2 fics, no challenges. pretty_liquor, sic transit gloria mundi.
Title: Sic Transit Gloria Mundi: Goodbye?
Summary: Barty leaves for Hogwarts.
Characters/Pairings: Barty Crouch Jr, Mrs Crouch
Genre: Gen
Rating/Warnings: G - none
Word Count: 726
1st September 1974
Barty sat in the driver's seat, sliding his hands around an imaginary steering wheel. Imaginary because none of the Ministry's fleet of four muggle cars contained a steering wheel, or for that matter, an engine. The driver had explained to Barty that below the highly-polished metal there was only magic, though when he'd pried it open at the young boy's request, Barty had been unable to see anything. Presently the driver was inside the house, aiding his mother in moving his trunk and Ave, his dark-feathered owl. They couldn't talk about his mother's troubles with magic, so she'd told the driver 'my wand snapped just the other day, clean in half'.
Barty slumped back into the driver's seat, enjoying the warmth of the leather. Despite the lack of an engine, or fire, somehow the vehicle managed to be warmer than inside their house. He wanted a more detailed explanation of how it worked - he knew the rough principles of how muggle cars worked, but these cars weren't even hybrids of muggle and magical technology. Barty had read enough enthusiastic accounts of muggle cars to know that they were supposed to make a noise when you started them. But he'd trailed his fingers over the area the wheel ought to be, and there wasn't even a slot for a key.
He turned his attention to the passenger seat, which seemed to have little function. Even muggles were capable of controlling a car alone, with magic or without. The driver had tossed his newspapers onto the passenger seat; on one the headline moved in a scroll across the front page, on the other a man stood stoicly still in a picture. Barty was quite used to muggle publications - there was plenty of reading material in the Crouch hold, of all sorts. His father made it his business to keep up with all sorts of cultural matters.
The small script at the bottom named him as Wilson - the Muggle Prime Minister. Barty searched his memory for details on the muggle leader, but he couldn't recall even scraps of fact in his father's voice. Perhaps Wilson was very uninteresting.
There was a clipped tap at the window. Barty turned around to see his mother pulling open the driver's door, "Ready darling? Mr Hainsworth says we ought to be leaving." His mother was wrapped in a thick winter coat, her hair drawn back into bun at the back of her head. Long blonde threads whisped about her face, pulled loose by the wind. Barty saw that she was wearing the red lipstick and smiled - it meant that she was happy.
At the station she pressed her lips to his cheeks, and rubbed at the red marks with a thumb. Each time the Hogwarts Express hissed steam she drew him a little closer, until he could only smell the cloth of her coat. She smiled over his head and ran fingers through his hair, blond and a little too long. She didn't mention his father, so Barty didn't either.
"Aren't you sad?" his mother asked, cupping his chin as the conductor called that there were ten minutes left. She tilted his chin upwards and rubbed at the lipstick still smeared across his cheek, she glanced to the side, turning his face in the same direction. Together they watched the last shared smiles and tears between families. There was no clear feeling here - the faces were a jumble of mixed emotions, and Barty couldn't tell if his mother was disappointed, or happy.
"My trunk, mother," he said, reaching to tug at the handle. His mother withdrew her hand and tilted her own chin upwards.
"You'll have to carry it, I'll hold Ave for you." Barty hefted his trunk, though it dragged on the floor a little as he moved. It was an effort but they managed to lift it all onto the train. Rather than load Ave with the luggage, Barty took the cage from his mother and held her until he'd found a compartment for himself.
It wasn't until the train had pulled from the station that Barty recalled they hadn't really said goodbye.
Title: Sic Transit Gloria Mundi: Sorted.
Summary: The first night in the dorm room.
Characters/Pairings: Barty Crouch Jr, dorm buddies.
Genre: Gen
Rating/Warnings: G - none
Word Count: 817
1st September 1974
Barty lay still in his small curtained world. Darkness clung thickly to the wooden roof, coated his curtains and enveloped him closely as his blankets. He wondered how many other boys had lay here, listening to the whispers beyond the bed.
"Crouch, like the Ministry bloke?"
He leaned closer to one side, to hear what they were saying. Barty hadn't spoken much with the boys in his dorm room. But he knew that by the end of tomorrow, every wall would be plastered with Quidditch posters. Much of the talk during the feast had been of points and scoring goals. Though further afield he'd heard talk of the vast library of Hogwarts, and the content of their forthcoming lessons. The boys of his room were at least theoretical sportsman - none of them boasted of talent in flying, but one had drawn out a very complex diagram and formula which he seemed to determined to hand over to the Quidditch Captain.
"He seems a bit--"
Barty pulled his legs upwards and shoved the sheets down. If they were talking about him, perhaps they wanted to talk with him. It would be more interesting than simply laying there, at least. He drew back the curtains and put his feet down onto the cool stone floor. As it turned out, the shadows only clung thickly at his end of the curved room. As he looked out of his curtains he saw that the darkness began thin across the room, into a hazy yellowish candlelight where the other three boys sat together on one bed.
"Oh Barty, you're awake." A boy with brown hair that curled a little against his temple was looking across. Barty glanced towards the other two in time to catch their shared look, though he didn't understand it. The concept of being talked about was hardly foreign, but he couldn't pick up on anything horrible in the words, why had they stopped?
"Yes, it seems that way," he said, pulling his rapidly cooling feet back up onto the bed.
"Is your dad that Ministry bloke?" one of the others asked, finding his bravery again now that he thought Barty hadn't overheard them speaking.
"He works for the Ministry, yes," Barty said, looking across at them. There were two beds between his own and where they sat, but he didn't feel inclined to move over there.
Before today Barty had never seen so many children his own age. His father's social occasions were restricted to Ministry functions, which usually left Barty at home with Winky, the house elf. His mother wasn't keen on dinner parties, or hosting. Other women came to the house but they quickly vanished into other rooms to enjoy what Barty assumed to be feminine rituals. It had never struck him as odd not to mix with other children - adults were strange, and he assumed other children to be no different.
"Happy you got into Ravenclaw was he?" The tone sounded pretty neutral but Barty didn't understand the point of the question. At Hogwarts you were sorted, why should his father express happiness at the Sorting Hat's choice? It wasn't as though he could alter his mind, or change the nature of himself.
"He doesn't know yet," Barty answered honestly. He hadn't written home to his mother; it was late, and she would be beyond waking after taking her potion.
"My mum wanted me to be in Gryffindor," said the boy with the brown hair, "but she was all right with Ravenclaw, she didn't send me a howler, anyway." The brown haired boy laughed, and Barty smiled. He hadn't given all that much thought to where he'd end up, that was the Sorting Hat's decision after all. He supposed some people considered other qualities better, and hoped the sorting hat would place them accordingly. Barty wondered what it was about Gryffindor that had made the brown haired boy's mother wish him there.
Barty's mother had come from Ravenclaw, though his father had spent his school years in Slytherin. Neither had expressed opinion or feeling regarding the house he was sorted to. He fell into silence for a while, creasing the sheets of his bed between his fingers whilst the chatter picked up again.
"Do you know what makes the Sorting Hat put us in Ravenclaw?" he asked suddenly.
"You're here aren't you?" the brown-haired boy answered, giving Barty an odd sort of smile. The three picked up their conversation again, so Barty moved back into the middle of his bed and slept. Tomorrow would be a day of timetables, lessons and the comfort of knowing exactly what he ought to be doing.
Sam//Slytherin
Summary: Barty leaves for Hogwarts.
Characters/Pairings: Barty Crouch Jr, Mrs Crouch
Genre: Gen
Rating/Warnings: G - none
Word Count: 726
1st September 1974
Barty sat in the driver's seat, sliding his hands around an imaginary steering wheel. Imaginary because none of the Ministry's fleet of four muggle cars contained a steering wheel, or for that matter, an engine. The driver had explained to Barty that below the highly-polished metal there was only magic, though when he'd pried it open at the young boy's request, Barty had been unable to see anything. Presently the driver was inside the house, aiding his mother in moving his trunk and Ave, his dark-feathered owl. They couldn't talk about his mother's troubles with magic, so she'd told the driver 'my wand snapped just the other day, clean in half'.
Barty slumped back into the driver's seat, enjoying the warmth of the leather. Despite the lack of an engine, or fire, somehow the vehicle managed to be warmer than inside their house. He wanted a more detailed explanation of how it worked - he knew the rough principles of how muggle cars worked, but these cars weren't even hybrids of muggle and magical technology. Barty had read enough enthusiastic accounts of muggle cars to know that they were supposed to make a noise when you started them. But he'd trailed his fingers over the area the wheel ought to be, and there wasn't even a slot for a key.
He turned his attention to the passenger seat, which seemed to have little function. Even muggles were capable of controlling a car alone, with magic or without. The driver had tossed his newspapers onto the passenger seat; on one the headline moved in a scroll across the front page, on the other a man stood stoicly still in a picture. Barty was quite used to muggle publications - there was plenty of reading material in the Crouch hold, of all sorts. His father made it his business to keep up with all sorts of cultural matters.
The small script at the bottom named him as Wilson - the Muggle Prime Minister. Barty searched his memory for details on the muggle leader, but he couldn't recall even scraps of fact in his father's voice. Perhaps Wilson was very uninteresting.
There was a clipped tap at the window. Barty turned around to see his mother pulling open the driver's door, "Ready darling? Mr Hainsworth says we ought to be leaving." His mother was wrapped in a thick winter coat, her hair drawn back into bun at the back of her head. Long blonde threads whisped about her face, pulled loose by the wind. Barty saw that she was wearing the red lipstick and smiled - it meant that she was happy.
At the station she pressed her lips to his cheeks, and rubbed at the red marks with a thumb. Each time the Hogwarts Express hissed steam she drew him a little closer, until he could only smell the cloth of her coat. She smiled over his head and ran fingers through his hair, blond and a little too long. She didn't mention his father, so Barty didn't either.
"Aren't you sad?" his mother asked, cupping his chin as the conductor called that there were ten minutes left. She tilted his chin upwards and rubbed at the lipstick still smeared across his cheek, she glanced to the side, turning his face in the same direction. Together they watched the last shared smiles and tears between families. There was no clear feeling here - the faces were a jumble of mixed emotions, and Barty couldn't tell if his mother was disappointed, or happy.
"My trunk, mother," he said, reaching to tug at the handle. His mother withdrew her hand and tilted her own chin upwards.
"You'll have to carry it, I'll hold Ave for you." Barty hefted his trunk, though it dragged on the floor a little as he moved. It was an effort but they managed to lift it all onto the train. Rather than load Ave with the luggage, Barty took the cage from his mother and held her until he'd found a compartment for himself.
It wasn't until the train had pulled from the station that Barty recalled they hadn't really said goodbye.
Title: Sic Transit Gloria Mundi: Sorted.
Summary: The first night in the dorm room.
Characters/Pairings: Barty Crouch Jr, dorm buddies.
Genre: Gen
Rating/Warnings: G - none
Word Count: 817
1st September 1974
Barty lay still in his small curtained world. Darkness clung thickly to the wooden roof, coated his curtains and enveloped him closely as his blankets. He wondered how many other boys had lay here, listening to the whispers beyond the bed.
"Crouch, like the Ministry bloke?"
He leaned closer to one side, to hear what they were saying. Barty hadn't spoken much with the boys in his dorm room. But he knew that by the end of tomorrow, every wall would be plastered with Quidditch posters. Much of the talk during the feast had been of points and scoring goals. Though further afield he'd heard talk of the vast library of Hogwarts, and the content of their forthcoming lessons. The boys of his room were at least theoretical sportsman - none of them boasted of talent in flying, but one had drawn out a very complex diagram and formula which he seemed to determined to hand over to the Quidditch Captain.
"He seems a bit--"
Barty pulled his legs upwards and shoved the sheets down. If they were talking about him, perhaps they wanted to talk with him. It would be more interesting than simply laying there, at least. He drew back the curtains and put his feet down onto the cool stone floor. As it turned out, the shadows only clung thickly at his end of the curved room. As he looked out of his curtains he saw that the darkness began thin across the room, into a hazy yellowish candlelight where the other three boys sat together on one bed.
"Oh Barty, you're awake." A boy with brown hair that curled a little against his temple was looking across. Barty glanced towards the other two in time to catch their shared look, though he didn't understand it. The concept of being talked about was hardly foreign, but he couldn't pick up on anything horrible in the words, why had they stopped?
"Yes, it seems that way," he said, pulling his rapidly cooling feet back up onto the bed.
"Is your dad that Ministry bloke?" one of the others asked, finding his bravery again now that he thought Barty hadn't overheard them speaking.
"He works for the Ministry, yes," Barty said, looking across at them. There were two beds between his own and where they sat, but he didn't feel inclined to move over there.
Before today Barty had never seen so many children his own age. His father's social occasions were restricted to Ministry functions, which usually left Barty at home with Winky, the house elf. His mother wasn't keen on dinner parties, or hosting. Other women came to the house but they quickly vanished into other rooms to enjoy what Barty assumed to be feminine rituals. It had never struck him as odd not to mix with other children - adults were strange, and he assumed other children to be no different.
"Happy you got into Ravenclaw was he?" The tone sounded pretty neutral but Barty didn't understand the point of the question. At Hogwarts you were sorted, why should his father express happiness at the Sorting Hat's choice? It wasn't as though he could alter his mind, or change the nature of himself.
"He doesn't know yet," Barty answered honestly. He hadn't written home to his mother; it was late, and she would be beyond waking after taking her potion.
"My mum wanted me to be in Gryffindor," said the boy with the brown hair, "but she was all right with Ravenclaw, she didn't send me a howler, anyway." The brown haired boy laughed, and Barty smiled. He hadn't given all that much thought to where he'd end up, that was the Sorting Hat's decision after all. He supposed some people considered other qualities better, and hoped the sorting hat would place them accordingly. Barty wondered what it was about Gryffindor that had made the brown haired boy's mother wish him there.
Barty's mother had come from Ravenclaw, though his father had spent his school years in Slytherin. Neither had expressed opinion or feeling regarding the house he was sorted to. He fell into silence for a while, creasing the sheets of his bed between his fingers whilst the chatter picked up again.
"Do you know what makes the Sorting Hat put us in Ravenclaw?" he asked suddenly.
"You're here aren't you?" the brown-haired boy answered, giving Barty an odd sort of smile. The three picked up their conversation again, so Barty moved back into the middle of his bed and slept. Tomorrow would be a day of timetables, lessons and the comfort of knowing exactly what he ought to be doing.
Sam//Slytherin