Dark Fascination 9 - Phantoms of Fatigue

Scarlet sat alone in an old armchair as darkness set in all around her. She was hunched over the slumbering Barty, who twitched and fidgeted in his sleep. His breathing was shallow and irregular and the skin of his face and exposed chest glistened with sweat, suggesting his rest was far from peaceful.
She sighed and continued to dab at his face with the damp rag held in her hand, before brushing the matted, light brown hair from his face with the other. Pausing she watched him uncertainly, unsure whether he had stirred or it was once again an act of her imagination. The door of the cabin clattered open, causing the whole thing to shudder, dust to drift down from the wooden ceiling, and Scarlet to jump. She whirled around quickly, only to glare at her brother as he dropped the bags which he was holding onto the table, and sank into one of spindly chairs next to it.
“You are truly one of the nosiest creatures in existence” Scarlet frowned, distractedly.
Redric sniffed, but ignored this rebuke, “Still no change?”
“No” Scarlet sighed, before turning her back on her brother and looking down at Barty once again. “I’ve tried everything I can think of, and still nothing.”
Scarlet felt at Barty’s forehead with first her palm, then the back of her hand. She shook her head, “He’s burning up.”
“Well, you’re not a healer, you’ve done your best.” Redric replied, reasonably. “But you just have to accept that… Well. Maybe we can’t help him.”
Scarlet said nothing, and instead resumed her anxious vigil.
-
Over the next few hours, Barty drifted in and out of consciousness. He heard snatches of hurried pieces of conversation and glimpses of tired, wary faces, none of whom his muddled brain could recognise or make sense of. He wasn’t much aware of his surroundings either, which in his rare moments of clarity always seemed dark and confined. He was, however, acutely aware of the pain in his abdomen, which felt like it was attempting to rip it’s way right out of his skin. As time went on, the pain did seem to subside somewhat, he wasn’t sure why this was, but every so often he thought he heard someone murmur a healing charm. It wasn’t just his stomach that pained him however, he felt hot and irritated all over. He tossed and turned but couldn’t seem to cool down, his skin was itchy and clammy, so that he could no longer catch any traces of sleep. He existed in a half doze, only sometimes aware of what was happening around him. Sleep evaded him for a long time, but even then his dreams provided no solace. They were all very foggy, unclear and contained snatches of images, memories happy, sad and everything in between. The sound of harsh, rattling breath as all the happiness was drained from the world, playing Quidditch with his friends, a confined cell, an awkward kiss, blinding pain, his father yelling at him after he broke his favourite chair, the dark crimson colour of blood, his mother smiling down at him, a flash of green, Scarlet…
Until, quite suddenly, he was running through a dense forest, and where before everything had seemed hazy, the things which swam before him were vivid and clear. Screeching to a halt he stopped and listened. Had he woken up? Had he… Died?
The former he knew to be impossible. Barty knew he had not left his bed.
He doesn’t look good does he?
There were the voices, far off and distant, but they were there. He thought he recognised them from somewhere, but right now he could not comprehend it.
He might not last the night.
With a lurch he started to run again. He did not, could not, stop running. The wind which buffeted at the thick trees around him whistled past as he hurtled onwards, never even pausing to catch a breath and grasped at the stitch prickling in his side which felt so real. He had to wake up.
That spell… Did you recognise it? I’ve never seen anything like it; there’s not a scratch on him, but internally it’s wreaked havoc. The fever doesn’t help, either.
His breath hitched and caught in his throat as he sprinted onwards, blindly through the darkness. He had to find the source of the voices, if he could the maybe he would wake up. He would not die.
Just then, he came to a clearing.
Maybe we should just… Go?
What?
A light that before had not managed to perforate the tops of the leafy trees, poured into copse. It was seeming directed towards the middle of the clearing, almost like a spotlight.
You know. Leave him. I’m sorry but look at the state of him. He doesn’t have long
left, there’s no point risking our lives too.
Squinting he was sure he could just make out a vague figure, stood rigid and unmoving, silhouetted by the bright light.
You don’t mean that.
He staggered towards it, trying his best to ignore the voices that rang through his head, “Hello?”
The figure turned, but from this distance he could not make out their features.
No… I guess I don’t. I just don’t want the same to happen to us.
Cautiously he moved towards it, until he at last he recognised who it was. His insides turned to ice.
What do you reckon he’s dreaming about?
“F-Father?”
Bartemius Crouch Senior was stood neatly before him, his dark hair groomed and parted to perfection, his black suit utterly spotless. The pencil moustache twitched convulsively on his upper lip as it always did when he was displeased with something. It had tended to do so a lot when Barty was around.
Who knows? Probably you. I mean… Well… Are you two together? You used to be didn’t you?
Sort of… Not really. It was complicated. Some things never change I suppose.
You could do with taking your own advice I think. People don’t change either.
Then the forest was silent, and all other thoughts were wiped from his mind as he stared at the figure of his father, horrified. The man looked at him with a hazy, slightly delirious expression, as though waking from a long sleep.
“Barty?”
Barty blinked, he didn’t remember the last time his father had called him by his first name and rarely had he heard his father speak in such a way. He had been constantly referred to as “son” and nearer to the end, simply, “him.” His tone of voice was neither authoritative or annoyed, he simply sounded lost.
Barty. Wake up.
He felt something touch his forehead, and his hand shot upwards as he felt at his face. He looked around, even more confused than he had been before. Turning back to his father he saw the look of uncertainty clear, and his expression quickly turned to one of rage, his face turning white rather than flushing, just as Barty‘s did when he was angry. “You!”
Barty choked as he turned once again to look at him, “Father…”
“You are no son of mine!” the older man made to move towards him, perhaps to strike him, but he stopped abruptly. He continued in a tired voice “Such a shame, you were such a good boy….”
Wake up.
His hand closed around something as Barty prised his eyelids open with a jolt, and found himself staring up at a low ceiling. His head was propped up on several pillows, and he felt a dull ache as he tried to move it. He gasped for air as though winded, but instead of getting slower his breathing quickened as he attempted to fight back the panic which was rising in his chest.
“Drink” a voice insisted, and he complied as a glass was pressed into his shaky hand. He drank the water gratefully, almost slopping it down his front in his haste.
“I saw… Father.” he said, breathlessly, as he finished.
The glass was removed from his weak grip as the hand that was resting on his
shoulder patted him reassuringly, “It’s alright. You were just dreaming.”
“Yeah. Right.” he ran a hand through his hair tiredly, before lying back down, the pain which constricted his chest lessening. Barty was surprised at how rough his voice sounded, it was like someone had ran gravel over his tongue as he slept.
“Not a very good Death Eater are you? That could have been Veritaserum you know. Or something worse.” a cheerful voice enquired after several minutes silence, in which his breathing blessedly retuned to normal.
“Well, veritaserum is clear,” Barty said, leaning his head back against the pillows with a groan, “but I don’t see why you would need to use it. And I don’t see you trying to poison me, Scarlet.”
The was a yellow blur as Scarlet leaned over him, and he thought he saw her smile, “How did you know it was me?”
“Who else would it be? Uric the Oddball?” he replied, hoarsely.
“Oh, ha ha. Your sense of humour was unaffected I see.” she replied, with a definite grin. “But I’m glad, I suppose.”
“You suppose? Why, would you prefer me to be a grumpy old git? I can go and ask Dolohov to do it again if you like.”
“Don’t say that.” Scarlet replied irritably, and frowned.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Barty replied earnestly, surprised by her reaction.
“It’s alright. It’s me, I’ve been up all night. I just need to sleep, and now that you‘ve decided to join us, I can…” she yawned pointedly.
“Hmm. Well, you could be more pleased I’m not dead or paralysed or something.” Barty replied huffily, only half kidding.
Scarlet looked down at him nervously, clearly anxious that she had upset him, “Oh, Barty I am! I’m sorry. I’ve just been so worried…”
Barty sat up a little, feeling a little foolish at his outburst and cut her off before she could continue, “I was only joking. Oh, come here.”
Scarlet’s eyes were looking dangerously watery as he embraced her, and Barty felt his insides squirm with guilt. He was not used to seeing Scarlet cry, she had always seemed so happy. Despite this he could not ignore the fact that he very much enjoyed being this close to her, but he did not dare hold her very tightly for fear of doing himself more damage.
“I thought you were going to die and leave me with him.” Scarlet murmured into his shoulder in a half laugh. Her breath tickled his neck as she spoke, but it was more comforting than irritating, though he suddenly became very aware of his bare torso. He was considering this when he realised she would be expecting a reply, “Oh, yeah… Has Redric been getting on your nerves?”
Scarlet looked around at him, “Well, he’s been a saint really. We usually get on really well, but in present circumstances… Let’s just say we have differing opinions on certain matters.” She raised an eyebrow significantly, and Barty gathered they had been arguing about him. Barty didn’t know whether to be flattered or irritated. He fidgeted slightly and loosened his hold as Scarlet moved back slightly. Barty realised how very near her face was to his, so close he could almost count her eyelashes.
“I’m a big boy now, Scarlet, I can look after myself.” Barty said, trying his best not to sound annoyed.
“Is that why I’ve been sat up all night looking after you? I don’t think. Face it Barty, you need me.” she replied, impishly.
“I might do. A bit.” Barty conceded with a wolfish grin. After a seconds pause he leaned forward and taking hold of her face with one, still rather unsteady hand, kissed her clumsily. It was very short-lived as Scarlet pulled away after only a few seconds. Barty swallowed, looking at her wide-eyed, hoping he hadn’t crossed the line. She did not seem to mind however, on the contrary she smiled, before running a hand through his hair affectionately, “You should get some sleep, you look like death warmed up.”
“But I’m starving” Barty said sulkily, suddenly realising how hungry he was. Nevertheless he was secretly elated.
Scarlet reached into her pocket as she stood up from the edge of the bed where she had been sitting. Taking out a chocolate frog, she threw it towards him, “Redric should be back soon, ask him to make you something, I’m exhausted.”
And at that, she curled up cat-like in the armchair beside his bed and pulling a blanket (which had previously been lying unceremoniously on the floor, as though cast aside in a hurry) over herself, closed her eyes.
“Where is he anyway?” Barty asked, bewildered.
“Gone to… see… Dad…. To warn him.” she yawned.
“Why?”
But Scarlet did not reply, she was already fast asleep, her face obscured by her blonde hair. With a slight sigh of discomfort, Barty lay back down, sure that he would not find it so easy as Scarlet to catch forty winks.