(c) James Euringer and the Familiar Stranger [PG-13]

Go down

(c) James Euringer and the Familiar Stranger [PG-13]

Post by rock and/or roll on Fri 20 Mar 2009, 7:53 pm

Title: James Euringer and the Familiar Stranger
Author: Myself.
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and mentions of death.
Pairing/Fandom: Jimmy Urine (Mindless Self Indulgence)/ Barty Crouch Jnr. (Harry Potter)
Status: One-shot/Complete.
Summary: The newest member of the Order of the Phoenix searches for answers and treads over familiar ground in more ways than one.

Set two years after the Goblet of Fire, in an alternative universe where Barty hadn't received the Dementor's Kiss.

Note: This was written for a challenge over on mibba.

James Euringer and the Familiar Stranger.

A chilly shiver overcame the undergrowth.

Lush bushes and trees ruffled with unseeable hands, their vibrantly green foliage dimmed in the darkened light, stretching their itchy fingers out to grapple at the cloaked man. He held his wand arm elongated out in front to light his shadowy way. As he stepped forward, leaves and twigs crunching underfoot, the chill crept up the man’s body, crawling across his skin and making it tingle. The way ahead was dim and draped in creepers. Eerie eyes peered out through the twisted branches of nearby oaks; curious, skittish animals and something more sinister lurked behind the trailing leaves.

A sudden movement sparked the man’s nerves.

With a frenzied whisper of “Nox,” his shining guide cut out, the only light now coming from the weakly glowing moon overhead. He still held the snuffed-out stick before him, struggling to keep his arm steady as he waited for something to happen; for a hungry beast to spring out of the calm vegetation and grab his throat with sword-like fangs, for a frightened family of tawny ducks to waddle out and hurry across the dirt path, just for something to step out of its haven of trees and bush.

And something did. Or someone, rather.

A figure shrouded in a weather-beaten travelling cloak stepped onto the path, right in front of the frozen man. He stopped breathing. The air pressed against his throat, wanting to burst out and into the cold night. He wished, with his eyes popped open painfully wide, to become invisible.


A deep growl of “Stupefy!” rang through the silence as the darkened figure came to a dead stop.

The man acted on blind instinct, throwing his timid body to the hard earthy ground with a stifled grunt as a strip of fiery light split the night sky in two. His knees and elbows collided with the bumps of the well-trodden path, his dependable wand tumbling from the man’s slack grip. He gritted his teeth as a stabbing pain mixed with adrenalin mixed with fear shot up his funny bone.

Not so funny now, his frazzled mind hissed.

Slow footfalls sounded as he scrambled on his sore knees, groping sightlessly for his fallen weapon and shield. Just as his floundering fingers closed around the wooden item, a heavy shoe stepped down into his line of sight.

He paled under his rumpled cloak and flinched slightly as a wand tip pressed dangerously into the perspiring flesh of the back of his neck; the wood was still warm from the previous misaimed spell. It sunk in further, making the man sweat just a little more and the stranger laughed, the sound cutting a quiet and icy line through the silence.

“Stand up, coward.”

He froze, eyes widening in the thick darkness and his hand clenched tight to his wand as the stranger’s own left his slick flesh. There was an odd sense of familiarity in the voice that now broke the silence with a gruff “Lumos.” A bright pool of light erupted out, over the bushes and the trees and the desolate path and the crouched man, his mind still whirring with the voice he couldn’t place.

“Stand up or I will make you stand up.”

The man breathed out, the hot air strange in the cold atmosphere that closed around the two solitary figures, predator and prey. He could almost hear the striking words burst through the air in that voice. Imperio! Crucio! Even the dreaded blow of Avada Kedavra! crossed his mind and he shuddered slightly. With one final fractured sigh, he clenched his eyes shut and dragged himself to his pained knees.

His limbs throbbed as he stood, raging fires flaring up in his fragile legs.

“Face me.”

And he did.

A silent gasp left his chill-bitten lips as he gazed upon the figure, features bright in the light cast by the drawn wand. The face was familiar, but warped as if he were gazing upon the cloaked man through a bitter winter morning fog. Dark, secretive eyes stared out of the face, no doubt stretched just as wide as the man’s own.

“James.” The not-so-stranger dropped his wand arm, the light shifting and casting gloomy shadows on that familiar face. His tongue darted out like a lizard tasting the air as the eyes stared.

James’ voice was lost as he trembled slightly under the cloak, under the ruffling trees and under the starless inky sky. His eyes sized up the not-so-stranger, a curious sensation of calm mixed with sheer panic overcoming his weather-ravaged body. Those eyes had stared out from The Daily Prophet, terrible headlines accompanying the terrible pictures, and haunting James as he failed to sleep at night. Those eyes that now gazed at him.

Arms shook with hidden goosebumps as the cloaked figure took an uncertain step towards him. All venom was lost from the familiar face, but his eyes remained guarded and suspicious.

With a surprisingly quiet voice, he spoke. “You need to leave. If they find out I’m here, I’ll be handed back to the Dementors, and I’m not letting you jeopardize my freedom.”

“Freedom? Hiding out in the fucking woods and living off...god knows what?” A painful bump formed in the back of his throat and he struggled to swallow and breathe and hold back stinging tears that wanted to fall. “Haven’t you...haven’t you thought about all those...all those people he’s killed? All those families he’s torn apart because of some...some pure-blood mania? Barty, for fuck’s sake, what’s happened to you? It’s Hitler all over again. Why’re you so blind to that? And you...you...If I’d known all those years ago what you’d turn into, I...”

“The Dark Lord is making the world a better place,” came the hushed reply. Those eyes stared out at James, out of that worn face, suddenly so alive and bright that James felt a tremor pass through him.

“Would you have me killed, Barty?” He spoke in a small disheartened voice, eyes downcast and swimming with unshed tears. His insides ached more than the stabbing pains in his knees and elbows. But there was a hurt anger bubbling deep down in his gut, pushing upwards on his insides and begging to be released in torrents.

The man called Barty stared, mouth pressed in a straight line. “James-”

“It’s Jimmy,” James snapped, voice only a hissing whisper. “You called me Jimmy. You always called me Jim-fucking-Ee. I’m actually half-surprised that you remembered my fucking name. ‘Cause you didn’t remember to fucking write, did you.”

Barty took a step forward, an actual ghost of concern passing over his shadowy features. But his flitting tongue broke the illusion.

“Don’t come near me. I’ll kill you.” James jumped backwards on his sore legs, frantically brandishing his wand at Barty’s exposed forehead. They froze, both locked in their positions as prey turned on predator, eyes fixed on the other’s motionless form. James shook, his wand arm wobbling as if an unyielding wind were storming through the placid leaves of the trees bordering the dirt path on which they stood. But all remained still around them as Barty waited for the shaking man’s next move.

“Do it then,” he jeered in little more than a whisper. “Or are you a coward?”

James sniffed at the remark, a disdainful pleasure overcoming him as he steadied his arm and lowered the wand. “Killing isn’t brave. It’s ignorant, it's a mark of someone who doesn’t understand or like the world...like Lord Voldemort...Yes,” he said as Barty stared at him with a mixture of fury and strange admiration, “I don’t fear the name. Voldemort’s all about fucking status, isn’t he. He lied to you all – all of you ‘Death Eaters’- about his parentage-”

“The Dark Lord was ashamed, as he should be!” Barty exclaimed, an insane passion overtaking him as he glared with spite at James.

“Did you think that when you visited my parents during the Summer holidays? When my mother made us juice and sandwiches and we sat on the porch and watched the sun go down?” The tears reappeared for an encore, hanging impatiently in the corners of his eyes. But he wouldn’t let them out, not in front of him. “I’m in the Order now, Barty. And we’re doing some fucking good for the world. I thought that’s what you wanted too.”

“I am doing good.” His voice was hushed, like the mere whispers of a soft breeze rustling silken leaves in the still night. “The world needs to be...cleansed.”

“Then kill me.”

Barty gaped at him, those secretive eyes at last showing some hint of emotion, a flicker of pain, excavated from deep within. But James’ face was resolute, eyes as hard and cold as the ground they stood upon. He fought to keep his lip from quivering and his eyes from weeping as they faced each other.

Both raised their wands excruciatingly slowly, arms protruding from their cloaks that tried and failed to keep the men warm in the bitter night.

“You’re weak, James,” came the quiet voice.

James did cry then. The tears dribbled down his flushed cheeks in salty streams, blurring the lines of trees and the solid form of Barty, illuminated strongly by his raised wand. But he watched Barty open his own trembling mouth, his tongue start to form the fatal words.


Avada Kedavra!”

Two bodies hit the hard, uncaring ground. One lay still and motionless, its head held on a strange and unnatural angle, its legs bent and eyes staring up at nothing. The other lay crumpled beside the first, a weeping heap that shook and moaned with anguish seeping through his veins and circulating as fast as blood.

Jimmy buried his feelings that night, as deep as he buried the limp body of his summer lover.

Last edited by Sheepy on Fri 20 Mar 2009, 9:03 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : checked:sheep)
rock and/or roll
Literary Mentor

Number of posts : 860
Age : 27
Location : in the 21st century.

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Back to top

- Similar topics

Permissions in this forum:
You cannot reply to topics in this forum