A/N: This is the Seeker from Montrose Magpies writing for QLFC Round 8.
Prompt: Queen of Pentacles — Upright: Practicality, Creature Comforts, Financial Security, Reversed: Self-Centredness, Jealousy, Smothering. Writing for reversed.
Thanks to my team for looking through it!
Word Count: 1067
Disclaimer: I have no intention of making money from this story, so all the recognisable stuff belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Want
"Come on, laugh." The bitterness was evident in Regulus' voice, and it, more than the bruises, the cuts, and the burns that littered his friend's body, rattled Barty. "You were always jealous of me, weren't you? Perfect little Regulus Black with his perfect parents," Regulus spat. "Guess they're not so perfect, after all?"
Barty said nothing, and a few moments later, Regulus let out a shaky breath. There was what Barty assumed a sob, but he didn't react to it, knowing it would only embarrass Regulus. "I'm sorry," the black-haired boy muttered, and Barty finally looked up from the injuries and into his friend's grey eyes. They finally reflected the pain that Barty saw in the mirror every single day, and it didn't make him feel… it didn't make him feel anything.
"What happened?"
"Sirius ran away," Regulus muttered. "For a few days, I was the perfect son. Then, dear Mum got angry, and without the scapegoat…" he gestured at himself, and Barty looked away.
x
The hug smothered him, but he didn't dare complain. It would make his mother cry even more, but that didn't affect Barty, not really. It was his father's cold gaze and the promise of pain that made him bear through all his mother's emotions.
His mother was diminutive, and even at eleven, he could look over her shoulder if Barty craned his neck. He did so now, and his gaze caught a boy his age bidding farewell to his parents—the boy bowed to them; his father patted his head, and his mother clutched his robed shoulder for a second.
In that moment, Barty wished his parents were like that.
x
Barty looked up when he heard footsteps near him, his eyes meeting Regulus', the other raising a brow as he looked down at the parchment balled up in Barty's palm from where he was leaning against the doorframe.
"Letter from home?"
"She wants to know if I'm eating enough," Barty let out through clenched teeth. "People are dying, and she's worried if Hogwarts' giving me food."
"She's just—"
"Stop making excuses!" Barty stood up, pushing the chair back, and paced in the little space between beds. "I'm not a child, and she's too dumb in the head to actually understand that. And I can't say a word else dear daddy will go Auror on me. You're lucky—"
"Am I lucky?" Regulus abandoned the doorframe and stepped in front of Barty, crossing his arms. "Am I lucky, you ask. Did you forget the little getaway present I got before leaving for Hogwarts, huh? Did you, Barty?"
Barty had, but he did not mention it. "You know nothing," he spat, and walked out of the dorm, the door closing with a bang behind him.
x
The Eagle Owl that dropped in front of his brand new friend—the very same boy who had bowed his parents goodbye—carried a giant package in its talons.
"What've you got there?" Barty asked, trying to keep his voice smooth, but curiosity and something else slipping through his eleven-year-old tone.
"Sweets, I guess," Regulus muttered, uncaring, "and probably the book that I forgot home."
That other emotion within him grew as Barty thought back to the two letters he had got, once addressing him as 'Little Pumpkin' and the other as 'Boy'.
Regulus tore open the box after discreetly pinching the letter atop it and hiding it under his robes. Inside was a book and a basket, the latter overflowing with sweets. The black-haired boy picked a Chocolate Frog and dangled it in front of Barty's face. "Want one?"
"Nah," Barty muttered, feeling a little sick inside. Why couldn't his parents be… he smothered that train of thoughts down; it wouldn't change anything, would it?
Later that day, he nicked a Frog from where the basket lay, forgotten, on Regulus' bed. It wasn't like the other boy would miss it.
x
"They want me to join him." Regulus' voice was low; even in the privacy of their dorm, no one could trust anyone now a days.
Barty placed down the Christmas ornament he had been toying with—he'd nicked it off a tree a few days back—and looked at his friend. Regulus looked miserable, dark circles under his eyes, his skin pale. "You-know-who?" The other boy nodded, and Barty leaned forward. "Did you meet him?"
The way Regulus' face paled even further gave Barty his answer even before the other boy nodded. "He—he crucio'd Bella in front of me, and no one even flinched. They killed a woman…" Regulus spoke of more horrors, but Barty was fascinated by the look in his friend's eyes. Even Walburga and Orion didn't cause fear in Regulus' eyes, and to see another of his own emotions reflected in his best friend's eyes excited Barty.
"Did you talk to him?" Barty leaned even forward as Regulus stopped his low-toned rant abruptly and stared at him. "Did you?"
"Yes," Regulus whispered with a slow nod. "He—he promised of glory and grandeur, of the dominance of the pure blood, but he's crazy, mate."
Barty didn't care about any of that. The only thing that called to him was the reverential way Regulus spoke of him. Here was a clean slate, dangling in front of Barty. Not a mother sick in the head, nor a father too overworked and stressed to understand a little boy. No great, horrible Black parents.
This was a power who would look at them equally, who would acknowledge Barty the same way as it would Regulus, and Barty be damned if he didn't prove himself.
x
"What do you want the most in the world?" Barty asked Regulus, kicking his dangling legs in the air. They were sat on the tiny wall of a first-floor balcony—Barty's idea; he had found this spot a few days back and absolutely adored his find.
"Are you sure sitting here is safe?" Regulus asked; Barty reassured his friend and repeated the question. "Well… maybe Sirius in Slytherin? It would be nice to have him back, I guess."
Barty wanted to wrinkle his nose but refrained. How would it be if one didn't even want anything so much that it hurt? How would it be to have everything—or almost everything?
He knew all he wanted was someone to recognise what Barty was—what Bartemius Crouch, without a Junior attached to remind how even his name was second-hand, could be.