Title: Who Let In The Rain?
Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone you recognise.
Pairings: Barty Crouch Junior x OC
Notes: I really enjoyed writing this. I suppose it's because I had the urge to write a romance ficlet about someone evil. -cough- 'Owen' means 'well born' or 'noble', so I thought it was a good choice for my OC's surname. As for 'Amélie'... let's just say I loved the movie and the name, and that I've always wanted to call one of my OCs that. Dark at the end. Spoilers for GOF.
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Who Let In The Rain?
by
Se-chan
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Laugher rang through the thick evening air. Her hand clutched his tightly, dragging him along behind her as they ran through the long grass and wildflowers of the field behind his house. Her long, curly hair tickled his face as it blew back towards him in the wind.
He laughed, squeezing her fingers, and she spun her head round to look at him, her warm, blue eyes shining.
They reached the wood's edge, and ran on, submerged in the shadows of the tall, imposing trees. Finally, when they were far into the safety of the surrounding forest, she giggled, and collapsed onto the soft, leaf-littered ground. He fell down beside her, her hand still clasped in his, both of them breathing heavily.
'My parents left earlier than expected.' she said breathlessly, and blew a long, blonde lock away from her eyes. He smiled softly, admiring the way her curly tresses framed her face, ruffled from the wind.
She smiled brightly.
'I take it your father did have to go to the Ministry then?'
'Yes. He got an urgent notice about half an hour ago... not that I'm sorry.' he said, grinning. She knew how much she hated his father. In fact, she was probably the only one who would ever understand why. 'After all, it's only when he goes out that I get to see you.'
'Oh Barty...' she sighed, looking away from him and staring up at the small visable patch of sky through the overhanging branches. 'It's ridiculous, us having to meet like this... in secret, like it's some sort of crime.'
'I know, Amélie.'
Bartemius Crouch Junior and Amélie Owen had been meeting secretly since they were eleven years old. Both came from old, wealthy, pure-blood families, and both were slaves to the expectations of their name. And because of that, they understood each other more than anyone else ever could.
Barty was expected to work for the Ministry, like his father, and have a succesfull career. Amélie was expected to make a respectable marrige and bear lots of children to carry on the family name of whomever she married.
But it wasn't what either of them wanted.
Amélie wanted to be a healer, and Barty... well, all Barty knew was that he did not want to go into the Ministry. The last thing he wanted was to be under the eye and thumb of his father for the rest of his life.
If this wasn't bad enough, they were forced to meet in secret, because any sort of bond between the two would have been furiously frowned upon by their families. The Crouchs and the Owens had been arch enemies for centuries.
Barty stared at her, his heart racing. He liked her, in more ways than a friend should. If he had to marry anyone, he knew that she was the one. He didn't know if she felt that way about him, and he was terrified of what would happen if she didn't.
He stared at her soft, pink lips, lips that he so longed to kiss. Making up his mind, he moved closer to her.
The soft shifting of leaves made her look back down at him, only to find his face barely a foot from her own. It was too dark to see if he was blushing. Leaning foreward, he gently pressed his lips against hers.
He pulled back quickly, and stared at her face, trying to make out her expression. There was silence. She lifted up her hand and touched her lips softly.
'Uh... I, um...' he stuttered, acutely embarresed. He came to an abrupt halt as he felt her arms snake around his neck.
Her lips connected with his once more, softly at first, but their kiss grew more passionate by the minute. Her fingers tangled themselves in his windswept hair, and his arms found their way to her waist, crushing her against him. Eighteen years old, with their hormones and emotions running high, they had soon progressed to more intimate ways of expressing their feelings. In the pitch black, soft moans and heavy breathing were the only evidence of their passionate act.
Half an hour or so later, the noises had stopped, and the only audible sound was the chirping of the crickets and soft, steady breathing. Then, out of the darkness came a quiet, sincere voice.
'I love you, Bartemius Crouch Junior.'
x
'You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law so that we may pass judgement on you, for a crime so heinous-'
'Father... please...'
'-that we have rarely heard the like of within this court.'
The loud, ringing voice drowned out the boy's words and the sounds of the scuffle going on outside the courtroom, though the people seated at the back could make out a panicked, feminine voice.
'Get off me! He wouldn't do it! He couldn't!'
'We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror - Frank Longbottom - and subjecting him to the Cruciatus curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He Who Must Not Be Named-'
'Father, I didn't!' the boy shrieked. The noises outside the courtroom increased in volume.
'Get off me! He didn't do it! I need to see him! GET OFF!'
'I didn't, I swear it Father, don't send me back to the Dementors-'
'You are further accused,' the furious voice bellowed, 'of using the Cruciatus curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He Who Must Not Be Named-'
'He didn't! I know he didn't! Let me through!'
'-to power, and resume the lives of violence you presumably lead-'
'NO! Let go!'
'-while he was strong. I now ask the jury-'
The loud, ringing voice was interrupted by the boy's scream.
'Mother! Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!'
'I now ask the jury,' shouted the voice, 'to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban.'
'Get off! GET OFF!'
The boy began to scream.
'No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him!'
The back door of the courtroom burst open, and a blonde, curly haired witch stuggled in, though many hands were trying to pull her back out. Her appearance was unnoticed, as one of the prisoners was calling out to the man with the harsh, unforgiving voice.
'The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban, we will wait! He will rise again and come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!'
The crowd were jeering now, even as the boy tried to fight the Dementors off and the struggling witch was screaming, still trying to force her way towards the boy.
'I'm your son!' he screamed at Mr. Crouch, 'I'm your son!'
'You are no son of mine!' bellowed Mr. Crouch, 'I have no son! Take them away! Take them away and may they rot there!'
'No! No, he didn't do it! Barty!' screamed the curly haired witch, tears now streaming down her face as she was dragged out of the courtroom by two burly security wizards.
'Father! Father, I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please!'
'BARTY!' the witch screamed, as the boy was dragged away by the Dementors, and just as she was pulled out of the courtroom, the doors slamming in her twisted, tear streaked face.
x
'Who's is it?'
A middle-aged witch with long, golden hair was standing infront of the hunched, slender figure of a young woman. The girl was sitting on the edge of a neat bed, her curly blonde hair tangled, and her eyes, staring at the floor, red and puffy.
'Tell me.'
The girl sniffed, and looked up.
'Barty Crouch Junior.'
There was silence.
'How could you, Amélie? Out of all the men you could have chosen, why him?'
The girl sniffed again, a single tear rolling down her cheek.
'I loved him, mother.'
'Obviously.' Amélie's mother snapped, 'At any rate, it matters little now who the child belongs to. You'll have no husband to care for it when it is born, do you understand me? No one will want to marry a woman with an illegitimate sprog on the way.'
Amélie nodded, silent.
Her mother stared at her for a second, then turned abruptly on her heel and marched out of the room.
There was a moment's silence, where Amélie placed her hand on her stomach, a ghost of a smile flickering onto her face.
x
Bartemius Crouch Junior was sitting in the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's office, waiting for the Minister for Magic.
Minerva McGonagall looked down at him, her wand pointing straight at his heart should he dare to move. But Barty wasn't moving. He was thinking, remembering...
Remembering a woman with long, curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
He'd found out that she had never married, and was now working at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Nine months after he'd been captured and taken to Azkaban, she had given birth to a baby boy. She'd called him Barty.
He smiled, and McGonagall's expression hardened. He didn't notice.
The door of the office swung open, and his mouth went dry.
Two Dementors swooped in, followed by Cornelius Fudge.
He felt the cold despair sweeping over him as one of the Dementors beared down on him. He could hear shouting, though only dimly, as if he was listening to it through a very thick wall.
The Dementor was lowering it's hood. It was going to perform the kiss.
With the last of his energy, he summoned up a picture of Amélie Owen's beautiful face. And the last thought that passed through Barty Crouch Junior's mind was that he had never got to tell her how much he loved her
END