3
SOMEWHERE, in the dimly lit quiet Crouch ancestral mansion tucked away in the beautiful English countryside was a room hidden from view, embraced by walls of tough brick, a protective sanctuary to the lonely and confused Obscurial who now found herself unwillingly Barty Crouch Jr.'s partner, for better or ill.
The old oak door to his guest bedroom creaked loudly on its hinges, yet Barty Crouch Jr. paid the noise no mind as he raised his wand and cast a nonverbal Muffliato Charm to conceal the worst of the noise.
The witch sleeping in his bed stirred but did not wake, for which he was glad. Christine Lestrange seemed to be a deep sleeper, he realized, a faint little ghost of a smile tugging the edges of the wizard's lips into a smirk.
He was content to linger by the door and watch her sleep. He kept to the shadows as he gingerly approached the bed, careful to move light and to make as little noise as possible.
"Merlin's Beard, Lestrange, but you are a vision," he whispered, moving along the bed and clutching tightly to his wand as the blood pulsed through him at a rate he could not control, his heart pounding in his throat painfully.
He closed his eyes and let himself remember the fleeting feeling of how soft she felt against his body when he had pulled her close to Disapparate with her from the ruins of what had previously been the McKinnon's' house.
His knuckles turned white as his wand hand squeezed around the hilt of his wand as Barty struggled to understand the need to be close to his former classmate.
It was not something he understood, this urge to be near the witch and protect her. This nagging pulling in his chest. His body hummed and turned tight as he bent at the waist slightly and peered curiously at the witch sleeping.
The strange and overwhelming pull that had overcome him an hour ago would not leave him. He had taken a walk outside to clear his mind, though it had taken much longer than expected, and he knew then, that he needed a whiff of his drug. He needed to see his new partner, to ensure she was well, and she'd not tried to escape earlier.
His body teemed and itched with anticipation, but he did not know what it was that he was anticipating as his wide eyes peered into the darkened room. He stared and thought carefully as his gaze lingered upon the witch in the bed.
Barty tilted his head and sighed. He wished he could have come to Christine when she'd still been awake, though he had let her go when he had perceived her not in the mood for his company. Yet what was even more surprising was how he would see his new partner smile at him and willingly spend time with him of her own accord.
He did not want to force her into anything she was not comfortable with. The decision to come to her room in hopes of finding her awake had almost proved to be too much and Barty had almost turned away. He clenched his teeth, angry with himself. Already, his mind was filling itself with images of Christine's face, smiling at him and because of him, and he let himself imagine a nearly happy fantasy of taking the witch as his woman, and one day, his wife.
It would have been weeks, months still, but eventually, she would have been his, were it not for the wretched demon that had latched itself to her heart and soul and was killing her slowly, leaving her with a life expectancy of fewer than two years or so. He leaned in and breathed deeply. The witch smelled of vanilla. Vanilla and lavender.
He leaned in closer to inhale, silently marveling at how just the witch's scent alone could transport him back as if by Portkey to another time and place in his life when he was the happiest, and apathetic to the hurt that had been haunting him ever since he had graduated Hogwarts a few years ago and had become a victim of neglect.
Father was oft too busy with his duties to the Ministry of Magic to pay him any mind these days and Mother was away visiting distant relatives, though her health continued to worsen.
Father was in the running for the next Minister and spent most of his time at the office pouring over his campaign details, scheming over cups of elvish-made wine.
In truth, Barty could not recall when he had last seen Father and was surprised to not care if the bastard turned up.
His hand moving as if on instinct, Barty moved to slowly pull the blankets down to reveal Christine Lestrange's silky-looking neck, her creamy collarbone whose only imperfection was the purple bruise that littered her skin from where one of the McKinnon family members had hit her, and the soft swell of the witch's breasts.
Barty watched, transfixed, as her chest rose and fell, slowly and steadily, for a few moments. His hands moved to gently touch her arms, reveling in the smooth and soft skin of a woman in his guest bed. Slowly, Barty let one of his hands move under Christine's neck and he pulled the witch upright into a sleeping position. Her eyes fluttered open, but no recognition took root beneath the haze of sleep that clouded the witch's chocolate eyes.
Christine Lestrange's dark eyes became hooded and went slightly blank as she looked at him through the fog of sleep that now clouded her senses, the witch's body compliantly moving as Barty commanded it as he shifted her in his arms to a more comfortable position.
Christine made no move to try to shove him away or even to scream as Barty lowered his face to her neck and breathed in the witch's intoxicating scent deeply. A low animalistic growl nearly left his throat as he breathed her in, and it took every ounce of self-restraint within him not to press his lips to hers in a kiss.
Though he refrained, wanting Christine willing and wanting the witch again to act of her own accord.
He'd heard of other Death Eaters, lower in rank than he was, forcing themselves onto unwilling witches, but Barty had never agreed with such disgusting actions. He thought there was nothing pleasurable in seeing a woman suffer that way, and though he knew he was an immoral man, he knew he would never stoop so low.
Barty closed his eyes and with his magic, he could hear the witch's pulse and almost taste the blood that pumped through her veins and his mouth watered. He let himself savor the moment, opening his eyes and looking down at the witch's creamy skin, pressing his face to hers. Christine swayed in Barty's arms, a tiny moan escaping her lips as he gently pressed his lips to her cheek and kissed her, a featherlight inquiry, the cool skin of her cheek both searing and burning his lips and causing a tingling sensation to form on his lips. It was a feeling he wanted to keep with him and one that he hoped would not leave him as he took his lips away from her cheek.
"Christine," he whispered, the witch's name sounding funny on his lips as he sat up and looked into her eyes as he lowered her back down onto the bed. "My Christine. In time, you will be mine, and until then, I will wait for you," he promised her lowly. He looked down at her, his dark eyes nearly glowing in the dark as her dark hair splayed out in either direction against the pillow. He did not think there had ever been a witch to look so intoxicating.
Not even Alice when he had harbored a crush on the witch in school was this pretty.
"Good night, Christine," he whispered as she curled up into a ball and hugged her knees close to her chest, burrowing even deeper underneath the quilts.
He whispered in her ear before standing and turning to leave, "Dream of me." He did not even need to dip into her mind to know that his new partner was obedient even in her sleep as he crept out of the bedroom.
The moment he stepped outside of Christine Lestrange's room, he was not sure what it was, but his body felt as though it were on fire. His skin was flushed, and he felt the stirrings of a deep-rooted want in his stomach.
The strange sensations began only seconds after he had exited Lestrange's room, and it was not painful per se but urgent. It was such an intense feeling that Barty braced his back against the door to try to collect himself.
He tried to stay silent as his breaths left his lungs in short, ragged gasps.
He was barely able to move and silently prayed Winky would not happen upon him while he suffered this, whatever 'this' happened to be. Minutes passed and the tingling in his body only grew stronger. Barty gave out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his tangled mop of hair before finally pulling himself away from the door. This feeling that he felt when around Rodolphus Lestrange's cousin was one of the strangest feelings that he had ever encountered, this warmth that seeped as a tingling pressure within his chest and spread throughout his entire body.
Barty was skeptical of it at first when he'd felt it the moment he'd pulled Lestrange flush against him. But he soon came to understand that it was a good feeling. Something he wanted to feel again.
As his racing heartbeats calmed, Barty's jaw stilled as he realized that he could not fail the Dark Lord.
He could not or else his master would cross him off without any sort of conscience and would take everything from him, the first being…her. His resolution took its toll on Barty right then and there. He could not fail or it would be Hell unleashed on him as if he'd not been feeling the heat of it at all. His decision made up, his mind made, he stalked down the darkened hall and the stairs and to his sitting room to move to stand in front of the fireplace.
Barty considered calling for Winky and ordering the elf to slip him a Sleeping Draught into a glass of Firewhisky before sleep to send him into a dreamless sleep, but he quickly dismissed that idea.
He was above needing his elf's help.
Then he considered going to Antonin Dolohov, though he recalled how his friend had always looked at Lestrange when they were in school. It had always disturbed him, and Barty had only just realized that when the Russian wizard looked at Christine Lestrange with those hot dark eyes, the bastard was imagining his partner in no clothes.
No. That was not a sound plan. He would not go to Dolohov, not with the way he stared at Christine and eyed her as though he meant to have her one day. His stomach turned at the thought of any other wizard taking his partner away. These thoughts only lasted half a second before another name flashed itself before Barty's eyes, searing into his brain until he cursed himself for not having thought of his comrade before. Severus Snape had somewhat been on friendly terms with Lestrange, perhaps he would know the circumstances behind the incident that had led her to become an Obscurial. Perhaps the man would know of a cure, as smart and gifted with Potions as he was.
Barty stepped as swiftly and quietly as he could over the metal grate of the fire in his sitting room that was connected to the Floo Network, yet his brain screamed at him to stay here and keep an eye on Christine.
Severus might not even be home and if he were not and he was found standing in the man's sitting room and left the Dark Lord's newest most prized possession unguarded, what would the others think of him?
It would put Christine in grave danger. But he knew rest and peace of mind would not come for him until he'd spoken with Severus regarding Christine's condition and how to save the witch's life.
Barty imagined reveling in the shock in Christine Lestrange's chocolate brown eyes when he would tell her that he had found a cure to rid herself of the entity that had latched itself to her. He let a sprinkle of Floo Powder trickle from out of his pocket. All this time he fretted like a child as the green flames engulfed him and transported him instantly to Severus Snape's home, he had not noticed the tip of death pointed right between his eyes as he stepped over the grate of Severus Snape's fireplace, absentmindedly brushing a bit of soot off his thick black sweater.
Barty looked up, clearly unimpressed, to find Severus Snape pointing his wand squarely between the eyes and it was only when he stepped forward that he lowered it.
"Crouch, you are far from your home, are you not?" Severus drolled, the wizard's voice a smooth buttery purr that immediately set Barty on edge as he saw Severus tuck his wand securely back through his belt.
He had been expecting a fight when he'd Floo'd to his home.
"Severus," Barty grunted, not in the mood to be toyed with. "May I come in? I know it is late, but I do not intend to take up much of your time tonight," he grunted, glancing around as he felt his muscles tighten.
Severus Snape was not a handsome wizard in the slightest. At first glance, he was a frail and pale man with hunched and bony shoulders, and shadow raven black hair that consistently held a greasy sheen to it. His skin was bright and cold as the moon. His wand twirled in between his fingers, which were delicate and almost spider-like.
Severus turned to regard Barty with a frown.
"Yes, Bartemius, do come in," he growled, his tone mocking.
Barty ignored him, distracted by the wizard's sitting room itself.
The room was dark, lit only by the fire that now blazed to life in the hearth as Severus raised his wand to stroke the flames higher, and a dim yellow light emanated from a reading lamp near an armchair. Other than his shelves and the writing desk, the room was sparse and nearly empty and impersonal.
It seemed Severus Snape was a wizard who owned little.
Barty glanced around Severus Snape's sitting room, at the neatly regimented shelves of books that lined the walls, a desk with parchments of papers stacked and quills laid out side by side. Barty curiously approached the desk and lifted one of the quills in his fingers, a peacock feather by the looks of it.
He felt the burn of Severus Snape's penetrating gaze into his back. He flinched and felt the edges of his mouth turn down into a heavy scowl. He'd already known that coming here to speak with Severus regarding Christine would not come without a price. There was a part of him that feared to hear what such a price might be.
Barty knew that he could not avoid looking at Severus Snape forever and turned back to the taller wizard with a frustrated sigh, turning the quill over in his fingers to hide the shakes.
"You have some knowledge of Obscurials, I take it," he muttered darkly, suddenly unable to look Severus in the eye. Out of the corner of his lowered gaze, Barty saw Severus incline his head and kept his fingers clasped around his wand in front of his middle.
"I am more or less well acquainted with them," he admitted. "But then again, Bartemius, so are you. What could I possibly tell you that you do not already know for yourself? What more could you hope to learn from me? And why?" he questioned, his tone bordering on curiosity as he tilted his head to look at him, his expression intense.
Barty nearly fumbled the quill in his fingers and almost dropped it. Cursing under his breath, he flushed and dove for the wretched thing, quickly scooping it up and resting it haphazardly back onto Severus's writing desk. When Barty looked back to his comrade, he caught the tail end of his grimace.
"Is there a cure for this...condition, Severus?" he blurted his question out of the void, his words clumsy and blunt, though he spoke cautiously as he tried to choose his words carefully. "My new partner…she, it, we...I don't...I've never..." But Barty trailed off, unable to continue, as he looked into Severus Snape's blank, menacing black eyes.
"Ah," Severus muttered.
It was with that one single sound that Barty began to wonder if perhaps he had made a grave mistake in coming to Severus for the man's help. He looked over Severus's blank face, his dark eyes widening as he stepped back.
His resolve nearly faltered and failed him, and he almost turned heel to Disapparate, but Barty managed to hold himself still, straight, and unflinchingly proud. He bit down on his lip and struggled to catch his breath.
He had let slip too much, entirely too much. Barty looked at Severus Snape with wide eyes, almost too nervous to try to read what was in the wizard's expression, but he was surprised to see that Severus was looking at him with almost a great sadness in his black eyes, and something deeper and stronger.
It was a look he was not sure he liked. Severus was looking at Barty as though he were such a disappointment to him, as though he knew something of himself that Barty had not yet discovered.
"No," Severus said softly, his voice lowered an octave and barely a whisper. "For that, Bartemius, I am sorry," he said. "It is unavoidable. The witch will die. The Obscurus bound to her body and soul is slowly poisoning her, from the inside out until she'll wither away and die like a flower dying of thirst."
Severus's expression was calm and his voice resolute as he gave his answer.
Upon hearing his words, Barty lost all attempts to control his demeanor and let loose his fury on the wall, curling his fingers into a fist and slamming his knuckles into the wall as a furious blood yell left his lips.
Severus stood by while Barty angrily pulled out his wand and quickly sealed the broken skin and dried away the blood that now smattered his knuckles. He suspected his bloody hand was broken, but perhaps Severus would mend it before he left, but for now, he wanted answers.
"You fucking lie, Severus, tell me the truth, I detect when you lie, I'm as good a Legilimens as you!" he snarled through gritted teeth. Barty nearly threw himself across the room at Severus as his temper surged dangerously but managed to restrain himself the moment he saw Severus half raise his wand as though anticipating he would attack.
"What reason would I have to lie to you, Bartemius? What benefit would I gain from telling a falsehood of a witch with whom I interacted so little during our schooling?" Severus remarked dryly. His voice was alarmingly calm, save for a weary edge to the man's voice that had not been there before.
Barty's voice shook when he spoke as he felt a lump forming in his throat.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, hesitantly flicking his eyes up to Severus's face and shooting him a furtive, guilty look. "I did not mean this, I…" But he trailed off, unable to continue as Severus sneered.
"No, of course you didn't mean, Bartemius," Severus bit out with a bark to his voice that made Barty look up in alarm. No matter how much he puzzled over the wizard's tone, Barty could not tell if Severus was accusing him.
Severus turned to him with heavy eyes and motioned for him to occupy the sofa across from his armchair. Barty moved to sit, though his feet felt sluggish and like lead in his boots as he sat numbly against the sofa, exhausted.
A tingle ran through Barty's veins, though the wizard admittedly did not know why as he looked to Severus questioningly, searching the man's coal-black eyes, yet knowing he would find nothing.
"How, Severus, how did it happen?" he growled, staring at Severus so earnestly, he almost wondered if Snape would let his guard down and he would be able to read his comrade's innermost thoughts.
He wondered if he knew how his new partner had come to be so damaged. No one within the Dark Lord's ranks spoke of her assault, or the fact that she had disappeared.
He had searched throughout England for the witch and had not been able to find Christine.
Perhaps it would have been better that way. What could he have possibly said to ease her pain?
But now, she was here, and she was just as beautiful as she had been when they were schoolmates.
Barty eyed Severus uncertainly, though he was certain Severus knew the cause of how a wretched accursed demon had come to attach itself to Christine's soul.
"I know that it is none of my business and I should not even ask," Barty snapped, an abrupt bitterness seeping into his stomach as he forced the words from his throat. "But I've heard whispers of…"
Barty paused for a moment and swallowed hard, willing the disgusting images of Christine being assaulted in the back of an alley in Knockturn Alley by a nameless faceless wizard whose identity he did not know and wanted to bash the bastard's brains into the wall behind him.
He wanted to slit the wretch's throat and claim Christine for himself.
Severus nodded in understanding and lowered his gaze in thought, already aware of Barty Crouch Jr.'s inquiry. He felt a surge of anger and annoyance well within his chest at his question.
"I am not the one with whom you should be discussing this, Bartemius," Severus confirmed, albeit reluctantly. "Your new partner should be the one to tell you how she came to be an Obscurial, not I," he snapped.
Barty kept his gaze transfixed onto his hands which were resting on his thighs, yet out of the corner of his gaze, he saw Severus give somewhat of a lazy flick of his wand and caused a bottle of wine and two glasses to materialize from their respective places in his kitchen. Barty numbly held out a hand to receive the glass that was now half full and brought it to his lips and downed his glass in a single swallow.
The alcohol burned his throat going down, but it was a welcome distraction and not nearly enough to swap with the pain of knowing that his new partner appointed to him would die within a year, maybe two.
"She is so lovely, Severus…" he muttered, and even he could hear the tinge of melancholia in his voice that was unlike him to speak this way regarding a witch.
In the past, he had only ever been previously known for his manic and violent stature.
Even for him, this was new. Very new to have these thoughts of the Lestrange witch, even more so for a damaged, broken soul as Christine now was. He let out a little breath and still kept his gaze transfixed on his hands.
"…Do I even deserve her, Severus? Was the Dark Lord right to give me her to serve as her protector?" he grunted.
He was suddenly not sure he wanted the answer and yet, he knew he had to get the question out.
His hands thankfully had stopped trembling as the warmth from the wine spilled into his stomach and he eyed Severus wearily. His comrade sat in front of him in his armchair, staring at him silently.
He licked his lips and glanced at his empty wine glass, fighting the urge to ask for another glassful. With them needing to leave for the North in another few days, he wanted to keep a clear head and his wits about him.
Severus watched Barty's internal struggle for a moment and he could not be certain, but he swore he saw the wizard's lips twitch as he fought against the urge to smile, or so it seemed that way.
"The…chasm between the two of you is certainly not what you are hoping for," Severus murmured in his usual baritone. "However, there are always reasons for everything. I cannot pretend to understand the Dark Lord's thinking, but given that he has entrusted her care to you, then you owe it to her to protect her life, however fleeting the remainder of her time may be, with yours," he offered coyly, quick to consider Barty's worry as he fretted on his sofa over the Obscurial and mitigate the younger wizard's doubts. "Be patient with her, Crouch. Show her that she can trust you," Severus advised curtly. "And I suppose she's alone now, within your home? Who watches her?"
Barty's nostrils flared. He swallowed before looking away and he flinched as he swore Severus caught a glimpse of the glitter of sweat forming along his brow.
How stupid you look, he could almost read Severus's thoughts, though he was not utilizing his talents.
"She…uh…Winky," Barty sniffed, pursing his lips, and hiding how he gritted his teeth in anger and annoyance.
He noticed Severus Snape's expression hardening and his black eyes becoming all suspicious as he took note of the dark shades underneath his eyes and the deep lines beneath them.
The Obscurial Christine Lestrange had only been inside his home a few precious hours at best, and she was already leaving such an impression on him as to leave him sleepless. Barty rose to his feet with a tired sigh escaping his barely cracked lips as he rolled his neck to crack it in hopes of easing the pained stiffness.
Severus rose to his feet as well and kept his arms folded across his chest.
"Perhaps…" he started to say in his usual droll and slow monotone. Barty made to turn away towards Severus's fireplace to head home, but he halted in his tracks at the sound of his comrade's voice. "Perhaps you ought to be heading for home now," Severus remarked after a short pause.
Barty nodded and kept his back paraded to Severus as he stepped over the metal grate of his fireplace and let the flames engulf him once more, smart enough not to look back as he left Severus in his home to watch him go.
His first urge when he returned home and hovered outside of the door to his bedroom was to slip into Christine's room again, to touch the witch. This was again a new desire for him. Barty wanted to touch the witch to know that Christine Lestrange was real, that the Dark Lord had appointed the witch as his partner on the mission he'd set them to task for. That she was not merely a figment of his overactive and sensitive imagination in his loneliness.
She was possessing him like the hellish she-demon she was the moment he'd set eyes upon her in the McKinnons' home. But he dared not wake her and he wanted to revel in the shock in her eyes when he would touch her, and more importantly, he wanted Christine willingly his. Barty had envied the other Death Eaters in the Dark Lord's ranks who were married, their beautiful wives, but he had never given much thought to taking a witch for himself.
His goals were fixated solely upon power, on increasing his wealth in society and his influence within the Ministry of Magic alongside his father, rising higher and higher in the ranks.
He wanted the security and assurance that he was in charge of his fate, and needed no distractions, but now, Christine Lestrange was most certainly a distraction to his ambitions, yet not an unwelcome one.
He had sized up witches in the street, though no one he looked at pleased him enough. None of those tow-headed fools were good enough, no one worthy of his grand aspirations to make a name for himself in this world.
No one and nothing, until her. He knew that the task ahead of him would not be an easy one. He would have to convince her that his love for her was eternal and undying, and with her, she would not be trapped. He was the only one who matched her and challenged her, who would do anything for her.
He'd found an equal among a sea of women and he could have no other.
A little coaxing, and he was sure that Christine Lestrange would see it too. Barty was certain of it. It was this thought that kept him from going to her room and instead, he continued down the hall to his bedroom, careful to be quiet as possible. When he got to his room, he gingerly shut the door behind him. He fell into bed without bothering to knock off his boots, staring up at the ceiling, and within minutes, he felt his eyelids grow heavy.
As he fell asleep, images of Christine Lestrange's chocolate eyes and even darker brown hair swirled around in Barty Crouch Jr.'s head.