Here's another update. Sorry! But I've been horribly busy. Remember, if I get reviews and the such I will update again. Maybe even before the next year! God I suck. Also do we like this Barty Crouch? Or should I make his character more… creepy? This is short but I thought you should all know that I'm still alive. Also how fast do you want things to happen between Holly and Barty?

Disclaimer: I own no one and nothing but the characters created by me... everything else is pure JKRs' though I would like to own Barty Crouch Jr.

Reluctant Seduction [Barty Crouch Story] .:Chapter Three:.

It was nothing more then a door. A big wooden door and yet I was scared to touch it.

My god. I had to be born a wimp.

I had been standing outside HIS door for the past 20 minutes trying to work up the courage to actually turn the doorknob. I had my wand held so tightly in my hand that I was sure that the lines were imprinted into my palm.

Another thing I was contemplating was bringing my wand into the room. Does one bring a weapon into a homicidal maniac's room or does one leave it behind, losing any kind of protection against the latter?

An image of skinny shoulders and a neck too weak to support an even skinnier head ran through my head. The invisibility charm had slipped off a feeble young man who would be nothing without a wand.

My courage built up as put my wand back in my room and went to open the door. My right hand turned the knob as my left held the bottom of the soup bowl. If he were to survive then I was pretty sure food was necessary for that to happen.

Walking into the room I felt my skin turn cold. It had less to do with the temperature of the room and more with the aura. It was as if I was walking in to a grave. Even in my sweater I shivered. How was anyone supposed to survive in this?

Getting closer to the bed, I felt hot liquid splash on my hands. I was shaking so hard the soup in the bowl was getting spilt. Everything in me screamed to turn back and shut the door. No one knew about my little agreement. No one would know and even if they did, no one would blame me for backing out of it. He was a murderer for goodness' sake. A MURDERER.

No one would be aware that is but me. My mind kept on flashing back to Patricia Crouch's face and the happiness on it when I had agreed. The comfort and solace it had given her. My own mother had raised me to keep my promises. Especially the important ones.

This was a path I had no choice but to take. I had stepped to the headboard and I looked down to look at…

Oh my.

He was handsome. He was really handsome. He looked too thin and obviously he was sick. But he was still quite attractive. He slept while I looked at him, too weak to even thrash around properly though he seemed to be in the throes of a horrible nightmare. His dark hair was too long and more then a little in need of a washing but I found myself kneeling by the side of his bed using my fingers to push it back, to keep it out of his face. His cheekbones protruded; his face just like the rest of him, so gaunt.

I slid my hand down his face and slightly cupped it. He seemed to calm down under me, his slumber more peaceful.

I felt ice clamp down on my wrist and gasped. His hand held onto me. I gasped and looked back to his face as his eyelids snapped open. I would have fled the room if it hadn't been for his hand on me.

My voice came out stronger then I expected it to be, "My name is Holly Mendel. Your mother asked me to care for you. If you would let go of my hand, I could begin to do just that."

I would have given myself a high-five if it weren't for the fact that he hadn't let go of my hand.

As I watched his tongue came out slowly to lick the corner of his mouth. A shiver of anticipation, anticipation for what I had no idea, ran down my spine. He stared at me, not speaking, his hand ice-cold. His tight hold loosened only when he slumped back, his eyes shutting. Apparently, even holding onto me took all of his strength.

My breath came out in a shudder. I hadn't even realized that I had been holding it. I started to rub where his hand had held onto me. There was sure to be a bruise tomorrow.

Okay that wasn't so bad.

When I had looked into his eyes, the only emotion I could read was fear. Azkaban had really done a number on him. Something akin to concern washed over me. The man lying before me didn't seem quite like a murderer, more like a scared little boy who needed to be taken care of.

I started to force feed him the watery broth. The task ended up becoming more task consuming then I had previously thought it would be. I could only give him so much for fear that he wouldn't swallow. It was dusk by the time I finished, though there was still half the bowl left.

As I wiped my brow, I came to the realization that I was both physically and mentally exhausted. This wasn't going to be easy. Before any type of seduction could occur, I would need to nurse him back to health.

Calling Winky, I told her to get the fireplace working, as well as new sheets and to wash down Master Crouch. While she was at work I would get something for myself to eat, as well as take a shower.


I walked back into the room, my spirit having been rejuvenated after my long shower. It had always struck me as funny how the simplest things brought me the most pleasure. The room's conditions had also been vastly improved. The air was cleaner, warmer. This room was no longer a threshold where death was lord and master.

I sent Winky to bed. He needed to get used to me, and the sooner that was done, the better. He slept fitfully, peace not his even in dreams.

A chair had been placed before his bedside and I sat in it staring at the man who was supposed to become my…

What exactly? Husband? Lover?

Friend?

None of those things seemed plausible. Just because he was attractive didn't mean I would come to care for him.

As I stared I became aware that he was stirring. This time when he woke, I wouldn't let him get the better of him.

As his eyes opened, I sat straighter in my chair.

"I hope I won't have to repeat myself, sir. I believe you remember me from this afternoon." My words came out calm, though it took everything in me to keep my body from shaking.

"And here I thought you were just a figment of a nightmare." His words meant to hurt where ruined by the sheer agony in his eyes.

His voice was raspy, the voice of a man who hadn't used it in years. His fingers trembled as they reached for me. Unable to stop myself, I backed up with the chair. The horrible screeching sound that followed ruining my calm.

He smiled then, his tongue once again licking a corner of his lips. But it wasn't a nice smile; it wasn't even a sane smile. This was a smile invoked by the fear he saw he had caused.

But two could play at this game. It took everything in him to hold onto my wrist for a few minutes today. There wasn't a chance he could do more then that today.

"I promised your mother I would help you. The least you can do for her now is to be taken care of. She is in hell right now, and for what? So that you could be saved. I hope you have the sense to take this chance. She's dying a death that was meant for you." My words came out harsher then I meant, fear and pain twisting them into cruelty.

His eyes blazed and I ducked as the soup bowl came flying. The look of him told me that I needed to leave.

I ran out the door, risking a quick glance back. He had twisted the sheets around him, his back turned to mine. His body was heaving as if a grief too large to make voice of held him.

I almost turned back, the need to comfort only shadowed by my own sense of self perseverance.

I am in way over my head.

And there was definitely no turning back.