do I not bleed

[manwithstyle]

Albus Dumbledore was dead.

Not now, of course. No, right now he was very much alive, if rather out of sorts, and feeling a whole myriad of emotions that were not often associated with the greatest wizard of his generation.

However, in the not-so-distant future, he was dead. Not only was dead, though that was bad enough, he had failed so completely and entirely in all of his goals that he knew no longer why it was that he had remained so renowned. For The Greater Good had ripped at the seams, ending, as such things do, with a duel between himself and Gellert. Wizards were forced even deeper into hiding while the man fashioning himself as 'Lord Voldemort' marked his followers with the ink of gypsies and sailors and indoctrinated them into a foolish regime. The Deathly Hallows had remained elusive. Why, the only thing that had appeared to keep him in the public eye was the fact that he had been Headmaster. And while that was a fairly lucrative position, he could not help but feel disappointed. Angry, even. Could the future be so bleak?


Albus rapped sharply on the door of Bartemius' hut. He did not look at all put-together. His face was flushed; his eyes bright, and his hair cascaded over his shoulders in a torrent of messy curls. His white shirt was largely unbuttoned, not to mention untucked. His feet were bare. Indeed, he rather had the appearance of someone who had left somewhere very quickly.

It was all, he thought, very uncharacteristic but such developments had called for haste.

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[manwithstyle]

He gasped most involuntarily and his grip loosened just a fraction at his words.

He does this again, thought Albus, and so the cycle continues. But the frankness, the amusement, it was almost as if Bartemius derived pleasure from his little game, as if it were all great fun, and the idea that he, that Albus Dumbledore could relate to that feeling, the rush of successfully manipulating someone so completely, well, the idea alone was rather unpleasant.

He licked his lips, then, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

"Do I send you to the Dementors?" he said."But no, that would be too much, too dreadful. The man I was to become, he would not have done such a thing."

The man I was to become.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"No," Barty said, casually, voice low and smooth, "I slipped through the cracks of a complicated event, in the end. You did not send me to lose my soul. At least, not that anyone knew. But then, who knows you," he added, glancing Albus over once, lashes flickering fast enough to hide his gaze for only the briefest of moments before he was meeting Albus's eyes again, "really."

[manwithstyle]

"No one," he stated simply, eyes boring into Bartemius'. They were close enough now that, had he had the inclination, he could have counted each individual eyelash."I've no peer, no equal. I thought, perhaps, that I had found one in Gellert, however it appears now that I was wrong." His breathing had calmed, his anger was manageable, his voice was returning to it's usual tone.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

And Barty smiled.

"Lonely. Isn't it."

[manwithstyle]

"You've no idea," he replied archly.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Yes I do," Barty countered softly, eyebrows lifting a little, "it's what sets me apart. Above. I may not go around revolutionizing magic theory," he added dryly, absently reaching up and rubbing the back of his hand against the cheek that had taken the blow, earlier, "but one doesn't need to be a genius to be set apart." He looked over Albus's expression, down to where the other man's hands were against his chest, and slowly up again, utterly unhurried.

[manwithstyle]

"No," Albus agreed, sensing the truth in his words. "One does not." His expression flickered, feeling Bartemius's eyes upon him, to one that was most unreadable. And so he swallowed surreptitiously before he said, "I should not have struck you."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Why not?" Barty challenged, still quiet, seeming perfectly at ease.

[manwithstyle]

"It was beneath me," he replied, eyes narrowing even though he found himself unable to let go. If he took himself out of this moment, he would have to come to realizations, to think, to process, and for once in his life, he wanted to avoid that for as long as it was humanly possible.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Because lashing out implies and undermining of your self control?" Barty murmured. "Or merely doing so without magic?"

"I think everyone... slips, Albus. That shouldn't bother you. The consequences are what keep me occupied."

[manwithstyle]

It was, in truth, a combination of both. However he was not about to say as such as there were more interesting things to discuss at that moment.

"And where do we go from here?" asked Albus honestly. He had no plan, he had no game, he had nothing but a shattered reality and the shirt of another man clutched in his hands.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

The glance Barty shot the doorway was so fast it could have been imagined. Could have been, if Albus weren't quite so close.

"I'd suggest a duel, but we know how those tend to turn out," Barty said dryly, then stifled a sigh, glancing momentarily away.

"Where would you like to?" he countered, turning his head back. It was not lost on him that his mouth had practically gusted across the other man's jaw. "I could tell you more, if you wanted to hear. Or we could stop talking." He specifically did not say or imply for how long, because he wanted to gage Dumbledore's reaction to the suggestion.

[manwithstyle]

"Of course I do," said Albus mischievously, his lips quirking upwards into something of a knowing smile. "I would win." The smile was quickly replaced by a look of confusion, however brief and most likely feigned, at Bartemius' last suggestion. "Stop talking?" he echoed, eyebrows raised.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

Barty had the sudden image, strange and strong in his mind, of leaning forward- only ever so slightly, fractionally forward- and confounding the other wizard without any magic at all. And in a way Barty thought to be very unlike himself, it gave him pause. The conflict showed in his eyes and the tiny line set between his eyebrows, and for a long, quiet moment his gaze hovered somewhere beneath Albus's. Finally, without managing to glance entirely up again, he swallowed silently and gave an equally inaudible sort of laugh, just a gust of breath, leaving only a strange sort of smile once it had passed.

"Never mind," he said gently.

[manwithstyle]

Albus eyes fluttered closed at the small rush of air; they really were standing very close. Perhaps too close. And slowly, almost painfully so, he extracted his long fingers from Bartemius' shirt, flexing them ever so slightly once they were free before letting his hands fall to his sides uselessly.

"You've left my curiosity piqued," informed Albus as he took nary a half-step backwards.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Maybe I mean to," Barty said with an easy, friendly sort of half grin, though it lacked the blatant enjoyment of some of his previous taunting.

[manwithstyle]

"I am certain that you do," said Albus shrewdly. "In fact, I would be most surprised if anything you did was not carefully planned." He took another step back and opened his arms wide. "The devil's in the details, you told me that the day we met. And I should like to know those details. Tell me, then, of my future. Horrify me with the tales of my good deeds." He bowed his head and gestured to Bartemius' hut; the only signs of his earlier nature, his slip into that of an uncontrolled man, only lay in the physical evidence. His flushed face, his white hands. His manner, however, was entirely composed. "Only let us do so inside and throw an air of civility over this wholly dreadful matter. "

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

Barty regarded him, particularly mussed himself, cheek still read, and nodded with an acquiescent sweep of one arm.

"By all means," he said, and continued to stand that way to play the polite host and let Albus in first.

[manwithstyle]

Albus had hardly waited for the invitation before he entered the hut. Finding a distinct lack of chairs, he sat down on the bed and waited for Bartemius to enter before he started to speak once again.

"I suppose it is too much to hope," he said casually, "that you know why it was that I suddenly decided that befriending Muggles was a cause worthy of my attention? I am rather of the inclination that my youth was not something well-publicized given the evidence presented to me."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"No, it wasn't," Bary said, walking back into the hut. There were books, and there was a bed of a kind, and some miscellaneous things he had collected, like water and extra clothing. "Even once you'd become a more public figure, your personal life remained private. I grew up hearing rumors because of my father's work, but enigmatic geniuses are always rumored about. It can't really be helped. I've heard you suffered some family tragedy. I've heard it was Grindelwald's extremism that turned you into the pillar of justice you became. Most people believe you've always been a saint, of course. It's what always happens with legends, doubly so when the legend is alive when he achieves his fame- the facts become quite entirely cloudy."

[manwithstyle]

Albus listened calmly, or as calmly as he could manage given the nature of what they were discussing. He needed to disconnect himself from this man, this saint, view himself as a separate person. How could he become that man? And yet...

A family tragedy? The singular use of the word amused Albus in that way that is not amusing at all. And so he laughed, a sharp, bitter sound.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Did something ring with the possibility of truth?" Barty asked mildly, dropping easily into a crouch and then sitting, at the edge of the low bed, resting his elbows on his knees and Watching Dumbledore curiously.

[manwithstyle]

"Perhaps," he conceded, if somewhat vaguely, turning his head so that he could see Bartemius properly.

He'd always had his scruples about their plans, but he had banished them with, well, he had banished them with pretty words, a mantra that it would all be for the greater good. Though, while he had always been sympathetic towards Muggleborns, as they were forced to live amongst the barbaric dogs that had attacked his sister until such a time that they could enter the civil world at age eleven, he could not justify the championing of Muggles.

"However, it remains clear that my youth was largely kept private. This does not surprise me; my family was somewhat known for its secrecy even in my era, when even that which was not a secret was soon forgotten given my illustrious status." His family life was, for all intents and purposes, an interesting footnote.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"People with great plans are covetous of their privacy," Barty said with a shrug. It was true of Dumbledore, it was true of the Dark Lord, and it was true, however much he disdained the man and all he stood for, of his father.

"And yet somehow always seem to be the ones with the mad youth locked in the attic." See one, Bartemius Crouch, Jr.

[manwithstyle]

Mad youth locked in the attic. The words startled Albus so much that he felt rather as though he had been struck. He looked sharply at Bartemius with a mixture of astonishment and confusion written clear on his face. Surely, he thought, he could not know. Not of Ariana. It was not possible. The lengths in which they had gone to keep her secret were, frankly, extraordinary.