I am the hero of this story

“You could just say I am overflowing with optimism for the team. Now that I’m observing, I’m realizing just how terrible I was. I could barely tell my lefts from my rights mid-game. It’s just so nerve-wrecking.” Hollie gave him a joking, pointed look, “Meaning you should go easy on them, I reckon. If you have it in your heart to.”

.

Barty tilted his head, an eyebrow raising pointedly at the suggestion as if she had proposed he forfeit a match or drop himself to the ground mid-air. “I’ll try and keep that in mind.” He answered halfheartedly. “And you might be underselling yourself a bit there.” It was the closest thing to a compliment the pair both knew he could manage. In truth, though he had been disappointed to learn that they would be down one of their most senior players this year, he had accepted Hollie’s decision without complaint. Barty had also dropped out of all of his other extracurriculars this year with no plans to explain his rationale to anyone else. However, he would be lying if curiosity didn’t edge at the back of his mind. “So, what are you doing with all of your new free time? Hopefully not skulking around the pitches every practice.”

“If but I weren’t a sucker for danger.” He ignored the question intentionally, a part of him hoping somewhere in Barty’s mind it might cause him a moment of fret to consider it might be Vivian. 

.

This remark caused his lips to twist up into a small smile, eyes locked on the other man’s with a curious expression. “Perfect.” He mused lowly, clearly entertained. Adrian had avoided his question but Barty cared little for the answer anyways. It wasn’t likely to change anything– the Ravenclaw held little value in empathy and honorable sentiments. He didn’t care for poised roles or the clarity of a pristine image anymore, either. Instead he lifted his drink from the table by his side, taking a deep sip before stepping closer to the other wizard again and pressing the glass into Adrian’s hands with a pointed look. After this he turned, crossing down another hallway to a familiar room and opening it without looking back to see if the new recruit would follow.

Though taken aback, Adrian neither flinched nor frowned. On the contrary, he hid his surprise behind a smile. “Are you coming on to me, Barty?” Adrian let the commend sit a moment before he lifted a shoulder, unperturbed. “You’re not what I’d usually call my type, but I’ll try anything once. I should warn you though, I brought a date and she doesn’t strike me as the sharing type.”

.

Barty didn’t feel the need to answer the other wizard’s question, tilting his head with interest instead, unbothered by the recklessness in his actions tonight. He let his hand linger for longer than necessary before allowing it to fall back to his side. 

“It can be dangerous to make assumptions. Who is your date?”

Hollie looked up at Barty through her wispy fringe, an appreciative grin beginning to grow in place. “The trick is holding practice before anything of importance. They’ll turn up late for you yet again.” She giggled, looking onward towards the players. “The team is looking really strong this year. I think me leaving opened you up to whole new opportunities, cap.”

.

“I don’t think the first years would dare to just yet. They have a healthy measure of self-preservation. Whether or not that will translate well on the pitch is still to be determined.”

Barty’s eyes lifted as he leaned against the wall of the dimly lit corridor, locking onto Adrian who stood just a few feet away. Crossing the short distance with a single step, he reached for the man’s collar without permission and straightened his bowtie.

“I like your costume."

When: 26 October 1979 Where: Quidditch Pitch Who: Hollie + @bartycrouchjunior​

It’d taken an evening stroll to get Hollie out to the pitch, ironically at the time her former team was practicing. She stuck around for a bit, until she caught the attention of her favorite captain, “Missing me around yet?”

.

Barty’s mouth was set in a hard line, all of his patience spent as he coached a stumbling first year through practiced sets. The sight of a familiar face on the sidelines of the pitch caused the beater to pause, breaking away from the group with a steady stride and a raised eyebrow as his shoulders finally relaxed. “Oh, every day.” The wizard quipped, a faint fondness escaping through the sarcasm in the soft curve of his lip. 

“Stop whatever you are doing.” Narcissa barged in Barty’s room, breathing heavily. “I need you right now.” @bartycrouchjunior​

.

Barty raised an eyebrow at the sudden interruption, interest clearly captured. “Well, with an entrance like that–” He mused, little need of an invitation for the witch to continue. They both knew that he would do anything she asked of him. That much didn’t need to be said.

“She agreed, of course. Knows how good we are, proper scared.”

.

“Oh, I’m sure. That sounds just like her.”

Strangely, Frances welcomed the sound of Barty’s voice. In fact, she thought now that she would have been disappointed to find anyone else astray in Tremblay at this hour.

“I like to take advantage of the early birds’ downtime. They’d be horrified to learn what I can accomplish whilst they sleep.”

.

“Of course.” Barty’s lips parted in a sly smile. “Do you think they would sleep so soundly if they knew better?”

“I’ve already told Dorcas you lot are going to have to watch out.”

.

"And what did she say about that?”

“What kind of question is that?”

.

“I realize I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you yet on making captain.”

“It’s Adrian, right?” Barty lifted the glass stopper of a bottle of whiskey in the corner of the busy room before inclining his head with a wordless offer.

Barty leaned forwards, gaze locked onto a warm, flickering blaze. Sitting in the dimly lit room alone with a quill, his eyes lifted at the sight of a familiar shadow in the entryway, hand stilling. “You’re up late tonight.”

Barty lifted his head before inclining it towards the pitch with a glance. “You playing today, Potter?”

Dated: 26 August, 1979 Location: London

How easy would it be, to slip away and not go back? Lost in this fantasy, Barty squinted at the front door of a modest home. His eyes had focused on a chip in the paint and the fresh cutting sitting in a vase by the window. He had been here before; silent as he watched the world shift and move around him. There was a delicate balance, a careful dance to the practiced rhythm and routine. It was one that he could commit to memory with a measured, calculated mind. 

“Come in,” A witch offered brightly before opening the door wide. He would have marveled at the nativity of the act if it wasn’t so unsurprising. She thought she knew him. “Sorry about the mess. Barely been home much these days. I’m sure you know,” She rambled, hands waving airily. He could hear the exhaustion in her voice and see it in the lines under her eyes. If there was one thing to be admired about Edith Baxter, it was her work ethic. His father rarely kept an assistant for long, pushing too hard and demanding too much. She laughed it off now with a steely reserve that he had imagined served her well living as an outspoken muggle-born witch in the Ministry.

In the midst of a tumultuous social climate, his father could never resist picking the perfect accessory for a campaign still in its infancy. He could imagine the man dictating it now in his mind, dripping with pride and an inflated ego as he penned his own legacy. How satisfying it would be, Barty thought to himself mildly, to wretch the quill from that hand and change the narrative today.

In truth he cared little for blood purity and little for the war that was being waged on status and ability. But this, this would feel good. This was something his father couldn’t ignore, only soured slightly by the fact that he couldn’t let his mark be known in the void of her disappearance or sign his name with a kiss on her lips and sweet release of death that was to come. Not today. He always had to be careful. Cautious.

Busying herself with a pair of mugs, the witch was continuing on about the previous week at the Ministry.

“So, what was it that you had to drop off?” Edith continued conversationally, back turned to the wizard now as she reached for a mug on a shelf. “Your father is impressive you know, he keeps–“ The words were suddenly cut off, stopped abruptly with a gasp. The mug slipped from her grip and dropped to the floor, shattering into pieces that echoed on deaf ears. She grasped for her throat before turning sharply around and steadying herself against the counter, wide-eyes locking onto his. 

In a lowered hand, Barty rotated his wand by a measured turn, eyes unblinking. It was a charm he had perfected, pinching her airways shut. He itched to wrap his hands around her narrow neck and hold it tightly as she slipped away and it took every ounce of discipline in the wizard to leave her untouched, unmarked. After all, she wasn’t his. Not this time. A gift to be delivered to Bellatrix: this was what he and Rabastan had agreed upon.

His heart hammered in the chest as she sputtered and he wanted to hold onto this moment. Her gaze locked onto his, wide-eyed with fear before she took a shaking step forward with an outstretched arm. He wished he could hear her thoughts and wondered what might be racing through her mind in this moment. Anger? Confusion? Was she thinking of someone she might be leaving behind? 

It was raining when Barty approached the front door, uninvited. Out here in the French countryside, the rest of the world felt far away. He raised his hand and let it fall on the wood with a series of uniform knocks.