Third installment in the series; sequel to ch.1 of Seirios Aster's Little Lion Man, Flushed from the Bathroom of Your Heart

Between the Lines

"Leave unsaid unspoken, eyes wide shut unopened … You and me, always be …You and me, always between the lines …" ~Between the Lines by Sara Bareillesn

"Nnnnn…" Barty Crouch Jr. groaned in an expression of his void of amusement.

He could feel the headache coming on before he'd even managed to open his eyes. But then, it probably had something to do with the fact that he'd laid down with wet hair, and if you mixed that with the fact that he'd been unable to sleep when he'd gotten back to bed, you'd understand where the mild throbbing in his skull might stem from. He had eventually won the grueling war with his mind, because it seemed to think that because he had given in once and taken care of his … troubles … that he wouldn't be averse to creating those troubles all over again.

The end result was that he hadn't slept at all; however, he knew that it was getting to be time to get out of bed – the dim, almost dream-like light that filtered through the lake, as well as the stirrings of his bunkmates, told him that he should get up soon, or risk being in bed the entire day, and messing up his sleeping schedule was not a wise decision in most cases. And as this was likely one of those cases, the blond sat up in bed, oversized pajamas once again halting his movement in the most infuriating of ways. Shoving his stringy blond hair out of his face, he eventually managed to win yet another battle with himself, this one in the form of sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed without sudden death ensuing.

So many battles won recently.

He just wished the war could be over already.

Glancing around the room, he realized without much concern that by now he was the only one that was there; all the other sixth year Slytherin were most likely in the Great Hall eating breakfast. Sighing, he stumbled over to his trunk, opening the top and patting around until he managed to find his robes. And, after attempting three times to get out of his pajama shirt and failing all three of said attempts, he decided fuck it. Instead of changing his clothes, he just pulled on the robes over what he already had on and yawned as he exited the dormitory.

The trek to the Great Hall was uneventful; there were a few students in the halls, but for the most part they were … Well, anywhere but the halls, and since it was Saturday and all, that made sense … Even if it looked like a cloudy day in itself and anyone who ventured outside was likely to become susceptible to a visit to Madame Pomfrey after they had become ill from being rained on… Shaking his head to try and clear it as he approached The Hall, he knew it wasn't going to work, but he needed food, and he needed to see if he would get any mail – it was unlikely, but possible. And if he got a letter from his mother, it was best to respond immediately.

Well, might as well go in and get the fun times started, he thought with a mental sigh as he pulled the door open and was suddenly assaulted by brighter light and so much noise he thought his head was going to explode. Reaching up, Barty Crouch Jr. put two fingers to his temples and sighed out loud this time, though the sound was drowned out by the dull roar that was par for the course in the Great Hall.

Eventually he moved forward, glancing upwards and seeing that the ceiling was full of gray storm clouds and it seemed to be forecasting a gentle rain, as the blond had done previously when looking out the windows he walked past, though there was no solid evidence that it was actually raining outside.

Cloudy, hazel eyes that were erring on the side of brown this morning swept across the Slytherin table, looking for someone that he knew – of course, being that Severus Snape had graduated last year, that really only left one candidate that he knew well enough that he would be comfortable eating with … And it didn't take long for him to find the pale teenager he was looking for.

Oh boy.

It looked like Reg was sulking by himself again.

There were at least three seats between him and anyone else at the table – though to be fair, there weren't many people at the Slytherin table, as he was sure that it was actually pretty late in the morning. It was hard to tell in the dungeons and now that it was cloudy exactly what time it was … Barty sighed; he would bet ten galleons to one that his friend was upset because he had barked at him the night before in the hallway. Reg was always doing that; assuming that he was doing something wrong, or that it was his fault that something happened, even if it had nothing to do with him … If it was bad and it happened to him or someone he cared about, it was Reg'swa fault and he should have changed it.

Pushing his hand through his hair, he rubbed his eyes and he could feel the bags under them; it was always easy to tell when he hadn't slept – it always looked like he had been punched in both eyes a couple days ago and the injuries were just starting to heal. But whatever; he needed to apologize to his friend for being a giant dick for no good reason before Regulus decided he needed to commit ritual suicide while Barty decapitated him to somehow restore honor to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, not that it would need it or anything as far as the Pureblood Wizarding Community was concerned …

Walking towards the end of the table where Regulus Black was sitting, without saying anything he just sat down next to his friend, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. Reaching out and picking up the plate of kippers, he helped himself to those and some sausages, glancing sideways at his best mate while he did so to gage his reaction to Barty's seating himself.

"Hey, uh, Reg?" he said after what he felt was a long silence, but in all actuality was not very much time at all. He just wanted to get this over with so that Regulus would stop feeling like he had killed all of the kittens in the universe by existing. "Listen mate; about last night – I'm sorry I sn—" And suddenly, the mail came. Which normally wasn't something to marvel over; a large mob of owls flying through the Great Hall dropping parcels and letters and newspapers and other such things that most muggles found in those boxes he'd learned about in Muggle Studies … male boxes. As opposed to female boxes? He wasn't sure why they had to be gendered … Muggles were just weird. Anyway, not that the mail coming made much difference to Barty, but it did make a good deal of noise, all those wings flapping and such, which was why Barty stopped in the middle of his sentence.

Looks like nothing for me—he thought with both relief and disappointment as the last stragglers flew past … That is until a red envelope fell neatly in front of him next to his plate. Blinking, at first there was non-comprehension on his face, and then it slowly clicked into place what exactly this envelope was, and he continued to stare at it in shocked disbelief …

"Oh … Bloody hell …" he muttered to himself; what in the hell could this possibly be about? Waving the smoke coming off of the envelope away from his face, he wondered if he would have time to duck out of the Great Hall and open this in what was possibly the slightly more secluded hallway ... But decided the likelihood of it exploding before he got anywhere useful and the fact that it would scream loud enough for the entire hall to hear it anyway were inevitable conclusions, so he might as well just open it and get it over with.

This was going to do nothing good for his headache, which was slowly blossoming into a migraine.

"Stand by for howling," he said in warning to Regulus as he reached down and peeled open the seal so that it could scream whatever message it had for him and just get it over with. Re-arranging itself into a mouth, the red envelope hopped up off the table a moment later, presumably to get a better vantage point, or rather, so that it could be at least ear-level with Barty for the optimum migraine inducing noise expulsion. Joy.

"BARTEMIUS CROUCH JUNIOR! YOUR MOTHER AND I ARE EXTREMELY DISPLEASED! WHAT IS GOING ON IN THATHEAD OF YOURS! YOUR POTIONS GRADES ARE ATROCIOUS; HOW DO YOU PLAN TO GET A JOB AT THE MINISTRY IF YOU CAN'T EVEN PASS YOUR CLASSES!"

Oh good; it's about potions. For a second Barty had actually been worried.

"LEARN SOME RESPONSIBILITY, BOY! I AM NOT GOING TO CARRY YOU THROUGH LIFE – JUST BECAUSE I WORK AT THE MINISTRY DOESN'T MEAN THAT I WILL LAY EVERYTHING OUT ON A SILVER PLATTER FOR YOU! YOU ARE TO OWL BACK IMMEDIATELY, OR SO HELP ME YOUNG MAN YOU WILL BE CONFINED TO THIS HOUSE FOR THE REST OF YOUR NATURAL BORN LIFE, AND YOU WILL DO NOTHING BUT POTIONS!"

And with that, the envelope shredded itself into something akin to festive red confetti. All of the Slytherin at the table were sneering at him in that self-righteous way that they did, gleeful in the fact that someone else had gotten into trouble while they had remained scathe-free. Bloody howlers; damned things should be banned on account of the public humiliation they cause, he thought as he lowered his eyes instead of glaring back; the light was starting to really make him squint. For far from the first time since he was sorted into this house, the blond sixth year decided that he hated all Slytherin, except Severus Snape, who'd graduated anyway, and Regulus Black. The former because while Snape had been tutoring him, he hadn't received even an angry letter from his parents about his potions marks – apparently Slughorn at some point had recently written home to express his concern that their son was terrible at the only subject the Professor thought had any importance. And the latter because he was the only person present at their green and silver table that didn't smirk at him in some twisted case of schadenfreude; at least if he was enjoying the blond's humiliation, he was decent enough not to express it openly. Which was of course why he was friends with Regulus in the first place – because he wasn't a barmy little prat like the rest of the students in their house.

The blond could feel that his face was red from his neck to his hairline, now that the entire hall knew that he was a stupid git that needed to be 'carried through life' as far as his parents were concerned because he was too much of a fuck up to bother actually deciding what he wanted to do. It didn't help that he had a headache, and that it was throbbing in his temples so hard that he could honestly barely hear it when the dull roar surged back up in the hall, people seeming to forget quickly enough what had happened – even though the sixth year knew that they hadn't, and they wouldn't; not for a while at least. He would get sideways comments and haughty looks from his housemates, and probably from the other houses too – didn't matter if he hexed them from here until next Tuesday, they'd still look at him like they were better than him; smarter than him. 'There goes the Crouch kid; too stupid to even pass potions – and there's a Slytherin professor teaching the class!' … He could just imagine it.

Slumping in his seat slightly, he put a hand to his head, resting his elbow on the table, poking the food he'd taken, unsurprisingly not really that hungry any more. Now he just felt … tired … upset … frustrated … achy … All of these words described Bartemius Crouch Jr., and all of these words together spelled bad and worsening mood.

Pffft; if he's that pissed off about my bloody potions grades – wonder what he'd say if he actually knew anything about me, he thought in a bitter tone, resisting the urge to shake his head, since that was likely to only make his headache worse. No no – his father, Mister Bartemius Crouch Senior had never even thrown a ball to his son, or tried to show him how a potion worked, or a broom – anything really – he didn't know jackshit about his son… And yet he had apparently decided that he knew everything there was to know about the blond sixth year Slytherin. Somewhere along the lines, his struggles with Potions, even though he excelled quite spectacularly at transfiguration, if he did say so himself, (he had even gotten a compliment from a Gryffindor Professor, McGonagall, to prove it), meant that he was lazy and irresponsible and stupid. And that he needed to have everything handed to him in life or he was never going to accomplish anything – and of course by anything, we're talking about attaining a job at the Ministry of Magic, as that was the be all and end all of all occupations and anyone who worked anywhere else was just a complete joke.

Owl back immediately; my arse, he thought, almost viciously stabbing one of the sausages he'd put on his plate, though not moving to eat it, and I know just how I'll start it too; Hullo pop – just finished buggering off and not doing any of my assignments today, as usual! Why you ask? Well, I developed one of those frequent headaches I get that you know all about because I tell you everything, and you always listen to everything I say and always care about my input when you're around to talk. Which is all the time, I know. Why did I get one of those, you ask? Oh that's easy; it's probably because I didn't get much sleep last night; had a good hard wank thinking about my best male friend in the shower, and had a hard time getting to sleep after that, if you know what I mean.

Yup; that was perfect. Just needed to scrawl it out, sign it, and send the owl off.

He'd be disowned before supper.

Barty just wanted to scream; maybe throw something. Preferably at his father's face, but as that seemed most unlikely, he would settle for across the room or something. Maybe at some obnoxious happy Hufflepuff firsty's face. That would probably only get him into trouble, lose their house points, and score him a detention. So he could get yet another howler from his father; funny, that was the only time he ever seemed to take out of his busy schedule where Barty was concerned – when he was convinced that Barty had been wrong and needed to be screamed at. Because a good earful is exactly what most troubled kids need in order to get them to straighten out, right?

He realized that he had been holding the sausage on his fork for probably a whole minute without doing anything, just letting it hang in the air without really moving it at all, grip so loose he was nearly dropping the fork he was holding, and that got him to blink. Murky hazel eyes were disoriented, and he could honestly at this point barely hear much of anything over the throb in his temples – however, he had the vague suspicion that Regulus was trying to talk to him … The only problem was he couldn't be entirely sure. Putting down the fork he was holding with the skewered sausage, he blinked again and seemed to realize that if he thought his friend was talking to him, he should probably make some sort of effort to acknowledge him, because if he didn't, Reg would likely decide that once again all of the sunshine and rainbows in the universe had committed suicide on account of him, and that only his solitary suicide would rectify the situation.

"Huh?" he asked sort of stupidly; not his fault though – it was hard to think when your head was in a drum and someone was banging on it like their life depended on it. Merlin it was hard to even focus on Reg's face, let alone figure out if he was actually speaking, and if he was what in blazes he was saying. Maybe he should go see Madame Opium, as Snape had deemed her once, and see if she would take pity on him again and give him a painkilling draught of some kind. Fuck, if he was any good at potions he would go to the potions classroom and brew himself up something nice and strong …

It was honestly far more likely that he'd be able to produce something that didn't explode and actually served the purpose he intended it to than Madame Pomfrey actually giving him more medication though; this was the third time this week he would have gone to her, and the last time she had told him that if he came back again any time soon, she was going to have to insist he allow her to test a few things to figure out where these headaches were coming from. Barty didn't need it getting back to his parents that he was in want of regular medications – somehow that would turn into him being a drug addict, or some other bollocks …

Yeah; attempting to hear and interpret what his friend was saying, if he was saying anything at all, (he was still having trouble discerning actual sounds from the white noise that was filtering through his brain), was not really getting him anywhere.

Shame.

He really liked Reg's voice.

"Uh, Reg?" he said after a moment, tone a little unsteady, not looking straight at the paler teenager, "sorry – I need to go write my parents, or they're gonna be all over me. Might even send me another bloody howler tomorrow if I don't get back to them today." Getting up from his seat, food and drink he'd collected for himself in the spot next to Regulus completely untouched, he pushed his chair in and paused long enough to give Reg a reassuring smile. He was attempting to convince him that he wasn't mad at him or anything, and he wasn't sure if it was working – but he did realize after standing there for a good long moment that he was staring off into space. While staring at Regulus' face. And now that his thoughts had started to rhyme, he knew it was about that time … … To get back to bed and … Hide his head …?

"I'll see you around, alright?" was all he said after he had been looking at Regulus for far longer than was strictly proper, turning to leave the Great Hall and hoping against hope that getting away from all of the noise and bright lights of the room would at least alleviate some of the pounding pressure in his skull even the tiniest little bit … Dull, brown-green eyes swept the floor as he walked towards the doors leading out of the giant room he was in, trying to be sure that he didn't trip over anything during his departure. He noticed a dull crack of thunder in the background, though whether that was from the enchanted ceiling, the actual weather outside, or both, was anyone's guess as far as Barty was concerned …

The End …?