Written For:
- August Auction Day 5/Auction 3: Strangulation
- Assignment #3/Meditation Task #1: Write about someone eliminating or reducing stressful things from their life.
- Writing Club/This or That - Murder #1: Write about committing a murder.
- Writing Club/Showtime: 7. (word) Intoxicated
- Writing Club/Film Festival: 30. (plot point) Getting revenge
- Writing Club/Elizabeth's Empire: 10. (theme) revenge
- Writing Club/Artist Appreciation: (trait) obsession, lyric as title
Warning: This fic contains graphic depictions and descriptions of murder, gore, and references and some descriptions of past abuse and sexual abuse.
Word Count: 5,880
Regulus held Barty's hand as they looked out of the large bay window. It was midnight at the country estate that Regulus's family owned, and they were waiting for their guests.
"Is everything prepared?" Barty asked quietly.
"Of course, love."
Barty continued to stare out into the night, smiling slightly.
The long dining table was adorned with the soft glow of candles, bowls of tropical fruit, tiered plates of cakes and sandwiches, and dozens of bottles of wine. The guests held out their glasses greedily as Regulus filled them with the blood-red liquid.
Barty sat at the head of the table, lolling in his chair and eyeing the guests lazily as they made small talk with Regulus.
Rodolphus Lestrange. Amycus Carrow. Antonin Dolohov. Evan Rosier. Rabastan Lestrange.
Barty eyed Rabastan the hardest. He sat at the furthest end of the table from Barty, smirking around at his friends. His long auburn hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, and his charcoal eyes glinted. He drank deeply from his goblet, never once making eye contact with Barty. None of the guests did—they weren't his friends, after all. They'd never been his friends. They had been part of Regulus's friend group when they were in boarding school, and each and every one of them—all of them apart from Regulus—hated him with a passion.
Their only reason for their seething hatred was because of their fathers. Barty's father was a politician with connections to the London police force, and back in school, all of these men had criminals for fathers. Barty's father was the reason their fathers ended up with fines, or were under house arrest or in prison.
It had nothing to do with Barty. Barty hated his father, even back then. There was no love lost between Barty and his dad, even less after his mother died when he was much younger. He was little more than a financial burden to his father, a man who made it quite clear he was embarrassed by Barty never meeting his impossible expectations.
But his classmates didn't care. They looked at Barty, and they saw his father. And they took matters into their own hands to get revenge.
It only took one bottle of wine before the guests were intoxicated. Regulus and Barty opted to drink water from the jug, but no one else seemed to notice. Regulus stood at Barty's side with his arm over the back of his chair, as they watched the guests become drunk on their single shared bottle.
"What is this about, Reg?" Dolohov called across the table, slamming his empty goblet down on the table. "We haven't seen you for years, since we graduated from school. You've made no attempt to maintain a relationship with your old friends."
"It was hard to wish to continue my friendship with you, after I found out what you did to Barty."
"Him?" slurred Carrow, shooting a glare at Barty. "We did nothing to that cretin that he didn't deserve."
"Don't talk about Barty like that in my family's house." Regulus's voice was low and sharp, and he gripped the back of Barty's chair. "You're a guest here."
"So what is he, then?" snapped Rodolphus. He was sitting to Rabastan's side, flicking his dark fringe out of his eyes.
"Isn't it obvious, brother?" Rabastan's voice was soft and his eyes were shifting in and out of focus. "Regulus has himself a little boyfriend."
There was a series of slurred laughs and chuckles around the table. Regulus, Barty and Rabastan were the only ones who didn't laugh.
"Jesus, Reg, what kind of wine is this?" snarled Rosier after he tipped back the rest of his drink. He glanced over at the glasses of water that sat in front of Barty and Regulus. Barty smirked as he watched the cogs working in Rosier's head.
The others seemed to cotton on, but they had already finished their drinks. Rodolphus was the first to stand up, his chair clattering over behind him. He wobbled as soon as he was on his feet and had to steady himself on the dining table.
"What the fuck?"
"Why am I so drunk?"
"What is in that wine?"
Rabastan glared across the table at Barty and Regulus. Regulus took an unopened bottle of wine from the table and idly read from the label. "This wine? Oh, nothing really. Just a small, potent herb that will guarantee you to feel overly inebriated for at least...four or five hours."
"You drugged us?" Rosier yelled, staggering to his feet. "Why?"
"I'm going to make myself sick," said Carrow gruffly. "Get it out of my system."
"The effects will already be coursing through your systems by now," Regulus said boredly. "I think it's time you all leave, actually."
"Yes, time to go," slurred Rodolphus. He yanked Rabastan out of his seat. "Come on. I've seen enough of this freak show."
Rabastan tried his best to remain haughty as he stood up, but he couldn't fight the effects of the drug. "You will pay for this, Black," he snapped. "You and your little pet." He followed the rest of his friends out of the dining room.
Regulus and Barty followed them out and stood by the open double doors, watching their guests scatter onto the grounds.
"They won't make it past the boundaries." Regulus turned to Barty. "The hunt is yours, my darling."
Barty groaned as Evan Rosier delivered another swift kick to his ribs.
"My Dad is addicted to smack now, because of you!"
"How…" coughed Barty, trying to curl in on himself and protect his torso. He was in the foetal position on the hard, concrete floor of the courtyard. His schoolbag had been kicked away from him and his blazer was covered in dust and dirty footprints. "How is it my fault?"
Rosier leaned down to glare into Barty's face. "Since your father got him thrown into jail, he's got himself hooked on drugs in there," he spat. "Now he can barely make his visits or answer our letters." Rosier stood up straight and took aim, before delivering another blow into Barty's stomach.
Later, Barty sobbed in the bathroom, carefully sponging down the yellowing bruises on his chest and abdomen. His only friend, Regulus, came into the bathroom without knocking, and stared in shock at the bruises. Barty pulled a towel around his bare chest quickly. "It's nothing," he said, before Regulus could ask what happened. "I fell over in the courtyard. Made a real fool of myself, too." He smiled weakly.
Regulus was popular at school while Barty was not. Regulus still saw Barty as a friend, despite how clear it was that the others didn't like him. He stood up for him in class, or if any of his friends made snide comments about Barty. They grew clever, and stopped mistreating Barty in front of Regulus.
And they made it pretty clear that Barty would suffer if he dared to mention it.
Evan Rosier lolled around a large decorated pond. He was stumbling on the cobbled edge, mumbling to himself incoherently.
"My mother keeps six different types of piranha in that pond." Regulus's voice was quiet as he and Barty watched Rosier. "My gift to you."
Barty stalked forwards behind Rosier. He was so inebriated that he didn't hear Barty coming behind him. He didn't know what was happening until Barty had leapt on his back with the agility of a cat, bringing him down to the ground with ease. Rosier yelped pathetically, barely having the energy to struggle against the assault.
"You beat the shit out of me at least once a week for years," snarled Barty. "For your own stupid father's mistakes."
It was too easy for Barty to pull Rosier up to the edge of the pond and bash his head on the concrete until a noticeable amount of blood spilt from a wound on his head. It wasn't difficult to dunk his bleeding head into the murky water and watch the bubbles rise as the eager, flesh-eating fish rose to the occasion. It wasn't a problem to watch Rosier's body struggle weakly until the water pooled red and his body went limp.
"Please, Amycus, not this again, I didn't—" Barty's voice drowned out as Amycus Carrow plunged his head into the toilet again, causing him to gurgle and cough desperately.
"I saw you flirting with my sister at lunch, you disgusting little shit." Amycus yanked Barty's head back by the hair so he could take a breath. "You were sitting next to her, all close and stuff. I'm not going to sit back and let someone like you try and get into her knickers."
"She...just wanted...to see my Chemistry homework…" gasped Barty, but it earned him nothing more than another dunk in the dirty toilet.
"Liar!"
When Barty made it back to the dormitory, his head and shoulders soaked through and shivering, Regulus looked up from the book he was reading. "Don't worry," Barty said. "It just started pouring with rain out there. No idea where it came from."
Regulus looked at the window—where the sun beamed through—but Barty had already shuffled off to change clothes.
The Black family estate was home to a grand bowling green, which could also be used for croquet when the time arose. A small storage house sat at the foot of the green, flanked by flowerpots and benches with peeling paint. The door was swinging open, the glass window smashed in so that the intruder could get access to the inside lock.
"What do you have for me, babe?" Barty asked, sliding an arm around Regulus's middle.
"We used to play croquet in the summer," Regulus said idly. "The mallets are stored there." They reached the outhouse and Regulus took a seat on one of the benches.
Barty entered the building and narrowed his eyes. It was dark, but strips of moonlight came through the narrow windows, illuminating a figure slumped over a storage trunk in the middle of the room.
The croquet mallets were leaning neatly against the far wall. Barty ran his finger along each of them, feeling the smooth wood. He selected the final one and held it firmly in his palms, testing the grip and the weight.
"Who's there?" Carrow groaned, trying to roll onto his back. All he achieved was slipping down onto the ground, his back against the trunk. "Crouch?" His eyes were glossed over and his chest was rising and falling slowly.
Barty tapped Carrow's foot with the end of the mallet gently, and Carrow didn't have the strength to yank it out of reach. "Do you know how many times you nearly drowned me in those disgusting toilets?"
"Wha...I don't…"
"Fifteen times. Over the course of three years," Barty continued. "I kept track."
"Jesus...Crouch...we were kids…"
Barty hoisted the mallet onto his shoulder, taking aim, and Carrow's unfocused eyes flickered to it nervously. Without responding to Carrow, he swung the mallet down hard, right into the top of Carrow's head. His skull seemed to implode, and the idea filled Barty with delight. He brought the mallet down again, again, again, until there was nothing but red and pink gore where Carrow's head had just been, and his weapon was slick with flesh and brains.
He dropped the mallet and left the outhouse, his arms and hands covered in blood.
Rodolphus Lestrange was standing outside the door when Barty stumbled out, adjusting his uniform and wiping tears from his eyes. Rodolphus glanced at him awkwardly, before looking straight ahead again, determinedly avoiding his eyes.
"Please," Barty whispered. "Please make it stop."
Rodolphus brushed his long fringe away from his face and cleared his throat. "Time to go, Crouch."
"You could help me. You could stop it. I can't take it anymore."
Rodolphus turned to give Barty an exasperated look. His dark eyes looked desperate. "I can't. Just go."
Barty's lip wobbled as he tried to stop more tears spilling from his eyes, and ran from Rodolphus without looking back.
Regulus and Barty held hands as they walked. Regulus didn't care that the blood was getting on him, or that he had tasted copper when Barty kissed him. He didn't care about anything other than Barty, making him happy, and giving him everything he wanted.
Rodophus Lestrange staggered by the hedge that marked the boundary of the property. The hedges had long since grown out of the neat squared lines that they used to be kept in, as the Blacks hadn't visited the estate in a long time. However, a set of rusty garden shears sat abandoned at the foot of one of the hedges, glinting in the moonlight.
"Our gardener was never great at cleaning up after himself," Regulus commented. "I don't think he'd mind if you borrowed those."
Barty smiled as he left Regulus's side and picked up the garden shears, before following the lumbering shape of Rodolphus along the hedge. He was clinging to the branches as he staggered, leaving a trail of leaves behind him. Barty snipped the shears experimentally, the rusty blades grinding together.
The sound caused Rodolphus to turn around slowly. His hazy eyes widened as he realised who was behind him. "I knew...we shouldn't...have come here…"
He tried to step backwards but he stumbled and fell on his backside, staring up at Barty in horror. "You could have stopped it." Barty's voice was soft as he raised the shears up slightly. "You could have stopped him at any time. You knew what he was doing to me."
"It was...none of my business…" groaned Rodolphus.
"You made it your business whenever you stood guard outside the dormitory." With one swift movement, he brought the shears down and sliced them across Rodolphus's face. An angry red welt split his face from ear to ear, leaving his nose and lip disgustingly disfigured. Blood and flesh burst from his face and bone was exposed. Rodolphus screamed from the gash of his mouth and he held his hands up to his face.
Barty continued to slash the shears at Rodolphus, who screamed over and over until Barty finally brought them down, point-first, straight into his mouth. The shears went straight through to the back of his head and buried into the ground beneath him.
Barty stood up to assess his handiwork, leaving the weapon embedded into Rolophus's ruined face.
Dolohov gripped Barty's wrist while Carrow and Rosier held him down on his bed. He writhed and thrashed and begged for them to stop, but Dolohov only smirked. He took a deep drag on the cigarette he held with his other hand, and blew the smoke straight into Barty's face. Barty coughed, his eyes streaming with tears.
Slowly, Dolohov brought down the stubby cigarette until Barty could feel the heat prickling the skin of his wrist. He began to whimper, and Carrow clapped a hand over his mouth.
The cigarette burned a hole instantly into Barty's skin, and his muffled scream went unheard into Carrow's palm. He heard his flesh sizzling, and he could swear his entire arm was on fire from the single tiny burn.
When Dolohov was finished, he flicked the tab-end into Barty's face, and his cronies let go. They stood up and left the dormitory, sniggering to themselves.
Barty ran into the bathroom and poured cold water onto his arm, blinking back fresh bouts of tears. It was some ten minutes later when Regulus came into the dormitory. When Barty came out of the bathroom, Regulus was sniffing the air suspiciously. "Have you been smoking here?"
Barty was about to say no, before remembering himself. He nodded quickly. "Er—yeah. Sorry."
"Huh," Regulus replied. "Didn't know you smoked." He eyed Barty's wrist, which Barty was clutching with his free hand. "What did you do?"
Barty yanked his sleeve down. "Burned myself with the cigarette," he said, faking a laugh.
"Huh," Regulus repeated, unconvinced.
The greenhouse was a fancy affair, which was probably much more grand when the estate was visited often and kept in good condition. It had a large, circular centre with two wings springing from the sides. The building was made entirely of glass, though some windows had been smashed over the years. A stone fountain could be seen in the centre, though no water ran out of it anymore.
"My mother grew her poisonous plants and herbs there," Regulus noted. "The same ones that we used to drug our guests."
Barty raised an eyebrow. "So, I'll poison him further."
"Perhaps," Regulus mused. "Though, there may be a quicker option to hand."
Barty strode through the greenhouse door. There were dying plants sitting in planters all around the building, with some hanging from the ceiling. Not everything was dead, however—some pots of herbs and smaller plants were littered around, with clear cuttings where Regulus had clipped the plants for the wine. A hosepipe on a reel was propped up near the fountain.
There was something on the floor too—a few thin white sticks littering the way towards the fountain. Barty leaned down and picked up one of the cigarettes, twirling it in his fingers.
"Who is it?" a voice murmured. "Lestrange? Rosier?"
"Crouch," Barty replied. Antonin Dolohov rose from the other side of the fountain, wobbling on his feet.
"Get out," he snarled, though the threat in his voice didn't quite meet his weary eyes. He advanced upon Barty and raised a fist, but before he could land the punch, Barty dodged out of the way. The weight of his own punch caused Dolohov to stumble forward drunkenly and trip over the hosepipe reel, landing flat on his stomach.
He was winded as he struggled for breath. Barty leaned over Dolohov and sat on his back, pinning him to the ground. "Got a light?" he asked. Before Dolohov could answer, Barty dug around in the back of Dolohov's jeans until he found a lighter. "Perfect." He stuck the cigarette between his lips and sparked the lighter, inhaling deeply.
"What...are you doing...you psychopath?" Dolohov struggled pathetically beneath Barty.
Barty grabbed a handful of Dolohov's short dark hair and yanked his face to the side, so Barty could see his profile. He sucked on the cigarette again, making sure the tip was burning hot. Dolohov was watching Barty, and he seemed to be making the connection.
"You're...a coward...going to do this...after you've spiked me…"
"I don't think there's much difference in that to being held down by two of your mates," Barty hissed. He held Dolohov's head to the ground and blew the smoke from his cigarette into his face, before moving the cigarette nearer.
"Not...going to beg you…"
"I don't want to hear it." Barty hovered the cigarette over Dolohov's cheek, for a moment, then suddenly jabbed it straight into his open eye.
Dolohov's scream was like music to Barty's ears. It seemed to reverberate through the greenhouse, the sound bouncing and vibrating off the glass panels. He held the cigarette down firmly, pushing straight through the soft tissue of the eyeball until it burst, blood and pus spilling over the cigarette.
While Dolohov whimpered and gasped, unable to see, Barty reached for the hosepipe reel and pulled a length away. He pulled Dolohov's head back and looped the pipe around his neck, then wrapped it around his own hands for extra grip.
He pushed his body weight down on Dolohov and yanked the hosepipe tight around his neck. Dolohov spluttered as Barty strangled him, his voice becoming more and more hoarse and desperate. He choked and gasped to no avail, until the veins on his forehead and neck were strained and his skin was bloating around the hosepipe. When he was finally motionless, Barty let go and stood up, throwing the hosepipe on top of Dolohov's body.
Barty's boarding school held an annual winter ball, and it was at the winter ball of his fifth year that his life changed forever.
Regulus brought Barty a drink from the bar that the teachers and prefects had set up. It wasn't a real bar, there was no alcohol or anything. Instead, the staff had made hot chocolate, eggnog, and fake mimosas with lemonade. He handed Barty a steaming mug of hot chocolate, and sipped from his own eggnog. "Can you believe Rabastan is slaving away making drinks for the rest of the students," he said with a laugh. "I'm sure I remember him saying he would never sink so low if he ever was made a prefect."
Barty glanced over at Rabastan. He was eyeing them back, with a small, unreadable smile on his face. Barty didn't like the way Rabastan was looking, but unlike his friends, Rabastan had never really done anything to hurt or antagonise Barty. He risked giving Rabastan a smile back, and took a drink of his hot chocolate.
"This is essentially an antique," Regulus said. "It belonged to my great-great-grandfather, Cygnus." He handed Barty a pitchfork, which he had recovered from the greenhouse after Dolohov's untimely demise. It was a slender affair; a sleek wooden handle crowned with three long, slim prongs. Despite its age, there was no rust or signs of use on the iron.
"You have a family of avid gardeners, it seems," Barty responded, shifting the pitchfork from hand to hand carefully.
Regulus chuckled. "Just my mother. The story is that Cygnus was gifted this pitchfork as a child, in hopes that he might nurture some green-fingered talent. However, it was simply kept as an heirloom, and my mother was inspired enough by its existence to begin gardening. She kept it in a lockbox in the greenhouse and never used it."
"So, now…"
"Now is the perfect time."
During the winter ball, Barty had stumbled to the bathroom, overcome with a sudden rush of nausea, and apparently fallen asleep in the cubicle. When he came to, he was sitting on the closed seat of the toilet, leaning against the cubicle wall.
Barty clutched his temples as he stood up. His head was pounding as though he'd been drinking alcohol. He groaned, wondering inwardly what time it was, and where Regulus was.
When he left the bathroom he felt disorientated, and realised (after looking back at the sign on the door) that he'd been in the girls' bathroom. He felt himself flush with embarrassment, hoping desperately that no one had seen him in there. It wouldn't do him any favours if his peers were to start bullying him over that as well.
"Hey, Crouch," a soft voice spoke.
Barty turned, one hand on his forehead as he tried to rub the headache away. Rabastan Lestrange stood in the corridor, leaning idly against the wall. He was wearing his smart clothes from the winter ball, though the lack of any other students or teachers around suggested the ball had ended a long time ago.
"Uh, hello," Barty replied. "D...do you know what time it is?"
Rabastan glanced at his wristwatch. "Far too late for you to be wandering the halls." He smirked at Barty, his teeth glinting dangerously. "You know I'm a prefect, don't you? You'll have to be punished for this misdemeanor."
Barty blinked as Rabastan started to stride towards him; a predator seeking his prey. Punished? He couldn't face any school punishments—if his father found out he wasn't doing his absolute best at school, he would have hell to pay.
"I don't know what happened," Barty said honestly. "I...I just needed to be sick, I think, and I fell asleep in the bathroom…"
"The girls' bathroom at that," continued Rabastan, clucking his tongue disapprovingly.
"That was an accident. I...think I must have had a funny drink or something...wait…" The cogs started to work in Barty's head. He'd only had one drink at the winter ball before he'd had to leave unceremoniously. The hot chocolate. "You made my drink."
Rabastan's smile widened. "You're as clever as they say you are, Crouch."
"What did you do to it?" he asked, feeling fear rising in his throat. "Where's Regulus?"
The second question was out of panic, more than anything. Regulus was his only friend, and as far as he was concerned, the only one who could help get him out of this mess.
"Oh, he looked for you," Rabastan continued. "In the bathrooms that you should have been in. Then I told him that I saw you wandering around the courtyards, so I imagine he's still out in the grounds looking for you."
"Why would you do that?" Barty was beginning to back away from Rabastan now. "Why would you drug me?"
"Why indeed?" Rabastan mused. They stared at each other for a moment, once Rabastan was a good metre's distance away.
As soon as Rabastan lunged at Barty, Barty had already reacted. He dashed back into the girls' bathroom and straight for the same cubicle, but the spiked hot chocolate was still in his system, making him slower. Rabastan got his arm inside the cubicle door before Barty could lock it shut, and forced his way inside.
Once he was in there with Barty, he reached behind him to turn the lock. Barty had backed up until he was trapped between the wall and the toilet, as far away from Rabastan as he could get.
Rabastan grabbed Barty by the collar of his shirt and yanked him forwards. Even if Barty had been in a better state, he wouldn't have been able to fight him off. Rabastan was bigger than him, and stronger. He was filled out with muscle from playing football for the school with his brother, whereas Barty was wiry and slim.
"What do you want from me?" Barty's voice cracked as he spoke, and tears began to spill from his eyes. Rabastan's smirk widened.
"Good. You're scared. You should be scared." He pushed Barty down onto the toilet seat roughly. Barty watched in horror as Rabastan grabbed the front of his pants and started to open his fly. "Just remember that this is your fault." He snarled and leaned down so his face was close to Barty's. Barty could smell alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. "You deserve this. My mother killed herself because my father was given life in prison. Me and my brother...we've been in the foster system since we were twelve, because of your dad."
Barty sobbed. "That's not my fault." He tried to turn his face away, but Rabastan grabbed his chin and forced him to look at him.
"Shut up whimpering," he hissed. "This is your fault."
"It's quite fitting," Regulus said. "Your masterpiece will happen right in the most beautiful part of the garden."
Barty nodded. He was still holding the pitchfork with both hands, looking into the area that Regulus was talking about.
A pale wooden pagoda stood in a clearing. Lanterns decorated the roof and walls, though they hadn't been lit for a long time. They didn't need to be—the moonlight was bright enough to illuminate the garden. Rows of beautiful blue flowers surrounded the pagoda; hydrangeas, asters, columbines...the scent of the flowers was almost overpowering as Barty and Regulus advanced upon the pagoda.
Rabastan Lestrange could be seen through the pillars, laid down flat on his back on one of the benches, with his arms crossed over his head. As Barty and Regulus advanced up the few steps into the pagoda, Barty looked back at Regulus.
"You're coming with me, this time?"
Regulus curled a hand around Barty's neck, bringing him close enough that he could kiss him chastely. "I've waited for this moment for a long time, love."
It was two years later when Barty finally told Regulus everything.
After years of friendship, when they were in their final year of boarding school, Barty could no longer hide his feelings for Regulus anymore. He confessed it in a blurt, after they had spent an evening by the lake having a late-night picnic. He fully expected Regulus to recoil, to be shocked, to end their friendship. Why would someone as perfect and as wonderful as Regulus feel the same?
But to Barty's shock, he did. He'd arranged the picnic with the plan of telling Barty himself, but Barty beat him to it. Giddy with excitement, the pair of them had hurried back to their dormitory without even packing up the picnic. When everyone else in the dorm was fast asleep, Regulus crept into bed with Barty, and they kissed and held each other under the covers until the sun came up.
As the weeks went on and Regulus's touch became more needy, his kisses more desperate, Barty was beginning to worry. He was afraid. Rabastan still tormented him at any chance he could get. He felt so deeply for Regulus, but he was terrified. He couldn't bring himself to let their relationship move to the next level.
Regulus never questioned him, never demanded anything from him. He seemed to know that Barty wasn't ready, and he was prepared to wait.
Rabastan's chest was rising and falling gently. His long hair had come loose from it's ponytail and was splayed on the bench; a bloodstain against the birch.
"I hate him so much." Barty's voice wobbled with anger. "The others...I could have lived with what the others did. But…" his fists shook as they clenched the pitchfork.
Regulus's hand fell on Barty's back. He knew how much Barty needed this, and he needed it too. "This is your moment," he whispered into Barty's ear. "This is all for you."
Barty turned and kissed Regulus, hard. They didn't separate until they were short of breath. "Thank you," Barty gasped, pressing his forehead to Regulus's. "I love you so much."
"I love you always," Regulus replied, breathing heavily. "Now kill this bastard."
There was only a month before they would finally be finished with school, when Regulus found Barty alone in his bed, in the middle of the day.
"Barty, what are you…?" he asked as he pushed open the door to the dormitory, looking around. He saw the huddled shape of Barty under his blankets, and he moved to pull the covers back.
Barty was curled up in a ball, completely naked. There was blood on the sheets and bruises and scratches all over his skin. He had his arms wrapped firmly around a pillow, his face buried into it. He was shaking.
"Barty...what the…"
Barty only buried his face deeper. "I can't take it anymore." His voice was muffled, but Regulus could tell that he was sobbing. "I can't do it...please make it stop."
"Let me...oh my god…" Regulus didn't know what had happened, but he knew he needed to help him. He pulled Barty into a sitting position, and Barty let the pillow fall back to the bed. His bottom lip was swollen and the skin around his eye was yellowing with the start of a black eye. He helped him to his feet, wrapping the blanket around him to protect his dignity, and helped him stagger to the bathroom.
Regulus ran the bath with hot water and bubbles, then gestured for Barty to climb into it. Barty seemed apprehensive to remove the blanket at first, and Regulus realised for the briefest second that this was the first time he had seen Barty completely naked. But right at that moment, it was the last thing he was concerned about. What mattered now was helping Barty, and finding out what on earth had happened to him.
Barty seemed to understand and he dropped the blanket before quickly lowering himself into the bath. For some time, they didn't talk, didn't say a word, while Regulus carefully sponged Barty down with a flannel, using only the lightest of touches on his bruised body. When he was done, he knelt down at the side of the bath, his arms over the edge as he watched Barty.
"Can you...can you tell me what happened?"
"It's not the first time," Barty replied. "Two years...it's gone on for two years. At least once a week...sometimes more…" his voice was breaking again and his brown eyes filled with tears.
"It's okay. Take your time." Regulus smoothed a hand over Barty's wet, dark-blond hair, and Barty leant into his touch, taking a deep breath.
...And then he told Regulus everything. About the beatings, the bullying, and everything that Rabastan had done to him since that night at the winter ball. Whenever Rabastan caught Barty alone, he would seek an opportunity to take him by force, even after he knew that Regulus and Barty were in a relationship. If anything, the knowledge just made Rabastan more determined.
The water was cold by the time Barty was finished. Regulus said nothing as he helped Barty out and wrapped him in a towel. He led him back into the dormitory to Barty's bed and laid down with him. Regulus pulled him into his arms, pressing his lips to the top of Barty's head. Barty snaked his arms around Regulus's waist, burying his face into the crook of his neck.
"You're safe," Regulus said into Barty's hair. "Nothing like this will happen to you again. I won't let them." Regulus closed his eyes, trying to blink back the angry tears that were threatening to fall. "When the time comes, we'll make them all pay. You will make them pay."
"Wake up." Barty tapped the bench with the pitchfork. Rabastan groaned and lowered his arms.
"Fuck...what time is it?" he grumbled, his eyes screwed shut. "My head...ugh…"
"Far too late for you to be wandering the halls."
Rabastan's eyes snapped open, and he looked between Barty and Regulus, his dark eyes flickering this way and that. Before he could sit up and make an escape, however, Barty held the pitchfork above his head and brought it down—straight into Rabastan's groin.
There was a sickening crunch—neither Barty or Regulus knew if it was bones or the bench beneath Rabastan. Rabastan screamed shrilly, staring down at where the middle iron prong of the pitchfork had stabbed him right in the…
"Prick," Barty hissed, his eyes glowing with delight. "Right in your disgusting, horrible, filthy little prick!" He pulled the pitchfork back out with all his strength, and blood spurted from the fleshy hole in Rabastan's trousers. Rabastan wailed and sobbed, grabbing at his ruined genitals. Regulus laughed in delight.
"Please, oh god...I'm sorry...I'm sorry…" rivulets of blood washed through Rabastan's fingers as he tried to put pressure on the area, to no avail.
"It's a little too late for that." Barty held the pitchfork up again, and Rabastan squirmed and cowered, but didn't have the strength to pull his hands away from his groin to protect his face. Barty brought the three prongs down into Rabastan's neck, the middle blade slicing straight into his Adam's apple. Rabastan's voice became a strangled gurgle. He shuddered once, twice, then his hands fell away from his body as he became still.
Blood had sprayed across the pagoda when Barty made his final strike, covering him and Regulus. He left the pitchfork stuck into Rabastan's neck, trapping his lifeless body to the bench.
Barty stepped back, breathing heavily. He was covered head to toe in blood, but he felt divine. "It's finished. It's all finished." He fell to his knees, gazing up at Regulus.
Regulus knelt down with him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "You did it," he whispered. "You're free."
Barty wound his arms around Regulus's waist, pulling their bodies closer. "Thank you."
"It was all for you," Regulus murmured. "Everything will always be for you."
