A.N: Quidditch Leagues Round 13 fic for Beater 2, Bellybats. My prompts used were (style) 1st Person, and (quote) "I like nonsesne, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living." - Dr. Seuss.
I had been the embodiment of female fancy at Hogwarts. I don't want to toot my own horn, but I know that they all found me attractive. Being from the Black family, I have dark hair and eyes, and I've always been tall for my age. But I've never been interested in the countless girls that loitered around me in the corridors, hoping for the opportunity to be asked out.
No, there was only one person that ever caught my fancy, and it wasn't one of the Slytherin girls – or any of the other girls. My father would have popped a blood vessel; my mother would have flat out slaughtered me, but it didn't change how I felt.
Barty was a year below me, but I didn't really notice him until I was in my seventh year. I had just finished a Quidditch game – we had won against Gryffindor, and the team were carrying me on their shoulders, preparing to celebrate in the Common Room. I had caught the Golden Snitch ten minutes into the game, and ultimately won before Gryffindor even managed to get any scores with the Quaffle. The team were carrying me down to the dungeons, and when we burst into the Slytherin Common Room, Barty was the only one sat there, at a small table in the corner, scribbling madly on a roll of parchment.
It was like I was only just seeing him. His soft, straw-like hair hung over his brow. His eyes, bright and determined, were flickering back and forth as he wrote. His shoulders were hunched, and his collar was fastened up to the neck with his tie in place, even though it was a Saturday. No one else took any notice of him; everyone went straight on with the party.
But I couldn't get him out of my head. I waited until I saw him slip off into the sixth year's dormitory, with his books under his arm, and I followed him.
I hung back in the shadows, watching him carefully tuck his schoolbooks into his trunk in alphabetical order. He smoothed out his unused parchment, and then rolled it up neatly. I tried to stifle a chuckle – it was all so strange, to see a boy acting so neat.
Suddenly, Barty whizzed around, his brown eyes glittering manically, aiming his wand in my general direction. "Who's there? Come out!" He was trying to sound menacing, but his voice rose in pitch, and his wand hand shook. I rolled my eyes, and stepped out of the darkness, holding up my hands in a mock surrender. His eyes widened at the sight of me; as if I was the last person he expected to see. "What are you doing here? This isn't your dormitory," he muttered.
"I was just wondering why you're not down there joining in the party," I replied. I walked closer to him, dropping my hands. He didn't lower his wand. "Also, I noticed you didn't come to the Quidditch match. What on earth is wrong with you?"
Barty didn't take his eyes off me, but his wand hand continued to shake. "I don't care much for Quidditch," he said quietly. "Or parties." I reached out until my fingers touched his wand, and pushed his hand down slowly. He tucked his wand back inside his robes, and turned back to his trunk, and closed and fastened it. "Is there something you want, Regulus?"
"Oh, you know my name?"
"Everyone knows your name," he responded swiftly, and walked towards me, with the intention of crossing past me to go back into the common room. I didn't move, rendering him trapped in his dormitory. "Let me past, Regulus."
"We're just chatting," I smiled widely. "I can't believe I've never spoken to you before, Barty."
"You know my name?" It was Barty's turn to be surprised.
"I know everyone's name."
We stared at each other for a short while, and eventually Barty looked away, shaking his head a little, but there was a small smile on his face.
oOo
For weeks after that, I always caught myself watching Barty.
He was clever – extraordinarily clever. He was taking almost every class going, even Alchemy – of which I knew he was the only student in that class, as I spotted him walking into the lesson with Professor Slughorn, alone. He hardly ever went outside, and spent almost all his free time in the Slytherin common room – constantly scribbling on his parchment, completing his homework days early. I never noticed him with a single friend.
He didn't have any friends. It became clear that he was bitterly unpopular. The other Slytherins disliked him because his father was the Ministry official that sentenced half of their fathers to Azkaban, and even though Barty was adamant that he was nothing like his father, they weren't interested in his excuses. The other students from other houses didn't care for him simply for the antisocial way he acted.
But I was growing more and more interested in him.
One day, I sat all the way through an N.E. study session watching Barty. He was in the seventh year class, having completed all of his O. a year early.
My troublesome couple, Bellatrix, was hovering around Barty's table, with her boyfriend Rodolphus, and his brother, Rabastan. They were sniggering at something, and suddenly, Barty's ink bottle shattered, spraying all over his face, robes and incomplete work. Barty blinked, momentarily stunned, and then he looked up, straight at Bellatrix and her entourage. "What did you do that for?"
Bellatrix, who had been cackling cruelly, suddenly pouted and feigned innocence. "Do what, Barty?"
"Yeah, Crouch, what are you suggesting?" Rodolphus sneered, cracking his knuckles.
Barty stood up, kicking his chair out behind him, and glared at the trio. "What is your problem?!" He yelled, throwing his ink-soaked quill down on the desk. Rodolphus started forwards, his hands balled into fists, a triumphant grin upon his face.
I stalked forwards, and grabbed Rodolphus by the shirt, shoving him back. He was bigger than me, but I was stronger, after years of hard Quidditch practice. He looked at me, shocked, but he didn't say anything. He wouldn't say anything; that was the sad truth of our bloodlines. As far as they were concerned, they couldn't fight me, as I was from the Noble House of Black.
However, my bloodline wouldn't help me today, as Bellatrix was also from the same house of Black. She stepped forwards, her shoes clacking on the stone floor. The whole class had gone silent. "What do you think you're doing, Regulus?"
"Leave him alone, Bella," I muttered. "Go terrorise someone your own size."
Bellatrix glared from me, to Barty, and back again. Then, her black eyes glittered with something other than malevolence – delight. "I see what this is. Is Crouch your…boyfriend?!" she spluttered, and then laughed out loud. I stared at her, and then heard Barty shuffling behind me. When I looked at him, he was grabbing his schoolbag and sodden parchment leaves, and rushing out of the room. His face was vermillion.
"Looks like you hit a nerve on Barty Crouch, Bella," sniggered Rabastan, elbowing his brother gleefully.
"Don't talk such nonsense," I growled. "Of course he's…of course we're not! Complete nonsense."
Bella was clutching her stomach, her face coloured with laughter. I gave the three of them a look of disdain, and then ran after Barty.
oOo
He was sobbing in his bed, the curtains drawn around him. I crept in, pushing the fabric aside, and looking down at him. "Go away, Regulus," he hissed.
"What was that all about?" I muttered. "You know what those three are like – they're horrible to everyone." Barty mumbled something into his knees. "What? I can't hear you." I reached down and pulled his arms from around his head gently.
He looked up at me, his brown eyes shimmering with tears; his peaky face splotchy and red. "I'm not upset because they're being mean. I'm upset because…what they said is true."
I raised my eyebrows. "Well, I'm sorry Barty, but I didn't know you were my boyfriend."
A fist flew out and pummelled me in the shoulder. I groaned, and rubbed the spot. "You little..."
"I don't mean that. What they're suggesting…it's true." Barty continued to stare at me. His huge eyes were resonating right into my soul.
I knew what he was thinking. I knew what Bellatrix and the rest were suggesting, too. I could tell by the embarrassment on Barty's face. I could tell by the way he was slowly edging closer to me, his hands meeting the front of my shirt.
"I've always felt the same for you," he whispered.
It only took a few second before I leaned forward, crashing my lips against his, and pushed him down onto the bed.