Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition S11, Semi finals
Team: Caerphilly Catapults
Position: Chaser 3
Prompt: Song "Marauders' Map" by Ministry of Magic
The story was inspired by the lyrics: "If I had my wand, I would Sectumsempra. If I had the chance, I'd kill you now." and "Cruciatus Curse, I will make you suffer. Avada Kedavra's too good for you."
Additional Prompts:
[spell] Silencio
[emotion] love (platonic or romantic)
[genre] angst
Word count: 1419
Betas: Queenie, Ikuni, Dora, Rose
Warnings: Living in captivity, mistreatment and abuse (also of a child–mentioned), thoughts of murder and torture.
-x-x-x-
Barty was floating, suspended somewhere beyond the world. A warm, contented feeling spreading through his entire body caused a tingling sensation in his brain. Everything's fine, a distant voice kept telling him. There's nothing to worry about.
But something wasn't quite right. He was sure he was forgetting something important, but the more he tried to remember, the more it evaded him. Time was lost here. Hours, days, and weeks merged together in the nothing and nowhere of the Imperius Curse.
It was always love that pulled him out–the intense, unconditional, and (if he was being honest with himself) slightly obsessive love he had for his master. Perhaps that was why he was able to fight his father's Imperius so fiercely.
The haze clouding his mind evaporated and he gasped for air as if emerging from under water, with only one thing on his mind. Warmth filled his heart as the memory of his Lord finally stopped escaping him and clicked into place.
"Master," he whispered longingly in a frail voice.
He lost count of how many times he had woken up before, but he knew it was getting harder for his father to control him. He watched his son very closely, and every time he managed to fight the curse, Barty Crouch Sr. would restrain and starve him, until he was weakened enough to surrender to the power of an Imperius once again.
Barty's eyes darted around the room as he tried to take in his surroundings. He was sitting in a chair, alone in his room, but he could hear approaching footsteps on the stairs. He quickly fixed his gaze on the ceiling, schooling his face into an absent expression, as the door opened and his father came in, holding a plate of food.
The passionate feeling that had warmed his heart at the memory of his master a moment ago, turned into an equally passionate hatred for the man who stood before him, and he struggled not to clench his jaw.
If only he had his wand… Barty would kill his father then and there, but he stood no chance without it. Unarmed and weak, his only hope was to pretend he was still under the influence of his captor's curse, and then maybe he'd manage to slink out of the house.
His father put the plate on the desk and turned to look at his son, scrutinizing his face suspiciously with narrowed eyes.
He knows, Barty thought, and his heart raced in panic as he forced his facial muscles not to twitch.
Slowly, his gaze never leaving Barty, his father reached for his wand, and Barty's blood rushed to his ears. Armed or not, he knew he had to act now.
Without giving it a second thought, he lunged at his captor, almost knocking him off his feet. Barty grabbed at his father's wrist, trying to tear the wand out of his hand, but even though he'd regained a little health after Azkaban, he was nowhere near strong enough to win in a physical wrestle, and once Barty Crouch Sr. recovered from the initial shock and regained his balance, he threw him off with such force that Barty flew back into the chair like a rag doll.
"Incarcerous!" he yelled, directing his wand at his son.
Before Barty could move, ropes appeared out of thin air, binding him tightly to the chair. A roar of fury escaped him as he struggled against the cords.
"LET ME GO!" he cried desperately, tugging at the ropes that were mercilessly biting into his skin. "THIS IS INSANE!"
"You are insane, boy," Barty Crouch Sr. spat with disdain.
Another scream tore out of Barty's throat, and he thrashed around in blind rage while his father looked down on him with a cold, unwavering stare.
Gradually, he felt the energy seep out of him, and eventually, he hung limp in his restraints, panting and exhausted. He lifted his head with effort, shooting daggers at his unmoved father, his blood boiling in his veins.
"Let me go," he demanded quietly through gritted teeth. "I need to find my master."
"You're not going anywhere," his captor stated sternly, straightening his robe as if he was there on official business.
"You can't keep me like this forever!" Barty spat angrily. "The Dark Lord will rise again! And when he returns–"
But his father had already raised his wand again.
"Silencio!"
The rest of Barty's words died mid-sentence, even though he was still moving his lips. He bellowed soundlessly at being muted yet again.
It wasn't the first time he was at the receiving end of Silencio. Ever since he could remember, Barty Crouch Sr. would cast that spell on him when he cried as a child, as if he was a wild beast and not his son. As a teenager, Barty could count on being silenced that way every time he disagreed with his father. It was easier to just take his voice away rather than listen to what he had to say. He was expected to have good grades, not an opinion.
Barty quickly learned not to talk to his father at all. He saved his words, and his opinions, for someone who actually valued them–his master.
Barty Crouch Sr. picked up the Invisibility Cloak that lay on the bed and threw it over his son. Then he took the plate of food he had brought and, after shooting one last look of disdain in his son's direction, he left the room, slamming the door.
Barty was left all alone. Since Winky was no longer with them, there was no one to keep Barty company and he found himself missing the elf. Tied to the chair, inaudible, and invisible to the world, it was as if he didn't even exist.
He changed his mind about killing his father. A simple Avada Kedavra was not nearly good enough for everything the man had put him through. Barty filled the long hours that stretched endlessly, fantasizing about all the things he would do to him if he had his wand. The Cruciatus Curse was the basis for a good torture session. Sectumsempra was a good one too when you wanted your victim to bleed out. He wanted to make his father scream before he killed him.
The longer he sat there, diverting his thoughts from growing hunger and the plateful of food he never got to taste, the more creative he got in his ideas for revenge. In several scenarios, Barty would cast Silencio on his father and make him listen for once in his life, before he killed him. Barty certainly had a long list of things to say.
-x-x-x-
When his master came for him, Barty had trouble believing it wasn't a dream. So many years had he longed to see those entrancing eyes, to hear his own name spoken softly by the one person who was the sole reason for Barty's existence.
The Dark Lord didn't look or sound like he used to–he was a mere shadow of his former self, unable to function without Wormtail's assistance, but that could be fixed. Barty's heart fluttered with emotion and his eyes welled when his master told him he needed his help in returning to power.
"I need someone with brains; someone endlessly faithful," he said. "And I cannot think of anyone more suited for the job than you, Barty."
He was both elated and heartbroken when he was leaving for Hogwarts to take Alastor Moody's place. He had been apart from his beloved master for so long; it was almost too cruel that he had to part from him again so shortly after their reunion. Although, it felt wonderful to be on his orders again. And what an honor it was, to be entrusted with such an important task!
As the preparations for the Triwizard Tournament were carried out at Hogwarts, Barty occasionally had the pleasure of seeing his father acting under the Dark Lord's Imperius Curse, and he had to keep himself in check to not grin at the precious sight.
His controlling father incapacitated, getting a taste of his own medicine–Barty couldn't have come up with better revenge himself. Along with the vicious satisfaction, there always came a rush of warm feelings for his Lord.
His master always gave him exactly what he needed–his father worked as a walking reminder of that. And in those moments, Barty thought it was impossible for anyone to love as fiercely as he did.