Perceptual Distortions- 5
A/N: The final of my "establishment" chapters. The plot is set to take off in the next chapter which should be up in the next few days. Here is my first warning: I'm planning on really darkening this story. There are some dark brushes in this chapter but I'm just going to warn you that this story will get darker in later chapters.
I'm back at school now which really means I do not have as much time to write so I do apologise if my chapters are a little less than regular. Please leave me a little comment with helpful concrit!
Warning: Nothing Is As It Seems.
"Our Master requires a token of your loyalty before he will consent to give you his mark and allow you to stand in his presence."
"I will give all and more to our Lord, Malfoy. You know that as well as I do."
The blonde-haired man gave a haughty chuckle. Lucius Malfoy was an asset, a liaison officer between Lord Voldemort and his potential Death Eaters. It was a universally acknowledged fact between all those vying for acceptance into the circle of the great that Lucius Malfoy could convince a drowning man to purchase a glass of water. His darker-haired companion was well aware of both Malfoy's strengths and weaknesses.
"Well, you see... Our Lord requires a certain sacrifice from all, not just you. With your considerable talents our beloved Master has a very specific task set in mind for you. It may cost you all you have, all you could possibly have and probably even more. I would advise you to consider what you will be giving up to accept this task."
The second man hesitated slightly, thoughts whirring through his head. To be honest, he didn't find he had much to lose by accepting and finally achieving all he had sought from the moment he had arrived at Hogwarts.
He hated his father beyond human intensity. The name he had been given had been a dirty, mocking joke by a universe out for a laugh. Just seeing the image of his father, the near-identical features to his own, made him yearn to rip out the man's heart and drain his body of blood, laughing manically the time entire. His father was barely a human being, more an anomaly that the world needed to be removed for the sake of the continuation of humanity. He was a disgrace, an absolute animal who did not deserve to live, let alone have a family.
His mother was a different story. He could tolerate her because she loved him without compromise, something his father refused to do. He continually cursed her foolishness for marrying a man such as his father. Not to mention her blind, naivety to continue to love a son like himself. She gave him little luxuries, a present here or there, to make up for the way his father behaved. He knew that he did not love his mother, merely accepted her life and love.
He was, by no means, a bad student at Hogwarts, achieving top grades from his first year in all subjects. He had a small band of friends but was, for the most part, a loner, preferring his own company to the company of his peers. He was smiled fondly upon by many of the students and many of the staff who, he knew, pitied him for what fate had delivered in terms of parentage. He hated the pity, obvious in all of their eyes and whispers. But he was a bright boy, favoured by many, and thus achieved well at school with an absolutely glittering future ahead.
Not that he had any particular desire to join any of the Ministry departments, teach at Hogwarts nor work in another country, researching something. He knew what he wanted from the moment those whispers fell to his ears.
He had wanted to join the Death Eaters, to become a loyal supporter of the great Lord Voldemort. He wanted to kill for his Master; he wanted to die for his Master. He only wanted to use his talents, gained under the pitying gaze of Albus Dumbledore, to achieve the greatness he had been destined to achieve. He honestly wanted to purify the world of those deserving to die: Muggles, Mudbloods and Traitors To Magic.
His disgusting, filthy father.
When he had been first contacted by Lucius Malfoy, all those years ago, he had dreamed of serving Lord Voldemort to the full extent of his abilities. He was not afraid to fight for Lord Voldemort, nor was he afraid to die. He was ready and willing to kill for Lord Voldemort to whomever his Master declared to be his victim. He would do anything and everything for Lord Voldemort.
He belonged to Lord Voldemort, heart, body and soul.
"I am ready, Malfoy." He could hardly hold back his snide tone. Malfoy was useful for his contacts and his wealth, not for his brains nor exceptional wizarding power. He did not believe in the Cause, nor was he prepared to give up as much as the man standing before him. "I will do what the Dark Lord wishes."
"Good." The aristocratic tones irritated the man. They reminded him of why he was here. Lucius slowly lifted a piece of parchment, bound by a black ribbon, and handed it to his companion. "The full details of your task lie within. It will burn when you have finished reading it. Return to Hogwarts. Until our next encounter."
Lucius disapparated seconds later, leaving the second man staring at the parchment with a desperate, hungry look in his eyes. Smiling fanatically, he gingerly skimmed his eyes down, taking in his first task for his new Master. Only when he has completed it will he get the approval he craves more than the death of his father. He will become a Chosen One, a Dark Knight. A warrior prepared to die for what he believed in whole-heartedly.
A loyal Death Eater.
Hermione felt, considering the fact she had travelled back in time and was three years younger than she was before she left, she was handling this potentially traumatic situation in a mature, sensible manner. Instead of following her first instinct that told her to run, hide and scream as loudly as possible, Hermione had decided to take control of her life by controlling the rather unfortunate situation.
Hermione had resisted all urges to smack Severus Snape with something blunt, to madly hug Lily Potter, to shake Barty and to curse Regulus Black into oblivion. Hermione was positively delighted with the fact she had managed to control her temper, so far.
The person most likely to push her over the edge, however, was Regulus Black. Regulus Black was a single member of a group of Slytherins who, unfortunately, shared some of their classes with the Ravenclaws. They were loud, disruptive and incredibly annoying.
Hermione was forced to concede that not all of her Slytherin classmates were making her want to blast them into oblivion. Just Icarus Hanley, Nester Lucas, Regulus Black, Livius Royston and Victoria Stafford. This group of people quickly became the bane in Hermione's existence.
The life which Hermione the Ravenclaw was experiencing was not incredibly different from the life that Hermione the Gryffindor had enjoyed. Hermione still woke up at the usual hour, took her morning shower, ate breakfast in the Great Hall with her classmates, went to classes, ate dinner, did some homework and finally crawled into her warm bed without much more than a girlish chat with her new peers. The only really troubling aspect of her life in the past was her heart aching to see the faces of her friends once more.
Hermione mentally cursed herself every morning for not patching things up with Harry and Ron after their argument. She knew the only reason they attended the funeral of her grandmother was to try and reconcile their differences and to give her some support. If only she hadn't wanted to go to the bedroom. If only one of them had followed her up.
Even then, Hermione's longings to find Harry and Ron were tainted by a sneaking voice that told her to enjoy her time in the past from her second meeting with Professor Dumbledore who, basically, explained that no-one he had spoken to knew of a way of going back to her original time. She was, effectively, trapped in the past until further notice.
Hermione's relationship with Barty blossomed throughout her first few weeks. He was the sort of boy Hermione hadn't much experience with being helpful, intelligent and a perfect gentleman- traits scarcely found in many of the male species and to find them together in one specimen is an almost impossibility. Hermione couldn't help but be impressed as he held doors open for her, offered his hand when they had to jump a trick-step, produced two umbrellas as they travelled the sometimes wet and windy trail to the herbology greenhouses and he always listened to her attentively, occasionally offering his own opinion at the topic at hand. Hermione knew his faults as a person, knew how manipulative he would eventually become, and was quite rightly concerned about striking up a friendship with the man who was responsible for the downfall of Wizarding-kind.
No, that would be Voldemort. Voldemort did those things, not Barty. Voldemort is responsible for the deaths of all those who would rather fight him than roll over and ignore him.
Hermione had been disgusted with the news of Lord Voldemort's latest macabre display of his power; the blood was drained from a group of severely disabled children and used to daub messages of hate throughout a nearby town. The decaying corpses of the ill children were found mutilated, drained and arranged in a grotesquely mocking way so that it looked as though the children were playing games. One child was slumped over with a large ball in his hands, whilst another was placed artistically in between another two limp bodies holding the ends of a skipping rope. Many of them were playing hide and seek. The remains of the teachers looking after the children were found in a bedroom, stripped naked and placed in a compromising position.
The only drop of blood found at the scene of the crime was said to have been from a dog the children had adopted which had been blown up until it had exploded.
It had been arranged the with eye of an artist, the temperament of a sadist and the magical prowess of a prodigal child.
Shock, horror and outrage followed the news of this bone-chilling mass extermination. 'They weren't even wizards' was a line repeated in the same tones of incomprehension by all at Hogwarts.
Sick, defenceless, Muggle children were the victims of the Dark Lord.
"Bastards." Barty said when he saw the headline in the Daily Prophet. "Bloody sick, twisted, deranged, fuckwits of a human kind."
This reaction had intrigued Hermione to the point of throwing her arms around him and congratulating him on his anti-Death Eater/Voldemort sentiments. Hermione didn't know when he would begin to turn to them, nor his reasons why but she did know it would happen eventually.
"Morning, Jane." A cheerful voice broke Hermione from her reverie. Lucy King had come down to breakfast, armed with only a Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook and a piece of toast. "I hate mornings, too."
"Absolute nightmare." Hermione grinned as Lucy took a seat beside her at the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall. "You're down quite early this morning. Trying to cram before Professor Giacomo's 'surprise' test today?" Hermione quirked her lips in a grin, referring to her Defence Against the Dark Arts professor who had a habit of "hinting" they would be receiving a test the next class, fortunately this happened every day and Hermione was quite certain that a trained pixie would have worked out his pattern by now.
"Well, some of us have to revise." Lucy pouted, mock petulantly with a pointed look in Hermione's direction. "Not everyone can sit down and magically spurt all kinds of magical knowledge, like you or Eleanor or Barty. Even Darius is a genius. Sometimes the rest of us have to put in some effort to keep up, you know?"
"What have I gone and done now?" Both girls gasped as Barty grinned, lifting the half-eaten toast from Lucy's plate and devouring it in a single bite. Lucy made a noise of protest which made Barty's smile even wider. "Sorry, Lucy, I'm starving this morning. Would you like me to replace it?"
"No, it's fine Barty. I wasn't going to eat it, far too nervous."
"How come?" Barty's brown eyes were quizzical and concerned. He glanced at Hermione who shook her head in reply.
"I'm going to fail Giacomo's test." Lucy said miserably, pulling her book towards her in an attempt to use the rumour that the closer your book is to you, the more you are likely to learn.
"Oh, don't worry about it too much, Lucky." Barty said at once, smiling widely once more at the blonde. "They never count for much, he probably doesn't even realise he gives them every day and you have always done well so far. Give yourself a break!"
"Yes, Barty is right, Lucy." Hermione nodded comfortingly to Lucy who replied with a nod of her own. Barty, glad the emergency was solved with little or no actual struggle, grabbed the empty seat beside Hermione and pulled whatever foods he could reach onto his plate. Hermione watched, in both fascination and repulsion, as he attacked a plate of porridge at the same time as nibbling upon a sausage wrapped in streaky bacon.
"I did say I was hungry, Janie." Barty said, not breaking his stride of devouring as many breakfast foods as humanely possible by speaking to Hermione.
"My name is Jane." Hermione rolled her eyes. Barty had insisted in calling her Janie as he found it irritated her to a sufficient degree. "I am just concerned you'll give yourself a heart-attack or something."
Hermione paused and silently brought her attention back to her own bowl of porridge which seemed to have lost all taste. Hermione knew that Barty would never live long enough to get a fat-related heart-attack. Hermione knew that his soulless shell would remain in Azkaban until it died of natural causes.
"M'ppose" Barty replied with a mouthful of food. Hermione ruffled her nose and was about to offer a reply when a loud noise signalled the arrival of the morning post. Instinctively, Hermione glanced up, all too aware of the fact she would not be receiving post from anyone. She returned her gaze towards Barty whose face had grown cold, the merriment disappearing in an instant. An owl had dropped a small, neat letter beside his tea.
Abandoning his food, Barty slowly lifted the letter, opened it and read it silently. Hermione watched how, for a single moment, a look of intense anger was replaced by the mask she had known before. Barty quickly stood and left the table, barking that they should tell Professor Giacomo he would be "along momentarily."
"Oh, poor Barty." Lucy said, pity filling her eyes which followed Barty's retreating back until he slammed the door. Lucy frowned deeply, watching him shake in anger as he walked. "It must be from home."
Hermione knew this from the moment the owl had arrived but nodded with Lucy, her eyes filling with more pity than for him at this particular moment. This would continue, she knew, until one day he would snap, go to Lord Voldemort and embark on a life that would lead to his eventual Kiss. Hermione made her excuses to Lucy and sped down the Great Hall, (Much to the amusement of Sirius Black who shouted "Wow, I knew Ravenclaws like to learn but at least give the teachers time to get out of bed before battering your way to heir classroom." This was met with both roars of laughter and groans.) aiming to catch Barty before he got too far ahead.
He was not hard to find, all Hermione had to do was follow the whispers and eyes filled with pity. Barty was slumped against a wall, hands shaking in suppressed anger with this mouth twitching nervously.
"Hey Barty." Hermione said cautiously as she walked toward him. His eyes snapped to her, all warmth and spark gone.
"Hello, Jane." Not Janie, then.
"What did the letter say, Barty?" Hermione tentatively slid down the wall beside him. He visibly recoiled, his shaking hands increase in ferocity. Hermione dismissed his flinch and gently put her hand into his.
"Want to read, Jane? I'm sure you'll find it thrilling." Barty's voice was uncharacteristically bitter and his tone was dangerous. He thrust the note into her lap, still cradling her hand. "It concerns you, you know."
Hermione lifted the parchment from her lap and read it gingerly, her eyes welling with tears.
Son,
Your mother is unwell. She has contracted another disease, Muggle of course, that has attacked her immune system once more, leaving her defenceless and prone to catching and dying, from anything as simple as a cold. She wishes me to tell you not to worry and enjoy your time at Hogwarts. You may wish to know she has contacted this disease by prolonged exposure to ill Muggles in our town. I would advise you to contact her on this subject as she is refraining from communicating with me at this present time.
Recently, it has come to my attention that you have been increasingly in the company of virtually an unknown witch. I have attempted all necessary checks on a "Miss Jane March" and have found little to no information on her. Therefore, it is in your best interest to stop your relationship with her as soon as possible. She is nothing more than a stranger to you, I am family, I am your blood. She is a complete stranger, she doesn't care about you like I do, Bartemius. I am positive she will leave your person the moment she locates a more famous wizard to latch herself to. I advise you to leave her, she will only cause you harm.
A teacher of yours, a Professor Giovanni Giacomo, tells me your work has been slipping in Defence Against the Dark Arts from the moment this girl, Jane March, has arrived. I would also advise you to remedy this or there will be serious consequences.
I will not have a son who is an idiot or a love-struck fool, manipulated by an obviously vindictive little girl playing at woman. She only enjoys your company, if this is the case, because of who I am. She does not care about you. If I need to reinforce this message once more, punishment will come swiftly. Do not make me harm you, Bartemius.
You have been warned,
Your Father.
Hermione felt her own anger raise throughout her body like a bubble threatening to burst. How dare that man, in his office in London, presume Hermione's intentions toward Barty! Hermione turned to share her disbelief at the arrogance of the man when she saw Barty stare at her with a sad look on his face. His eyes were wide, filled with unshed tears and puppy-like. Hermione could almost feel the pain radiate from him. He was hurt, deeply, by the thoughtless words of his father. Hermione didn't want him to hurt any longer.
"It is true, isn't it?" He asked in a strained voice. Hermione felt herself ready to burst into tears at the sound of the little-boy screaming in an undertone. "You only talk to be because of who is his. You're just like Eleanor."
"No, Barty." Hermione choked, watching the tears of betrayal pour openly from his deep brown eyes. "It isn't true. I talk to you because I like you."
"Liar" He spat, his upset tone turning vicious. Hermione recoiled at the intense anger directed at her "You are just like that disgusting slut."
"Barty, you know I'm not." Hermione pleaded, tightly squeezing his hand in an attempt to make him see sense. She wanted him to understand. She need him to understand. "I would never hurt you. Never."
"He is making her sick." Barty's voice was emotionless, all previous anger seemingly gone. "I know it. He is poisoning her, like he is trying to poison me against you. He always does this...to everyone. I remember when I was a child how much I wanted to be like him, how much I wanted him to love me like he loved work but he hated me. He really hated me, Jane. Despised me and wanted me to die. He still does... I'm never going to be good enough for him."
Hermione watched helplessly as his voice became softer, more coherent and accepting the words he spoke. He truly believed that has father hated him, that nothing he could ever do would make him love him. Hermione couldn't take it any longer and she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close. He closed his eyes and allowed her to rock him gently, comforting him as best she could, like he had done for her when she first arrived those few short weeks ago.
"Never leave me, Jane." He sobbed, finally breaking down on her shoulder. Hermione felt her own tears rush down her face. "I need you."
"Never, Barty." Hermione said fiercely holding him, vowing never to let him go for all of eternity. "I will always be here for you. Always, always."
They sat like that, both holding each other tightly, until they heard the bell that signalled the beginning of lunch. Hermione couldn't imagine leaving him, especially knowing how badly his father upset him in an, admittedly, not very vicious letter. Barty just cradled closer to her warmth, feeling comfort from those arms that held him unconditionally.
"Always."
A/N: I wasn't too sure how to write BCS. I see him as a mixture between Lucius Malfoy and Percy Weasley so I tried to convey that. Barty is very upset because he is under too much pressure from dear ol' dad to perform well and do not disgrace his name in any way. Hermione is touched beyond touched by poor Barty's plight. I think I am subconciously writing this as a Rose/Ten relationship which I only caught onto half-way through which led to gratutious hand-holding. Why not a romance story, I hear you cry? I honestly cannot write a believable romance of my own!
See any familiar character:D
Coming Next: A Defence Against the Dark Arts class, tempers flare, the 'beginning of the end' of Barty Crouch Juniour, Hermione finds a clue and there is more bonding.