FICLET: Tenacity (Severus/Barty Jr.)
Oct. 12th, 2007 02:25 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rarepair_shortsTitle: Tenacity
Character Pairing: Severus Snape/Barty Crouch, Jr.
Prompt: "believe it or not"
Rating: PG
Word Count: 907
Summary: "'It’s true, and I’ll urge you not to test me on this.' His hand closes tighter on Barty’s wrist. 'It is a rare privilege.'"
Author's Notes: There's still the angst to deal with, and "Parties" should be read first. I didn't mean to develop a narrative thread between stories, but it happened.
Link to Prompt Table: Link!
The answer, or so it seems to Barty, is to throw himself as far into his work as possible. No one seems to find this strange. After all, anyone who reads the Prophet knows about his father and can infer about the high expectations that go ever unrewarded. Slughorn taught his father, and his mother, and often points out how Barty has his mother’s sweet demeanor and his father’s ambition, and how there’s no doubt that, when Barty takes his OWLs, he’ll get Outstandings on all twelve.
So what if he’s not sleeping anymore? Or just barely getting not enough? He was hardly sleeping when he made this decision anyway. At least this way, his insomnia’s productive. This way, his feelings are productive. Best of all, though, is that no one notices a thing. He keeps churning out Quidditch plays, so Regulus and Macnair don’t raise their eyebrows, and Rab raised concerns a few times, but stopped when Slughorn called him off. Because Regulus couldn’t care less, Narcissa feels obligated to offer her opinion, to try talking Barty into seeing Madam Pomfrey, which never happens. There isn’t any need for it; Pomfrey’d just be interfering.
Besides, by focusing on what’s really important, Barty can’t think about those extraneous distractions. Like all the girls Regulus has offered to set him up with and how much he doesn’t like any of them. Like how Rab practically begs him to go to bed some nights, but he still stays awake in the Common Room, working until he passes out or it’s time to go get breakfast. Like how, despite his weak constitution and better knowledge, he can’t bring himself to enjoy any meals, nor to see a point in them, and how, as such, he only really eats enough to get through it all without succumbing to diversion, or a fainting spell of some kind. Like how McGonagall, who professes to show no favouritism even though she obviously prefers Gryffindors, clearly wants to keep him after class “for a little chat,” but can’t because he’s doing better than everyone else in fourth year. Like Severus. And like the way he looks at Evans.
It’s starting to wear on him, Barty must admit. Nothing feels real anymore, and stretches of time have started disappearing from his memory. Not class, never class, he’d try to off himself if they were class, but things that feel like they should be important. Staring off into space is a far more enthralling activity than ever before; at least it is when Barty doesn’t have a book in front of him or a class to participate in. He has to do better, be better, he can’t let himself think about Severus and his affections for that girl, how the thought should go, “She’s not good enough for him,” but goes, instead, “He’s too good for Barty.” Can’t think about it, can’t think about it, there are other things, can’t think about it-
After Christmas hols, after about three months of this (more or less; Barty’s long since lost track), he’s still doing it. Insomnia becomes second nature after a while. Staying up until dawn, book open, taking notes, staring in fascination at any magic he musters – like some Mudblood who’s never seen the stuff before, he’s utterly transfixed by it – and pushing back thoughts of what he’ll never possess.
The only difference is that, tonight, someone has the gall to close his book.
He snaps his head up, complaints at the ready, but he holds his tongue for…
“Severus.”
He nods and takes the book without so much as a word.
“Give that back,” Barty huffs. “I’m working.”
“I think you’ve done quite enough for tonight, actually,” Severus says shortly.
With as much energy as he can muster, Barty holds his wand in Severus’s direction. His wrist goes limp, but his eyes are steel.
“You’ll find it hard to be threatening when you’re sleep deprived and undernourished.”
“Prat,” Barty sneers. What he means is, Thank you.
“Think whatever you will, but I am not leaving until you sleep.”
“And I’m not sleeping, so stalemate.” What took you so long?
“I can be unbelievably tenacious, Barty.”
“Me too.”
“Come sleep.”
“Why do you care?” Prove you care.
“Because I like you,” Severus says simply, intently. “I thought you’d possibly just hit a rough patch, so I didn’t say anything, but now it’s been too long and you haven’t stopped. And now I’m intervening.”
“Save it for Evans,” Barty sighs, exasperated. “Or someone else who believes it.” I love you.
Leaning in dangerously close, Severus narrows his eyes. Barty gets an electric shock when the older boy grabs his wrist. For looking like a wilted weed, he’s surprisingly strong.
“I don’t care if you believe it or not,” he hisses. “It’s true, and I’ll urge you not to test me on this.” His hand closes tighter on Barty’s wrist. “It is a rare privilege.”
Barty has a thousand insults and snide remarks, but not a one of them will come to him. His eyes flutter like two manic insults; he feels the color drain from his face. And Severus’s hand is still clamping like a vice on his wrist. Still clamping on his – his mouth opens, closes, can’t say anything. Severus is one, then two, then one, then blurred. He can’t…
The last thing he hears comes as he’s slipping out of the chair: “Barty!”
And then, nothing.
Character Pairing: Severus Snape/Barty Crouch, Jr.
Prompt: "believe it or not"
Rating: PG
Word Count: 907
Summary: "'It’s true, and I’ll urge you not to test me on this.' His hand closes tighter on Barty’s wrist. 'It is a rare privilege.'"
Author's Notes: There's still the angst to deal with, and "Parties" should be read first. I didn't mean to develop a narrative thread between stories, but it happened.
Link to Prompt Table: Link!
The answer, or so it seems to Barty, is to throw himself as far into his work as possible. No one seems to find this strange. After all, anyone who reads the Prophet knows about his father and can infer about the high expectations that go ever unrewarded. Slughorn taught his father, and his mother, and often points out how Barty has his mother’s sweet demeanor and his father’s ambition, and how there’s no doubt that, when Barty takes his OWLs, he’ll get Outstandings on all twelve.
So what if he’s not sleeping anymore? Or just barely getting not enough? He was hardly sleeping when he made this decision anyway. At least this way, his insomnia’s productive. This way, his feelings are productive. Best of all, though, is that no one notices a thing. He keeps churning out Quidditch plays, so Regulus and Macnair don’t raise their eyebrows, and Rab raised concerns a few times, but stopped when Slughorn called him off. Because Regulus couldn’t care less, Narcissa feels obligated to offer her opinion, to try talking Barty into seeing Madam Pomfrey, which never happens. There isn’t any need for it; Pomfrey’d just be interfering.
Besides, by focusing on what’s really important, Barty can’t think about those extraneous distractions. Like all the girls Regulus has offered to set him up with and how much he doesn’t like any of them. Like how Rab practically begs him to go to bed some nights, but he still stays awake in the Common Room, working until he passes out or it’s time to go get breakfast. Like how, despite his weak constitution and better knowledge, he can’t bring himself to enjoy any meals, nor to see a point in them, and how, as such, he only really eats enough to get through it all without succumbing to diversion, or a fainting spell of some kind. Like how McGonagall, who professes to show no favouritism even though she obviously prefers Gryffindors, clearly wants to keep him after class “for a little chat,” but can’t because he’s doing better than everyone else in fourth year. Like Severus. And like the way he looks at Evans.
It’s starting to wear on him, Barty must admit. Nothing feels real anymore, and stretches of time have started disappearing from his memory. Not class, never class, he’d try to off himself if they were class, but things that feel like they should be important. Staring off into space is a far more enthralling activity than ever before; at least it is when Barty doesn’t have a book in front of him or a class to participate in. He has to do better, be better, he can’t let himself think about Severus and his affections for that girl, how the thought should go, “She’s not good enough for him,” but goes, instead, “He’s too good for Barty.” Can’t think about it, can’t think about it, there are other things, can’t think about it-
After Christmas hols, after about three months of this (more or less; Barty’s long since lost track), he’s still doing it. Insomnia becomes second nature after a while. Staying up until dawn, book open, taking notes, staring in fascination at any magic he musters – like some Mudblood who’s never seen the stuff before, he’s utterly transfixed by it – and pushing back thoughts of what he’ll never possess.
The only difference is that, tonight, someone has the gall to close his book.
He snaps his head up, complaints at the ready, but he holds his tongue for…
“Severus.”
He nods and takes the book without so much as a word.
“Give that back,” Barty huffs. “I’m working.”
“I think you’ve done quite enough for tonight, actually,” Severus says shortly.
With as much energy as he can muster, Barty holds his wand in Severus’s direction. His wrist goes limp, but his eyes are steel.
“You’ll find it hard to be threatening when you’re sleep deprived and undernourished.”
“Prat,” Barty sneers. What he means is, Thank you.
“Think whatever you will, but I am not leaving until you sleep.”
“And I’m not sleeping, so stalemate.” What took you so long?
“I can be unbelievably tenacious, Barty.”
“Me too.”
“Come sleep.”
“Why do you care?” Prove you care.
“Because I like you,” Severus says simply, intently. “I thought you’d possibly just hit a rough patch, so I didn’t say anything, but now it’s been too long and you haven’t stopped. And now I’m intervening.”
“Save it for Evans,” Barty sighs, exasperated. “Or someone else who believes it.” I love you.
Leaning in dangerously close, Severus narrows his eyes. Barty gets an electric shock when the older boy grabs his wrist. For looking like a wilted weed, he’s surprisingly strong.
“I don’t care if you believe it or not,” he hisses. “It’s true, and I’ll urge you not to test me on this.” His hand closes tighter on Barty’s wrist. “It is a rare privilege.”
Barty has a thousand insults and snide remarks, but not a one of them will come to him. His eyes flutter like two manic insults; he feels the color drain from his face. And Severus’s hand is still clamping like a vice on his wrist. Still clamping on his – his mouth opens, closes, can’t say anything. Severus is one, then two, then one, then blurred. He can’t…
The last thing he hears comes as he’s slipping out of the chair: “Barty!”
And then, nothing.
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