I'm the Harpies Captain for season 6. So many thanks to Bex for helping me out with this fic. She is tremendous, and I love her to bits.
Please note that Charis Crouch neé Black is Barty Crouch's mother.
You always knew what your life would be. The second sight that you've suffered since being a child ensured that you would know what was coming your way. In fact, you chose the suffering to protect your sister from living that same life.
All you ever wanted was for Cedrella to be happy.
She is, so for you, that's enough.
You take the bruises and the sorrow, and you tuck them away and you hide them. You draw on your upbringing, and you force yourself to be the perfect Pureblood wife and mother, because this is your life and you are fine.
Even though you are not allowed to have contact with your sisters, you get brief glimpses into their happiness, and it's enough. You dream the dreams that your sight offers you, and you cling to them, because in all of them, you see a life that could have been yours but is instead the life that you gave Cedrella.
You are left with an echo of the happiness that you've gifted her. It's what you cling to when the brunt of Caspar's anger bruises your skin.
He's angry a lot.
For the first year or two, he gave you excuses for his anger, the pressures of his boss demanding excellence and being the head of a family or an argument with a business partner. He offered half-hearted apologies and insincere words in the days after.
The first time, you clung to them, hoping they were proof that he wasn't as bad as your sight had shown you. You knew, even then, that you were clutching at straws, but hope was a fickle friend and she visited at the most inopportune times.
It only hurt you worse when the hope was destroyed in a flurry of fists.
You sit in front of your mirror, brushing out your hair as you do every night. Caspar isn't home yet. He's never home these days.
Barty is in bed; has been in bed for hours already. You know that you should sleep, and yet a part of you wants to wait for Caspar. It's a stupid want, a dangerous one too, because if Caspar is in a bad mood when he comes home, it is your skin that will bear the sharp edge of his anger.
Except, Caspar isn't often angry when he comes home now. He doesn't touch you, not even to leave bruises behind, because he's finding his pleasure elsewhere.
He has been for years now, ever since Barty arrived to the world, screaming and pink faced. As soon as his heir was born healthy and well, Caspar stopped even trying to pretend that your marriage was anything but a matter of convenience.
Now when he returns home, you see evidence of his secret all over him, as obvious as if it was written in ink across his entire body.
You smell it in her perfume, clinging to his skin.
You see it in the relaxed set of his shoulders, the sparkle in his eyes that you've never put there, and the occasional trace of bright red lipstick, a shade that you would never dream of putting on your own lips.
You do not begrudge him his affair. In fact, if anything it has made your life better. Caspar pays so little attention to you now that you've even managed to seek out a few visits with your sisters.
His affair has made you braver than you've been since you said your vows.
As you climb into bed, you hear the alert of the floo. He's home and stumbling slightly as he walks up the stairs. You force your breathing to even out and close your eyes, loosening your limbs until you look believable in slumber.
He enters the room, not even attempting to be quiet, but you don't twitch to his noise. You listen to him fumbling, throwing his hat on the desk before stripping himself from his clothes. The bed dips, and he crawls in beside you.
The smell of alcohol and perfume lingers on his skin, and you feel a momentary jab of anger that he hasn't even bothered to shower before coming into the bed he shares with you.
It's a familiar anger; this is not the first time he's done it.
He doesn't take long to go to sleep, and you're left with the horrible smell permeating around you, and hours until dawn stretching in front of you.
You don't sleep, but again, that's nothing new.
You're sitting in the lounge when a bang alerts you to Caspar's homecoming. Barty is in his bouncer, playing with a small teddy bunny and giggling quietly to himself. You weren't expecting Caspar home, and you feel a frisson of fear when he bangs again and curses loudly.
He doesn't sound happy, and that never ends well for you.
When he enters the lounge, his face is like thunder, and you only just manage not to flinch away from him when he nears you. He crouches down in front of the bouncer, greeting Barty softly, and for a moment, you want to pretend that this is your life.
It's not, it will never be, and the wish hurts, but just for a moment it is easy to pretend.
His eyes, when they turn to you, force you immediately back to reality. They are hard and cold and you haven't seen him this way for a long time. Since before you were pregnant.
"Put him to bed," Caspar orders.
You comply silently, thankful for the diversion of cradling your son in your arms as you walk up the stairs to the nursery. You have a bad feeling, and it's only getting worse with every step you take.
"I love you," you murmur, placing your son carefully in his cot. "So much, my boy, I love you."
Barty blinks up at you with his big blue-green eyes, oblivious to your fear.
"Ma!"
"That's right, clever boy. Mama loves you."
You spell his mobile on, and leave the room, pausing at the door for a second to look back. Barty is staring up at the planets and stars circling around him, and your lips lift in a momentary smile because his innocence is the most beautiful thing in the world.
Caspar is awaiting you when you return to the lounge. Everything about him screams rage, and you don't know what to do so you stand silently and you wait.
"It's your fault," Caspar says, his voice deadly and soft. "She left me because I am tied to you. She wants more than I can give her, because you've taken my name, my life, everything."
His fists are clenching and unclenching at his sides, and you know this scene. You've seen this happen before, and you'd hoped and prayed that your sight was wrong because Barty is upstairs in his cot and he needs you.
You swallow hard, biting the inside of your cheek. There's still a chance that your sight was… not wrong, but faulty. There could be a way for you to fix this before it turns into the end that you fear.
Caspar turns, picking up a full bottle of scotch from the bar, and throws it across the room. You cannot stop your flinch when it hits, when it crashes hard against the wall. You watch the the liquid drip down the wall.
"You ruin everything. You're a waste of life, a waste of my life," he spits. "We'd all be better off without you."
"I'll leave," you whisper. When you saw this scene, you were quiet. You didn't say a word to him, and your forbearance caused his anger to grow and grow until it snapped. Maybe this time will be different. "I'll leave right now, and never return."
He scoffs, loudly and cruelly. "You'll leave, will you? Bring shame on my name, will you?"
"I'll do whatever you want me to do."
He steps forwards, his hand on your neck, almost a caress to your skin. His hand flexes, moving upwards until it surrounds your throat. You know he's not planning to release it and you barely keep the fear from consuming you. You'll die with as much dignity as you lived with.
"What I want you do," he snarls, "is not exist."
The first time you saw the scene, Caspar killed you with one of the glass shard. You wonder, as your mind fades to black, if his hand around your neck is better or worse.
Lizzy's: 8. Secret
Book club: The Queen: (word) release, (plot point) being trapped- in any sense, (emotion) vengeful
Showtime: 2. (emotion) Frightened
Buttons: W3 - Diversion
Lyrics: 14. I do not deserve
Ami's: 13. (setting) at night
Angel's: 11. Vector the Crocodile: (color) green, (word) boss, (object) hat
Lo's: C5 - write about someone with great endurance
Bex's: 5. Write about a fraught marriage
Leaves: Orange - Scared
Insane: 397. Forbearance - (Withholding response to provocation)
365: 237. Trope - Arranged Marriage