A/N: I've never written a proper song fic before – a lot of my fics are inspired by an album or lyric from a song, but I've never taken the (majority of) lyrics from one song and injected them at intervals in my writing before. (I did omit a few lines here or there for relevancy's sake) It was fun. I may have to endeavor to do this more often. I also hate that I wrote this in first person, because I hate first person present tense … But it's a oneshot and a perspective piece, so like my other fanfic, Doubt, which is along similar lines, I figured it might, by your good graces, be acceptable.

Anyway, the lyrics are from Jewel's "Foolish Games", and this is a birthday present for Serios Aster that is three months and one week late, as per my normal modus operandi... It's a sort of extraneous addition to our current collaboration, Strip My Mind/Some Nights. A second perspective explaining where a certain something came from in Chapter 9 of my installment, Strip My Mind, which was the chapter titled Higher Ground.

Sorry for the ridiculously long author note ^^;;

Foolish Games

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You took your coat off … And stood in the rain.

You were always crazy like that.

And I watched from my window – always felt I was outside

Looking in on you.

.

I should have known from that moment something was wrong. Sure, you were always an idiot with no respect or regard for your own physical wellbeing, but … We've known each other for the majority of our lives. I should have known. You didn't. Know, that is. That I was watching out the window – that I saw you, from inside the house where I was renting that room.

You were out there for so long that the sky started to come down around you; at the first few drops, I watched you look up at it, almost as if you were curious. And, as it came down more, instead of knocking on the door, trying to get inside where it was warm and dry, you took your coat off and set it on the front porch, as if you were afraid of that ratty thing you were so weirdly attached to getting wet. As if you cared more about its integrity than your own.

.

You were always the mysterious one with …

Dark eyes and careless hair, you were

Fashionably sensitive, but too cool to care.

.

When you tilted your head back as the rain started to come down in sheets, heavy and slow and soaking, all I did was watch you. Watch as you put your arms out and turned in a circle, like you were inviting the water. Like it was going to wash off that dark mark hidden conspicuously underneath your long-sleeves.

It was interesting to watch, your jeans getting plastered to you, shirt doing the same, hair stuck to your face and neck. Always doing strange, unfathomable things – even for me, even though we'd known each other for the majority of our lives, you still managed to surprise me time and time again. I had no idea what you were doing, wearing muggle clothes, wandering around in the rain outside with no idea that I knew you were there.

Your turns weren't fast, and you weren't running around; it was slow and steady. Paced and patient rather than erratic or exuberant. It was almost hypnotizing, and I think of that moment often.

.

You stood in my doorway, with nothing to stay …

Besides some comment on the weather.

.

When the rain slowed down to a little less than a dull roar, you looked up at the window, and I'm sure you couldn't see me in it. I left those ugly, dusty lace curtains alone, so you wouldn't have even seen those move when I backed away slightly like a ghost in the pane.

Of course, being the coward that I am, I acted like I had been asleep, laying down on the bed that wasn't mine quickly when you went around to the side to knock on the door that was closest to my tiny rented place. Even though I knew you were coming the sound still surprised me… I answered the door, but waited a few long seconds so you would think I hadn't been awake; I was the only one at the house anyway, so I didn't have much choice. Not sure how you managed to time that so well, but you did. And there you were, standing in the doorway, dripping from head to toe with your coat in your hands.

It seemed like you'd had something to say to me, but as you looked at me with those blue-gray eyes, I saw your resolve break. And, of course, being the coward that I am, I didn't ask, even though I knew it was there. Even though I saw it. Because I was afraid. Afraid that you'd come to tell me you didn't want to be mates any more, or some other stupid, petty, selfishthing, rather than being worried that it was something about you.

.

Well in case you failed to notice –

In case you failed to see. This is my heart, bleeding before you

This is my down on my knees. And …

.

I didn't know what was wrong; I guess I just ignored the signs. You were upset or confused or I don't know – something. But I didn't care. All I could talk about was the stupid fucking pure blood club we joined, and how they'd started doing some things we shouldn't endorse just to fill the silence.

Like you didn't already know. Like you wouldn't have pulled out if you could have. If your cousin hadn't … Of course I was stuck with the mark too. Of course I'd followed you – as soon as I'd found out what you had gotten yourself into; how could I not? And somehow, I think you even felt guilty about that too, even though it was my stupid choice.

So, rather than let you even try to talk about whatever it was you'd come to ask me or tell me or show me, I just kept bringing unsavory up things, one after the next. Anything I could think of to stop you from telling me whatever you were going to say. Anything to keep the truth at bay, whatever the truth was. Pathetic. I didn't even know what I was afraid of, and yet I was afraid.

.

These, foolish games are, tearing me apart.

And your thoughtless words are breaking my heart.

You're breaking my heart.

.

Maybe I was upset because you felt guilty; maybe I was upset because on some level I knew there was something you weren't telling me. Maybe I'm just a selfish asshole, and I was mad at you for not noticing that friends, even best friends, don't go through some of the shit I went through for you. Whatever it was, I was short with you, and I'm sure that had a lot to do with why you didn't tell me what insanity was swirling around inside that thick skull of yours.

All you did was sit there silently and let me rail the Death Eaters, and their current agendas, and the fact that Bellatrix was a stupid burke. Which of course, to you, would quietly say that you were an idiot too, because you "let" her recruit you. And by let, of course I mean were threatened and dragged into it in lieu of your brother, who basically happened to not be home when she decided to drag her drunk arse to your house.

.

You were always brilliant in the morning […]

Your philosophies on art, Baroque moved you –

You loved Mozart, and you'd speak of your loved ones …

.

Even if I always told you that you were an idiot, mate, you were always as brilliant as your namesake; not to wax poetic like some sort of sap or anything … You always argued that you weren't as clever or as good as your brother – I never understood why you continued to think so highly of that arsehole even after he'd up and run off, and left you completely devastated. I probably never will. But you'd talk about him all the time, whether you realized it or not. And, a lot of that time, I'd catch myself thinking that I wished I was on your mind even half of the time Sirius was, but … Most of the time it felt like you didn't think about me much at all. That's probably just me being over dramatic, though. One of my worst qualities.

You with your dumb convictions on life, and your martyr complex. I'm sure that's at least part of why you ended up letting her take you to the Dark Lord. So that you could protect Sirius; not that that moron needs protecting. He's older than you, and you aren't his keeper. You never got it through your thick skull that you didn't have to protect anyone; in fact, you only ever seemed to think you needed to protect everyone that mattered to you.

I guess I sort of had that problem too; only when you were concerned though. Probably that's most of the reason why I went to Voldemort as soon as I tracked down your stupid, drugged arse, high on codeine or Vicodin or whatever pills you had to cut down the pain after you'd escaped your brother and St. Mungo's.

That mark … worst pain I've ever felt in my life. I almost blacked out – I remember it vividly; it felt as if my soul was being incinerated. I'm sure he didn't think I would even answer him, when it was half over and I laid there on the floor, bleeding steadily and shaking in a near fit. There is no way I would have gotten the words out if I hadn't seen your face in my head; going through the same thing, thinking about what you would have to do – what you'd face alone if I couldn't do this. (1)

So I'd begged; nearly as fervently as I had when I'd first asked for the mark, if less steadily, for him to finish it. Bind me to him, as his loyal servant. But really what I was really asking was to be bound to you, Reg. Twist my fate up with the fucked up path yours had taken, so that you wouldn't be without me.

So I didn't have to be without you.

.

You'd teach me honest things – Things that were daring

Things that were clean …

I hid my soiled hands behind my back.

.

I'm sure you don't know half the things I'm responsible for. It's not like we had DE staff meetings, appreciation announcements, or anything so stupid. They think I'm an eager, loyal servant of the Dark Lord because I've volunteered for assignments so often … what they don't know is that every time I heard about something that needed to be done, I would panic because I was afraid they would try and assign it to you. So I would jump at whatever it was, most of the time before I even knew what I was signing up for. And that's bitten me in the arse this time, I think.

The worst part is that for once I didn't even need to offer; this time, there wasn't any reason for me to get the attention. You're gone; no matter how many times I remind myself of that, it doesn't seem to get through. I either don't believe it or I don't want to – or I'm too stupid to remember. Whatever the reason, before I even knew what I was doing, I tried to cover for you again, raising my hand immediately, telling him that "I would be honored, My Lord", as if I give a damn about this war or whatever stupid ideals he's trying to uphold. Just like I always do, whenever the opportunity arises.

But that's what mates do, or so I'm sure you would think. It's just a "best friends" thing, Barty doing this for me, that's all.

.

Excuse me; I think I've mistaken you for somebody else –

Somebody who gave a damn … Somebody more like myself.

.

And obviously you didn't give a damn, did you? No, you were too busy getting yourself into trouble behind my back. You didn't think about anyone else, did you? You didn't think about the consequences of what you were doing, you selfish sod. You just did whatever you wanted – whatever you thought was right, or expected of you, or whatever it is you were thinking when you did what you did – whatever stupid thing it was.

I always thought of you first – I know that's selfish and unfair of me, to hold you to the same ridiculous standards I've developed, or get irritated that you didn't know half the shit I went through for you, but I do. Not like my home life was the greatest, and outside of Transfiguration school sucked as well. You; it was just you. It was always you. You were the bright spot in the dysfunctional shit storm that was my life. Again, melodrama – I know it could have probably been a lot worse, but I don't give a damn. And I know it's wrong of me to put that all on you – to give you the responsibility of being not just the brightest, but the only star in my sky, to abuse a terrible pun, but whatever. If you were here, you'd do it.

.

These foolish games are tearing me, you're tearing me

You're tearing me apart. And your … thoughtless words are

Breaking my heart … You're breaking my heart.

.

It doesn't matter anymore, I guess. I've signed onto something big; bigger than anything they've given me before. I guess I've done enough assignments for them that they think I'm "ready" or something. This isn't going to be a lookout position while someone else does the dirty work, and it's not a strong warning to mud-blood sympathizers, or putting glorified graffiti on walls to let people know that the Death Eaters have been around, Reg. And the sickest part is that I volunteeredfor this assignment. Raised my hand and offered to go because I'm just so fucking used to going to bat so you don't have to. Jumping into the fray if it's not a medical assignment or something like that. Something you'd be good at – and wouldn't involve you having to hurt anyone. Because really, I'm the idiot. I always have been. And I know that; it frustrates me. A lot of things I do frustrate me to no end, though I know that at least part of that is really me feeling guilty, now more than ever.

When you came that day, to talk to me – I know what you were doing now. You came to say goodbye to me. And I'm such an absolute fucking idiot, and a coward to boot, that I scared you off before you got the chance. Now look where that selfishness has gotten me; I throw myself at things you can't even be forced to do now all in the name of protecting you. The irony is painful.

I've never even met these people, and yet I'm being sent to make an example of them. They're purebloods for Merlin's sake – not even part of the group Voldemort originally targeted, not that I gave a shit either way about any of that in the first place. Part of the "Order of the Phoenix," or whatever that group is calling themselves. I think you mentioned your brother lived with them for a while; can't remember their names. Bottoms, maybe? … Long-bottoms. Yeah, that sounds right. They've had the two of them locked up for a few days, as I understand. I'm supposed to go and "collect information" from them tonight with your psychotic cousin.

I guess we really are more alike than I thought after all – I'm doing the exact same thing you did, coming to see you for the last time. The only difference is that I'm saying goodbye because after this … I don't think I'll have any right to ever come back here. I know this will go too far, especially with Bellatrix involved, and yet I'm still doing what I've been told to do, going along with this mess …

If you were here and they tried to make you do this, you'd argue; you wouldn't do it. I know you wouldn't – it's the way you always were; stubborn and stupid to a fault when it came to something you knew wasn't right. But, I'm not you. I'm me. And I'm a coward, in case you failed to notice that somewhere along the line. I don't want to die, and I don't have the conviction to stand up for something or against something. That fact alone has probably caused a lot of my problems in life, so I guess the fact that everything sucks, especially right now, is my own fault.

Not that acknowledging this changes anything. I'm still going to do as I'm told; and honestly, it doesn't even matter to me. Nothing does; not anymore, and hasn't for a long while now. I can't even really care about what I'm going to go and do tonight, outside of the context that I know you'd be upset if you knew because it's wrong or something. Fucked up? Probably. Pathetic? Yeah I'm definitely that, and a lot more on top of it.

I guess there is one consolation prize though.

At least you'll never have to see me like this … You'll never know … right, Reg?

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You took your coat off … And stood in the rain.

You were always crazy like that.

.

As Bartemius Crouch Jr. laid the single white rose he held down on the grave with his black-gloved hand, watching the black satin ribbon tied around the stem as it fell, something wet hit his skin. Pausing, he looked up from where he crouched, squinting at the cloudy sky as another cool drop of water hit his skin. Standing slowly, his hazel eyes glanced at the letters carved into the headstone. Regulus Arcturus Black, 1961-1981, (2) and after a moment he looked back up at the sky that reminded him of the color of his best friend's eyes. He didn't flinch when the cold water started to come down more quickly, stinging his skin and immediately starting to soak him. He didn't run for cover. He didn't do anything as it fell onto him and into his eyes, soaking his face and rolling down his cheeks.

Slowly, after he'd stood there looking at the sky for a long while, Barty shrugged off the dark coat he was wearing and draped it over one of his forearms. The white button down he had on that had been at least partially protected from the torrent immediately started to soak through as well, but he hardly noticed as he looked back down at the grave he stood before. At the no longer fresh dirt that covered it; at the lone thorn-less rose he'd placed … And he spoke, one last time, though the words were drowned out by the deluge that came down around him. Turning, he walked back to the path as the water matted his blond hair to his neck and weighed down his clothes, slowing his already sluggish footsteps. Absently he put his hands in his pockets, coat still hanging over one of his forearms as he left the cemetery for the last time.

– Fin –

Footnotes:

1 – It is sort of been my personal head canon that when receiving the Dark Mark, Voldemort stops half way through and forces you to ask him to continue before he will finish it. (I may have gotten this from Serios Aster, I am uncertain).

2 – In Serios Aster's cannon, Regulus Black died in 1981, not 1979, and I'm following her timeline, hence the discrepancy. (If anyone cares or even noticed …)