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bait_backup2011-02-09 11:35 pm
notquitefacist.livejournal.com) wrote in bait_backup2011-02-09 11:35 pm
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And father had had such hopes
*Though it is often chalked up to his public views on blending seamlessly in among muggles without arousing discourse or discrimination, it must be said that the biggest consideration Crouch Sr. had made when choosing his home had been how unblemishedly tidy it was. He had made a purposeful departure in his homelife from the often crowded and old quality of many wizarding homes, he had had quite enough of the mess and the curiosities growing up among his parent's collected artefacts and endless trinkets, and has compensated by buying a clean spacious house in a clean spacious neighbourhood where control and management is expected and where he thrives. With Barty's unpredictability long gone and all his toys and messes waiting to happen have been boxed up and moved out, there has never been a more satisfying house to return to.
This is why, when he opens the door to the darkened, usually tidy, bedroom and his foot hits a cardboard box, rattling it's few remaining contents, he becomes much more irritable than he had been in the perfectly vacuumed hallway. Not wanting to wake Bernadette with a lamp, he spends the next five minutes walking around the room in the dark, finding photo albums and keepsakes by feel until the room is suitable to sleep in. Only when removing a book of poems from the bed is he given any pause, his annoyance at the clutter that has accumulated as Bernadette spends more and more time bedridden dampened by the knowledge that the book's worn corners could prove dangerous to his wife if she were roll onto them in the night. He packs it away last in the box, folding it's flaps closed and levitating it toward the attic.
The box enters first, Crouch Sr. climbing up behind it into the dusty but otherwise clean room, lit well from small round windows on either end by the streetlamps outside - there is no need for lights in an attic like this, there are no ghosts or traps to walk though in any house in Brighton's suburbs. He bows his head to avoid the rafters and walking past labelled crates of old clothes, old files, his son's baby things, and a cracked mirror Bernadette had been too fond of to get rid of despite it's uselessness, and a set of dishes he eyes as he passes for being left unwrapped. He will bring the box down again tomorrow morning if Bernadette wants to look at the things inside it some more, but for now there is no excuse for things to be strewn around their bedroom. Letting it drop the last few inches to the floor, he toes it back until it slides up against the wall, right in it's place beside a large and currently silent picture frame, the inhabitant of which Crouch Sr. would greatly like not to wake.*
This is why, when he opens the door to the darkened, usually tidy, bedroom and his foot hits a cardboard box, rattling it's few remaining contents, he becomes much more irritable than he had been in the perfectly vacuumed hallway. Not wanting to wake Bernadette with a lamp, he spends the next five minutes walking around the room in the dark, finding photo albums and keepsakes by feel until the room is suitable to sleep in. Only when removing a book of poems from the bed is he given any pause, his annoyance at the clutter that has accumulated as Bernadette spends more and more time bedridden dampened by the knowledge that the book's worn corners could prove dangerous to his wife if she were roll onto them in the night. He packs it away last in the box, folding it's flaps closed and levitating it toward the attic.
The box enters first, Crouch Sr. climbing up behind it into the dusty but otherwise clean room, lit well from small round windows on either end by the streetlamps outside - there is no need for lights in an attic like this, there are no ghosts or traps to walk though in any house in Brighton's suburbs. He bows his head to avoid the rafters and walking past labelled crates of old clothes, old files, his son's baby things, and a cracked mirror Bernadette had been too fond of to get rid of despite it's uselessness, and a set of dishes he eyes as he passes for being left unwrapped. He will bring the box down again tomorrow morning if Bernadette wants to look at the things inside it some more, but for now there is no excuse for things to be strewn around their bedroom. Letting it drop the last few inches to the floor, he toes it back until it slides up against the wall, right in it's place beside a large and currently silent picture frame, the inhabitant of which Crouch Sr. would greatly like not to wake.*