The Marauders: Year Three | #Wattys2016

Playing With Fire

Playing with Fire

Barty Crouch was prone to nightmares. This was something Regulus had learned about his new best mate the first night they'd spent in the Slytherin dormitories. The other boys were more agitated than eager to help Barty feel better when he would wake up sweating and crying during the night, and so, being his best mate, the responsibility fell onto the shoulders of Regulus Black. That night, it was the same. Regulus guided Barty down to the common room by the pale white-yellow flames in the fire and got a blanket for him to huddle beneath as he hiccuped and swept the tears away with his fist.

"Kreacher," called Regulus and with a crack the old house elf appeared standing on the coffee table. "Fix Barty some tea, Kreacher," he commanded.

"Kreacher will do as Master Regulus says," he jumped down from the table and snapped his fingers so that a couple tea cups appeared where he'd been standing and a kettle and he put the kettle into the fire so warm.

Regulus turned to Barty. "Was it your Dad again?" he asked.

"It's always him," Barty nodded. "My mum's really great, she doesn't care if I'm in Slytherin. She still writes me. It's him that cares. He hates me, Reg. I dunno what'll happen when I go home. He already detested me, but now..."

Regulus shook his head, "You're in the best house. He's an idiot if he can't see that. All the best people come from Slytherin. Merlin himself was a Slytherin, you know!"

Barty snuffled loudly and nodded, "You told me that. I just can't help but think that if I'd got into Ravenclaw, maybe my Dad would've been alright with me."

"Sometimes there's nothing you can do about it when your family isn't screwed on all right," Regulus replied, thinking of Sirius. "Sometimes, they just go mental and stop thinking the way they ought to. There's nothing you can do to fix it. Eventually they'll either come around themselves - or else they never do." He shrugged. "Sounds to me like your Dad hasn't got his brains about him as he should."

Barty looked profoundly sad and Regulus felt poorly, so he sat beside him. "Barty, I'm sorry."

Kreacher came over then with the kettle, his big ears flapping as he poured the tea into the two cups he'd conjured. He put the kettle back by the fire. "Do we need sugar and milk, Master?" Kreacher asked. Regulus shook his head and Kreacher simpered at his feet, waiting for another command, not yet ready to go back to Grimmauld Place and the commands of the Dark Lord.

"I just wish things were easier," said Barty sadly, "Why does everything got to be so complicated?"

"Dunno," Regulus shrugged, "People are funny that way, I s'pose. I wish I could smooth it out for you, mate... I would, if I could. One day, you'll be really powerful and great and your Dad will wish he'd been a bit better to you while he had the chance. You'll see. The Dark Lord will make us great if we just trust in him and follow his commands."

Barty nodded.

As Barty and Regulus talked, Kreacher's ears moved and he looked around, his large eyes moving slowly over the common room, squinting. He leaned down to peer under the couch toward the door. The door was opening, the snake-shaped handle twisted and the hinges moving so very slowly that not a sound was issued.

"Master Regulus," croaked Kreacher, reaching for Regulus's pyjama knee and tugging a bit to get his master's attention, "There is somebody at the door."

Regulus turned around to look. Indeed, the door was open a jar, but there was nobody there. He stood up and started walking toward it to investigate, pulling his wand from his pocket. "Who's there?" he called, "Peeves is that you?"