BARTY moved silently through the dimly lit halls of his family's ancestral home, his steps like whispers against the cold hardwood floors. The air was heavy with the weight of years long past, and the flickering lights overhead cast dancing shadows that seemed to come alive with each passing moment. He clung to the edges of the corridor, the darkness a comforting shroud as he followed the unmistakable sound of Winky's shrill voice.
As he approached the source of the gentle murmur as Winky continued to fret and fuss over the Obscurus he was now responsible for, Barty found himself outside a slightly ajar door.
The soft glow from within spilled into the hallway, revealing the silhouette of Winky, engaged in a heartfelt conversation with Isabella, though their voices were too low to make out what was said. Barty hesitated, his hand hovering over the door. He listened intently, caught between the desire to remain in the shadows and the curiosity that tugged at him like an unseen force.
Winky's voice, though small, carried a warmth that seemed to seep through the cracks in the foundations of the walls, filling the air was a tender reassurance as she spoke to the frightened Obscurus.
"Winky will be back shortly with dinner, Miss Isabella," Winky's gentle tone reached Barty's ears. "And if there is anything you need, anything at all, just call, Winky will come."
The sincerity in Winky's voice resonated with a quiet strength. Barty's gaze softened as he watched the scene unfold before him. Isabella, cowering in the furthest corner of the bedroom that was now to be hers, listened intently, her features a mosaic of vulnerability and resilience. Barty lingered in the doorway, unseen, absorbing the delicate exchange between the two.
The air held a certain tension—a delicate balance between the known and the mysterious—the accepted and the outcast.
As Winky concluded her assurances, Barty withdrew further into the shadows, allowing the door to inch closed. The corridor swallowed him once more, shrouding him almost completely in darkness.
In the quiet solitude of the hallway, Barty pressed on, the shadows embracing him like old friends, concealing his presence as he continued to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of his family's home, where secrets and stories intertwined in the tapestry of time.
As Barty continued to traverse the halls of his home, his thoughts lingered on the enigma that was Isabella, the mysterious Obscurus was now a refuge within the shadows of his family's home, and he, her protector for as long as the Dark Lord needed the entity's abilities within her.
The air seemed to thicken with the weight of the witch's unspoken story, and Barty found himself consumed by a haunting curiosity to know more about the witch whose life he was now responsible for.
What could have transpired in the life of Bellatrix and Narcissa's distant cousin to transform her into an Obscurus, a manifestation of suppressed magic and emotional turmoil?
The mere notion of such a creature spoke of deep-rooted pain, an affliction that stemmed from a traumatic event or a prolonged period of magical suppression.
He wondered how he and the others among the Death Eater's ranks had not known of this witch, if Bella and Narcissa even knew of her, what their familial relation truly was.
As he set the parlor for his destination, Barty's mind wove a tapestry of possibilities.
Perhaps there were hidden family secrets even to this day among the Blacks, hidden tragedies that had scarred the witch's past. The Black family, notorious for its dark history, bore witness to clandestine alliances, unspoken pacts, and fractured loyalties.
The truth, Barty mused, lay buried beneath layers of secrecy and veiled memories.
Whatever had transpired to mold Isabella into an Obscurus was a chapter yet to be revealed, a narrative waiting to unfurl its tendrils in the dim corners of the family's history.
A small sound from somewhere behind him snatched him from his senses and he turned around to glimpse Winky coming towards him down the hallway, having set the kitchen as her destination to prepare a meal for their guest. The house-elf skidded to a halt, her large, round eyes widening in surprise as she noticed him staring at her expectantly.
"Winky," Barty addressed her with a tone that brokered no argument. "Come here."
The house-elf hurriedly scurried over, her posture one of anticipation mingled with a touch of apprehension. Barty's gaze, stern and inquisitive, met Winky's earnest eyes.
"I need to understand more about Isabella's past, Winky. What happened to her to turn her into an Obscurus?" Barty questioned, the weight of his curiosity evident in his voice.
Winky shifted nervously, her small hands twisting the frayed edges of her ruined tea towel that was smeared with Butterbeer stains. "A dark past she has, but Winky doesn't know, Master Barty, sir, all Winky knows is she is troubled, Winky can sense it."
Barty sighed, realizing that the elusive answers he sought were likely to remain elusive unless he directly confronted the witch with his questions. Frustration welled up within him; he was reluctant to revisit the fear he had glimpsed in her eyes earlier, the way she regarded him as little more than a monster. Yet, he understood that facing those uncomfortable truths was a necessary step in untangling the intricate web of secrets that surrounded her.
"Winky, you've been with my family a long time. Your whole life. I'm ordering you now to do whatever it takes to make the witch feel comfortable here, to help her open up about her past."
Winky nodded, her ears drooping slightly. "Winky will do her best, Master Barty, sir. But Miss Isabella, she is delicate. Painful memories, master, they haunt the witch."
Barty clenched his fists, frustration deepening as he took a step towards the trembling elf, who recoiled and shrank back slightly as he approached her.
"Winky, I need you to understand the gravity of the situation. Keeping Isabella Black's Obscurus calm, and content is not just about her well-being. It's crucial to the Dark Lord's plans. We cannot afford mistakes, or any incidents that would draw any attention. By now, the entire bloody Auror Department is probably aware of our escape. We're under scrutiny, and any misstep could expose us if that parasite within her loses control. We must tread carefully and Isabella's cooperation and comfort are paramount. Do you understand?" he growled softly.
Winky continued to tremble, her large, watery eyes fixed on Barty with a mixture of fear and confusion. The dim light of the corridor flickered across her worried face as she listened to Barty's words. The weight of the responsibility pressed down on her tiny shoulders, and she spoke in a shaky voice.
"But Master Barty, sir, Winky doesn't understand. Isabella Black's Obscurus, it's dangerous magic, dark and twisted. How could anyone want to use it for such terrible things? And serving the Dark Lord, sir, it's not right. Winky doesn't know where Master and Missues Crouch went wrong, but this isn't the way they raised you. It's not the way they would want you to be."
Barty's frustration twisted into a cold determination as he glared down at the house-elf. "Winky, you are here to serve me. Loyalty to me, to the Dark Lord is loyalty to our cause for a better world. My parents…Father more so than Mother, was weak. He could not see the greatness of the Dark Lord's vision. I won't make the same mistake. Isabella's power is a tool, a weapon we can use for the greater good."
Winky's ears drooped, and her voice barely above a whisper, she replied, "But Master Barty, sir, how can it be for the greater good if it hurts innocent people? Winky knows right from wrong, and this... this feels very wrong."
Barty's eyes flashed with anger, and he seized Winky's arm tightly. "You will do as you're told, Winky or the consequences will be severe. The Dark Lord's plans are in motion, and we must succeed. Isabella Black is a key piece, and you will help me do what you can to help keep her Obscurus under control. If you fail, Winky, it won't just be your life at stake."
Winky nodded, tears streaming down her wrinkled face. "Yes, Master Barty, sir. Winky will do her best, but... Winky can't help but think your parents would be so disappointed, sir. They loved you, they did."
Barty's expression wavered for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing his face, but he quickly masked it as he sharply averted his gaze and looked away from his house-elf as he spoke.
"Get back to your duties, Winky, and ensure Isabella is comfortable and cooperative. Our plans depend on it."
As Barty turned away, leaving the trembling elf behind, Winky couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong, not just with the situation at hand, but with the path her young master had chosen. Barty stopped in his tracks just as Winky was about to scurry away and retreat into the kitchen. He turned sharply, his eyes locking onto hers with a cold intensity.
"Winky, from now on, I will be the one delivering her food. I don't want anyone else near her without my supervision. Not even you. Do you understand?" he demanded.
Winky hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the unexpected command. Her ears drooped as her large, frightened eyes met Barty's determined gaze.
"Yes, Master Barty, sir, Winky understands, she does," she stammered, her voice barely audible.
Barty nodded, releasing his grip on her arm. "Good. I don't want any mistakes, Winky. You know what's at stake. You're intelligent enough to know."
With that, he turned away again, leaving the elf standing there, her mind racing with a mix of confusion and apprehension. As Winky scurried back to her tasks, she couldn't help but wonder why Barty had singled her out for this specific duty. The unease lingered in the air, and the weight of the responsibility pressed down on her frail shoulders. She knew better than to question her master's demands; the consequences for disobedience were too severe.
In the kitchen, Winky hurried about her duties, moving about the space with a sense of urgency as she set about trying to prepare a meal she hoped would make the witch happy.
The atmosphere was thick with tension, and as she prepared Isabella's meal, she couldn't shake the distinct feeling that she was caught in a web of darkness that was tightening around her. As Winky fretted over the finishing touches of the witch's meal, she jumped as the sound of her master's voice cut through the air as he snapped at her.
"Winky, for Merlin's sake, how long does it take to prepare a simple meal? Get a move on or I'll be forced to punish you!"
Winky quivered under the force of his words, her ears drooping. "Yes, Master Barty, sir, Winky will be quick, sir," she stammered, rushing to adjust the tray and ensure everything was in order.
Barty snatched the tray from Winky's quivering hands the moment she appeared in front of him, his impatience evident in the sharp pull. As he turned to leave, his footsteps echoed through the narrow corridor as he headed towards the spare room that was now Isabella's.
The aroma of the steaming soup and warm bread filled the air, a stark contrast to the coldness that emanated from Barty. Winky, determined not to incur her master's wrath, trailed closely behind him, her large, eager eyes fixed on the tray in Barty's hands.
Every step he took was careful and measured, and she was determined to ensure not a single drop of the soup she had prepared spilled onto the hardwood floor beneath her master's boots.
Barty, however, grew increasingly annoyed with the house-elf's proximity, his frustration building with each synchronized footfall. As they reached Isabella's bedroom door, Barty swung it open with a force that made Winky jump. Raising her gaze from the seat, Isabella's eyes widened as she absorbed the unfolding scene. She absentmindedly played with the ends of her dark, low ponytail—a nervous habit, and observed Barty with a scrutinizing gaze.
"Master Barty, sir, Winky is here to make sure nothing spills," the house-elf squeaked, her eyes pleading for understanding.
Barty scowled, his irritation palpable. "I hardly need a house-elf to babysit me, Winky. Just leave and go back to your duties."
Winky nodded frantically, her ears drooping, as she carefully set the tray on the table.
Barty shot her a final disdainful look before turning his attention to Isabella, attempting to maintain an air of composure despite the undercurrent of tension that surrounded them all.
Isabella watched in silence, her curiosity mixing with a growing sense of unease as the delicate dance between master and servant continued in the dimly lit room.
As Winky hurriedly fled the room to attend to her other duties, Isabella couldn't help but feel a surge of timidity and shyness. She shot Barty a reproachful look, silently expressing her discomfort with the exchange. Alone with him now and at the Death Eater's mercy, she shifted nervously under his gaze and awkwardly rested her hands between her legs as she could not bring herself to get up from where she'd perched on the edge of the bed, paralyzed by her fear.
Barty, however, seemed to switch gears. Ignoring the tension from before, he turned his attention back to Isabella, conjuring a small wooden side table and a comfortable plush armchair strategically placed by the window with a sharp wave of his wand.
The small corner of the room quickly transformed into a makeshift dining area, offering an unexpected touch of comfort.
In silence, Isabella observed him engrossed in his work, uncertain about what to communicate to the wizard. Her interactions with others had been limited, mostly confined to her parents.
Despite her attempts to restrain herself, the question involuntarily escaped her lips. "Is it customary for you to treat your elf so unkindly?"
Barty's features tightened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as Isabella Black boldly questioned his treatment of his house-elf. For a moment, the color seemed to drain from his face, a subtle sign of discomfort, and he felt something dark and ugly begin to fester within himself. He composed himself quickly, regaining his stoic demeanor.
"House-elves need firm guidance," he snapped, his tone measured. "Discipline ensures they stay focused on their tasks, though I would have thought you of all people would know that. You're a Black. The house-elf Kreacher has loyally served your family for the last several decades, has he not?"
Isabella's expression shifted from curiosity to something more pained. She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the bowl of soup she now held in her hands before she spoke softly, "I wouldn't know. I've never actually met Kreacher or any other house-elf in our family's service."
Barty's eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. "Never met your own house-elf? That's unusual, for a Black," he remarked, his tone still sharp.
A bitter smile played on Isabella's lips as the witch admitted, "My parents kept me secluded once the…parasite bonded itself to my soul. I was rarely allowed to leave my room, and interactions with anyone outside of my parents were restricted. The only voices I heard were those of my family, and the only faces I saw were theirs. They thought I would be safer that way, kept locked away like some disgusting secret."
Barty's gaze lingered on her, the lines on his face softening slightly as he absorbed her revelation. The room seemed to tighten with the weight of unspoken pain. He composed himself once more, regaining his stoic demeanor.
"Well, circumstances differ, I suppose. But now, you're here, and things can be different," he said, a trace of something akin to understanding in his eyes.
Isabella looked up at him, her expression a mix of vulnerability and hope.
It was a moment suspended in the silence of shared understanding, a connection forming between two individuals burdened by their histories.
Barty's demeanor shifted once more, his tone becoming unexpectedly reassuring. "You have nothing to fear from me. While I serve as your protector under the Dark Lord's orders, no one and nothing will harm you," he declared with a conviction that seemed both stern and oddly fiercely protective. He gestured towards the bowl of soup she held cupped in her hands. "My elf hasn't poisoned that soup, you know. Eat. You need your strength."
Isabella, still processing the information and trying to navigate this unexpected alliance, took a few tentative bites of the soup Winky had prepared. The warmth of the broth offered a small comfort, but fear lingered in the back of her mind like a shadow.
As she continued to eat, the unease grew within her until she could no longer keep it at bay. Looking up at Barty, she voiced the question that had been haunting her thoughts.
"What does the Dark Lord want with my Obscurus? Why does he need it?" Her eyes reflected a mix of anxiety and desperation, seeking answers in the face of uncertainty.
Barty's gaze met hers, and for a moment, his intensity softened. He seemed to consider his words carefully before responding. "Lord Voldemort sees power within you where others only see danger. He believes that the Obscurus within you holds a unique strength, a force that can be harnessed for our cause. It is a weapon, a tool that can tip the balance in our favor."
Isabella's eyes widened with a mixture of horror and disbelief upon hearing his words.
The weight of her existence, now seen as a potent force in the eyes of the most feared and reviled Dark wizard of all time, bore down on her.
She shook her head to herself, trying to send the Death Eater's words away.
A tremor ran through her as the man's words refused to leave her, and an overwhelming sense of terror washed over her. She set the soup spoon down, her hands trembling.
"You have no idea what you're dealing with," she whispered, her voice quivering with fear. "When the Obscurus takes over, I…I lose control. I become a monster."
Barty regarded her with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "The Dark Lord believes he can harness that power, mold it to his will."
Isabella's eyes pleaded with him, desperation etched across her face. "You don't understand. It's not something that can be controlled. It's a force of destruction and chaos. I'm afraid of what I might do."
Barty's expression remained stoic, but a flicker of uncertainty danced in his eyes. The gravity of the situation seemed to settle heavily on his shoulders.
"The Dark Lord has a plan," he stated, though his voice held a hint of doubt.
Isabella shook her head, her fear intensifying. "No plan can contain what lies within me. You need to understand, I'm not just a weapon. I'm a danger to everyone, including myself."
The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of Isabella's revelation hanging in the air. The fragile alliance, built on the Dark Lord's orders, seemed to teeter on the brink of uncertainty, as the true nature of the power within Isabella became an ominous presence in the room.
Barty regarded Isabella with a contemplative look, a subtle shift in his demeanor suggesting a realization of the gravity of her predicament. Despite his allegiance and loyalty to the Dark Lord, a moment of empathy seemed to flicker in his eyes.
"There must be a way to control it," he insisted, though uncertainty laced his words. "The Dark Lord wouldn't seek this power without a plan."
Isabella's eyes pleaded with him, a mixture of fear and vulnerability. "You can't control something like this. It's like trying to tame a hurricane. It consumes everything in its path."
As the conversation hung in the air, a sudden tension seized Isabella. Her hands trembled and clenched involuntarily, and her breathing quickened. A surge of dark energy enveloped her, and her brown eyes turned pitch black and glazed over with an unsettling intensity.
Barty, sensing the shift, leaned forward, his expression alert and his shoulders suddenly tense and rigid. "Isabella?"
But it was too late. The transformation began, and the room seemed to quiver with an otherworldly energy. Isabella's features contorted, and a guttural growl emanated from deep within her. The once docile room now bore witness to a monstrous force taking control.
Barty, now faced with the reality of Isabella's warning, scrambled to react. The delicate balance of power had shifted, and the true nature of the Obscurus within Isabella emerged, unfurling like a malevolent shadow.
At that moment, the room became a battleground between the forces that sought to harness the Obscurus and the uncontrollable chaos that lurked within Isabella, threatening to consume everything in its path. Barty's eyes widened with a sudden realization.
The stakes had shifted dramatically, and now he found himself in a dangerous situation. The once cold and composed Death Eater faced the unpredictable wrath of the Obscurus within Isabella Black, and he understood the gravity of the impending threat.
Thinking quickly on his feet, Barty swiftly drew his wand, casting a series of calming spells in an attempt to pacify Isabella's anger.
"Easy," he urged, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. "We can get through this together. Focus on my voice." The air crackled with tension as Isabella's monstrous form struggled against the magical restraints.
Barty's mind raced, realizing that any misstep could lead to catastrophic consequences. He stole a glance at Winky out of the corner of his eye, who had returned to the room and was watching the scene unfold with wide eyes, her trembling hands clutching the discarded dinner tray she had brought Isabella.
As the calming spells took effect, Isabella's frenzied movements began to subside. Her eyes, which had been blackened and consumed by the dark force within, gradually returned to their normal state. The room, once on the brink of chaos, settled into an uneasy calm.
Barty released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The immediate danger had passed, but the realization lingered—taming the Obscurus within Isabella Black was a delicate maneuver that required careful navigation.
"We need to find a way to control this, Isabella," Barty said, his voice firm but laced with a newfound understanding.
Isabella, her breathing still rapid, looked at Barty with a mixture of fear and gratitude. The weight of the encounter hung heavily in the air, and the room seemed to hold its breath as if waiting for the next unpredictable turn.
"I don't know if control is possible," Isabella admitted, her voice shaky. "But I can't risk hurting anyone else."
Barty's curiosity was piqued, and he was tempted to ask the witch what had happened, though quickly deemed that was a conversation best saved for another time when she was in a much calmer state of mind to discuss it.
For now, he nodded, his expression grim as a graveyard. "Agreed. We'll figure this out together."
Winky, who had been observing with wide eyes, cautiously approached, her voice a timid squeak. "Master Barty, sir, what happened? Is Miss Isabella…alright, sir?"
Barty let out a frustrated exhale, his gaze shifting between Isabella and Winky. "We have a situation, Winky. The Obscurus within Isabella is more powerful and unpredictable than I thought, and we need to find a way to control it."
Winky's ears drooped, and she wrung her hands nervously. "How can Winky help?"
Barty pondered for a moment. "First, keep this between us. We don't need unnecessary attention. Second, research everything you can about Obscuri. I need to understand what we're dealing with."
Winky nodded vigorously, determined to assist in any way she could, and turned and left the room. Winky scurried out of the room, leaving Barty and Isabella in the aftermath of the tumultuous encounter.
Isabella, visibly drained and shaken, sank back into the plush armchair, her shoulders slumped, and a weariness etched across her face. Dark circles formed under her eyes, a testament to the toll the recent events had taken on her.
Barty, standing a few feet away from her, felt an unfamiliar twinge within him—a pang of guilt.
It took a moment for him to recognize the sensation that seeped as an uncomfortable warmth and tightness in his chest, as it was a sentiment that rarely found a place in the heart of a Death Eater. He approached Isabella cautiously with a measured expression, acknowledging the weight of his role in provoking the Obscurus.
"You're exhausted," he stated, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Rest. We can continue in the morning."
Isabella nodded weakly, grateful for the respite. Barty hesitated before turning to leave, but just as he reached the doorway, Isabella's voice stopped him.
"Barty," she said, the Death Eater's name sounding funny on her lips, and he turned to face her once more. "What happens when I've outdone my purpose? Will you... will you kill me?"
In Barty's gaze, there lingered a fleeting hint of compassion, an emotion rarely witnessed in the eyes of a devoted follower of the Dark Lord.
"I obey the Dark Lord willingly, but that is a command I find difficult to accept. What you are, you did not ask for this. No, Isabella. I won't. I won't be the one to end your life."
He left the room, the weight of his words lingering in the air, leaving Isabella alone in the dimly lit chamber with the unsettling knowledge of the forces at play and the uncertain future that awaited her.