Team: Holyhead Harpies

Position: Keeper

Prompt: Dementor: write about someone who takes pleasure in others' downfall

Word Count: 1044

Warning: Vague mentions/references to sexual abuse

I Want Them To Know

I stand at the door of the cell, gazing in at my childhood rival who had grown up to be my biggest enemy. It was no coincidence that he was locked up whilst I stand on the other side—there was no place on earth that I would rather be in this very moment—so much so that I had dropped everything I was doing the second I found out that Barty Crouch had been arrested for a multitude of crimes ranging from tax avoidance to murder.

I can't deny how much it fills me with glee to see him incarcerated like this. After so many years, he is finally going to be seen for the arrogant, manipulative and spiteful man he has always been, instead of as the golden boy who could do no wrong in the eyes of anyone. It still amazes me that he retained that image after the suspicious circumstances surrounding his mother's death a few years ago.

Her death had been ruled as natural, although no one could say what had caused her heart to stop beating when she had been fighting fit and healthy earlier that day. My money was on her son poisoning her with something that left no trace. It was no secret that they had a rocky relationship, in spite of any outward appearances they presented at functions they attended. Plus, if there had been any evidence of foul play, I wouldn't have put it past Barty to have bribed those involved to hush it up.

"Well, well, well," I say, smirking at the dishevelled form of Barty, "how the mighty have fallen."

His lifts his head and stares at me, completely dead behind those grey eyes. He flicks his thick matted blond hair out of his face and spits in my direction.

"Oh, come now, Barty, what kind of welcome is that for your old friend?" I ask mockingly, taking a tissue out of my pocket and wiping away the spit.

"How did you get in here, Pettigrew?" he asks as he wraps his hands around the cold metal bars of his prison.

"You're not the only one with connections," I reply coldly. "The sergeant on duty was only too happy to comply with my request to see the newest inmate."

Barty huffs. "What do you want?"

"Can't a man visit an old school friend in his hour of need without there being any ulterior motive?" I ask, feigning deep offence.

He narrows his eyes at me. "Where you're concerned, no. So I ask again, why have you come? To gloat."

I laugh loudly. "I never gloat, but I cannot deny that seeing you locked up in here like the animal you are gives me a lot of pleasure."

"Are you still bitter about the good old days at Eton?" Barty asks. "What still bothers you? The fact that I bested you in every class? The fact that I was chosen for the cricket team and you were nothing more than an understudy wicket keeper? Or is it, that even after all these years, you still can't get over the fact that you were nothing more than scum who only got in on a scholarship and no one wanted to know you?"

My jaw clenches as I think of all the cruel jokes and japes Barty made at my expense. How he would trip me in the corridor. Take my clothes whilst I was in the shower and throw them in the swimming pool or in the toilet. Then there was the one time he roofied my drink—I don't recall much of the night's events but I had woken up in the morning naked and tied up to a rugby post with a pain in my arse.

He made my life a living hell, and whilst I had tried to give as good as I got, I always felt like he got the better of me every time.

"You should be more concerned about who's going to want to know you," I state, pushing the memories to the back of my mind. "Imagine all the horrors that are going to face you in here—it'll make what you did in school look like child's play."

A glimmer of fear spread across Barty's face and I smirk.

"How does it feel to know you're no longer the big man?" I ask. "In here you'll be vermin. Nothing more than a pretty boy without daddy's money to protect him. You won't last five minutes in this place."

"I'll still be higher up the food chain than you," Barty shot back as he glares daggers at me.

I frown at him. "Status doesn't matter in here. Money doesn't matter in here. Power does—and you have none," I tell him. "Think on that when you're alone in the showers. From what I've heard, you can expect worse than having your clothes nicked." I check my watch and clear my throat. The look on Barty's face is a picture of horror, and I take a few moments to etch it into my memory before I say, "Well I must be off. Been lovely to see you again, Barty."

I turn on my heel and exit the holding cell room through steel double doors. I feel like I am walking on air after seeing Barty in such a state. It feels a million times better than the time I found out Lucius Malfoy's wife was filing for divorce after finding out he was having an affair—she had taken him to the cleaners and left him penniless and destitute. The last thing I heard he was living in a council flat. Or when Walden Macnair had been fired from his job for gross misconduct.

Slowly, one by one, karma is kicking my childhood tormentors in the arse. Even though I know I should be the better person, I can't help but feel pleasure in their misfortune as their life crumbles to pieces around them. I can't help but want to be there and let them know that I know about their misery. I can't help but want them to see that I am better than them.

I want them to know that my life is better than theirs.