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thevoilinauttheory · 3 years

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The Funeral

[ FFxivWrite2021 Prompt 29: Debonair ]

[ Content Warnings: passive suicidal ideation; death and blood mentions ]

[ Just want to note here... that this started as one thing and ended as another and don’t have the energy to change it because it ended up being so long lol I wanted to try something different, but then it went *way* different, so. Uh. Here you go! 😂 official video not posted due to the fact that it was flashing enough to bother me, so it might bother someone else. ]

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“He’s a strange one, that’s for sure. Have you seen him ever show an onze of emotion?” “He may be the eldest, but do they really think he’d be the best heir?” “He’d run the family into the ground, if given the chance.”

He could hear them through the walls, the jabs at his character. How dare they? Was he not the perfection the rest of the noble community sought? Or was it his perfection that made them think as such? His ears twitched. Someone was coming, and by the weight of the footsteps…

“Cedre, Mother wishes to speak with you.” Sylvain gripped at the hem of his shirt - nervous. All of his siblings were intimidated by him. All of the people he would call his friends did the same. Cedrenaux stood from the bench he sat on, waiting for his parents to call him in. This gathering was supposed to be one of levity, other houses joining them for a single night of enjoyment. It was always too bright in here. The bright blues, the bright reds, the bright violets and whites and lights. Dear gods, the lights. He spoke no words to his brother, passing by him in some furied silence. Or, what Sylvain would think as he passed by.

“Cedrenaux, dear! Look at you, dressed to the nines~.” His aunt was the first to applaud him - for what, exactly? He never knew. All of them praised him for some unholy reason. “Well, it is only proper for him to be dressed so.” His mother was a walking contradiction. Doting, and yet, not so easily impressed. She brushed some of his stray hairs down, the wavy near-curls springing up to their own liking. Despite the fact that he was old enough to do so himself, old enough to speak for himself, he did not. “I want you to meet this lovely girl,” She turned him towards a beautiful woman, slightly older than him; fair skin, chestnut hair, what wondrous green eyes. “This is Cassandra Babineaux, under House Dzemael. Cassandra, this is my eldest son--” “Cedrenaux. A pleasure.” His voice was dry, it said anything but. He offered her a formal bow. “You two are to spend much time together, in fact, why don’t you get to know each other a bit more now?”

“Cassandra is to be your bride, Cedrenaux, you must compose yourself well.” “Yes, Mother.” He stood still as his mother fussed over his appearance, brushing lint from his shoulders, straightening his jacket. While it was infuriating to be coddled like a child, he let her do her thing, letting out a short sigh when she stepped away. “While this marriage is arranged, you two have gotten along so well - we thought it best that you would propose to her in a traditional fashion as well. I am certain it would mean a lot to her.” “Yes, Mother.”

He couldn’t stand her. There was always something off about the woman. To be married to her was going to be a long road, one that would likely never end - not until he was at the end of his days. The temptation was there - death would be far preferable, but he knew that his family needed this. After the accurate accusation of his grandmother as a heretic by the Dzemaels - his mother’s mother, worse off - they needed to make amends to the House. To prove that just one was enough. Once his mother left him, he took himself to the closest mirror. His hair was tied up in a bundle of wavy curls, not quite untamed, though no less annoying. He pulled the band from it, letting it fall loose; using his fingers to comb it out. Princely, straight from a faerie tale - that’s what Cassandra had called it. Disgusting.

“Cedrenaux?” A soft voice peered through the door, nervous and shaking. “Isabelle, is something amiss?” “N-No, not… not really. You look upset.” “...I am.” “Is it the marriage?” “...” He nodded slowly as he strode to the door, opening it fully for his youngest sister. She was easy to talk to, she had no room to judge anyone else, nor did she have a habit of doing so. “It’ll… be okay, I think.” Cedrenaux shook his head. “No, it will not. I do not like her in the slightest.” “But you got along so well…” “Because I was forced to… I do not want to marry, and especially not her.” “Why is that?” “Aside from a bad feeling…? I… I cannot say.” He muttered to himself, eyes to the floor, a crack in his usual expression. “...I simply do not like any aspect of her.” “Have you found another lady that caught your fancy?” “....” How was he supposed to answer that? He opted for another shake of his head. “No. I have had no interest in any of them. I have been putting my focus into my studies.” “I see.” She needed no other words to explain, she only smiled. “It’ll be okay. I can feel it. In the end, it’ll be okay.”

“I… am at a loss for words.” “Cedre, dear, please, I didn’t mean--” “Did not mean…? For what? To take on another man, force him into marriage? We have two children, Cassandra - that something like this happened is beyond me.” “You’re not… leaving, are you?” “Your kind are not wont to change.” “B-But.. the kids-” “Are in your capable hands. Perhaps you will no longer find your eyes wandering when you are pressured to do the job I have been doing whilst you were galavanting about with another man. The poor sod better be thankful he got away when he could.” “...Not without stealing the better half of our funds…” “Of your funds. Good riddance too.” “Cedre y-you sound so…” “Pleased? Gods be, I am. I had been looking for years for a way to get you far from me.”

Those words were heartbreaking to anyone who would hear them - and a relief to the one who said them. Cedrenaux finally felt a weight off of his shoulders. Such a relief to breathe out. “Since we are on that topic, I had never liked you to begin with - we were only together thanks to our parents.” “L-Love, I--” “Do not address me as such, lumping me in with the Brume rabble you called your lover. Of course, I side with him - the abuse you have fed both of us.” “You would punish our children over this?!” The shock wore off, it turned to anger. “Hm? I am sorry, did you say “our”? No, no. They are your children now. You can disclude me from the picture. Of course, I did already speak to them. They are old enough to understand how rotten you are, and thankfully, old enough to know how to ruin the rest of your days. Of course, in the end, you will have wonderful heirs to your house and name. Seeing as I taught them as such.”

“What would your mother say once you came home? She’d be disappointed, angry. She’d make you come back.” “Oh, do not worry. Your backstabbing name will be littered upon the ears of others, I am certain my mother will be just fine with it.”

“Please, wait! Wait, I have evidence!” Cedrenaux tried to push his way past the Templars which guarded the Vault. Guarded the trial - the trial against his parents. He held above him the papers, the ones that showed their innocence. “They are not guilty, you must hear me!”

“Lord Voilinaut.” One of the clergy approached him - a tone that made his heart sink. She took the papers from him, a slight twitch of shock. “I apologize, my lord, but you are too late. Their sentence was held a quarter of a bell ago. These papers, however -...” She shook her head. “This would not be enough, though I will see to it that these are filed properly so that no future mistakes will happen.”

“Y-You… admit… it was… a mistake?” He could feel it, it boiled under him, made his skin itch. He bared his teeth in a scowl, words sharp with his shouts. “You would murder for your own sakes?! They were not guilty! If I could find the evidence, why could you not have?!” The Templars struggled to keep the young lord from attacking the clergywoman, having to catch him by his collar and arms. “I apologize, my lord. I do not oversee the investigations, but I shall apprise them of the situation so that no others will have to face an injustice like this.” Cedrenaux managed to settle himself, composing with a sigh. “...Very well… so long as it does not happen again. You will regret the next time it does.”

He could hear the papers burning in the room she had left to.

“I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. If I could ask a favor of you…” An Elezen, far taller than he - though who would not be? Even the hyurs in the city were taller than him. Dressed in nobles’ clothes, light hair, fair eyes. “And you are?” “Tristan.” “...Tristan.” “My… full name is rather long, and this moniker suits me well.” “I see, and what can I do for you?” “...It…” Tristen looked about for any passerbys. “Perhaps we could sit over here, it… concerns a rather personal matter.” He gestured to the gazebo of the Voilinaut’s estate. Cedrenaux nodded, leading in taking a seat.

“I… have heard many things. I would clarify if they are true or not, and if they are… perhaps you could listen to my plight. I have heard that upon your divorce with Cassandra, your parents were tried for heresy.” “...That is true. You know of Cassandra?” “I know that she is behind it - ah… I know… from personal experience, as she has done the same with my family. They are currently in a gaol awaiting their sentence.” “How do you know?” “...She screamed at me as such when I pushed myself from her.” “You were…?” “Also married, yes. At the time you were.” “You certainly do not look the part of the man I had found her with. Do you mean to say she was doing as such with three individuals?” “I am, yes.”

Cedrenaux folded his arms over his chest, inhaling sharply. He closed his eyes to think, ears twitching to the sounds of other gossip from down the road. “...And what favor would you ask of me.” “That I may remain in your estate as a guest, until I am given my home back after the investigation. I am without one, currently.” “....” He wasn’t keen on sharing his home with strangers, especially since they were in the process of moving furniture out; sorting through paperwork and memories. How could he not lend aid to another who has shared this pain - who will share this pain. He knew that Tristan would not see his family again. Cedrenaux nodded slowly, bringing a bright smile to Tristan’s face. “I thank you, sir,” “Cedrenaux.” “I thank you, Cedrenaux. For your kindness.” He shook his head. “...Do not worry of it. My family will see to it that you will have a place to stay. Do excuse the mess.”

With a heavy thud, Tristan had his back trapped against the wall. Such brashness was rewarded with the second heavy emotion he had shown - first anger, now… Cedrenaux sputtered under his words, some semblance of fear on his face as his fingers clutched into the hem of his own shirt. Tristan let out a bright laugh, that perfectly playful smile. He was so forward, how could anyone act without shame - or at least thought to their actions. Or, perhaps he did think it over and--

“You’re so adorable like this!” Tristan pushed off the wall to let Cedrenaux have some breathing room. “L-Like what? What do you mean?” Despite the blatant display of emotion, and the catch of his teeth on his lips, his voice still stayed dry and even. “C’mon, I know you’re not that much of an idiot.” Silence. There was no response - he definitely was not that much of an idiot, still--

“Why?” “Why not?” He was nudged with an elbow. “The moons I’ve stayed here, you have shown nothing but care and kindness to your family - and myself. Of course, not everyone would call it that, but… you really are adorable.” Tristan leaned forward to pinch his cheek. His smile faded as he lowered his voice. “You have a lot of qualities about you that no one else does, something the rest of Ishgard needs. You exude safety, protection, you’re diligent - strong.” His smile came back with something softer. “They don’t see it, but I do.”

“...” Cedrenaux looked down to the floor - he was tense from the surprise, but it was relief that came from his breath. “Thank you.” It took a bit, a little moment, but he smiled. Nothing as bright as the man’s in front of him, but it existed. He took a careful step forward, hesitant, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing… but he wrapped his arms around him, tucking his head into Tristan’s chest. “....” He smelled of Starlight - he wouldn’t forget that. Pine and cinnamon, a fresh fire, winter air. It was… it was comforting. It reminded him of the times he could truly be a child with no worry of others’ thoughts. “...Thank you…” His voice was soft now, afraid to speak aloud. Gods, if his siblings saw him.

Even Tristan was surprised by the forward action on Cedrenaux’s part, but he wrapped his arms around him, holding him close as he placed his head atop his. “Just one night?” “...Just one.”

One night turned to moons - moons of a fleeting emotion.

“Is Lord Tristanaireux in? We received word that he would be staying with your house.”

Several Templars were at their door. Cedrenaux knew exactly what that meant. “The investigation is over then? Should he return home?” “...He is, yes.” Their hesitation said otherwise. He saw that too. “Is that right, then? I will escort him then, to make sure he arrives safely.” “There is no need for that, we will-” “I do not trust you. After the last time, I refuse to.” “My lord, we have found relics of heresy amongst his belongings. He needs to be turned in--” “You would lie to me, on my estate?” Cedrenaux’s voice got low, deep, something dark.

“A-Apologies, m-my lord…” “Leave. Come back when you have hard evidence that it is his, and that it was not planted by you nor anyone else.” “Sir, you will be tried, too, if--” “Learn your battles, boy.” The Templars at his door were armed, and yet they made no moves against him. As if they truly were afraid of just him alone.

“Lord Cedrenaux, is aught amiss?” Another lord from the Dzemael house, when would they leave him alone? “No, in fact, these kind gentlemen were here to let me know that my friend is allowed to return home. ...Yes?” His glare pierced them. He made these fools stand straight, near threatened into admitting so. “Is that so? I had heard just the opposite. Are you housing a heretic, Lord Cedrenaux?” “On baseless accusation. Show me the evidence, and I will turn him over.” “The Vault is already in the possession of the evidence, s-sir…” The Templars spoke up again. “Then tell them to show me.”

His continuance on their argument was cut short, with Tristan looming over his shoulder. “What’s going on now?” “Back inside, now.” The sound of his voice turned to urgency, he was thankful Tristan understood - the man took a hefty step back, just before the sharp cry. “Grab the heretic, now!” Without so much as a second thought, the Templars trampled over Cedrenaux to seize Tristan from the hallway - dragging him out to the streets as he kicked. “Let go! I know naught of what you speak!”

As Cedrenaux found the strength to pick himself up off the floor, his eyes turned to the door - to the road - to the people across from his home - to the smile of the woman standing there. Her.. this was her fault. “Tristan!” His boots skid along the stone as he broke into a sprint. “Cedre!” The sound of his name was cut with a cry and grunt, a chained elbow smashed into his face - thrown into the ring in which the trial was being held. “Stop! I beg of you, please think before you act!”

It felt like the trial held for his parents, another mistake - another intentional mistake.

“The evidence was planted, my lords!” “By who.” They spoke to him, they addressed him. Gods be, he had a chance. “Cassandra Babineaux. She admitted to accusing not only his family, but mine as well, of baseless heresy. I had word that investigations would be thorough.” “What motives would she have to do this?” “We are both her ex-husbands, having committed adultery against us both - she seeks revenge for our leaving.” “Have the guard fetch this woman then.”

He could hear it, the sigh of relief from his love.

“I do not know what you speak, my lord! Why would I take the risk of being accused, myself? If I had planted it, I would have had the evidence on me at some point!” “Anything for revenge… first my grandmother, then my parents, now this…”

She lied through her teeth, she lied, and they both knew.

“Lord Cedrenaux, why would you accuse this woman of--” “Why would you believe her words over mine? Do you think me a liar, my lord? I have stood by and watched countless of my family die at your hands on false accusations - the truths brought to light, and still, you would do this?” “Why would you accuse me? I have found my love, I do not need yours nor his!” “Be- Because… I saw that look on your face, when I was on my way here, that smile of yours.” “Can I not greet you on the street?” “...” His jaw clenched. “Not when you just witnessed this man being dragged off.”

“Lord Voilinaut.” “Check her home, then, if you dare will! There’s plenty more evidence to plant, isn’t there?! One at a time, you will pick off those I love… who next, then? Sylvain? Valera? Isabelle?” He saw the corner of her mouth twitch at the mention of his youngest sister, that little detail. “Snake, impudent hag - you would harm such an innocent girl for your petty spite against me?!” Everything in his body could not stop him from lashing out, jumping on her in an instant - he only landed a single blow to her face before the Templars snatched him away from her.

“Calm yourself this instant!” The loud thud of a hand against the table snapped him from his rage. “You would conduct yourself in this manner, Lord Cedrenaux? Your accusation of your ex-wife is paranoia, that she is out to get you - she has clearly moved on. We will consider your evidence null.” “N-No, please! Do not harm him! He is innocent!” It was the first time he had ever cried, even as a baby; he screamed, but never shed a tear - he choked on his sobs. “Please…” He would resort to begging if it made it so, he sunk to his knees - he did not expect to hear the scream so close to his ears, so loud, it took up the room. He heard nothing else. The thump of the body on the floor, the spill of blood. The tile was stained with it.

Even as the room cleared, he did not move - he could not move. He cried, coughed, sobbed, screamed and yelled and begged what gods there were to make it stop.

In the end, all he could do was make certain that his family was safe.

#ffxivwrite2021 #prompt 29 #debonair #i could've done a number of prompts with this word #but if the first thing that came to mind was maximiloix's family #then imma make an excuse to write about them #hi #have cedrenaux #the second eldest of nine #i lied in that one prompt about sylvain #cedre's my fav next to maxim #i probably need a tag for off prompts like this lmao #history will be written #works for now #also #since he's mentioned like in the background #about: Maximiloix Voilinaut

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megalony · 5 years

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Fractured pieces- Part 3

Another part to my single dad! Roger Taylor series which I hope everyone is enjoying so far.

Taglist: @marshmallowmae @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

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Roger bit down on his thumb to stop himself from beginning to shake or start tapping like he did when he got anxious. His eyes locked with those of a woman he hadn't seen for over a year, a woman that he didn't think he would see so soon.

(Y/n)'s mother.

Roger had met her and (Y/n)'s father on many occasions given he was her best friend for over ten years. He had gotten along with them both well enough, they thought he was the usual image of a rockstar. They thought he was an airhead that was carefree and didn't have any cares and Roger tried hard to prove them wrong and he had. But he hadn't talked to them for over a year, now he was faced with seeing their grieving faces that were partially his fault.

If Roger hadn't of gotten drunk that night at the party he and (Y/n) would have remained friends, she would still be alive because she wouldn't have gotten pregnant which caused her illness. But at the same time, that would mean Roger wouldn't have James and he was beginning to wonder what he would do without the little boy he was doting on every day. It was such a price to pay, a life for a life but right now Roger was trying to find some sense of peace. He had (Y/n) in his life for over ten years, he spent those times with her well and he had no regrets about them. Now he had James in his life and he intended to make the most of the years he was determined to get with his boy.

He took shaking steps towards the couple standing just in front of James' room, clearly having been in to see their grandson whilst Roger had been at Freddie's place. The singer had kindly offered for Roger to stay with him but that simply meant Roger could go over, get changed and cleaned up before coming back to stay with James. He'd usually have a quick nap before coming back to the hospital, a day hadn't gone by in the past two weeks where Roger hadn't been here.

Roger didn't have the contact information for (Y/n)'s parents and due to that, he had taken it upon himself to try and organise her funeral. He sat and tried to do that with the help of the band whilst he was watching over James. The band had known (Y/n) too and they had loved her as a great friend, anyway that they could help Roger and James they would.

It didn't take much working out for them to know that Roger was the father of the baby in the room behind them. He wasn't sure if (Y/n) had told them this or not when she told them she was pregnant, somehow he doubted it but another part of him just knew they figured it out before now. Seeing him walking over to them clearly knowing where he was going and knowing the baby was in the room behind them just gave them evidence to prove their theory that Roger was the father.

"Hello, Roger. We tried to contact you..." Lisa, (Y/n)'s mother was the one to speak up first, unsure of what else to say to start a conversation with him.

The drummer nodded, scratching the back of his neck instead of biting his thumb as he looked down to his feet for a moment. No one could get hold of him since he had moved out from his old home with his wife and he wasn't at (Y/n)'s apartment either. Mail or telephone calls didn't get to him, he'd been meaning to sort that out but everything else seemed more of a priority than people getting a hold of him.

Roger had made the decision that he couldn't live in (Y/n)'s apartment because it would be too hurtful to him but he wasn't selling her home. He was going to continue paying the rent and keep everything as it was like a treasured memory. He didn't want to let go of any of (Y/n)'s things and the apartment was something that James could see when he was older to know his mum. The drummer had already found somewhere else to live and paid the deposit but he wasn't moving anything until James was better and ready to go home.

"I'm in the middle of moving at the moment. Have you been to see James?" Moving over to his right, Roger leaned against the wall silently asking it to hold him upright as he watched the elder couple in front of him move to sit down on the seats outside of the room.

He didn't know what he was meant to say to them. Was he meant to tell them that he had started making funeral arrangements? Was he meant to inform them of James' condition and how he was getting better? Were they to make small talk or avoid the obvious topic of (Y/n)? Roger wished he had a manual for this kind of situation so he could be told what he was meant to say or what topics were allowed to be talked about and which ones to avoid. He didn't like this. He had been away from James for nearly three hours, he was long overdue to go back and sit with his boy now.

"Yes, we have. He's... actually what we wanted to talk to you about." Roger's eyes shifted to look at (Y/n)'s dad, Mark, his eyes narrowing on the elder man. The drummer didn't like the tone of his voice which clearly indicated Roger wasn't going to like where this conversation was going to go.

"Right...?" Roger trailed off, his head shaking just a little as he waited to be informed of what they wanted to talk to him about.

"We thought that it might be better if we took care of him." Roger's lips curved upwards into the kind of warped smile that the Cheshire cat would be expected to wear. The look mixing between a smile and a crooked smirk of the grinch as he let out a breath that resembled a laugh. His teeth clamping down on his lower lip as his head bowed forward again, hands stuffing into the pockets of his worn blue jeans that resembled the colour of his eyes.

They actually thought Roger would be alright with having this conversation with them or that somehow he would be glad they wanted to take his son from him. James was his baby, not theirs and Roger wasn't letting him go like that. How would it benefit James for them to bring him up instead of his own flesh and blood?

"Instead of me? I know you don't particularly like me but you can't change the fact that James is my son. It's a kind thought but when he goes home, that will be with me." They weren't doing this to him. Roger had lost the person he loved, the person he had tried so hard to protect and now they thought it was fine for them to swan in here and decide to take his boy from him as well. Roger couldn't lose anyone else and they had no right to do this. He understood that they had lost their only daughter but James was Roger's only boy, his only child and he was capable and fit of caring for him.

There was no concern that Roger wouldn't be a fit parent and he wasn't going to stop them from seeing James, they had no need to try and fight him on this he wasn't cutting them out. He just wanted to do the right thing, what (Y/n) wanted and what he now wanted. Roger wanted to look after his son.

"We're not saying that, but James is going to need a lot of care and you work, we don't. You go around the world, are you planning on taking him with you? We don't want to cut you out of the picture-"

"You just want to take over from me." Roger finished for them, knowing what they were implying. They were coming from both a good and a bad place with this decision they made without him. They wanted to care for James because he was their grandson and he was going to need more care than a normal baby and it was true Roger did travel a lot and worked more than most. But then again they had never fully accepted Roger and they didn't take to him that well, instead of offering their help to care for James they were walking in here and saying plainly that they wanted to take him.

Roger wasn't asked if he would need help with James, he wasn't offered any advice or support. He was given the choice- or an ultimatum- that they wanted to take James off his hands to help them both. That wasn't fair and it wasn't allowed.

"Do you really think so low of me that you think I'd sign my son over to you just like that?" There was clear hurt in his voice as they didn't seem to think he was going to put up that much of a fuss as if he didn't care or even love his boy. "The polite thing to do would be to ask if you could help, not ask to take him away from me. Touring the world with the band is a choice, not a demand in the job description, we can stop touring for now and we will. I can cut down work or stop altogether because I don't need to work I do it because I love my job."

The band didn't do touring because they had to or for money, tours never gained them money because of the amount they spent on the lighting, the equipment, the stage and the designs they had. They toured because they got to travel and for the fans. They loved live concerts, it was a choice not a demand. Roger was financially stable for the rest of his life, he could quit music altogether right this moment and be set for life for him and James. But he continued because he loved music and it was his life and job, he could cut down if he wanted or needed and he was going to do just that.

"And you can cope with James, can you? We're only saying this because we want to care for him, Roger. He needs more care than a normal child and you don't stay in one place long enough for that. What does your wife think of this?"

The drummer's lips pressed into a thin line as he glared at the man sitting in front of him. They had been here five minutes, Roger had been here since the moment James was born. He knew the date and the exact time James had been put on a ventilator to breathe for him, he knew that two hours after he first saw his son they gave him steroids to make his lungs develop quicker. Roger knew what times they fed James which happened through a tube into his stomach, he knew that tomorrow they were taking him off the ventilator for the first time and he knew every little thing that changed in his son's condition. He knew how to care for his son when he got him home because he had listened to the doctors and he had taken biology in university. Roger could cope and he was ready for this, they weren't taking James from him now.

"We're separated, actually. Did you know James had steroids last week to develop his lungs? Or that they feed him every two hours through a syringe into his stomach? Did you know his kidneys are being monitored in case they stop working, or that he's coming off the ventilator tomorrow to breathe on his own for the first time? I know exactly what is wrong with my son and I know how to help him. I won't cut you out of his life but listen to me now when I say he is my boy and he stays with me so please don't fight me on this. The courts won't grant you custody, I'm his parent and legal guardian now, I have the money to support him, I want him and there is nothing that says I can't care for him. He's mine."

Roger could feel his body beginning to shake as the thought of informing them about (Y/n)'s funeral left his mind completely. If they wanted to know about that then they could ask him or they should have gotten here earlier if they wanted to be a part of that process. They had left it over two weeks now to come and see their grandson and to plan their daughter's funeral so Roger had taken things into his own hands.

His body pushed away from the wall, his knees tensing as they tried to lock in place to stop him from falling down. He didn't give them one more glance before he went to see his son, slamming the door behind him.

The courts would never give them custody of James.

Roger was fit to care for his son, he had a home- more than one property in fact. He had more than enough money, he had a flexible job that meant he could care for James. He had done nothing wrong to suggest he was an unfit parent and most importantly he wanted his son. They weren't going to take James from him when all of this was there to back him up. (Y/n)'s parents didn't work anymore but they weren't James' parents, they didn't have the kind of money Roger did and they had no reason to have custody of him. No judge would take a child from their parent just because a family member thought they were better suited to care for them.

James was staying right where he belonged, with Roger.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger x reader #imagine #queen band #fractured pieces #Single Dad

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itsblissfuloblivion · 5 years

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Kindle - Chapter 18

A/N: We can’t really believe this is the last chapter!!!! It’s filled with fluff and love and hinny cuteness. We hope you enjoy it & thank you for reading along and sharing your wonderful comments!!! Love Love Love from @fightfortherightsofhouseelves & @gryffindormischief

Also available on FF & Ao3!

Harry never regarded a day spent at the Burrow, in the bosom of the Weasley family, as anything even remotely close to dangerous. Today, however, he found himself seconds short of being trampled upon, run down, and asphyxiated between the kilometers of lace and silk used to decorate the wide wedding tent slash ballroom. Hence why he can currently be spotted casually hiding behind a particular copse at the far end of the orchard, silently praying he will make it throughout the day alive.

It’s also where Ron finds him, harassed and out of his wits.

“I reckon if Mum hunts me down one more time to smarten up my suit and tie, I’ll scream bloody murder and then kill myself. Hermione would understand, she would,” Ron complains as he takes a seat next to Harry on the warm ground, knowing full well that he’ll be risking both his life and Harry’s as soon as Molly Weasley discovers soil stains on their wedding suits.

Harry snorts, eyeing his best mate amusedly, “I’m actually afraid of your Mum, you know. It’s only now I realise how naive I was to fear your Dad and brothers when we told them about the baby.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. And don’t let her fool you, mate, but Ginny’s really Mum, only thirty years younger,” Ron elbows Harry and they both laugh easily, their shoulders visibly relaxing.

A pause and then Harry speaks, his lips stretching into a candid smile, “Hey, Ron?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m really happy for you, mate. You two - I mean, you’re perfect for each other,” he adds and Ron’s blue eyes turn moist as his cheeks color pink.

“Don’t-” Ron clears his throat, “don’t tell my sister, but that pretty much applies to you two as well,” he smiles sheepishly.

“Thank you,” Harry mumbles as he tries to swallow the newly formed lump in his throat.

They sit still, enjoying a silence that speaks of mutual contentment and a lifetime of friendship shared between them. To Harry, it seems amazing, fantastic even that he gets to be part of his best mate’s wedding day. His wedding day! When did they grow up so fast? When did all the years pass since that first day of school they shook hands for the first time, two scrawny, scared, lonely kids on a train leading them to great adventures. What would those two kids say if they knew that, sixteen years down the line, they’d go to each other’s weddings and cry with joy at the news of children coming.

“Oi! Happy tree friends over there,” George wheezes as he runs towards them. “Mum and the bride are looking for you. The ceremony’s about to start,” he adds, checking his watch, then smirks. “I’d be careful if I were you, Ronniekins. Your dashing bride looks like she’s about to have someone’s head.”

Gulping, Ron hurriedly pats his groom tuxedo in hopes of dusting off any traces of mud and grass, and gallops away, as fast as his black leather shoes can take him.

“I wouldn’t grin in your place, Harry, mate. Ginny’s also sent word to find you and take you back to her dead or alive,” George jokes, laughing at Harry’s desperate expression. “Frankly, I reckon she’s really about to lose it with everybody doting on her. Poor Angelina, she’s in for the same mad ride once we tell them we’re expecting,” he shakes his head and slightly shudders at the prospect.

Dumbfounded, Harry opens his mouth only to close it again. Inhales, exhales, and tries again, “Excuse me? You two-? You’re-?”

George’s face lights up, blue eyes sparkling brighter than Harry had ever seen them, pure bliss radiating from every inch of his being. “Yes, bloody hell yes!” He grins wide and Harry jumps in to hug and congratulate him with enthusiasm. “But don’t tell Ron yet, alright? I - erm, we don’t want to steal his thunder. I mean, he’s always got what Bill, Charlie, Percy, and then Fred and I didn’t need or want anymore. It’s his day,” George slowly says, embarrassed, his hand flying to the back of his head and eyes averting Harry’s green ones.

Harry claps him on the shoulder proudly as they shuffle their feet in tandem towards the wedding crowd, one future father and another.

On the other side of the orchard, Harry spots a dash of red hair and a mess of black. Lily and James Potter, dressed smartly in summer dress with hues of gold and a navy blue suit, sit close to each other, her head resting against one of his broad shoulders.

“What are you two love birds doing?” Harry sneaks up behind his parents, pretending to be grossed out by the fluffy scene unfolding before him.

“You look spiffing, son,” James nods in approval. “Hair like a hurricane is a family gene I’m afraid, but alas, you do have your charm,” he grins, winking at the younger version of him.

Snorting, Harry presses a kiss to his mum’s cheek and squeezes his dad’s shoulder before half-sitting in one of the delicate chairs in front of them. “Sorry we couldn’t pick you three up from the airport.”

Lily rubs some mostly imaginary smudge from Harry’s chin and smiles. “We’re your parents. And we can definitely handle ordering an Uber.”

“Dad can’t.”

“Siri hates me.”

Rolling her eyes, Lily pats James’ knee and sighs, “Yes dear.”

James’ retort is already on his lips when he follows Harry’s eyeline. “We fly halfway around the world and he can’t even pay attention to our scintillating conversation.”

Jolting, Harry turns to find his mother looking at him fondly. “He’s in love and his girlfriend is glowing and beautiful.”

A flush rises on Harry’s cheek as James muses, “Perhaps more than girlfriend?”

“Smooth, Dad.”

“It’s not a no, Lil.”

Harry growls and Lily pats his arm where it rests across the gilt chair back. “Don’t pressure him, James. Just because he has the opportunity to make his mum’s dreams come true while she’s on the same continent - ”

“You know - ”

Before Harry can finish his half-formed threat, Sirius drops into the seat next to him and grins. “Are we talking about my godson having eye-sex with the girl he could barely talk to like a human being not even a year ago?”

Head dropping to his forearm, Harry doesn’t bother interjecting as his family laughs at his expense.

His mum’s fingers brush through his hair, her smile warm, and despite the teasing, Harry realizes just how much he’s missed them. Which is lucky for the three menaces, because it puts Harry in a giving, patient mood, even when Sirius continues, “Remember when he kissed her and then ran away to do something academic and nerdy?”

“Biology really is magical,” James nods, “How else did he father a child with such a woman?”

Lily rolls her eyes and jabs at James’ middle. “You should talk - I seem to remember a very awkward hair-ruffling, mildly blackmail-ish first date invitation.”

Sirius nods sagely, “He didn’t speak for at least two weeks after that.”

“Harry’s an adult,” James accuses, a smile tickling the corners of his lips.

“Mature, Dad.”

“My son is charming and handsome. He probably won her over with his lovely smile.”

“Actually, I had her at professor.”

George comes to a halt at Harry’s side, overly large bouquet of flowers covering him from hip to nose before he peers around, “A little bird told me something about a hat, Indiana Jones, and a whip.”

Flushing, Harry rises and steps out past George into the aisle. “No comment.”

Across the yard, Ginny’s secreted herself off to fume where no innocent bystanders can be caught in the crossfire of her hormonally charged anger.

“You look like you’re ready to stab someone,” Bill approaches his sister, youngest daughter cradled in his arms in a weak attempt at putting her to sleep.

“Sure feel like it,” Ginny snorts, flipping her thick sheath of red hair over a freckled shoulder. “You’d think people’d understand I’m eight months pregnant, not disabled,” she add as she blows a considerable amount of air through her nostrils, eyes flaring so she rather resembles a dragon. To Bill, at least.

“Anyway,” Ginny plows on, fussing about her chair until she finds a comfortable enough position for her poor back and heavy tummy, “Have you seen Teddy?”

Bill round blue eyes morph into slits, “Wooing my eldest daughter, I suppose,” he responds with ill disguised nonchalance.

“Wouldn’t dare imagine how you’ll take it when they actually start dating,” Ginny giggles as her brother’s eyes widen, as if only then he’d acknowledged the possibility.

“Don’t.”

“Mr. Protective Father, aren’t we?” she raises an eyebrow, freckles gathering in a cluster right above it.

Bill sighs and takes a sit on the chair next to Ginny’s, transferring baby Dominique from one arm to the other, and squeezes his sister’s hand, “I truly wish that you’re carrying a little girl in there so I can even things up with Harry for knocking up my sister and stealing my daughter through that little godson of his.”

“You say knocked up once more,” Ginny pulls her hand away incensed, “I swear I’ll sit on you. And that’s a real threat seeing that I weigh about a billion kilos right now.” Her frown only brings a grin to her brother’s face, and she could never quite resist that mischievous, charming smirk Bill adorned when he felt comfortable or pleased, his ponytail hanging low over his back and fanged earring dangling in the shy summer breeze.

“Hullo, love,” Harry appears out of nowhere and plants a kiss on her cheek. “Hermione’s summoned you to the gallows. I mean, she’s called you up to her room for a last bride and bridesmaid rehearsal,” he grins, hands out an arm for Ginny to lean on as she rises.

“It’s ridiculous,” she sneers, breathing heavily as Harry lifts her, “I’m like a ticking clock about to explode and she has the audacity to call me a bridesmaid.”

“Maybe don’t explode just now,” Harry chuckles as they walk towards the Burrow, “I reckon Hermione wouldn’t appreciate it very much.” Ginny rolls her eyes, yet gives in to laughter seconds later. It’s easy being happy next to him, she thinks.

Knock-knock, Ginny raps her knuckles on the wooden surface of the door to her childhood room. It’s where Hermione set headquarters for her bridal transformation, in Ron’s words, and it was not a lie. Always a beautiful woman, Hermione was breathtaking in white satin, rich curls flowing loosely down her back.

“Might be the pregnancy hormones speaking, but I’m feeling attracted to you right now,” Ginny appraises her friend as she shuts the door firmly and drops herself on the old single bed, lifting her feet up on a freshly fluffed pillow.

“I’m afraid you took too long to make a move,” Hermione snorts as she tries to smooth down a rogue curl, hovering so close in front of the mirror she goes a bit cross eyed.

“Yeah, afraid so. Plus you’d probably have to fight Harry for me.”

“Oh, no, I’d never win. Heard he has a trusty whip he uses to impose discipline,” the bride smirks, switching her gaze to observe her friend through the mirror.

“Harry got drunk and confessed, didn’t he?” Ginny drawls, bored.

Hermione lifts an ebony eyebrow, “Trust me, I’m the victim here. Absolutely did not sign up to hear that.” She gingerly holds one heeled shoe and inserts her right foot with great care, long brown bushy hair shielding her face from view. “Although I must admit, role playing does sound rather...tolerable.”

Palm pressed to her mouth, Ginny giggles, “The word you’re looking for is kinky. And yes, do it. Just never tell me it’s my brother you’re doing it with. Can’t possibly stomach that.”

“Will the two of you ever grow up?” Hermione asks, hair pushed back from her face with one arm as she holds a second shoe in place with the other.

“Nope. I expect we’ll have children and lie that they arrived with the stork.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, “I’m marrying into this family.”

“Your decision, not mine,” Ginny winks and tosses a peanut into her mouth with high accuracy, a trick learned and polished over holidays spent with her brothers.

“Impressive. Where’d you get’em from?”

“Nicked them on my way here.”

Chuckling, Hermione lifts the heavy material of her wedding gown, her high heels tap-tapping on the creaking floor as she walks to sit next to Ginny. “So how are you feeling?”

“I’m aware I said it before, but like a whale waiting to be put out of her misery,” Ginny pouts, palms running light circles over her rounded stomach. “I may never voluntarily choose to have children again.”

“I gather it was a choice?” Hermione’s deep brown eyes meet Ginny’s, mischief glinting bright.

“Eh, it’s not like we did much to prevent it, to be fair,” she admits with a grin. “Nevermind that,” Ginny tries to lift herself up on her elbows, “How are you? It’s your wedding day!”

The two women smile so wide their cheeks hurt, features alight with happiness and giddiness. If Ginny didn’t feel like thrice her size and Hermione had not spend the last five hours getting ready, they’d be sure to jump up and down in sheer excitement. Still, given the circumstances, they settle for squealing at earnumbing frequencies.

The ceremony is beautiful up to the tiniest detail, and has a peaceful effect on everyone present. Madams Granger and Weasley seniors weep in tandem with a hormonal Ginny, Lily squeezes James’ hand, and Ron feels like bursting with joy. From the audience, Bill, Charlie, and George give him a thumbs up and three mad grins. Percy, on the other hand, sits poised on the edge of his chair, the image of British properness, while Arthur subtly wipes a tear from underneath his horn-rimmed glasses. In the middle of it all, Hermione gasps as though she can barely believe everything that’s happening, hand trembling as Ron slides the gold band on her finger.

The newly weds’ kiss hovers dangerously close to indecent, Ron lifting his wife off her feet in a toe-curling snog that has Sirius wolf whistling and Snuffles barking.

Barely two weeks later, it’s well past the ‘witching hour’ and Harry’s taken over the couch - his office surrendered in favor of a baby nursery - typing away at his latest revision of the post-dig paper, when Ginny shuffles out into the living room. “Harry?”

She looks so young, hair in a tangle around her freckled face, soft cotton nightgown dwarfing her even at such a late stage of pregnancy, that Harry can’t help but imagine a little girl of their own. Ginny’s fiery locks, his almond shaped eyes, her freckles, his knobby knees -

Ginny’s wince puts an end to his daydreaming. “I think. I think it’s time,” she grips the doorway, “Unrelated - we need to change the sheets.”

Nearly tossing his laptop across the room in frightened haste, Harry’s at Ginny’s side in two beats, palm finding the small of her back like it’s magnetized. “I’ll - we’re good. I’ll call Mum, they’re closest for Ted. Just. You’re packed, yeah?”

“Yes, yes. You nagged me about seven billion times. Today.”

“Well aren’t you glad I did?” Harry shoots back, blinking exaggeratedly.

Before Ginny can answer, she doubles over, breaths coming in short pants. “Stuff it. Go call your Mum.”

“Sir, yes, Sir.”

“Don’t sass me while your child is trying to violently expel itself from my body,” Ginny grunts, pinching his arm as he fumbles for his mobile.

It’s a quick, excited call that gets Lily and co. on the way before Harry’s dialing the hospital and tugging on street clothes.

Ginny’s movements are slow, hampered by the periodic spasms at her back, as she drags her soiled nightie overhead and pulls on a cottony grey dress that stretches comfortably over her belly. After a few failed attempts, she leans against the door to their closet and moans, “Harry, I can’t see the floor.”

Quick as he can, Harry trots over and brushes his thumb along her jaw. “Which ones, love?”

Sighing, Ginny nuzzles against his shoulder and murmurs, “My granny clogs?”

Not even a quarter of an hour later, Lily, James, and Sirius are gathered around the dining table while Harry lectures them as he reads down the checklist scrawled over two full pages of a yellow pad and Ginny strokes her belly, resting against the front door.

“You know, there’s this thing called texting, son. Plus we raised you alright.”

“And we are bloody doctors, Harry,” Lily adds, “Now go, or Ginny’s going to murder you before I see my first grandchild.”

Harry’d really like to point out that his mother did in fact work in a lab all her professional life, but considers it twice before opening his mouth to blurt out his usual sass for fear that either Lily or Ginny might eat him alive.

The trip to hospital is a blur, the odd hour at least eliminating some traffic as they trundle through the rain streaked streets. In between contractions, Ginny fiddles with the radio and does her best to smile teasingly. “You know, you’re handling this quite well.”

“I’m an adult, I can handle stress.”

Ginny glances at him sidelong. “Sure.”

And Harry does remain beautifully cool, calm, and collected as Ginny’s wheeled into the maternity ward, as he fills out the check-in paperwork, and even while she’s changing into her gown and getting tucked safely into the scratchy hospital blankets.

It’s not until her doctor comes in, snapping rubber gloves at her wrists, and explaining the steps of this first check up that Harry begins to leave the comforting haze that carried him through the last hour and realization sets in.

By this time tomorrow, Harry’ll be a dad. Again. And really, he’d have thought having Teddy, and nine months of lead in time would’ve made this a less terrifying thought. But as the time is counted in hours rather than months, weeks, or days, he can barely keep his hands steady enough to ring Ron.

He lets it ring once, then dials back again - Ron’s had his mobile set on ‘Do Not Disturb’ for most of the last month - and before Hermione manages more than a sleepy ‘hello,’ he’s blurting, “The baby’s coming, how soon can you get down here, I’m freaking out.”

Hermione’s laugh is quiet as she murmurs and shakes Ron awake. “Harry, take a deep breath, we’ll be right down.”

It absolutely does not help that Harry’s last glimpse of Ginny is of her moaning and promising to inflict as much pain onto him when the baby is finally out as she’s currently suffering, as, according to her, it’s entirely his fault.

Before Harry falls into the pits of despair, James Potter arrives to sneak a comforting arm around his son and helps him into a nearby chair, while a sleepy Teddy drops his head to one of Harry’s knees.

“There, there, my darling boy. The ER guy and your Mum will take care of Ginny until the Weasley cavalry rides in,” James pats Harry’s messy locks, kisses him on the top of his head.

“You mean Sirius made his entrance?” Harry grunts, forehead pressed closed to where Teddy’s is resting, his body twisted in a position worthy of a Cirque to Soleil contortionist.

“He’s really so good at what he does I can turn a blind eye to his dramatics.”

Harry lifts his head enough to catch a hurricane of red hair crashing by. The poor nurse trying to keep people outside of Ginny’s already crammed ward has no chance when faced with Molly Weasley, nerves wired to the tips of her overworked fingers.

By the grace of some lucky star, or rather by the force of the combined prayers of medical staff having to do their job with one Molly Weasley and one Sirius Black barking orders and shooting questions to and fro, Ginny’s not in labor too long, things moving quickly as they can. Even so, the rush of nurses and doctors dressed in pale scrubs flying in and out of her room doesn’t do much to quell Harry’s nerves.

At some point, Ron pressed a styrofoam cup of tea into Harry’s hand, long since gone tepid and untouched. Still, it gives him something to fiddle with. A lifetime passes before Sirius exits the room, wiping at his sweaty brow, and disappears to god knows where. But Harry has no energy to rise and chase after him, or rather ask why they needed an emergency specialist, or a million other questions. He can only sit there, straddling the metal chair, his palms pressing into his forehead until the tips of his fingers turn white.

He’s about to storm his way into the room when a nurse emerges, wrapped in a bright yellow apron and beckons Harry inside. Looking around, he catches a glimpse of bushy brown hair resting on Ron’s shoulder as his own mother and father seem to have dozed off to sleep next to them. Harry feels too tired to smile, but the family scene does bring some sort of comfort and familiarity to the newness he’s confronted with. He exhales loudly and steps in.

The crowd has dissipated somewhat and Ginny seems to be at a resting point, hair matted and face utterly wrecked. But she seems alright, all things considered.

“Hey, Gin.”

Her mouth twists in a tired smile, “Don’t Gin me. Your little basketball sized spawn is slamming its way out of my body. I deserve a ‘Hello goddess of the universe.’”

“At least you’ve still got your sense of humor,” Harry murmurs, ruffling his hair as Molly avoids eye contact and studiously examines a two month old copy of Reader’s Digest.

Ginny rolls her eyes and gestures him closer, not relaxing until he claims the chair next to her, barely perching on the stiff plastic seat. “I thought I didn’t want you in here, but,” she clears her throat and shares a brief glance with Molly, “Someone very wise helped me realize I needed my partner to finish this out.”

Molly’s lips tick up in a grin and Ginny continues, “You’re still not allowed down there but - ”

Before Ginny can continue her conditions, her entire body tenses as another contraction rolls through her body. And after that, it’s a blur of measured breathing and nearly cracked knuckles, until suddenly a little cry pierces the early morning light and Harry’s holding his squalling little son.

The whole world seems to shrink down to the three of them, that little room, and Harry’s whole world in the space of his arms. Or almost his whole world. At nearly the same moment his brain catches up, Ginny’s does too. “Where’s Teddy?”

“I’ll get him?”

Teddy’s hesitant when he reaches the doorway, eyes wide as he bites at his lip. “I can really come in?”

Ginny’s brow furrows, unused to seeing Teddy so restrained. Until she finds his gaze focused on the little baby boy, tucked against her chest. “You ready to meet your brother?”

His smile grows and he totters over to the bed, Harry at his heels. When he can’t manage climbing past the bed rail, Harry lifts him onto the edge of the mattress and Teddy reaches out a hesitant hand towards the pink bundle.

The baby’s chest rises and falls steadily beneath his tightly wrapped blanket and finally, after nine months, Harry’s life’s work is together and right before his eyes.

“Can we call him Victor?” Teddy asks innocently, his eyes wide with unrepressed wonder.

A laugh tumbles out from deep within Ginny’s chest and she leans in to kiss Teddy dearly on the cheek, her smile unrelenting. “I was thinking something more to the effect of...well, James. For tradition,” she adds, immediately searching for any signs of possible refuse from Harry. But there are only tears in his eyes, and Ginny just knows it’s the right decision - three generations of James Potters with their wild, messy, dark hair (and most probably bad eyesight). “And,” Ginny prepares herself to say out loud what she’d been thinking since realising that Harry had, in fact, two dads, one of them who held her hand through most of the night, calming her when she was in terrible pain and terribly frightened, “Maybe also Sirius?”

It’s likely too much for Harry, as he closes his eyes and keeps quiet for a minute, his breathing coming in and out unevenly. “Why?” He finally asks.

“They’re inseparable, the two of them, like peas in a pod. Only seems natural,” Ginny shrugs like its no big deal.

Before Harry can shout his happiness to the world, there’s a knock at the door and Molly’s face appears round the corner, leaving Harry wondering when exactly she managed to slip past.

“You have an adoring public waiting, dears. Everyone’s promised to keep it short.”

And then it’s like the circus has set up in the maternity ward of Mungo’s Hospital, too many people, too many grabbing hands, and entirely too much laughter. Somehow, the Weasley brothers all manage to gather themselves into an intimidating huddle, looming at the foot of Ginny’s bed as she settles back against the pillows, eyes drooping with tiredness, and Harry’s never felt so analyzed and judged in his life - not even when he defended his dissertation, and that’s saying something. “‘M sorry love, if they’re going to beat you up I can’t defend you much,” she tells him between two yawns.

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead and laughs. “At least I’m already in hospital.”

Growling under her breath, Ginny readjusts in the bed - wincing a bit - and scowls. “It was a joke. No one’s beating anyone up. God, it’s not 1950,” her voice drops as she eyes each of her brothers in turn, “Which is why Victoire’s birthday is just a bit too close to her mummy and daddy’s wedding day.”

Bill scoffs but he claps Harry on the back, as Charlie and Ron cackle, while Percy clears his throat uncomfortably and unnecessarily readjusts his eyeglasses. “We like you well enough, and Gin’s got you well in hand.”

“She’s got all of us well in hand,” Harry laughs, earning a playful scowl from Ginny, even as she dozes off against her newly fluffed pillows.

Like the mother hen that she is, Molly shoos the Weasley masses from room, only lingering long enough to press a kiss to Ginny’s head and nearly squeeze the life out of Harry. Lily rounds the bed next, finally standing out again now that she’s the only redhead in the room. With a smile, she cups Harry’s cheek. “I’m so happy for you, my sweet, darling boy.”

James hovers at her shoulder, furiously blinking away tears as his lips tilt in a grin. “You have a lovely little family.”

“I’ll expect 24-7 babysitting availability once you come to your senses and move back,” Ginny says with a laugh, her eyes barely open.

“You won’t have to twist his arm,” Sirius puts in, brushing a careful finger over James Sirius’ sleep flushed cheek, “Ol’ Jamesy is a sucker for all things baby. You’ll have to pry him out of your flat.”

Lily snorts. “You’re one to talk - Harry was almost as spoilt as ickle Diddykins that first Christmas.”

“I am extravagant with my love.”

Rolling her eyes, Lily squeezes Ginny’s hand and sighs. “We’ll come back and visit. Tomorrow - well today. Late. I know you’ll be more than tired.”

“Wait,” James pauses in his stride and turns back to the family of four cuddled up on the feeble hospital bed, “What’s this little tike’s name? If it’s been decided, of course.”

Sharing a look, Harry nods for Ginny to speak.

“He’s named after some famous double act,” Ginny dares a sheepish grin, “James Sirius.”

Ginny might’ve hit the two men with an iron chair over their heads and would’ve probably gotten more of a reaction. It takes whole minutes before they can speak again, their voices trembling and knees shaking as Lily half-carries them towards the exit, arms wrung through each of their own.

Harry climbs out of bed to walk them to the front door, accepting more teary hugs, sloppy kisses, and congratulations, before they disappear into the miraculously quiet hallway.

Back inside the small ward, Teddy’s dead to the world where he rests against James’ shoulder as Ginny shifts a bit restlessly. “You could go home and sleep in a bed - Teddy too.”

“Are you kidding me? First, all parties involved were more than happy for a sleep over at Mum and Dad’s posh hotel suite, and second there is no way I’m leaving this building while the two of you are here, alone.”

“Such a dad,” Ginny murmurs, eyelashes brushing her freckled cheeks as she drifts off, “Now stop trying to pretend that chair is comfortable and get up here with me.”

Kicking off his shoes, Harry makes to follow her instructions, even as he asks, “You sure? That nurse was a bit scary.”

“Poor baby.”

“You’ll have to protect me if Nurse Moody shows up.”

Ginny hums, already half asleep, “Of course, my love. Now come snuggle your tired wife.”

Harry’s heart stutters at the slip, his eyes shooting open wide to catch Ginny’s expression. But it seems it was indeed just a tired slip of the tongue. One that has him awake long after Ginny drifts off.

“Thank you,” he whispers into her ginger hair and presses his temple to it. His last conscious thought is of love, of his son carrying the names of two of the most important people in his life, two people who had shaped and defined him, of how much this woman, this incredible, beautiful woman means to him, of how easily she seems to understand him.

The next forty eight hours are full to the brim with last minute preparations at the flat - Hermione is an over prepared lifesaver - lessons in parenting from nurses, doctors, and nosy family, and for Harry, a few slight (and luckily private) freak outs that he’s got two kids and really wants to propose to his girlfriend.

Ron pulls his and Hermione’s little SUV up to the porte-cochère just as Harry and Teddy wheel out Ginny and James Sirius.

Luckily, the ride home isn’t too long but Ginny’s still ready for a nap by the time they arrive. It’s a team effort to get Ginny tucked in bed, James and Teddy fed, and all three of them to sleep. Still, Harry’s never been more content.

He’s sipping lemonade at the counter while Hermione does the last of their lunch dishes when Ron sidles up. “So, dad, how’s it feel to be ancient?”

“You’re the old married couple.”

Hermione smirks, setting the last plate to dry. “I’ve a feeling we won’t hold that distinction for long.”

They wander into the living room and Harry sighs, slumping back against the cushions. “My life has never been in the right order. Not that I’m complaining.”

Ron claims the seat on his left and Hermione the right, her head tucking against his shoulder. “Is there a ‘right order’?”

“Look at my wife, the philosopher.”

“She’s a woman of many talents.”

“You’re a couple of tossers.”

Chuckling, Ron takes another swig of his lemonade and throws his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “What? I’m serious.”

They share a laugh, muffling the noise against the palms of their hands, until Harry calms. “Tell me not to go wake my newborn son because I want to play with him. Or hold him. Or both, I can’t really decide.”

Hermione pats his arm. “Don’t.”

“Yeah, Gin-Gin will kill you if you screw the kid up.”

Harry shows a pretty sizeable amount of restraint - his own view of the subject - and manages to wait a whole hour before he tiptoes into the bedroom just to stare after Ron and Hermione return to the comfort of their own home. Glancing at his watch, he turns towards Teddy’s door and finds him sitting half atop his covers and thumbing through a picture book. “Hey, Ted.”

“Hi, wanna read - ”

A sad little wail of a cry sounds from the master bedroom and Teddy perks up, “Is James awake?”

“Sounds like it,” Harry rubs at the back of his head, “We’ll have to pause the - ”

“Let’s go, he’s crying.”

Teddy grabs Harry’s hand and tugs him into the hall, books forgotten in the wake of ‘big brother duties.’

In a few quick strides, they’ve reached the little bassinet and little James is giving his lungs a good work out. Smiling softly, Teddy brushes his fingers along James’ bootied toes. “S’alright. Harry’s here. He knows just what to do.”

The bed creaks behind them as Ginny slowly raises herself into a sitting position. “He is pretty great,” Ginny agrees, “Which is why he’s probably guessed James needs some mummy time.”

Gently, Harry lifts James from the cradle and passes him over to Ginny before he ushers Teddy from the room to choose a storybook.

It’s a bigger choice than Harry guessed, Victoire has told him the first book a baby reads is very important so they flip through half of Teddy’s collection before settling on Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump.

They’ve given Ginny enough time so that James has been fed and burped, her clothes have been righted, and the baby boy is cooing softly against her chest. “We’re ready for some entertainment. Hospital was pretty boring.”

With care, Harry and Teddy climb up onto the bed - Harry claiming the innermost seat as he fans the book open before them. “A long time ago, in a land far away, there was a kingdom ruled by a foolish King who decided that he should be the only one to have magical powers.”

Ginny and Teddy snuggle close on either side while James blinks tiredly. “He formed an army, which he called the Brigade of Witch-Hunters, and armed them with black hounds. At the same time, he wanted an Instructor in Magic, so he made calls for a wizard or witch from one of the nearby villages to teach him.”

“A little dark for a first storybook,” Ginny teases while Teddy reaches to flip the page.

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead. “It’s got a nice ending.”

Not long after the story comes to a close, Harry’s mobile vibrates in his pocket. With a quick fumble, Harry manages to pull it free and swipe the call on before James Sirius wakes. “‘Lo?”

“Uncle Harry?”

“Hello, Victoire,” Harry says with a smile that only widens as Teddy perks up, “I know we’re tight, but I have a feeling you’re not looking for me.”

There’s a pause like she nearly drops Bill’s phone and then presses it back to her ear. Harry glances down at his wide-eyed godson. “Teddy’s right here.”

Reaching up with grabbing hands, Teddy accepts the mobile and trots out with an affectionate glance toward James where he sleeps in Ginny’s arms.

As Teddy disappears out into the living room, Harry chuckles softly before he twists and cups Ginny’s chin, pressing a kiss to her lips. “You’re - beautiful.”

She hums, deepening the kiss just barely. “So’re you, my love.”

James shifts a little restlessly in Ginny’s arms, snuffling in his sleep while Harry brushes a finger over his cheek. “I love you, Gin. You - this life we have together is better than anything I could’ve dreamt up for Teddy and I.”

“Better than just a doughnut?”

Laughter bubbles in Harry’s chest as he kisses Ginny once more. “I - you know how we talked briefly in New York?”

Brow quirking, Ginny turns a bit more to face Harry. “We talked more than a few times in New York, dear.”

“About - about adding another Potter to the world.”

“Seems we did that fairly well,” Ginny teases, darting a glance towards their sleeping son.

“I mean, making you one. About being officially.”

In all seriousness, Ginny asks, “Harry. Will you marry me?”

Jolting, Harry scowls down at Ginny. “No fair, I started first.”

“But I finished first - you always like that.”

“God, innuendo in front of our slumbering son?”

“What’s the answer, Potter?”

Harry drops his forehead against Ginny’s and feels his eyes filling even as his smile widens. “Yeah I’ll be Mr. Ginny Weasley-Potter-Whatever.”

“I like the hyphens,” Ginny laughs, her own tears forming, “Damn, I can’t wait until these excess hormones wear off. You do realize you proposed to a hosepipe, yeah?”

“A beautiful, amazing, cheeky, brilliant hosepipe.”

“What a bloke you are.”

“You’re the one who proposed - this is your choice.”

Settling James in Harry’s arms, Ginny presses herself close and sighs quietly. “It’s a good one.”

A cry pierces the air just as Harry’s miraculous coffee-fueled epiphany gets into full swing, sentence half finished as the ending dangles and then floats from his brain.

There’s probably only three people in the world he wouldn’t shout at for interrupting that flow and it’s the youngest of the three that beckons from the nursery. Teddy falls in at Harry’s side, his eagerness to be the world’s greatest elder brother only grown in the months since James came into their lives, and they find the little squalling bundle of Potter wriggling unhappily in his cot. “Alright, James?”

His tears pause for a moment as Harry and Teddy appear overhead, before the wailing renews in earnest. “Guess someone’s got a little gift in their nappy.”

Teddy presses his fists to his hips, power posing like a little superhero, and nods at Harry. “I’ll get the wipes.”

They go about the process of tidying James up, letting him swallow down a bottle of milk, then wander into the kitchen, standing side by side, staring aimlessly into the void of their mostly empty fridge, and then pantry. Harry bounces James on his chest as he slobbers over the collar of Harry’s t-shirt and Teddy sighs, chest rising and falling dramatically before he glances up at Harry and shakes his head. “Nothin’ to eat.”

“Unless you want some,” Harry shuffles a carton of baking soda aside and lifts a can from the back of the shelves, “Dehydrated milk?”

Teddy wrinkles his nose. “Ron’s?”

“You read my mind, mate.”

Harry and Teddy bundle themselves against the Autumn chill, tugging on wellies and winding scarves around their necks while James giggles happily while his chubby fingers jab at the dangling bits of his baby gym. Once they’re properly festooned, godfather and godson take care to ensure the littlest Potter is appropriately protected against the elements and admittedly overpack his nappy bag.

Luckily, the weather holds as they walk the few blocks toward Ron’s, the overhead bell soon tolling their entrance to the crowded shop.

Teddy tilts his head in the direction of the counter and bake case and Harry nods his approval, handing a few pound notes over before he carries James towards a free table in the back, his legs wriggling in the Ergo carrier. The line moves fairly quickly as gangly little Dennis rings up the line of hungry customers until Teddy’s next.

He places their regular order with a polite smile for Dennis and trots over to their table. “Dennis said t’ wait here and they’ll bring it.”

“We don’t need all that - ”

“Well too bad sir, this is a full service bakery and I expect a tip.”

“Gin-Gin!”

“Hello. Teddy Bear. I got some apple slices to go with this doughnut for breakfast.”

“You’re the one peddling fluffy strawberry clouds by the dozen,” Harry sticks out his tongue and starts freeing space for Ginny to take a seat next to him.

She laughs, “Only until my wandering brother and his wife return from their ‘second honeymoon.’”

Smiling, Harry sips at the tea Ginny’s set on the table and drags a third chair closer with his foot. “Take a load off, Madame Manager.”

Accepting the proffered seat, Ginny claims an apple slice for herself and ruffles Teddy’s hair. “And by the way, isn’t a second honeymoon usually more than six months in?”

“Hey, if Hermione’s willing to go on holiday, I’m not going to stand in her way.”

Dennis wanders by, bussing tables and offering refills as necessary, and slips Ginny a shortbread biscuit, which she accepts with a grateful smile before turning to Harry. “I thought her brain might leak out after the eighth month of negotiations.”

“She’s got a one track mind the minute anyone mentions institutional inequality.”

After a moment, Teddy wanders over to the little shelves tucked in the back corner and settles in on ‘his’ beanbag chair. Ginny sends him a wink and settles back in her chair, toying with the ring sparkling on her left hand. “Aye. And a few early morning shifts is a small price to pay.”

“Plus we do owe all - this,” Harry gestures a bit vaguely to their odd little family, “- to them.”

Leaning forward, Ginny kisses the sugary remnants of Harry’s doughnut from his lips, “And cinnamon crème.”

Much to Molly’s chagrin, Ginny Weasley doesn’t dress in white on the day of her wedding to Harry Potter (“I’ve already got a son, Mother!”), neither does she assemble a big party for the occasion. Instead, she chooses a dress to match the late autumn hues and combs her long ginger hair loosely against her back. Eyeshadow, lipstick, and a set of golden earrings she received as a wedding gift from her Bill and Fleur are her simple adornments.

Giving herself one last look in the mirror, Ginny smiles, confident as ever and clicks her heels on the wooden floor of her childhood room. At the door, there’s Arthur waiting for her. He kisses her cheek warmly, his fatigued hand brushing her tresses in light strokes, before extending an arm. Father and daughter together, they slowly descend down the circular staircase of the old Weasley family home.

“We’re so proud of you, love,” Arthur murmures as he holds his daughter’s hand.

It’s the whirlwind of emotions that deems Ginny speechless, and she simply clings on tighter to her dad as they walk towards the small wedding tent swaying gently in the November wind.

Family and friends are all waiting for her inside. Yet their faces are all a blur, she’s only got eyes for the man waiting for her at the other end, his hair the usual mess and his smile radiating love. Beside him, Ron claps his shoulder and greets his sister with a short nod.

Ginny squeezes her father’s arm and steadies herself as he kisses her cheek. Vaguely she realizes there are two women crying their eyes out behind her, Lily and Molly unable to contain themselves.

Another short inspection on her right side and Ginny is pleased to notice her little James Sirius securely snuggled between the two men whose names he bears. Taking a deep breath, she knows she can go on with the ceremony.

“I can never come to terms with how beautiful you are,” Harry whispers as she takes her place next to him.

“Don’t you make me cry in front of all those people, you handsome, brilliant man,” Ginny replies, her cheeks coloring ever so slightly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry grins and takes her hand, his thumb brushing over the engagement ring he placed there months earlier. It’s been a full year, a beautiful year. Best of his life, if he’s honest, at a tie with the one before. He’s established a permanent exhibition, his article on the dig is still published and quoted, his son was born, and to top it all off he’s about to marry the woman of his dreams, the one who’s made him happiest he’s ever been.

They say yes in a deafening wave of applause and cheers, grinning as they officially become Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Hand in hand, they walk down the aisle and accept all hugs, kisses, and congratulations, their hearts bursting with joy and beating in sync. Three steps ahead of them, a convoy made of Teddy, Victoire and Snuffles open the way, flowers spread around from their baskets. Behind, Ron and Hermione follow suit arm in arm.

“Not gonna lie, Harry, you kind of strong-armed me into doing the same,” George winks as they pass by, immediately wincing as a pregnant Angelina pokes him in the ribs.

Bill, Charlie, and Percy all hug their sister and cheerfully offer their congratulations to Harry. He takes a step backwards, offering Ginny enough space to celebrate with her family as he spots his own trio of mischief.

“Congrats, daddy,” Sirius smirks, cradling baby James in his arms.

Harry grimaces, “That sounds...gross, coming from you. And a little like you’re hitting on me, which I hope you’re not, giving that it’s my wedding day and you’re my godfather.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, then ruffles his godson’s unruly hair. “You’re alright, kid. No one’s mad enough to try and pry you away from that red haired temptress of yours.”

Before he can shoot his own comeback, Harry hears Lily’s giggle and feels her plump lips on stubbled cheek, as his father plants a kiss on his other one.

“Well done, son,” James booms. “Look at you - a proud father and godfather, an established archaeologist freshly married to a promising psychologist.” His smile extends to his hazel eyes, sparkling from behind his specs.

“She is rather brilliant,” Lily pipes in, squeezing Harry’s cheek. “And I’m not only referring to her formidable wit. I’ve read the study report on her work at the early education institution and it’s superb. I’m so proud of you two, my love.”

Harry lets himself be swallowed by the three sided hug before he can extract his own son from Sirius’ arms and find his beautiful wife.

Later, much later, when they’re giddy on pure bliss and champagne, snuggled close in their bed while their sons are fast asleep, Harry and Ginny feel like the luckiest people alive. And, in that moment, they truly are. They allow themselves to drift to sleep with their hands connected, ready to support and love each other in the days and years to come, for the rest of their lives together.

All in all, it could be honestly said that life throws a lot of unexpected things Harry Potter’s way, but his luck has been pretty good so far.

#itsblissfuloblivion writes #kindle chapter 18 #kindle #itsblissfuloblivion #fightfortherightsofhouseelves #gryffindormischief #hinny au fic #hinny fic #harry x ginny fic #harry x ginny #read-a-hinny-fic #jily #romione #ron x hermione

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digressfromreality · 7 years

Text

Who Are You Really, Mrs. Crouch?

Synopsis: There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts. The tragic life of Camilla Ollivander, who in secret, and never publicly acknowledged, a Gaunt. Follow through the lenses of her curious cousin, her heartbroken son and the frail woman herself as she navigates life through a series of limited glimpses. This is the tale of Mrs. Crouch.

Tom Riddle (Voldemort) 1958

It had taken him years to trace down who exactly the old man had rasped about in parseltongue. He hadn't approached her then, she of course was merely a small child at the time. Her hair braided in ridiculous pigtails, and constantly being fussed over by the mudblood aunt. Always peering through the windows of her family's shop. Obliviously to the wizards who were acutely peering back in, watching her grow over time. Being a popular spot in Diagon Alley, she had been seen by many but never really paid any real investigation.

It was a bit of a challenge getting the information of her lineage, purebloods were experts on hiding their dirty laundry. Purebloods didn't physically endanger other purebloods. Certainly not unheard of, but definitely overlooked in this slight. He had observed her from afar over the years, ever since Morfin had let it slip that he had his fun with a pretty, pureblood lass. Tom had understood those implications; rape. As cruel and malicious as those tactics were, they were beneath him.

This frail bastard child was supposedly his cousin. She looked neither powerful nor special enough to be carrying the blood of Salazar Slytherin, his blood. She grown into a meek woman with no extraordinary talents. She had some magical application in charms, and some in potions, but not nearly enough to be noticed or excel beyond the foreign family she hid behind.

He on the other hand vastly surpassed the filthy beings that had raised him. Besides his magical strengths, his muggle father blessed him with an appearance others had vainly thrived on. A handsome boy, unlike the inbred scoundrels that the Gaunts were reduced to. The girl's true mother, Generosa, had committed suicide before adulthood. She had been unable to handle the burden of teenage motherhood and trauma of her reputation sullied. As stated before, Purebloods didn't physically endanger other purebloods. So in turn everyone assumed, she had asked for it. She had purposefully whored herself to an older man, despite being only 15 years old at the time. No one would want Generosa, not with a bastard daughter.

After her death the infant was left in care of her elder brother, Gervaise Ollivander, who had raised the girl with his own family. His own son Garrick Ollivander already was nearing adulthood himself, when they took the girl in. The girl was doted on as a prized little sister, but Camilla Ollivander was a fraud. Albeit, 13 years his junior, she was a modest girl who's birth had led to macabre ending for both her real parents.

Today, he was going to finally confirm whether all the tomfoolery and use of precious resources had not been unfounded. He fixed his cloak, as he went to have lunch during his work break. Nothing suspicious, nothing out of the ordinary for him to come to this pub. Certainly not to spy on questionable girl.

He stepped into the pub zoning in on her immediately, slightly disinterested than before. She looked hardly worth his time, this fringed girl, half Gaunt? A pureblood, and a part of a wait staff?

Unheard of, and yet her family defended their choices, it was to humble her.

This prospect was great in his sleuthing, but demeaning of her ancestry. She should be served on, as him. He had managed to encroach into her section demanding her service before needing to. She was attentive of her customers, quickly shuffling passed other tables to properly greet him at his booth. She smiled lightly laying a napkin down for his perceived future refreshment. She nervously tucked her hair back, while he scrutinized her appearance without shame. He'd leer all he damn well pleased, she was rather plain in her appearance but her actions held such warmth. He gave this apparent cousin a charming smirk in return.

"Good morning sir. How may I service you today?" His eyes crinkled in amusement, her cheerful tone was too much.

"Some Mince pie would be welcomed."

He watched her hand flutter slightly to the left, a large stone veer her fingers downward. He grimaced in disappointment, that brute had finally proposed. Barty Crouch was a political force not to be trifled with. It had only been a few measly years and Crouch had quickly rose throughout the ranks of the Ministry, acquiring a reputation for hard, swift punishment. This precarious pairing had stumped him at first glance. But now, interacting with her in person, a go getter like Barty Crouch would be ensnared with such implied innocence.

"Is something wrong sir?" She quickly asked, worried she had done something offensive.

"Not at all." He hissed out in parseltongue. She quickly nodded, visibly relieved.

"Okay. I will be right back with your order." She hissed back. His smile returned, following her form as she strolled away. She hadn't even noticed her understanding and reply had been in an entirely different language. His suspicions had been confirmed.

Camilla Ollivander (Gaunt) 1960

Her cheeks burned as Mr. Burke had fawned over her invite. Her uncle had asked her to invite some of the other shop owners to her upcoming nuptials, even the ones in Knockturn alley. She had ignored the creeping shiver, making her way to Borgin & Burkes. She would never admit it but her original intention was to see if her handsome regular, Mr. Riddle, would also be present.

His quiet observing stance had been a pleasant constant in her hosting job. Although it was shameless, she had pined for the older gentleman. Secretly, and quietly, to herself. Other than Barty not many men had really vied for her attention. Even though, he had never given any notation of romantic interest, she feel almost a kinship to him.

Barty had connections, considerations, there would be Ministry workers of all ranking crawling around her ceremony. If he had wanted to widen his horizons, making Ministry contacts would be one of them. She bid good day to the three men, hurriedly trying not to miss her appointment with the seamstress, Barty would be so displeased.

Camilla Crouch 1961

She smiled meekly as she sat at her wedding table by herself. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, watching Barty chat up various groups of people. She had bit back the crestfallen pool of emotions that threaten to creep up. It was her wedding day, and here she was waiting for him to ask her to dance. But she knew she couldn't be petty, she was a Lady Crouch after all, and their family were refined wizards. It would be soon though, her belly would be swollen with a child and she wouldn't worry about being so lonely.

"Mrs. Crouch would you honor me with a dance?" As much as she would have liked to agree, she politely refused. Her first dance of the night was strictly reserved for her new husband and not Mr. Riddle. As much as she would miss his quiet company, she knew that her new chapter in life was devoted to her husband and not meaningless work.

"Thank you for the offer, but I simply am exhausted." He smiled while giving her a knowing look as she stood and greeted Barty with a small peck on the cheek. He placed a stiff arm on the small of his new wife's back, unhappy with the attention this stranger was giving Camilla.

"We have guests to greet before we retire for the night my dear." He glared at Tom before replying, "Pardon us." This was to be the last time he was to see his cousin, and he had great assurance that she would be well guarded and taken care of. Her husband's over-protectiveness and feigned charisma gave her a wealth of security if she were to abide by it for the rest of her days. Besides she was too vulnerable to be any use to his cause.

Camilla Crouch 1962

It had been 3 very long days that she had been in labor and finally her son had come. His squeals and cries for air brought her anxious husband back into the room.

"Barty come meet your son." Her gentle voice called out. Her body was utterly drained from childbirth, but she was happy. She had done her duty as a wife, she had provided her husband with a male heir. Barty stared down Camilla and his new son. She looked absolutely spent but pleased with their growing family. He pressed a well-deserved kiss upon her cheek, while coaxing the boy from her arms.

"You did a wonderful job Camilla, he looks rather healthy." He proudly stated.

"What do you want to name him Barty?" He gave them a once over before settling on a choice.

"Junior." He quickly said noticing a Ministry owl perched at the window. "Martha!" He called out for mid wife. She scurried into the room removing the bundle from his impatient arms, his wife's glare went unnoticed as he trudged towards the window.

"Barty?" She questioned. His demeanor had changed. She could almost taste the dread as she knew what was going to happen. He was going to leave. "Barty, please don't. You were supposed to take the week off." He ignored her, coming up placing a chaste kiss on her cheek while lightly touching his son's face as well.

"Duty calls Camilla." He hadn't bothered to look at her disappointed face, and turned toward the midwife. "She needs her rest. Put the boy down as well." She did as she was told, as he disappeared. Camilla swallowed, the loneliness crept up on her again. She ignored her pride and listened to her husband; he was only trying to make a better world and provide for them. She smiled watching her son wiggle back and forth in the bassinet. At least she had her own little Barty to now keep her company.

Camilla Crouch 1973

She dabbed her son's quiet tears, wishing her husband would keep more of his promises at least for their son. He was devastated at the fact his father ignored him once again. He had only wished for his attention. He absolutely craved for the dominant figure to show some interest in him.

"He's very busy Barty. He's a very important man at the Ministry. He would have come if he had had the time. He's very proud of you." She lied, trying to comfort her upset son. The boy chuckled through the tears, disturbingly so.

"Father doesn't care about anyone. Not you, certainly not me-" Camilla cut her son off.

"No Barty. He just has a hard time showing it. Your father has never really been an affectionate man. But he really does love you, us."

"He has a peculiar way of showing it." He stated before chucking the letter to the ground and storming away. Camilla huffed as she bent down to pick up and smooth out the letter. His acceptance to Hogwarts had finally came.

Camilla Crouch 1976

Minister Minchum was laughing heartily at one of Camilla's jokes. She had turned towards her husband happily taking in his pleased expression. This was the first time she and her son had seen her husband in many weeks, and he had brought home the Minister for Magic with him. Their house elf Winky had been overjoyed to be making extra for her master and the Minister; her son though was rather cranky at the whole idea.

Her husband cleared his throat, "As I was telling you Harold, Junior here will be an exceptional addition to the Ministry. He has O's in all of his coursework." He proudly exclaimed of their son's achievements. She had hoped to see her son beaming back at his boastful father but they were only met with quiet anger.

"Like you care." He snarled. The two adult men were astonished at the boy's behavior, while she was utterly appalled. She raised him to have better manners than this.

"Barty," she scolded. The tickle in her throat, started to act up. Coughing loudly into her napkin, she needed her potion. Her eyes began to tear as she struggled for air.

"You've upset your mother. Take her to the other room and apologize for your deplorable manners." She felt her teenage son's arms grip around her waist as he directed her out of the room, quietly admitting his error. He felt guilty for stirring up her latest attack, she was so weak already. Her husband had covered her physical weakness for petty woman drama. He knew how to protect them, as he should. She curled into her son's side as he forced her to drink all of the potion. Junior was always such a good boy to her, his mother.

Voldemort 1978

Bellatrix marched in the group of potentials wishing to join his ranks. His red eyes paused on one young man. A boy really, with familiar eyes and a slightly frame. Camilla's son had finally grown, and was here to serve him. How fitting, he mused.

"Bartemius Crouch Jr. I had wondered when I would be seeing you." The boy nodded in approval, a click of his tongue showing his impatience. "You are a bit younger than my usual stock. Barely 16 now, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes my lord." He replied eagerly, nearly knocking over the next whelp with his excitement.

"How is the family young Barty?" The boy's eyes looked a shade darker, his face stern.

"My father," he spat out with such animosity it made his lip curl, "I honestly could care less. Mother is mother, fragile little woman she is." Camilla was still as delicate as ever, and the boy had developed a rather strong resentment towards her husband, as she should have had. He could work with this, but only if Barty passed one important test.

"Everyone out. I need to talk to young Barty here alone." Bellatrix made quick work of throwing the newer recruits out of the room. Voldemort gestured for Barty to move closer, he stopped to kneel at his feet. Camilla raised such an obedient boy. "Barty," he hissed carefully, "do you pledge your loyalty to me and my cause?" He nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes my lo-" he tried to hiss back before he coughed hard. His mouth was dry and his throat felt stretched at the moment. Voldemort was pleased, the boy could unknowingly understand as well. "Yes, my lord. Anything." Probably never had spoken in the exclusive language. Camilla's poor choice in a husband had brought him the most loyal servant yet.

"Your left arm Barty."

Camilla Crouch 1981

"I've heard about one more," Igor quickly added.

"What is that?" Crouch senior had asked, semi interested in what he had left to offer.

"The name." He slowly added.

"Yes." Crouch senior was becoming impatient, Igor was trying to stall.

"I know for a fact that this person took part in the capture and by means of the Cruciatus curse, TORTURE, of Auror Frank Longbottom and his wife!"

"Give me the wretched name!" He demanded.

"Barty Crouch!" The entire room gasped, "Junior." He finished. Senior had frozen in place, blindsided by the information that had been brought in front of the Wizengamot. Camilla began to shake, this couldn't be the truth! This was her son, this was her baby boy! She could hear the voices sputtering and began shouting as her son whipped passed them. Alastor Moody shot her son down, making him land harshly on the ground, while Wizengamot members swarmed to detain him. He began a manic struggle against his captors. They dragged him before the both of them much to their horror. This crazed man was not their son, truly this man couldn't be her son. The utter hatred in his eyes were too much for her.

"Get your filthy hands off me, you pathetic little men!" He clicked his tongue several times staring intently at the both of them. He directed his focus away from her bloodshot eyes. "Hello father." He cheerful greeted. Her husband paused before coldly regarding their son.

"You are no son of mine." Today was the day where her heart, her soul felt heavy. Today was the day she cried, she lamented to her husband for her son's safety. Selfishness and insecurity was her reasoning for her pleas, maybe even a hint of fear. Why was her pacifism being stuck down with senseless shouting and violent cursing? Her husband held her flailing arms as they dragged their son away. We're they so blind that the fear of difference was met with crippling and unthinking reactions? Her son was just barely a man, a man now who had no future because of her husband.

Camilla Crouch 1982

She could hardly walk, her husband had to hold her as they traveled through the sickly walls of Azkaban. She knew her end was near, death was rallying in her corner, and it something her husband had recently learned to accept. She was dying and as her last wish she had wanted was for her son to come home. Barty had proved his devotion to his wife, and relented to something that stood against everything he had fought vigorously for years.

The heartbreaking screams had her and her husband on edge, but it strengthened her resolve. Her young son didn't belong here, he had made a mistake. He was young, and he was very impressable. He had only done what he did to get back at his father's negligence. They stopped in front of darken cell, it was desolate, and dreary. She looked to her husband, as he barked for the cell to be opened for them.

"Barty?" Her voice croaked, calling out in the black cell.

"Mother?" His ashen voice answered in disbelief. He crawled from the shadows, her baby boy a shell of the man he previously was. He stared at them curiously. "Are you hallucinations?" He quietly muttered, she shook her head. They were real, they were very real. She pushed from her husband, harshly dropping to her knees pulling her broken son into her failing arms.

"No son, we are here." She cooed as he cried in her arms. Azkaban had broken their son, her heart burned with regret. How could she have left him here so long?

"Mother, I've missed you so much. I just want to go home, please take me home." She nodded, cradling her son as tight as she could. She could feel the faint feeling of exhaustion spread across her brittle muscles, death was so close.

"Yes, baby we're here to take you home. Please baby, drink this. Drink this and it will all be better." She had to have her husband uncap the vial as she poured the potion down her son's throat. He began to convulse in her arms as she nodded to her husband one last time. Hesitantly he poured the second vial down her throat. Her flesh began to stretch uncomfortably, but she bit back her cries. She was doing this for her son, she would save her tears.

When she opened her eyes next, she was staring down at her own body. It was disheartening to see how pathetic she had actually looked. She literally mirrored death, and yet her husband had brought her here as she had wished. He must have loved her as much as she did for him. She pressed a loving kiss to her (her son's) head. "I love you Barty." Despite the forlorn look upon her husband's face, he gave her a stiff nod, he loved her too. Her husband quickly ushered their disoriented son from his cell leaving her in his place. She let out a heavy sigh, she could feel the Dementors as they closed around the cell. Her time had come, at least her son was safe. She had made peace with that.

#harry potter fanfiction #barty crouch jr #tom riddle imagine #voldemort imagine #deatheaters #barty crouch junior

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