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.

Comments

[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."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"When everyone thinks you're perfect, it becomes increasingly difficult for one to do wrong," Barty said with a shrug. "Truth be told, I don't know what you actually do in the future, aside from various administrative tasks at Hogwarts. You're political without being a politician, and you're a Professor without being a teacher. No one seems to notice or care, though. Though what with the political climate of late, I'm sure what you're not doing is hardly anyone's focus."

[manwithstyle]

Albus nodded, but he remained confused. It was not a feeling with which he was accustomed and it nagged at him like a thorn in his side. His only hope was that maybe, just maybe, he was not as saintly as he appeared. Perhaps, and this was of course speculation, he had not changed so much at all. Indeed, it was entirely possible that he had simply become even more skilled in the art of manipulation and lies as his age progressed. That thought alone comforted him and he found himself able to unclench his hands.

He trusted Bartemius about as far as he was currently able to throw him, which, given the lack of magic, was not very far at all. Indeed, he felt the proverb 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me,' was particularly apt in this situation. He was still angry, more so at himself for allowing to be lied to than he was at the liar in question and yet Albus could not deny the sense that he could relate to the other man. And on an Isle populated by Muggles that was an admittedly rare commodity.

"I wonder if it is all a lie," he murmured, shifting so that he now faced Bartemius completely, leaning forwards ever so slightly, his weight casually supported by his arm. "My 'reform', if you will. If no one knew of my plans, if it was all a secret, where is it written that I changed? While it is undeniably true that I will find myself in a position which requires the maintenance of the status quo and, subsequently, unable to act on my ideals, who is to say that those beliefs themselves changed? What if it was all simply-" He flourished with his free hand and suddenly he held his wand in a rather impressive demonstration of legerdemain. "-an illusion."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"I suppose it's not impossible," Barty said, watching the flourish with an even expression. "It would take a mastermind, but as I said. Not at all impossible. You must truly become a master of deception, beyond even what the Dark Lord believes, though he might be more willing to call it hypocrisy than anything else. You must become flawless," he said, leaning fractionally forward, head tipped down- and ran his index and middle fingertips along the side of Albus's wand, "at maintaining your composure."

[manwithstyle]

Albus looked at the fingers upon the wand, his eyebrows slightly raised by the suggestiveness of it all, and then at Bartemius himself. One corner of his mouth tugged upwards so that he smirked, and he shifted slightly closer to Bartemius so that he no longer had to lean on his arm. His hand now free, he reached for the other man's face and tipped his chin upwards, turning his face to get a closer look at his cheek, still red from where Albus had struck him earlier. "I do believe that there remains something to be learned in that department, I must admit," he said mildly.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

Barty was picking up on the fact that Albus has control issue. He understood that. Part of being good at what he did- whatever he did- was a general ability to understand, and then selectively act upon those parts of that understanding that best suited his position in the situation, and this usually meant giving the people around him the illusion that they had what they wanted.

He was exceptionally gifted at it.

He kept his gaze on Albus, even with his head tipped to the side. Regulus was easy. He wanted to feel worthy, and for whatever reason he tended to find that worth in sex. Rictor had an unfortunate desire to be in some sort of relationship, probably just to manufacture some sort of normalcy within the boring, listless insanity of the island. The Dark Lord was somewhat more complex, and Barty knew how to serve him instinctually.

Albus was different. It was not so difficult to figure him out, but it was difficult to know what he'd do, in any given situation. It stoked the less stable of Barty's inner fires. It made him want to push buttons he normally wouldn't bother with. He had no real interested in, really, all that many things, sex included. It was a tool and a means to an end, on occasion, it was a sign of normalcy that people paid attention, it was a good way to relieve stress. It was also a more provocative tactic when one was looking for such tactics to employ.

Barty tipped his head down fractionally, within the grip Albus had on his chin, not dislodging his fingers. He did so in a way that caused his lips to drag against the edge of the other man's thumb, and then with only the barest wetness, he pressed his teeth and the tip of his tongue to Albus's thumb and nipped.

[manwithstyle]

Albus quirked an eyebrow, his face otherwise impassive, but did not make to move his thumb. "When you suggested that we stopped talking," he said evenly, "I did not realize that you meant we should feast on each other in its stead."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"I didn't," Barty murmured, lips moving against Albus's thumb as he spoke, otherwise still. "I said it to see what you would make of it."

[manwithstyle]

Albus made a vaguely interested sound, low and somewhat amused, orginating, perhaps from the back of his throat. He slowly removed his thumb from Bartemius mouth, brushing it across his lips, the pad dragging slightly against the skin before he finally took his hand away completely. His eyes darted downwards quickly, soon enough resting once more on Bartemius' face and he canted his head to the side. "I confess myself uncertain as to what to make of it," he said simply. "For I've never partaken in such...activity without the use of magic."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

Barty broke out into a quiet laugh at that, and reclined back onto his elbows.

"Nor have I," he admitted with what seemed like very little concern. "I believe the general principle remains the same."

[manwithstyle]

He was not overly bothered by Bartemius' reaction; carnal desires had been something he'd only indulged in a handful of times as he had little use for them besides the obvious. That is not, however, to say he was unskilled in that area. After all, to Albus Dumbledore, magic, regardless of subject, came to him as easily as breathing.

He stood from the bed in one swift, deliberate movement and surreptitiously slid his wand up his sleeve, giving the appearance that it had simply vanished. It did not take a genius to realize he was once again being played, being tested, being gauged. Bartemius had essentially admitted as such only moments before. And while it interested Albus on an intellectual level to be put through the very paces that he himself had put countless others, the mere semblance or facsimile of control was not sating his needs. He needed, as it were, to regroup and collect his faculties. As much as he wanted to prolong the inevitable matter of having to process all of that which he had just learned, he knew now that the time had come.

"No, it isn't," replied Albus knowingly, the 't' particularly short and sharp, as he looked over his shoulder. "Not if you do it properly."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"The same may be said for almost every aspect of our daily lives," Barty said, frowning, but not at what others would surely have taken as a rejection, "but this place won't have it." He really hated this place, and he was suddenly feeling ireful.

"So good luck, friend."