A/N1: Hi. This is me, ItachiBlack. Barty is not under my jurisdiction because he is not my personal favourite. Don't get me wrong, I love David Tennant's acting as the Doctor- he's my favourite Doctor. My mysterious co-author/beta is an insane fan of David Tennant/Barty Crouch Jr. so I let her take reign over this chapter. She did a bloody fantastic job with this character; I only gave her the plot and nagged at her to stay on task. If I don't, I swear to God, this woman will just drool over David Tennant's pictures... -_- but it's her insanity over the man that made her the author. Please give her some great review. She's deserves it.
A/N2: Hello. It's not Itachi Black this time, haha. It's the mysterious co-author/beta here! I actually managed to convince Itachi to allow Barty Crouch Jr. (god I love Barty) into his new story when we were first planning the concept, and I couldn't help but to want to write out his tale myself. This chapter is 97% me, 3% Itachi (two words, some brainstorming, and plenty of prodding to remain on schedule).
Barty's eyes flew up and down Hermione Granger's exposed body, barely covered but for a few scraps of dirty fabric. He categorized each and every added scar, taking note of all wounds and cuts, acknowledging the added muscle mass and thinner frame from having to rough it out while in hiding. Finally, he allowed himself to link his gaze with her sorrowful eyes.
Those big, brown doe eyes had always been his undoing when he was 'Professor Moody'; they had made him want to drop everything and fuck the innocence right out of her; they had made him want to hold her to him and cradle the light that was her within his feeble, dirty hands; they had made him want to abandon it all and just leave, before he either tainted her with the darkness in his soul or - Merlin forbid - betrayed his Lord.
Only a sharp self-reminder of "Constant vigilance!" had been able to snap him back to his mission at the time.
Thank god for that idiot's stupid catchphrase, or else I wouldn't have been able to keep my cover. And who knows what would have happened to my Lord then?
Barty only managed to tear his eyes away from the mudblood's when he noticed his Lord watching him thoughtfully. He knew his master had caught his intense scrutiny of the girl, but Barty wasn't sure if he should feel ashamed over having been caught mooning over someone who was almost a muggle. His tongue flicked to the side of his lips once.
"Bartemius," Lord Voldemort began abruptly. Barty winced, preparing for a crucio. "How would you like to own your very own mudblood?"
Barry's eyes widened gleefully. He stumbled towards Lord Voldemort and dropped to his knees beside the girl's currently prone body.
"My Lord," he sighed happily. "My generous, benevolent master. I do not deserve such an honor."
"Loyalty and devotion are things to be rewarded," the Dark Lord announced. "The mudblood is yours. Do with her what you will."
Barty bent down and caressed Hermione's cheek with a gentle hand, meeting her fearful but defiant gaze with an insane smirk of his own.
Snape stood stoically to the side, his face apathetic and his whole body relaxed, but his painfully tensed jaw telling the madman all he needed to know.
Barty met the potion master's eyes and bared his teeth at the man in something approximating a smile, taunting him into action, daring him to defy the Lord's decision. The witch, filthy though her blood may be, was his now. He glanced around the room, observing Lucius's lustful eyes towards his new pet, and Draco's panicked expression, the ferret's filthy hand outstretched as if to try to save her from him.
Hmmm. Maybe they need a bit of a demonstration.
Reaching down for the mudblood below him, Barty grabbed her bindings, simultaneously receiving ownership of her. He ignored her flinch and loosened part of the chains around her left arm.
The madman grasped her wrist, lifted the tender skin to his mouth, and sucked. Hard.
Momentarily ignoring his Lord's chuckle - his mind memorized the noise and saved it to another area in his mind, to revel over later - his wild eyes met each fellow death eater's gaze in challenge. Hearing a pained whimper from the ground, he coldly glanced down at Granger, nevertheless apologetically laving the blooming red mark with his tongue to take the pain away. He swirled the tip of his tongue against her sweet skin one last time and stood up, making her stumble as he pulled her with him and sniggering at her suddenly pink face.
Snivellus and the nasty little ferret still looked less than pleased, but Barty knew they wouldn't dare protest Lord Voldemort's decision.
"Lucius," Barty called, glancing at the amused wizard. "Show me to my rooms now."
The blonde smirked and snapped his fingers. A dirty, stooped house elf appeared with a pop and bowed lowly to the elder Malfoy. Hermione stiffened at the state of the poor thing and Barty let out a huff of amusement, remembering her "Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare".
"Show Mr. Crouch to his specially prepared chambers," Lucius commanded. The creature turned to Barty - who was scowling at Lucius for using that name -, bowed, and then skittered off to hold the door open for the two guests.
As he stepped into the hall, the powerful wizard spotted Bellatrix waiting impatiently for Lord Voldemort to exit. He ignored her interested smirk as she eyed his new pet, and vowed to never let the crazy bitch play with his toy - he knew Granger wouldn't come out of the experience in one whole piece, since Bitchytrix had no sense of respect for others' property.
However, he did notice that Hermione was glaring ferociously back at Bellatrix. He had heard that the Bitch had tortured his pet back when Potter was still alive, and had marked her permanently with a very specific word using a cursed dagger. While others would be cowering in the face of their torturers, his lioness was, of course, steadily meeting Bitchytrix's gaze and stalking past proudly, even despite the chains and rags adorning her beaten body.
I expect nothing less from my new toy.
Barty smirked and continued to follow the house elf, pulling along a Hermione who, realising what kind of people surrounded her, was bewildered at the lack of punishment regarding her impudence towards a fellow death eater.
As they walked, the wizard realized he needed to set a few guidelines for the mudblood, since he didn't want to punish his toy more than necessary.
"I have a few rules for you," Barty told Hermione. His body almost hummed with manic energy as he veritably bounced down the hall. Somehow, this childish fervour still managed to come across as malignant. "Rule one. No trying to escape. I mean, it's not like you'll get far, and I doubt my Lord would have gifted you to me without a few necessary precautions, but it's annoying, and I don't want to have to discipline you, my dear. You're a smart girl, I'm sure you know what I mean.
"Rule b - no, two. I hate idiots. Don't act like an idiot, because I know you aren't one. But don't be a smartass either. I hate those too. So that means no backtalk.
"Rule 3, or c. You may never go against Lord Voldemort or his orders. Ever. Don't you dare try to attack him. And don't embarrass me in front of him either, by being disobedient. I don't want to be accused of not house training my pets.
"And rule four, or d, or that little iv in brackets they always put in footnotes. Don't hurt yourself. You may not die without my permission, and you may not hurt yourself. If I find your skin blemished with a scar that you do not already have, I will happily teach you the wonders of torture that doesn't leave a mark (how does Chinese water torture sound? I promise it's infinitely better with magic). The only exception is if you are to entertain my Lord or if you are harmed by another death eater. My master may do as he pleases, but in the latter case, come to me immediately. If you do not do so, I will find out and you will be punished.
"Keep this in mind: I am the only one who can hurt you," he growled at her. He glanced askance at her face, which was several shades paler than before but still set into a stoic expression. He smirked at her adorable efforts to hide her obvious terror, but it quickly slid off when he remembered one last thing.
Barty suddenly turned on Hermione with dark, stormy eyes, his tall, lean frame looming over her smaller, softer one. Despite the frost in his expression, Hermione couldn't help but notice that his body - scant inches away from hers - was radiating heat.
"And one more thing. If you break anything of mine - if you leave a mark on any single thing," he hissed, "we'll see how well you can handle running away without a leg or two."
And on that ominous note, the wizard continued his original path towards his new chambers, obviously expecting his new toy to follow and tugging insistently on her chain when she stumbled.
Out of boredom, Barty decided to exercise his magic. He shot a silent, motionless reparo and scourgify at the house elf's dirty rags, making the creature stumble and earning him a surprised look from the mudblood. He grimaced.
I hope she doesn't think it was out of kindness.
When they finally arrived at his chambers, Barty shooed away the house elf and dragged Hermione into the room.
"Stand there," he told her, pointing at the space between the blazing fireplace and the luxurious couch he had been provided with. Barty then turned towards the door and began warding it furiously, his wand viciously slicing and slashing through the air as he protected all the possessions contained within his chambers.
Bartemius Crouch Jr. was a man who knew how to take care of his belongings. As a child, his father's wealth meant his needs were always taken care of - but the man's coldness also meant that he had owned very few things that were truly his. Barty treasured all of his belongings, and he never relinquished something once he had it - what was his would always be his and God have mercy on the fucker that dared to put even a scratch on any of his possessions, because Barty sure as hell wouldn't.
So the mudblood would be taken care of: she would be fed and clothed and her pretty little face (and oh, wasn't she just the prettiest little doll?) would be kept just as pretty and unmarked as when he first received her - except when he decided to put her into good use, of course. Besides, he knew how to fix things when they were broken.
In any case, he didn't mind that his Lord may wish to visit his rooms for an inspection or a discussion of some sort - he welcomed it even, as he had nothing to hide from Him. It was the idea that leaving his living spaces unprotected would result in unwanted intrusions from the other Knights, like that nosy bitch Bellatrix, or the pathetic rat Wormtail, or slimy, unfaithful Lucius, who dared to hide away his unworthy status as one of the Lord's inner circle for his own petty survival.
Or, and here his face crumpled into a mask of utter disgust, that fucking traitor Severus, who dared to feign loyalty to the Lord and Master. He knew that scum was hiding something, he just didn't know what. He would figure it out eventually though, and hopefully the shithead's treachery involved the annoying Bitchytrix, so he could be rid of her too (though he doubted it, since that insane bitch wasn't nearly intelligent enough for such deception).
Oooh, maybe he'd even get the opportunity to torture ratty Mister Worm and the cowardly little ferret into insanity, just as he had done to the dumb Longbottoms. That would be fantastic indeed!
Well, man could hope, couldn't he?
Barty finally turned to properly face Hermione for the first time that evening. He sighed disappointedly at her ragged state, as if it was her fault she was so battered. Hermione bristled at him.
"Well, you try being kidnapped by an evil overlord!" she snapped. His tongue flicked twice in agitation at her overly casual reference to his Lord, but he laboriously reigned in his temper.
Might as well get her clean then.
Accio Granger's rags.
As she yelped in shock and horror at her sudden bareness, he cast a few silent scourgifysat the fabrics in his hand before tossing it back to her.
"Don't wear those," he commanded, barely glancing at her nude body as she scrambled to cover herself by pressing the cloths against her skin. There was no rush - he would have time to peruse all of her later, after all.
He silently cast accio at a quill on the desk, grabbing the thing as it neared him and tapping it to transfigure it into a wooden bowl.
Aguamenti.
The bowl filled with clean, clear water, and he sent it cruising straight towards the mudblood with a flick of his wand.
"Clean yourself with those," he told her, before striding towards her and settling himself onto the luxurious couch. Hermione scowled at him for the perceived injustice of being suddenly stripped naked and treated as a dog, though she found herself reluctantly impressed at his incredible prowess. The quill was not even vaguely similar in volume to the bowl it had become, not to mention how thorough the change in matter was. And from what she had seen, Barty Crouch Jr. had not uttered a single one of the spells he had performed, not even as he was warding the room with what was obviously extraordinarily powerful magic.
He summoned an unopened, expensive bottle of Swott Malt Whisky from the glass cabinet in the corner of the large room. Uncapping the bottle without even moving his wand, he transfigured the cap into a glass goblet and poured himself a fair quantity of alcohol. He stared at the glass briefly before shrugging and filling the entire goblet up to the brim.
"Do you - do you really think you want to be drinking that? And that much of it?" Hermione asked him anxiously, afraid that the alcohol would make him more insane than he already was.
"Shut up and do as you're told," he growled, taking a long draught of the liquid. "I need this after that damned prison."
Giving a nervous swallow at his unnervingly heavy gaze, Hermione dipped a now-clean cloth into the bowl of water, awkwardly holding a few of the other rags to cover her sex and her breasts as she rubbed her arm with the wet cloth. Rolling his eyes, Barty summoned the rags to him, sniggering at both the revealed view and her shriek of indignation. He rapidly drained the rest of the goblet and filled it to the brim again.
"You know," he told her after a while, the sudden influx of alcohol having loosened his tongue. "My father used to only allow me to drink fine wines when I was younger. As soon as I was able, though, I went to different bars everyday to try sampling heavy hitters like vodka and whiskey and gin. You would not believe my alcohol tolerance!"
"Is - is that so?" Hermione murmured. She was turned away from him and scrubbing at her skin so that she could speed up the process and get some more clothes on.
"I could drink my fucking father under the table," he told her. He shook his shaggy blond hair. "Not that I ever tried. The asshole never had a single drink with me. He was too busy going out into the public eye and pretending to be a goody-two shoes, preaching useless shit like 'muggle-born equality' and never even bothering to take care of his wife and child. Did you know, he didn't even flinch when he sentenced his own son to Azkaban?"
"That's horrible!" she replied, taken aback. He hummed in agreement.
Though she was still mortified at her nakedness, Hermione was also bewildered by Barty's sudden forthrightness, knowing him to be a generally reticent man when it came to his past and private life. She shuffled towards him and squinted.
His eyes!
Hermione reared back when she realised that his eyes were much gentler than they usually were, having lost some of their wild insanity when he had drowned that first goblet and continuing to clear up with every sip of whisky afterwards. After a pointed glance from him, she turned around again and continued to clean herself.
"I had so many bad memories that when I was in Azkaban - after I successfully assisted my Lord - , it was difficult to convince myself to keep living," he confided. "There were only two things that kept me going: the Dark Lord... and the thought of you."
"Me?!" the witch squeaked.
"Yep," he told her, popping his lips. "Your determination, your compassion, your innocent smile, your goddamned light. I kept remembering how you refused to even say 'Avada kedavra'."
Hermione peered over her shoulder at him, in awe of this sudden confession.
When their gazes locked, Barty gave her a beatific smile and Hermione felt her heart stutter to a stop at the beauty contained within this broken man, a loveliness that was usually hidden under layers and layers of insanity and anger.
She whipped around to stare at him more fully, too shocked to register that her breasts were now on full display for him. A smirk stretched the wizard's lips as his expression darkened. Unknownst to the pretty witch in front of Barty, the grip of alcohol had begun to slacken at the sight of her naked body.
"Even that fucking wuss Longbottom managed to say the words without much issue. But you - oh, you… you bloody cried! For a fucking spider! That always fascinated me, you know. You always fascinated me. It's amazing how you manage be that good and keep your soul that pure."
Done with the sudden confessional, he decided that the mudblood was clean enough. Barty licked his lips and his eyes turned slightly more feral.
Episkey. Tergeo.
The wizard executed both spells with a single flick of his wand, adding in a vulnera sanentur for good measure.
Though she was glad that her wounds had been treated, the witch was too busy fighting her inhibitions towards her next action to give it much notice. Sighing, she decided to just go for it.
Hermione glided over to Barty and gathered him up into a warm embrace. The wizard, who was returning to his normal state of insanity, stiffened at the sudden contact.
How dare this mudblood take liberties with my person!
His arms flailed wildly, unsure whether to hit her or push her off or maybe a good long crucio or that Chinese water torture he'd mentioned or -
Barty's nose caught a whiff of her sweet scent and he began to relax again.
It's so warm. She's so soft. Maybe just a little...
His hands began to wander over her soft, newly healed body, relishing the silky satin of her skin and enjoying having physical contact with another human being. Despite his earlier reservations, he was a little euphoric that Hermione Granger was willingly lending him her warmth.
Barty nestled his face into her neck, and, unable to help himself, he took a long lick. Chuckling as she gave a cute little squeak, his tongue slid out and took another taste, this time savoring the flavor of Hermione's skin.
"Hello kitten," he rumbled, his voice low and husky. He smirked into her neck. "Did you want to play?"
Do you guys want Barty more or less insane? Or is this fine? Please tell us in a review! :)