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]

"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.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

Barty had been watching Albus closely out of sheer habit, and straightened with mild surprise and intense interest at his reaction.

"...Not your brother," he said, more to himself than Albus, "despite the goat rumors later in life. But..." His eyes narrowed, briefly, in thought.

"You had a sister, didn't you?" Well that was interesting.

[manwithstyle]

He did not know, thought Albus, he spoke in the general sense, or perhaps, of a more personal experience. Not, then, of Ariana. However, there was no point in lying now, it would be such hypocrisy and he was hardly in the mood.

"Yes," he said, eyes flickering downwards towards his hands. They had yet to regain all of their colour, perhaps because he had unconsciously kept them clenched, the civil man fighting for control, for order.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

Barty watched him, solemn and silent, for a long moment before offering up, "I have no siblings."

[manwithstyle]

"But you've an attic," he surmised mildly after a moment's pause.

He would have said that Bartemius hardly seemed mad, but that was not, thought Albus, entirely true. There were moments, flashes, glimpses, of something else. The laughter, the amusement, the delight. Something that hinted at a darkness. The line between genius and insanity was fickle, after all.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Yes," Barty said, "though one hardly needs an attic when the Imperio is so close at hand." He glanced to where his wand sat, useless and empty, atop a small stack of books. And people thought he was the mad one. His father was clearly the unstable personality.

[manwithstyle]

"Your father?" Albus asked, though it was not so much a question as it was a guess, eyes widening slightly at the confession.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Yes," Barty said with an easy shrug. "I should have seen it coming, really. It follows a certain pattern of his behavior the rest of my life through, certainly."

[manwithstyle]

"You've yet to experience that particular brand of torture, then," said Albus, canting his head to side and looking at Bartemius rather shrewdly. "Not, of course, that that makes it any better or easier to bear."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Yes, well, while the thought of it produces a certain level of virulent loathing," Barty said lowly, "I can't say it's struck me with much more than a morbid sense of curiosity. Amazing, the experiences I missed by mere hours," he added, voice so dry it could have caught fire.

[manwithstyle]

"By mere hours?" echoed Albus, affecting something of a dry tone himself. "It seems that you've much more to gain by this notion of a blank slate than I. Pity, then, that it comes with an inability to perform magic and barbarians for company."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Indeed," Barty said. "I have no use for a blank slate. Even knowing now what my future holds, what use is living in a state of static, of stasis? I've no interest in self preservation without cause," he muttered.

[manwithstyle]

"Nor do I," said Albus thoughtfully. He turned from Bartemius and stared straight ahead, before he added, voice low, "Perhaps that is what concerns me most of all. My future-self, the saintly Headmaster, he is in a position to do naught but appease."