Hogwarts

Wandlore, task 6, Ebony: Write about an outsider

Word Count: 517


Barty kept his head high as he entered the meeting. All eyes rested on him. He could feel their distrust within seconds.

Maybe he couldn't blame them. At the end of the day, he was not a Slytherin who wore his prejudices on his sleeves for the world to see. He had no affinity for dark magic–at least, not that they saw–and his father was notorious for sending even suspected Death Eaters to Azkaban without a shred of mercy.

In their eyes, he was little more than a Ministry brat. Why should anyone believe that a bright, soft-spoken Hufflepuff belonged among the ruthless, the conniving, and the insane? He was an outsider, and he knew it.

And yet, he smiled.

"Are you lost, Crouch?" Bellatrix Lestrange moved in his way so suddenly that Barty nearly crashed into her. She folded her thin arms over her chest and narrowed her dark eyes at him. "I'm not sure that Daddy dear would approve of his bitty baby golden boy being around all these bad people."

Around him, the sea of Death Eaters laughed like it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. Barty's cheek burned with a heated blush that swallowed his freckles, but he refused to let it get to him. He kept his head high, and his smile only broadened.

"I don't think Daddy dear really gives a damn what I do," he said simply, putting venom in each syllable. "Just like I don't give a damn what you think about my presence here."

Some of the other looked impressed–Barty doubted that many people had the nerve to talk to the infamous, bloodthirsty Bellatrix Lestrange like that. Others looked at him with pity; it wouldn't surprise him at all if they were planning his funeral. Still, Barty kept his spine rigid and straight until he could feel the slightest burning in his back. He didn't belong, but that wouldn't stop him for forcing his way in. He deserved to be here just as much as anyone else in the room. The Dark Mark was burned into his skin; his mind was torn apart and studied piece by piece to prove his loyalty to his master. No one had the right to question him.

Several seconds passed. Bellatrix's eyes seemed to burn into him, but Barty stood his ground. Another moment passed, and her lips twitched, forming a faint smile. She shook her head, raven curls whipping against her ivory face. "You've got nerve, Crouch," she said at last, seeming to relax. "I'll give you that."

Barty nodded and pushed his way through the small crowd that had formed around them. He took a seat, still grinning as he rested his elbows on the polished mahogany table and leaned forward.

They still didn't trust him, and he doubted the ever would. No matter how many times he proved himself worthy of their trust, he would still be an outsider, someone who didn't quite fit in. It would be a lonely existence, but he wasn't there to make friends.

The Dark Lord trusted him. No one else really mattered.