being waited on hand and foot, however, to the extent where you were so fed up with yourself that things had to be done your way. Which was what Barty usually went about doing things in the first place, so as one can conclude, he did not enjoy becoming sick. In fact, he hadn’t been sick since he was nine, and caught the German measles.

You can bet those were a fun six days.

He wasn’t particularly looking forward to the walk up the stairs. Houses built in England were built for people who liked opening an excessive amount of doors. He had been lucky that no door had to be opened in order to get to his temporary grave. The pathway to his bedroom, however, required that ten or eleven doors had to be opened in the process. He was sure that after the fifth, he’d pass out. He just needed to gather some strength, some dignity, find that trooper in him and pass out in his bedroom instead of in the hallway. That was going require some effort on his part.

It wasn’t quite…concern on her part. More just like rubbing it in that he was stupid. He appreciated that coming from someone like her and not someone like…say…well, we all know who that person might be.

“I’ll tell you now that I’m officially in the denial stage of sickness,” he let her know, his throat becoming a little more loose from all this chatter. “Convincing me I really have pneumonia won’t register,” he added, a slur in his voice as he gazed at the ceiling. Once, when he had come down here out of boredom, he had tried to count all of the little dots on the ceiling tiles. Then he had told Evan to count them and see if he could get it right, but the trick was, when there’d be 1038, Barty always upped the number by one, so that Evan had to do it all over again.

That was what was fun around here when there wasn’t a torture. They needed a gun, or something, to rid them of their misery.

“What does that have to do with having a wife, anyway?” he pondered out loud, his eyes registering Alecto once more in his peripheral vision. Maybe she was trying to rub it in some more, although it was a weak subject to rub in. Barty has a wife! Haha. He knew that already, thank you very much. What his wife didn’t know was that she’d have a partially frozen Barty in the basement, who wouldn’t be coming upstairs in a while.

His body simply wouldn’t allow it.

[Alecto Carrows]

"I’ll tell you now that I’m officially in the denial stage of sickness. Convincing me I really have pneumonia won’t register."

Alecto watched him with a wistful expression on her face, but said nothing. She had never placed much of a value on wit, her own at least. People like Barty Crouch was charming in nature. He could pull it off.

“What does that have to do with having a wife, anyway?”

"All I meant was you have someone to take care of you," she spat out automatically. Ali was used to defending herself. Really the fault was hers, for if Alecto had ever learned to keep her mouth shut she wouldn't have to overreact in the first place. Perhaps all the arrogant little boys who had tried the 'there are better things to do with your mouth, Ali' line were right.

She rested her forehead in the heel of her hand and looked to Barty.

"It was supposed to be a joke," Alecto said softly. That killed the joke, she guessed. But Barty had always been the funny one. As far as Death Eaters went.

"And I'm still a little bit shocked you're married," she laughed, raising her eyebrows at him.

Alecto stood again and crossed the broad, bare room to the dusty liquor service sitting awkwardly in one corner. She looked over the motley collection of spirits and old cut crystal, but saw nothing of interest. She bent slightly to rifle through the mixers, where she found a few cans of [mostly] cold soda. Ali took one for herself and waved a second Barty's way.

"Well, you haven't missed much," she offered, her eyes flickering upward. She was beginning to think she lived in a frat house- where people did nothing but fuck, fight and drink. Not like she abstained from it all, but Ali was beginning to grow stir-crazy. She returned to the couch and set down the warm soda.

"I'm absolutely crushed I wasn't invited to go play in the rain," she pouted.

[Bartemius Crouch Jr.]

"All I meant was you have someone to take care of you,"

Touché.

She did have a good point, as he had thought of it before. It went back to the ‘whole taking care of yourself, I do things my way’ business. Sure, it was great to be independent and all that jazz, but when it boiled down to it all, all anyone wanted to have was love and compassion. Call him cheesy, but you know he’s right.

He, however, was not going to allow himself to tell her that. He enjoyed silly little power struggles. He shrugged his shoulders as best as he could, “I guess,” and settled with a solemn look on his face. It was pitiful, really, what he was allowing himself to do. Just waste away. It was a fitting end, was it not? Death by pneumonia. He’d go down in history, just like Elvis.

"It was supposed to be a joke,"

Oh. Ohhhhhhhh.

This was the part when he was supposed to laugh. He let out a constricted one, which built up to a chuckle. He got it. People liked to make jokes about how the nineteen year-old got the twenty something year-old. Not that Narcissa didn’t look a day older than Barty did, it was just like before, he wondered who had been doing the math when said people made the arrangement. Plus, Narcissa and her family had a wide variety of other suitors to choose from. Why’d they have to pick the Crouch kid, you ask? It sill eludes him to this day. Perhaps his father had the Blacks’ vote in the bag when it came to being the next Prime Minister of wizarding hell. He wasn’t complaining loudly, he was just being a stupid, hormonally distressed teenager.

"And I'm still a little bit shocked you're married,"

“Yeah yeah,” he said almost automatically, a snort emitting from his sinus congested nose. “My family didn’t waste any time,” he mused out loud, not minding, nor caring where Alecto skipped off to. “I suppose I’m the ‘diamond in the rough’,” he sighed, rolling his ankles slowly, feeling every joint crack like his neck had previously. Honestly, if their family was so superficial about money and power, why weren’t they superficial about appearances as well? Barty was not, and still isn’t Casanova (those things come with time and practice), and you can argue all you want with him, but the mere sight of him does not make one’s mouth drool, I can assure you.

All questions aside, he clutched the soda that his friend brought to him, opened it with difficulty, sat up with difficulty, and forced the carbonated beverage down his throat. It felt just peachy.

"Well, you haven't missed much,"

“Well that’s good,” he said with slight sarcasm, setting the can down with much vigor. He glanced at the floor, then at the beaten down coffee table in front of him, “As long as…Malfoy hasn’t been hovering,” he muttered somewhat darkly, not knowing if it was audible or not. It didn’t matter anyway; this was Alecto he was talking to about his marriage problems. Who else would listen?

"I'm absolutely crushed I wasn't invited to go play in the rain,"

“My deepest apologies,” he recited after another swig of the drink, “Perhaps next time I should be warned, then we can have pneumonia together,” he mused, giving her an exhausted sort of grin, as sitting up was taking most of his reserved energy.

[Alecto Carrows]

“Yeah yeah. My family didn’t waste any time...I suppose I’m the ‘diamond in the rough.’"

Something about his response made Alecto think he was tired of hearing what she had to say- or rather, hearing it again. Alecto had never been married and didn't have the arrogance to pretend she knew what it was like. But sometimes she wondered why Barty and Narcissa even bothered. They didn't seem to be the portrait of a happy home.

He muttered something about 'Malfoy...hovering' and it pricked her ears. Barty had a fire in him. She had seen it before, when a few of the Knights dragged some unfortunate soul down to this very basement to 'ask him a few questions'. It was the capacity for evil in people like Barty Crouch that both terrified and enthralled her.

"Malfoy, eh? What does that mean?" she asked carefully. As a trend the Knights of Walpurgis didn't share. She didn't know if being Barty's friend made any difference. But rarely was Alecto scared of a man.

[[short. eek.]]

[Bartemius Crouch Jr.]

"Malfoy, eh? What does that mean?"

She didn’t know.

Really, there was a minority who did know anyway, so he wasn’t going to automatically think she was oblivious as to what went on in the house. He guessed he’d tell her anyway, seeing as how she’d listen and wouldn’t give pointless advice (he respected Evan, really, but he ate his morals for breakfast). He had nothing to lose, except if she pointed and laughed at him. Which hopefully she wouldn’t do.

Before he does so, we’ll go back a time in order to clear some things up. Now, when his father had told him in a span of five seconds or less that he was betrothed to a lovely young woman, Barty had sucked it up and moved on. Narcissa had shown some resistance, naturally, but in the end it was inevitable. They had gotten married not long after Barty had joined up with the Death Eaters, and things seemed peachy keen in Crouch land. However, there were some people who weren’t content with the arrangement.

Actually, there was only one person who strongly disagreed and made that known to everyone he could. Barty wasn’t quite sure if he had felt this way all along, as no one had piped up when the words ‘Speak now, or forever hold your peace,’ were spoken, or if it had just been a spur of the moment thing. Well, said person had decided to wait a few more months, a few more years, until he could really crawl under Barty’s skin. Malfoy didn’t seem to care that Narcissa was married, as he was used to getting what he wanted, and he probably thought he could squish Barty like a fly under his foot.

Now, Narcissa had made it clear somehow that she wouldn’t stray. Naturally, Barty returned the favour, as it was rather unfair to be a hypocrite, and in an extremely judged society such as the one they lived in, there was no other option. However, the stories he was hearing, even if they weren’t from his wife herself, were grating on his nerves. How could he have a happy marriage, or pretend to have one, with this twit interfering?

“It’s complicated,” he warned her, a sigh emitting from his lips as he positioned himself on his back on the couch. The soda tasted horrible; therefore, he wouldn’t be drinking it in the near future. “What would you do, even if you were married, if some man…some older man,” he corrected himself, as Malfoy was nearly a decade older than the boy, “Hit on you every waking moment of every day?” he asked in all honesty, his eyes turning back towards his friend once more.

“It’d be harder and harder to say no, wouldn’t it,” he stated not as a question, because he knew it for a fact. His wife could be as relentless as she wanted, but Malfoy was equally so. It was as if he was born to achieve his goal, that no one was going to stand in the way. No matter how kind-hearted he may seem, which was a flat out lie to begin with, he was just as conniving as the rest of them.

Barty was smart enough to figure that out.

ooc: No worries. Sorry my reply took so long.

[Alecto Carrows]

She knew alright; she just didn't know she knew.

Rumors took the place of communication in the Riddle Manor. Factually, you really couldn't much of anything you heard within the Knights, especially when it involved scandal. It was because of this Alecto really stayed away from discussing who was bedding who. Sex for her was something to pass the time, and hopefully an exercise in social gain. It was easier for her because she was completely alone unattached.

“It’s complicated,”...What would you do, even if you were married, if some man…some older man...Hit on you every waking moment of every day? It’d be harder and harder to say no, wouldn’t it.”

There was something in his voice that tugged at her.

"Oh, Christ, Barty," she muttered. Her eyes flickered over to him, looking absolutely miserable, his frame disappearing into that of the old olive sofa. It was times like these when Alecto had absolutely no clue what to do with herself. She was hardly ever uncomfortable around men when things like this happened. Ali had learned how to be the rebound girl. How to approach a man who was fighting with his girlfriend or something silly like that.

But Barty had never been a sexual object to Ali, and she wondered what she had to offer by way of comfort. She wondered if he liked to be touched, to be held, just to be close to someone who cared.

Alecto wondered if this thing with Lucius Malfoy was even as big as it sounded. Barty was one of those men who offered up their tribulations without revealing how it effected them. She turned her body towards him but didn't approach him, pulling her legs up to her chest and resting her chin on one knee.

"I think you know," she whispered candidly, "what I would do. But that doesn't really matter. What she's...that would matter."

The words got tougher to flesh out as she went on, and Ali averted his gaze.

"Christ. Just go kick his ass."

Alecto hoped she was doing anything but pouring salt in his wounds.

[Bartemius Crouch Jr.]

"Oh, Christ, Barty,"

Off to a great start.

He felt so stupid. No, he felt like a woman. He shouldn’t have said anything and spared himself from her pity. In fact, he didn’t want any advice at the moment. He was cold, miserable, and probably catching pneumonia. Whatever Alecto said would probably go right over his head – he’d nod, thank her somehow, and then make his way upstairs in an equally miserable way. Then he’d pass out on his bed, sleep until five in the afternoon the next day, and then go back to work.

But now, he had to make it more complicated. Now he had given the details of his stupid mind to someone else, who might pass it on to Merlin knows whom. In all honesty, he didn’t trust Alecto with his life. He didn’t trust anyone, as a matter of fact. Although, he was starting to build some sort of foundation on Tom Riddle, mostly because he was on the same wavelength as the man with the whole ‘hating our fathers because we’re named after him’ thing. Many a person had told him not to be so hasty when trusting someone, but even when it came to something as stupid as this, he had no idea who’s ears it was going to reach. Not like it was a life or death situation anyway.

It would make him feel better, despite getting it off his chest.

"I think you know what I would do. But that doesn't really matter. What she's...that would matter."

Yeah. He knew and heard about Alecto, and knew that Narcissa wasn’t like that. Hey, she had been relentless enough before they had even been married, so he was quite confident that she hadn’t done anything yet.

It was just rather inconvenient to have some…parasite thing attached to your hip all of the time. Maybe if it had been someone else who had been in Malfoy’s position, Barty wouldn’t be so pissed about it. He didn’t know the man very well, but he took first impressions seriously. After all, he was so anal about his first impression in the first place. He just didn’t like it. In fact, he hated it.

"Christ. Just go kick his ass."

An amused snort came out of his nose, which hurt a bit, seeing as most of his extremities were still defrosting, “If only it were that easy,” he sighed, his chuckling continued. He wasn’t sure about advice, but Alecto was pretty good at cheering him up. Malfoy would probably laughed at him if he tried anything interesting. Or he’d get someone to do his dirty work for him.

Like, say, Rabastan Lestrange. Anyone but him, because he was pretty sure he’d run for the hills if the guy simply entered the same room as him with that intention. Barty was pretty lucky that he didn’t freak out everytime the man did so.

“Maybe in a few years, when I put on some more muscle and he has his midlife crisis,” Barty mused, another sort of snort coming out, although he was trying to clear his nose of the icicles that seemed to have formed in the area.

“Bet nothing that exciting has happened to you yet, eh, Alecto?” he asked, his voice laden with sarcasm, although it was meant as a light jest. Anything to change the subject. Please.

[Alecto Carrows]

She was really hoping to see him laugh.

“Maybe in a few years, when I put on some more muscle and he has his midlife crisis.”

Alecto's face fell slightly at his reaction, and for a few moments she regretted ever saying anything. She felt terribly inadequate; being at a loss for words wasn't common for her. But she could tell the last thing Barty wanted was sympathy, or whatever she was fumbling toward. She wiped the motherly expression off her face and stared at the floor.

“Bet nothing that exciting has happened to you yet, eh, Alecto?”

Ali laughed, but never answered him. She knew that Barty didn't care what went on in her life. She knew that he just wanted to end the discussion. She set her feet on the floor, restless, and looked back up at Crouch.

She had never been very good at understanding boundaries. The truth was that Alecto didn't really know Barty Crouch that well. She sighed quietly, staring up at the ceiling. She just didn't know what to do.

"You want me to leave you alone?" she asked softly. She shuddered in the cold, damp air, resting her hands on her knees.

She was beginning to want a beer now.

[[sorry, I know it took forever...]]