You hated death eaters with a passion that overtook you, that allowed you to shoot out spells of different colors from your wand towards them whenever they posed any sort of threat - never the big AK, but stunning spells, binding spells, paralyzing spells until aurors could take them away to Azkaban.
But by Merlin, some of them - some of them could entice a feeling of pity out of you that made you more lenient on them. Like now, you were watching a couple of deatheaters gang up on their own at that moment, calling one of them weak. You pounced like a werewolf, spells coming out of your mouth in quick succession, knocking them out or causing them to scatter like rats.
“Are you alright?” You asked cautiously, your wand still in front of you as you approached.
“Bloody hell, I can’t breathe in this fucking thing,” A voice said, and the mask was removed, the silver turning into the dirty face of someone that you recognized very well. Barty Crouch Jr - the source of all sorts of messiness at Hogwarts not too long ago - a face you could not very well forget.
“Maybe you should keep it back on, Crouch,” You said, voice steady. Out of all of the deatheaters you knew about - he was one who pulled at your heartstrings a little too much. His story of abuse at the hands of his father, the wretched little man, of course he turned to a figure of high authority who promised big things.
“I shouldn’t say this,” You said, keeping your wand up. “But there’s a couple of hiding spots in the next few corridors - keep your mask off but your face hidden, or the order will give you worse than what your friends did.”
“They’re not my friends,” He said, licking his lips nervously. “I don’t have friends.”
“And you won’t have your life if you don’t go - now,” You threatened. He took a couple of steps back and then started to run in the direction that you had pointed to, nearly tripping over a couple of the bodies that were down on the ground, waiting to be collected. You sighed, and went to work on binding the deatheaters, hoping you had done the right thing.
Deal with my Pain {Barty Crouch x Female!Reader x Severus Snape One Shot}
Requested by: @passionkillerphil
Wordcount: 3389
Summary: Just as things seem to be going well, a ghost from your past starts to haunt you, bringing up unpleasant memories.
Notes: Emotional abuse trigger.
You had been more than a little confused as to why Moody was staring at you all of the time. You had met him a couple of times before. Had some run ins when you were being accused of being a death eater. Those accusations never came to fruition for them. There was no proof. No mark. You were part of the Order. Just like Severus was, your current partner. But unlike him, you had nothing to do with Voldemort. Your biggest flaw was that you always fell for the bad boys. Not the leather-wearing, motorcycle types like Sirius Black but the ones that really were bad. The criminals. Your friends used to think that you had a ‘I can change him’ complex, and maybe there was something to that after all. So perhaps - perhaps that was why the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was looking at you. You were on security detail during the Tournament, standing by the doors which lead into the Great Hall. Wand in hand, pointed downwards, safely towards the ground. Staring at Moody as he stared at you.
There was something familiar about it. You couldn’t quite pick up on what it was. His mannerisms seemed the same. Other than maybe the flask, but given what had been happening with the world, you couldn’t blame him for having a few sips of spirits every now and again. You were known to do it too. Make a late night trip into the dungeons and share in a bottle of wine with Severus. He never was the firewhiskey type, it wasn’t sophisticated enough for his tastes.
You found yourself thinking about the past. You weren’t sure exactly why it was. But there you were. Maybe it was the fact that your ex-boyfriend’s father was here as part of the tournament. Barty Crouch Sr. It was triggering a lot of memories of his son, of the rough relationship that had happened between the two of you. Four years of your life, spent with that man. He had been so sweet at first. Handsome as well. The dark hair, the dark eyes, the stubble that was always there, the thick accent. You had fallen for him so hard.
But he had never been one of the good guys. There were definitely signs there from the beginning. At first, you had thought that the resentment for his father was - well, just that. And you couldn’t blame him for that. The first time that you had been invited around to meet the parents, at their request not yours, there had been a shouting match over dinner. The table had been thrown down upon the ground. Things had gone flying through the air. Senior had grabbed junior by the collar of his coat and thrown him down onto the ground. You had your wand at his throat, threatening him if he ever touched your Barty again. Father or not, that was unacceptable.
Yes, you would attribute it to Crouch Sr who still avoided looking at you. You had bested him in his own home. A woman! He took that as a great insult. One that he was not going to give you the chance to repeat.
You looked away from the staring moody towards another man who was giving you equal interest. Your boyfriend, though he claimed to hate the word because it sounded so juvenile, his mouth going upwards ever so slightly as you caught his eye. You did constantly make fun of him for it. He preferred the word partner, but you sprinkled Boyfriend in as much as you could. ‘This is my BOYFRIEND Severus’ you would say whenever you saw someone that you knew. Your friends knew you well, they knew what you were doing and they’d giggle and introduce themselves. Severus would be standing stiff but his pale, translucent skin gave away his blushing quickly.
He was a fair bit older than you, but that never seemed to matter. He didn’t have the grin and Scottish cuteness of Barty, but he did have the dark hair and the dark eyes that you were attracted to. And being a bad boy. A very bad boy. You met him through working in the order, and caught him looking at you a couple of times. You were bold enough not to let that slide. You found a reason to be alone together, offering to wash the dishes for Molly since she cooked and coerced Severus into drying them with a dish towel the muggle way because using magic tends to leave spots. And it isn’t quite as anti-bacterial. His deep voice combined with the accent made your heart race. You showed him. You took his hand and pressed it right up against his chest to show him what he did to you. The effect that he had on a woman that he didn’t even know about. That was the first time that you had ever seen a man blush like that - and of course, he blamed it on the heat of the oven which had been off for over an hour now.
You kept it low key for a while. You didn’t want there to be any discomfort in the Order. You told your friends outside of it, your group of girls and guys from Hogwarts. They weren’t that surprised that you had fallen for a spy, it seemed right up your alley. They were just surprised that he had fallen for you in return. Severus goddamn Snape. The grumpy Potions master at Hogwarts, the gothic warlock, the man who took his fashion advice from dementors. There were all fair judgements. But he was still so much more than all of that.
Things started to grow. You went from finding him attractive, sexy, fascinating to - to falling in love. Something you hadn’t anticipated. You thought that after you had your heart broken by Barty, you would never feel that way again. It had ended so badly, you felt as if your heart had been wrenched into pieces. It had started off, as such things did, with sarcastic little comments. Making you feel bad about your weight, your profession, asking when the last time you had gotten your hair done was. You thought it might just be his father speaking through him somehow, the way that he was raised, he didn’t actually think you were ugly, did he? You weren’t exactly the type to go gracing the cover of Witch Weekly but - he still got under your skin. You put in a lot more effort for Barty. You tried to be better for him. The pressure was causing you to crack.
“What is this, dog slop?” “They feed the prisoners better in Azkaban than this.” “Bloody hell, what is that you’re wearing? The curtains?” “You need to change your perfume, you reek.” It was bad. But then they turned into even worse digs. “Why are you so useless?” “All that magic and you’re still pitiful.” “Knew I should have shacked up with that wench from the pub last night, why did I bother coming home to you?”
All of that pressure made you feel like Atlas with the world on your shoulders. Your friends had noticed all of the digs, because he did them even when you were in public with them. They tried to help you lift that weight but the most that they could really do was tell you that you were better than all of this and you should leave him. They would help you. They would shield you away from any payback that he might try to get.
But do you know what pressure also creates?
Diamonds.
And how you shone that night when you realized what you were worth. When you told him that you deserved better, plain and simple. And that you were not going to put up with his shit any longer. You stood up for yourself. You wore your comfortable outfit, the one that he said made you look like a slob. You had your hair tied back and you had no make up on and you just had a dinner of burgers and fries rather than steak and potatoes. You improved by regressing to the person that you liked being.
“I never needed you, Barty. I wanted you. I wanted you bad. But it was never a need, do you understand me? I don’t need your shit pulling me down. I don’t need a child to take care of like you, or a father to criticize me the way that you do, I don’t even need a boyfriend, which is great because you haven’t been acting like one in ages.”
Barty had gotten up from the table, pushed it away from him with a force that you hadn’t known his skinny arms had. He had his wand in hand. He lifted it, pointing it straight at you, his mouth a second away from saying who knows what words. But you were quicker. You had been anticipating an attack.
“Protego,” You muttered, your hand clasped around your wand. The shiny shield spell surrounded you, keeping you protected from whatever he might try to throw at you. Whether it was the Killing Curse or - you just hoped with the small flame inside of you that had burned for what the two of you had, that he wouldn’t dare try that one. He seethed. He licked his lips in one fluid motion. It was getting to be a new and worsening habit of his. Maybe all of those insults that he threw around were drying him out.
“If you so much as shoot one spell at me, Barty, I’ll make sure that even your father can’t protect you from the consequences,” You said, keeping the spell around you as you picked up the bags that you had hastily packed. You only needed a moment. A moment to get out of the room and dissaparate from the house that you had shared with him for years. “Don’t follow me.”
“Y/N!” He yelled, his anger overtaking any sadness that he might have had. And you hated to see it. You had hoped, you had - you had really damn hoped that he would straighten himself up when he realized that he was losing you. That he would see the error of his ways. Begging you wasn’t going to do anything, you were going to leave no matter his reaction but some remorse would have been nice. Even an apology would have been ideal. But instead, you could see that all that you were going to get if you stayed was more threats. So you left. You left, you stayed with friends for a while until things seemed to die down. You got your own place when you heard that Barty Crouch Jr was arrested on suspicion of being a Death Eater. He was put away. He couldn’t bother you. You were safe.
And time passed. As it does. And then came Severus Snape, setting your heart aflame once again.
You blew him a kiss. People around Hogwarts new, there weren’t many secrets that could be held here, especially when it came to gossip. You heard a few disgusted sounds coming from people who had caught you making the action but that just made you grin all the more.
-
You hadn’t been doing your job properly. You should have known. There was the Sirius Black fiasco the year before. There was Barty Crouch Sr being murdered in the woods. And now there was a dead student. And something else - something else was there. All year long, a feeling in the pit of your stomach. Something dangerous was close. Something familiar. It hadn’t died with Barty’s father.
But there was no time to mourn. Severus was moving, along with Dumbledore and Minerva. There was no way that you were sitting out of that action. You had your wand in hand and you ran to catch up, meeting up with the much older Minerva without much difficulty. “What is it?” You asked, watching Severus’s back. “Where are we going?”
“There’s no time to explain,” Minerva said, putting a hand on your arm.
“Well alright then,” You mumbled, but followed along. Heading to - The Defense Against the Dark Arts room. And up the stairs, up to the door which lead to Mad-Eye Moody’s chambers. Mad-Eye Moody. Things had not really improved there. Whenever you were in the same room together, one of his eyes would follow you. Watch you. Normally, you wouldn’t put up with such things but - he was meant to be a friend, wasn’t he? He was a fellow Auror at least. Maybe he just suspected you of being dangerous because of your relationship with Severus. You let it slide. He never tried to actually talk to you, or to get close to you, thankfully. Just - watched.
It was disconcerting. But you could deal with it.
“Expelliamus!” Dumbledore said, wand blasting down the door, hitting Moody square in the chest. It took you a second to see that he had been ready to attack - Harry Potter. Moody fell down upon a chair, which went flying backwards into the wall. Harry got up from where he had been hiding, evidently, and you went to him while everyone else focused on Moody.
“Are you alright, Harry?” You asked, checking the boy over.
“-m alright,” He muttered. You stayed with him while seeing a new side of Albus, the bearded old Professor going up to the Auror, pointing his wand directly at his chin. The old man called for your boyfriend who stepped forward with a small bottle of potion, pouring it into Alastor’s mouth. You were beyond confused. And it didn’t seem like you were the only one either.
“Do you know who I am?” Albus asked. Moody was struggling something fierce.
“Albus Dumbledore,” He snarled.
“Are you Alastar Moody? Are you?”
Your own mouth dropped. You never even thought. Never suspected. You were hanging onto his every word.
“No.”
“Is he in this room? IS HE IN THIS ROOM?”
His eyes. They seemed to hint towards the large trunk that you and Harry were standing behind. Before Dumbledore could say a word, Severus moved swiftly to come between you, Harry and the trunk. His arms wrapped around you. You noticed this as you always did, his warmth was impossible to ignore - but as was the look that the Alastar imposter was giving you at that moment. Such a cold, unforgiving eye. You could almost place it - but no, no, you couldn’t believe that it would be - not him, of all people, not him -
Severus shuffled you, and you in return held onto Harry, away from the trunk. With a quick snap of his wand, all of the locks started to open, revealing layer after layer popping up until the top opened. You assumed that the real Moody was in there. You were not looking away from the imposter.
They figured it was Alastar. They figured that it was Polyjuice potion that was in the flask that he was always drinking from. Not firewhisky, nor some other brand of spirit you thought it might have been. No wonder his face always screwed up afterwards. Nasty stuff. And his face was screwing up, even now. His eye was drooping. His skin looked like wax that a candle had been lit underneath. Strange sounds. It drew the rest of the group’s attention to it but your eyes had not left. Not now. Not with your suspicions.
Which came true. You were proven right. Never have you hated it so much. The features became more and more clear, and then the voice, and there he was sitting right there in front of you.
Snape knew about him. You had opened up about your rough past. And he had opened up about his. And together, you had found a way to work on healing. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t above trembling at the familiar features. He was so - handsome still. Despite looking like a wreck.
“Barty Crouch Jr,” Albus said, his voice with a twinge of surprise.
“Hey sweetheart,” Barty said, looking at you. An atrocious lick of his lips. He wasn’t paying attention to Severus, Minerva, Albus or Harry. Even if his focus had been Harry all along. He’d been watching you. He’d been so close to you and you didn’t even know it. It felt as if you were just waking from a dream of insects and could feel them all over you, crawling over your skin, nearly making you crumple, if it hadn’t been for Severus, Severus keeping you from falling over, Severus keeping his wand pointed at the wizard. “You’re looking good.”
“The fact that you look at me at all makes me sick,” You said, fighting back the urge to spit on him.
“Oh, fiery as ever,” He said, tauntingly. “I’ve always liked that about you. I’ve missed you, love.”
“You don’t call her that,” Severus said, sharply.
“No, you do that now, don’t you?” Barty said, his tone just as dangerous as Severus’s. “But we all know that I’m still the face in your heart, aren’t I, love? Am I still your last thought before you go to bed?”
What you had told him in confidence years ago. That he was such a part of your world, that you fell asleep to the comforting thought of him. To his scent on the pillow, even on nights when he was gone. Now used against you. Now being used against Severus. The room was filled with energy; disgusted, anticipatory, confusion.
“We’re not doing this,” You said, shaking your head. “I’m not letting you do this, Barty. You know you fucked up and I’m not giving you the littlest bit of help over it.”
“Perhaps you should leave the room, Miss y/l/n,” Minerva said. And you agreed. She gave you a friendly pat on the shoulder while you glared at Barty and backed up out of the room. Down the stairs. Into the corridor. Even the classroom felt too full of him. Full of Barty. And it was out there that you fell down onto the ground, all of the familiar feelings rushing in after seeing his sweaty little face. Not good enough. Him trying to get inside of your head with just a couple of words. Him lashing out as Severus.
Severus.
His shadow fell over you as he took the couple of steps away from the door. He had a look on his face that you couldn’t quite read. He was just as stone cold on the outside as his skill in Occlumency made him on the inside. “He’s a death eater. He has the mark,” Severus said. He didn’t lower himself down to you but he did lean against the wall beside you, his cloak nearly making a blanket for you. “Voldemort is back.”
“But you knew that, didn’t you?” You said, looking up at his arm where his own mark lay hidden. Had to lay hidden. “Did you know that he was here?”
“Of course not,” Severus said, his tone still like a knife. “I wouldn’t have let him anywhere near the school.”
“Okay, okay,” You said, taking a deep breath. You felt bad for even asking. Of course Severus wouldn’t let Barty come anywhere near you. “What’s going to happen now?”
“He’ll be taken to Azkaban. And will never come near you again.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Being perfect.”
Having grown up without any sort of compliment, Severus did not take them well. He had to look away from you, down the hall, see if anyone was looking at him, but everyone was still caught in the commotion of poor Cedric. There was no one to notice the redness that came across his face.
“I need to stay here. Make sure there’s no trouble when the aurors come to get him.”
“I’ll go wait in your office. I don’t want to see him again.”
“Okay. I love you.”
‘
Now it was your turn to flush. He so rarely initiated those words, but things were changing now. A ghost of your past was influencing him to be better. You stood back up, and kissed his soft cheek. “And I love you.”
Requested by: @softheartedsnake
Wordcount: 2456
Summary: Barty starts to notice how you’ve been pulling away from everyone, especially when it comes to food.
Warning: The reader in this story is anorexic. This being said, it contains thoughts that may be very triggering to people.
With a heavy heart, you held onto Barty’s hand and shook your head. “I’m not really in the mood for ice cream. That’s really sweet of you though, thank you.” He had clearly gone through a lot of effort to put today together. Your birthday, at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor in Diagon Alley. Your friends were here, your family, all gathered together, all waiting for you to be the first to order a delicious iced treat. If you had known this was what he was planning... if you had known all of those calories were going to be waiting for you there... you might have played sick. On your own birthday. Not even today could those nagging voices in your head be quiet. The smells of chocolate and fresh berries and delicious cream and all sorts of toppings - it made your stomach churn. It made you feel every bit of flesh that was on your bones. It reminded you of how ugly you felt that you were.
The faces of everyone turned downcast. The room suddenly started to feel a little tense. Awkward. You scratched at your arm, feeling the weight of all of those glances. You could feel the judgment behind them. Of course someone who looked like you would have their birthday at an ice cream parlor. Just look at how you tried to squeeze into one of your favorite shirts. They probably came out here to see the spectacle rather than because they care about you. Once you were thin though - once you reached your ideal weight - then they would really like you. You were sure of it.
“Really?” Barty asked, thick eyebrows furrowing above his dark eyes. “But I thought - we haven’t gone out for ice cream in so long! Come on. Let me treat you. It is your birthday...”
“No, really,” You insisted, letting go of him. “But don’t let me stop you guys. Enjoy yourselves, have some ice cream. My stomach is just a little upset is all.” You were finding it easier and easier these days to push forward that lie. The looks you got when you had told your closest friends that you were dieting were too heart-wrenching to remember, so you stopped using that word. You just stopped having meals with them entirely.
“Alright,” Barty would say, and he would be the first in line to order himself a sundae. Birthday cake flavored. Came with little candles that danced around and tried to avoid being blown out. “You’ve gotta at least make a wish,” He’d say, once you two sat down at one of the colorful tables. The smell of it was so sweet. Too sweet. Especially now that it was up close and he was pushing it beneath your nose.
The smell was the only thing that you were going to have from this, so you inhaled it deeply to the point where you could taste it upon your tongue. And then you exhaled, blowing out the candles. They gave up on their little chase once the flames were blown out, falling onto the table like dead little soldiers. Barty picked them up and moved them out of the way, and slowly started to dig in. Everyone else did the same, getting their sundaes and eating them while you sat there with nothing in front of you. You put your hand on your stomach to try to hold the growls in check.
But at least everyone was happy. You could focus on that. Seeing the light in everyone’s eyes. They all seemed to be so pleased that you weren’t eating. None of them were bugging you to do so after you gave your upset stomach excuse. But they all kissed you on the cheek and gave you a hug and said that they hoped you could do lunch soon, when your stomach was feeling better. You would say thank you and say you were looking forward to it, though you knew that it would never happen.
The sun felt good on your face. You were looking forward to going home and having a large glass of water to try to calm your stomach down. Maybe since it was your birthday, you would spoil yourself a little. Add some lemon slices. Or cucumber. Maybe some celery since that was negative calories, right? That should get rid of all of the ones that you’re inhaling from just smelling all of the ice cream in here.
“Are you alright, love?” Barty would ask. “Should we stop in at the apothecary, get something for your stomach?”
“Oh, no, it’ll settle itself out,” You said, shaking your head. “The walk will help. It always does. I’m already starting to feel a little better!” And you put a smile on your face, trying to convince him that it was real.
“Then let me at least get you dinner or something. You haven’t eaten all day, you must be starving,” His arm went around your waist, and you noticed that it went all the way around. He’d never be able to fully wrap his arms around you because of the weight that you had, all of this ... fat. You moved out of his way for a moment, trying to make it seem natural, just because you didn’t want his skin to crawl from having to touch yours. You gave him an out.
“No, no, it’s fine,” You said, shaking your head again. “Really. Just watching you and everyone have a good time was more than enough to fill me out. Besides, what would be the point of us going on this walk right now if I’m just going to eat more than I burn off? Ridiculous.”
“Oh bugger,” He groaned. “You’re not still doing that stupid - stupid calorie counting thing are you? Is that why you haven’t gone out with anyone in ages? They all think that you bloody hate them but this is about your weight again, isn’t it?”
He didn’t try to hold you again, but he strode with you. You could feel his anger, thick and dark, wavering from him like a smell. He never liked it when you would ‘diet’, ‘count calories’ or ‘exercise yourself into exhaustion’. And he always said those things like they were in quotation marks too.
“You just can’t understand. You’re perfect the way that you are. Maybe even a little too thin sometimes,” You would admit, looking at him. You envied the hell out of your partner. When he would get dressed in the mornings, standing shirtless in front of the mirror trying to pick out which tie to wear to the ‘awful’ Ministry job that his father had given him, you would stare at the outline of his ribs. The way that they stuck out ever so gently from beneath his skin. You only saw your ribs in your dreams. Where you were thin and beautiful and perfect in every way.
“And you can’t see that you are too?” Barty licked his lips. He took hold of your arm a little roughly, pulled you into a thin alleyway between two shops where you couldn’t be overheard. Your back hit the brick walls, but you were more focused on the way that his long and spindly fingers didn’t make it all the way around your arm. “What did you eat today?”
“I had breakfast!” You protested, rolling your eyes. “What, you don’t trust me?”
“What - did you have - for breakfast?”
The dark side of Barty was showing. You knew it was there, you had seen it more than once. Had helped him to calm it, in fact, leading him to a better life away from the Death Eaters that he had almost joined. The way that the gleam in his eyes would turn from one of happiness to one of madness. It was terrifying. And you knew better than to provoke him in this state. He would never hurt you, no, never, but he might hurt himself.
“Half a grapefruit,” You told him. “And then I skipped lunch. I was going to treat myself to some infused water tonight...”
“That’s not breakfast, that’s not even a bloody snack! Come on, I’m taking you to dinner,” His hand moved from arm to hand, which he clasped firmly.
“Please - don’t,” You said weakly, but he was on the warpath. People moved out of his way as you two walked, you struggling to keep up. He didn’t so much drag you as lead you towards the Leaky Cauldron. “I’m not hungry. I swear. If I eat I’ll - I’ll throw up.”
But he pulled you in regardless. The door was so quick to close behind you, it very narrowly missed hitting you on your bottom. But how anything could miss that, you thought to yourself, you had no idea. Another thought to put into the ‘true thought’ file in your mind. That’s where you put most of your inner thoughts. And all of the nice things that people said about you? Like when Barty would kiss up your neck at night and call you beautiful? ‘Polite Untruths.’ How could you see things in any other way? Even in Witch Weekly, which was only a tiny bit more progressive than the muggle magazines, gave diet tips, weight losing spells, advertisements for illusion robes.
It was ingrained in your mind. Didn’t help that the Wizarding World was full of beauty queens.
And snapping back to reality, Barty sat you down at one of the tables. “How about two of your soup de jour, Tom!” He’d call out to the barman, who gave a little cheer in response. And then he’d look at you, his gaze warmer than that of the fire behind your back.
“I’m just trying to lose a little weight so I can be perfect for you, Barty. Because that’s what you deserve...” You would tell him, unable to look him in the eye.
“That’s bloody codswallop,” Barty would say, his snarl curling in disgust. “You’re already perfect the way that you are! You want to lose a little weight, that’s on you but it’s turning into this obsession with you, love. You’ve no’ been out with your friends in weeks. They’re worried about you. They miss you! And I miss ya too. You come home, I cook, you claim you eat out with friends. They tell me different in their letters. They’re even sending me letters, that’s how worried they are!”
“There’s nothing wrong with skipping a meal or two, Barty. I’ll be alright. I drink lots of water...”
“When was the last time that we had dinner together?” Barty asked. You stayed silent. You were trying to think. Nothing was coming to mind. “Never mind that, when’s the last time that you had dinner at all?”
“I-” Everything was coming up blank. All you could think about were those waters. At least the water weight could be shed. Food - it was a lot harder to work off. And you had been going on those jogs each night, but they didn’t seem to be helping too much. You always felt too tired to go very far. Too worn out. But as for actually sitting down and eating something? “It’s been ... a while.”
“You can’t even remember,” Barty frowned. “Come on love, you’ve got to eat something. You’re claiming that you want to be perfect for me, but starving yourself doesn’t equal perfection. Having you being healthy and happy, to me, is perfection. Y’know what, c’mere.”
“Where?” You asked, looking around. There was nowhere else to go. Tom was coming about with two bowls full of soup so unless he was planning on ditching without even eating-
“On my lap, stupid,” He taunted, ignoring Tom. The steaming bowls set down, the barman walked away without needing any sort of acknowledgment.
“I’ll crush you.”
“No you won’t, c’mere,” He said. The sweet and worried expression was fading from his face fast, so you got up hurredly and walked to his side. You looked down at those thin legs hidden by pinstriped pants. He patted it, and you sat down uncomfortably. You tried to only sit on the edge, but he pulled you full on into his lap. HIs arms were around you, holding you down, and his head rested on your back. “This is perfect, love, this is perfect.”
He dipped the spoon into the soup, and brought it up close to your face. Your stomach growled in response to the smell. It was some sort of thick vegetable soup, hearty with tomato, potato, carrot, corn, maybe even some lentils. And he brought it up to your mouth. “Just a couple of bites. For me?”
Well, when he put it like that, you felt like a terrible person for saying no. It felt like you were prying your mouth open, it really didn’t want to allow the food into it. Felt like a bear trap. You sipped at the broth, but that wasn’t enough for Barty. He kept the spoon up as there was still vegetables on it. Reluctantly, you wrapped your mouth around it, chewed a little bit, and swallowed. “Are you happy now?” You asked.
“A bit,” He said, rubbing at your back while dipping the spoon into the soup once more. This time he ate it for himself, and then he would give you a little more. “I wish you could see yourself the way that I see you, and your friends see you.”
Polite untruths.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” He asked. You shook your head. You had to be truthful. “Bloody hell, y/n. I must have been terrible to ya if you feel like that. I’ll try harder, but you’re going to need to try too. How bout - I cook for ya more often, just us. Healthy things. No junk. And - and we can go on walks together, that’s healthy right? Get those erm - those whatchamacalls up. Those happy things.”
“Endorphins?” You asked.
“Thats the ones. Yeah. Those. Would that help you at all, love?”
“I suppose it might be a start,” You said, not being able to resist how eager and lovely he was being. You even opened your mouth and allowed him to put another spoonful of vegetables and broth inside. A good start, but only a start.
Wonderful and Weird {Barty Crouch Jr x Reader Oneshot}
Requested by: @spectrumofdisney
Wordcount: 2866
Summary: While working at the Ministry under his father’s control, Barty meets you - and finds you to be oddly interesting.
Notes: The reader is autistic, as per request. I tried my best with this, being on the spectrum myself, without giving into stereotypes. Please message me if I did any of this wrong, I truly wanted to get it right.
You enjoyed working for the Ministry. You had your own little office with your cameras and your typewriters and everything was clean and organized. Nothing from the outside world came in except for what you brought with you, and the paperwork that was brought to you by owl every morning to go through. And the owl never stayed, because you did not like the smell that the birds brought, nor the feathers and dander that it left behind. You had gotten the job shortly after graduating from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and you excelled at it. Your co-workers didn’t really care for you, but they didn’t actively dislike you. They thought that you were a bit odd, but you were efficient and didn’t cause trouble so they didn’t bother you for anything. Your work life was just about perfect - until he came into the picture.
You heard a fuss coming from the hallway. Normally you would not care and would continue on with your task, hyperfixated on the status reports that you were reviewing and correcting, but your door was slightly open from after the owl left and the noises bothered you. Getting to your feet, you walked across the small office space and stuck your head into the corridor, about to say something when your name was called.
“Ahh, y/l/n, just the person I wanted to see,” Bartholomew Crouch Sr said, with his son in tow. You recognized him from school. He was a Slytherin, while you were a Ravenclaw, and he was a year or two older. You had no interaction with him whatsoever, and would not have remembered him - if it wasn’t for the fact that he had stopped some of the other Ravenclaw students from pulling a horrible prank on you. You had seen him interfere with the girls as they levitated your underthings so they hung from the top of the Ravenclaw tower, but had never before spoken to him. Never even thanked him, which your mother admonished you for after you had admitted to her in a letter what had upset you.
“Why?” You asked, blankly, staring at the floor by Bartholomew Jr’s feet rather than attempt any sort of eye contact. That was just too intimidating.
“My son,” Barthomew looked at his son with displeasure. “-is about to start his position here at the Ministry of Magic. I’d like you to show him around and make him feel welcome.”
“It is a very simple layout. There is a map framed in the hallway. Welcome.” When you said the last word, you finally brought your eyes up in the way that you were taught. Your mother had taught you with blueberries to say words like ‘Thank you, You’re Welcome and Happy Birthday’ with eye contact, and with a happy tone. You forgot the tone today. You just wanted to get back to work.
“You’re a bit of a weird one, aren’t you?” The former Slytherin said, looking you up and down, which did nothing to make you feel more comfortable.
“Yes,” You answered the question, as you did every question proposed to you. “Mr Crouch, Mr Crouch, excuse me,” You ducked back into your office and closed the door this time. Well, that was a rather odd occurrence.
-
The rest of your day was blissfully quiet, but it was as you were preparing to leave the Ministry that it got odd once again. You were taking the stairs, since they were quiet and had no chance of getting stuck, unlike the elevator. You just set foot on them when you felt a touch on your arm, that instantly made you go into panic mode. You pushed the person away, and drew your wand on them, pointing it right towards their chest. All of your coworkers knew better than to touch you, so this was someone unknown. “I do not like being touched,” You said quickly, squinting in the light to get a better look at who the person was.
“Noted, noted,” The newest addition to your office said with his arms up in surrender. He licked his lips as he looked you over, with some degree of recognition. “We went to school together, didn’t we?”
“Yes we did, Bartholomew Crouch Jr,” You said, lowering your wand.
“Well hullo, I thought I recognized your ... brand of weird,” He said, waving his hand at you. “Yes, I remember you. Some of the boys wanted to put wee in your pumpkin juice.”
“That’s disgusting. Why would they do that?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing together. “And why did you touch me?”
“They thought it was funny. Managed to stop them though, so you’re welcome.” He said, giving you a smile. That made you more confused. You were talking about a topic that was particularly unpleasant. Why was he thanking you? You said nothing but continued to stare, waiting for an answer to your second question. “Just wanted to get your attention, is that so bad?”
“The idea is not bad but the way that you went about it was. I do not like to be touched. Please don’t do it again.”
“Alright, alright, I won’t touch you,” Another lick of the lips. “I kinda like the weird thing you have going on.”
“I don’t know if I like you yet,” You stated simply. “Goodnight, Bartholomew Crouch Jr.”
“Call me Barty,” He said with a salute.
-
Even you could not avoid hearing the rumors that circulated the next day at work. Everyone was talking about Bartholomew. The rumor was that he had been fraternizing with death eaters, and was thinking about joining them. That was why his father had forced him to get a job in the Ministry where he could be kept an eye on. You didn’t pay heed to these rumors. You had more important things to think about in your life, such as where the latest stack of paperwork was. The owl had not arrived this morning and it was making you very antsy.
“Have you seen my papers?” You asked your co-worker next to you. They shook their head no so you kept on looking, until you came to the last room, which was Bartholomew’s. You didn’t knock since it was a work environment and no one should be doing anything inappropriate. So when you opened the door, he was a bit startled and dropped the paper stack he was holding.
“Have you heard of knocking?” He asked, bending over to pick up the papers.
“Of course I have,” You answered seriously. “Are those my papers? Why do you have them? Those are mine.”
“I thought I’d see what you were doing,” He said with a smile. Once more, you were confused and annoyed by his facial expressions. He smiled at the oddest times. “Are you mad at me?”
“No,” You answered. You took the paper out of his hands, being careful not to let your skin brush against his. “Please don’t take my work.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Barty said, putting his hands behind his back once you had your papers back. Another lick of the lips. A trait that you were noticing a lot. It would stick out in your head as something being particular to him, the way that red lipstick was to your coworker Marjorie, and the smell of fish and chips on Gary. “Can I watch you work?”
“Watch me work?” You repeated. No one had ever asked you that before. “If you don’t say anything or touch anything then maybe.”
“Great,” Barty said. He walked you out of the room, staying a step behind you through the hallway. He even stepped ahead of you and opened the door to your office. You didn’t thank him, just went straight to your desk and worked as if he wasn’t even there. The forms were second-nature to you. You knew exactly what to write, and you liked the neat little boxes that you were supposed to write in. You liked writing small to add in more details. You liked taking the stamp out of your drawer, pressing it on the ink pad, then stamping the bottom of the form and moving on to do it over again. It was meticulous work without many changes, and it was perfect for you. It allowed you to stay in your mind - so much so that you had forgotten that Barty was even there, watching what you were doing, until it was time for lunch.
“What do you usually do?” Barty asked, startling you as the clock chimed noon. You looked at it with annoyance, hating that it made noise. You had forgotten to silence it, what with your papers being missing this morning. “For lunch.”
“I eat,” You said, taking a small container out of your bag. Inside was your packed lunch, everything in separate bags so that nothing was touching.
“Bloody hell, you have that all organized too, don’t you?” Barty scoffed, standing up to peer inside the container. “Come out with me, we’ll go to Hogsmeade - Three Broomsticks, like school days.”
“Yes, I like to have my lunch organized,” You said, not noting his expression. “We never went to Hogsmeade together. And not to the Three Broomsticks.”
“Then this could be the start of something new, come on, I’ll buy.” Barty went to your door, opened it wide, stepped into the hallway then realized that you weren’t following. He turned around and saw that you were at your desk, unpacking your food one item at a time onto a plate that you kept at your desk. “You really are a weird one, y/l/n.”
“I eat here, everyday,” You told him, unpacking a set of cutlery as well. “I like it in here.”
“Well, then,” Barty frowned thinking. “I’ll just have to go and get my lunch to go and come join you. Would you mind that?”
“I suppose not, as long as you are tidy,” You said, so focused on your food that you hardly noticed he disappeared.
-
The rumors about Barty changed after that. They became less about him potentially tuning into a death eater, and more into how he spent all of his time with you and didn’t work at all. Word had even reached his father’s ears, but as long as he kept out of trouble, he didn’t care much either way. Barty heard the rumors too, but he didn’t care either. Because they were true. He really started to enjoy spending time with you. You were unlike anyone that he had ever met. You were blunt, and to the point. You said what you were thinking, even if it hurt someone’s feelings. You never meant to though, that was the amazing part. The confused look that was on your face whenever someone in the office became emotional over something was more entertaining than wizarding opera. He might even start to think that he loved you - which was a feeling that came on when you had brought out a second lunch container, with a packed lunch for him that matched yours completely.
“Are you still thinking of becoming a death eater?” You had asked as he examined the crustless sandwich that was in his bag. His head snapped up at the question. No one had ever asked forthright like that.
“Would you hate me if I did?” He asked, curiously, licking his lips then bit into the sandwich.
“I think I would, yes,” You admitted. “Killing people, even muggles, is a very bad thing to do. The practical thing to do would be to stay at the Ministry and try to be a good person, even if you don’t understand people.”
“Be like you, you mean?” Barty raised an eyebrow. You thought about it for a second and then nodded. “That sounds boring.”
“I don’t think that it is, but if you want to think like that - that’s your problem.” You said, shrugging. You could feel his eyes on you, taking you in. He had been doing that a lot lately. You weren’t sure if you liked it or not. “I do have fun sometimes too.”
“What do you do for fun then? Show me,” He challenged.
“Fun things.” You said, a faint smile on your lips. “I can show you on the weekend.”
“It’s a date,” Barty said, finishing off his sandwich.
“I never had one of those before. A date, I mean,” You admitted to him, making him smile.
“I’ll show ya a good time,” He promised.
-
On the weekend, you met him in the Leaky Cauldron, then made your way out into Muggle London. Muggles were interesting people, you thought. So involved in their own lives that they barely saw the magic that was right in front of them.
“So what are we doing today, then?” Barty asked. He looked nice in Muggle clothes, you thought. You had grown used to seeing him in the robes of the office. He thought the same of you as well, since you were wearing something a little more colorful. It was like seeing a hint of sunshine on a cloudy day. He walked by you, but kept a little bit of distance, aware of how you didn’t like to be touched.
You opened up the bag that you had brought and showed him your muggle camera. “I like to take pictures.”
“Pictures?” It was hardly what Barty had expected.
“Yes, I use this camera to take a picture, which is like capturing a memory in an image. They can be-”
“I know what a picture is,” Barty said quickly before you got into the science of it. He had forgotten for a second that you answered every question, rhetorical or not. “Why do like to take pictures?”
“There’s a process to it. And I like to remember things. I like to take pictures of people smiling. I think it’s fun because I like to wonder what they are smiling about.”
“Can I see that?” He asked, pointing to the camera. You nodded and handed it over but watched him very carefully. You didn’t like other people handling your things. In fact, if Barty ever knew that he was the first person other than you to handle this camera, he might be heavily flattered. As he should be. He figured out how to work it pretty quickly - he wasn’t as dumb as he appeared, and held it up to his eye to see through the lens. He pointed it straight towards you and caught the look of slight embarrassment on your face. “Oh come on, put on a smile. If I know you as well as I think I do, I know yeh ain’t got many photos of yourself.”
“I don’t need pictures of myself. I know what I look like,” You said, not smiling. Barty put the camera down, knowing that he would have to go through extreme means in order to get a nice photo of you.
“Excuse me,” He called to a couple who were walking down the street. They slowed down to listen to him. “Would you mind taking a photo of us together?”
“Bartholomew!” You said, watching in horror as your camera got handed over to the strange man. You didn’t even know his name! Or if he knew how to use a camera!
“I’ll buy you a new one if he drops it, alright?” Barty licked his lips then stood beside you. Something felt like it was missing and he knew exactly what it was. “I know, you don’t like to be touched but - can I hold your hand?”
“I suppose that’s alright. I won’t like it,” You insisted, but he gave you a very puppy-dog look. You wondered what he was trying to accomplish with that. “Are you trying to look cute so I’ll give in?”
“Is it working?” He asked, holding his hand out.
“No. But I’ll do it just this once.” You weren’t even entirely sure how to go about holding a hand, but you did what you saw other couples doing. Fingers intertwined. You wanted to like it, since it seemed to make Barty happy but it was just uncomfortable to you. You could feel your palms becoming sweaty at the new heat. You looked up at the camera and you smiled, and it was genuine despite the weird situation. You let go of Barty’s hand as soon as the picture was taken, and only breathed out in relief when the camera was safe in you bag again. “Why did you want a picture of us together?”
“Capturing a moment in time,” He repeated your earlier words. “Also I like looking at you. You’re better than the depressing wallpaper my father put in my room.”
