Response to Ch9 in Seirios Aster's Little Lion Man, Lady Stardust; read that one first.

City

"Here in these deep city lights, Girl could get lost tonight … I'm finding every reason to be gone – nothing here to hold on to … Could I hold you?" ~ City by Sara Bareilles

Bartemius Crouch Jr. was so furious he couldn't see straight – much less think in a calm or coherent manner. He had just found something out that nearly made his blood boil with rage; and now, at least, he thought he understood why Regulus had been upset that he wasn't telling Slughorn about those three pricks and what they'd done to him.

A fucking Cruciatus? And they weren't even in trouble for it?

Oh hell no.

The blond wasn't even sure how he'd found out; he was doing research in the library because they had a potions paper due; and while sitting for extended periods of time was absolutely killing most of the abused skeletal structure in his torso, he needed to get this paper written. And, as generous as Reg's offer had been to help (re: write it for him), Barty was determined to do it himself, unaided or abetted. Hence why he was in the back corner with a musty old book at a table behind a bookshelf attempting, not exactly research, but to actually figure out what in the bloody hell to write about.

Enter one of the three arseholes who'd tried to create a new facial structure for Barty without using a scalpel or anesthetics, who apparently didn't see the blond. To be fair, the sixth year Slytherin heard him before he saw him, and had the good sense to stay ducked down under the table because he had been picking up a piece of parchment that had fallen on the ground.

"Did you really? Oh man, what was it like?" that had been the first actual sentence Barty had heard and understood –and it only got worse from there. It was about all he could do to stay where he was and not just push a bookshelf over on them – but he likely did not have the upper body strength required to complete said task, and whoever he was with was probably innocent of an offense, so he might conceivably regret killing them. Though not really.

He listened in silence as the seventh year gloated about casting the unforgiveable without naming it – but Barty knew what he was talking about as well as the people he was bragging to did. He almost lost it when the gloating continued with how he wasn't even getting into trouble with it – this little fuck had had his first taste of 'blood', and apparently he had enjoyed it repercussion free.

Barty would have to remedy that.

He waited silently for them to finish their conversation, which was basically a dick wagging contest, and after they had walked off he sat up, wincing for a moment because his back was stiff from the awkward position he'd held for a while. Rubbing his back absently with one hand, he appeared to go back to studying, his other hand tucking underneath the page of the book on the table as if he were going to turn the page. But he wasn't going to turn the page; he wasn't even looking at the page. Oh sure; he was staring at it – or past it, rather. He had settled into deep thought; once a Slytherin, always a Slytheirn. Those curses were called "unforgiveable" for a reason; and that reason wasn't so someone could use them and, far from learning a lesson, escape all reprimand.

No; this was a wrong that needed righting. But not this minute. No; that would be stupid; and Barty wasn't in the business of being stupid if he could help it. He'd never had a serious duel before; his sad lack of friends whose names were not Regulus Black, coupled with the fact that neither his father nor his mother practiced much magic at home besides of a practical means meant that he had never had occasion to be taught, or even try. And since that wasn't in his skill set, it would be foolish to attempt. So, direct confrontation was out; but that left a lot of options. However, he didn't want to be too discreet; Barty wanted this idiot to know he was getting his ass handed to him by the blond sixth year … But if he knew who it was, it would have to be something so ruinous – so degrading – that he would never admit it had happened to anyone, so that Barty wouldn't get into trouble.

The blond mulled it over for the rest of the afternoon, absently flipping through the potions books that he'd gathered up to try and find a topic from – but he wasn't really paying them much mind. Something more important had come up – Reg had come up. He continued thinking about it through dinner, and after eventually choosing the Alihotsy Draught as a topic for his potions essay. In fact, it was just about when he was getting in bed when suddenly, it hit him.

And the more he thought about it, the more excellent it was.

Transfiguration isn't useful, huh dad? Ha … and those were the last words he thought before he closed his eyes to sleep, content in the knowledge that revenge would be extracted to a satisfying degree, and the only ones who would know about it were the sixth and seventh year Slytherin involved …

"What's the matter? I thought it was fitting – I mean, you won't even brag about what you did to Regulus Black where Professors can hear you," the blonde said with a shrug, "so, it's not like you really had balls in the first place. Just thought I'd make that fact more … poignant."

"I swear Crouch, if you don't undo this right now, I'll—"

"You'll what? Go tell your friends that some sixth year got the drop on you and now you're a twat? Oh – excuse me; you have a twat." Barty resisted the urge to snicker; this was probably one of the best ideas he'd ever had. Ever. The seventh year raised his wand, but the sixth year Slytherin didn't even blink. In fact, he just shook his head with a sort of pity and disdain.

"Oh – good; hex me, hell Crucio me. That's a great way to get me to change it back. I can't cast a spell if I'm writing in agony, genius. Can't cast one if I'm dead either –and you can't make me cast it if you don't know what to do. So that's zero for three on the unforgiveables mate – better luck next time." It was a pretty good thing that this kid was clearly a complete idiot, or no one had ever taught him to think outside the box. Because he could have just cast a Cruciatus on Barty and threatened to keep him like that until he agreed to transfigure his genitalia into the proper gender. However, because the blond listed the options the way he did, and likely because the seventh year was flipping out, he was at a loss for words.

Ah, silence. Sweet, crushing, unyielding silence. He knew there was no way he could win – he knew that Barty had him completely. Figuring out this Transfiguration hadn't been too hard actually; they had just started learning human transfiguration this year, sure, but Barty had a special knack for it. It had only taken him a few days and a good bit of practice – though he would never admit how that practice came to pass out loud to anyone…

"Careful; don't get too worked up – wouldn't want you starting your monthlies early, now would we?" The blonde truly relished in the fact that he could see the transfigured student's pallor; but he had done what he'd come to do, and the longer he stayed, the more likely it was that the concept of mild (or extreme) torture would be discovered, and that wasn't something Barty wanted to stick around for. And so, with that comment, he went to leave the vacant room in the dungeons, intent on going to the Great Hall to see what was for breakfast.

"Where do you think you're going – you can't just leave –"

"Oh but I can," he said, turning around, voice low, and almost a growl. This might've looked like a cute prank outwardly, but in all actuality Bartemius Crouch Jr. was still livid. "And I will – and there is nothing you can do about it; at least not without going to McGonagall to untransfigure it, because I know your marks in Transfiguration are horrible – you and your idiot friends are pretty loud in the common room. But I'd bet ten galleons you won't bring this up with her, or Slughorn, or any of the other professors either."

"How does it feel, not being able to control something that's happening to your own body?" he nearly snarled, hand curling on the door jamb tensely. There was a lot more than what had happened here that he wanted to do , but he couldn't leave any marks, or add any more provocation to this encounter. "Just like there was nothing Regulus Black could do when you cast that unforgiveable curse you're so proud of on him. Only difference here is, there's no reason for me to go to Azkaban for what I did. This is mild compared to what you should be dealing with now – cold, stone walls, iron bars, and Dementors." Barty turned; he needed to leave now or he was going to start throwing hexes or something.

"Just remember that you're lucky every time you have to sit down to take a piss, and I'm sure you'll do fine," he added over his shoulder as he turned the corner and walked down the hall, feeling sadly unsatisfied by this turn of events, even though today had shaped up to be such a good day …

That had been his last day of peace for quite some time now. Not by any magical means; it just seemed like wherever he went, he had eyes following him – people whispering in the background. Looking at him. In some of the more audacious moments even pointing. And he couldn't for the life of him figure out why; for a long time he didn't even realize that it was worse when he was hanging around Regulus. But eventually, he started to notice that when he was eating with Reg, or sitting in the common room nearby, or trying not to blow something up in a cauldron, it became much more intense. And not just Slytherin either, though those were who he was around most often, so that was where he noticed it from the most at first.

The more he paid attention, however, the more he realized that actually … It was a pretty big portion of the school, comparatively speaking. Not everyone looked at him and Reg sideways, but probably 65 percent of the population – which was a good deal of them. The majority of those who were spared were the younger aged ones, but even some of them Barty caught gawking at him from time to time, like he was some twisted celebrity or something. It was horribly uncomfortable, and he was sure it was bugging Reg too.

And really, Barty didn't know what the deal was; it wasn't like they were caught snogging in the dormitories or anything, (1) so why all of the sly looks? It didn't make any bleeding sense to Barty, at the very least that other houses were clearly in on whatever rumor this was. Had to be a pretty big deal if people all over the school were talking about it….

"Er, Black? Why are you laughing like that?" Evan asked from across the room; it was a rather unremarkable day, all things considered – but for some reason Regulus had come into the room, sat down on his bed, and started laughing without explanation. Barty had to admit, it did sound a little creepy, especially if you didn't know he was prone to mostly thinking, and only carrying on part of conversations, or reactions to them, out loud. "Uh, anyway, Black, I just wanted to tell you that it wasn't me. It was those two blokes—"

No. Fucking. Way.

"What's the matter, Crouch?" the laughing taunt made Barty's fingers curl in a fist. "Can't take it; only fit to dish it out then?" This was …

"Poor ickle poof has his panties in a bunch?" In a word, this was outright fucking war. He had come to talk to that arsehole, but seems he doesn't go anywhere without his little grunts anymore – and the blond had been trying to do the civil thing and keep this quiet. That was the last time he tried to do a fellow Slytherin that wasn't Regulus any favors.

"You want to see a spectacle? As your mate there to pull up his robes; I guarantee you that you'll be surprised," Barty said in a growl. "And I'm sure the rest of the student body will be surprised too…" He ignored the awkward, nervous laugh that was a response to his thinly veiled threat, turning to leave the room; he was done here.

"Wait – what's he mean …?" was the last thing he heard before he started down the hallway. Damage was already done as far as Reg"s reputation was concerned but at least Barty could take this sod down with him As for Reg well he would just have to stay away from his friend for the time being; besides, he was sure the student body would be far more interested in the fact that one of their fellow class mates had had a freak sex change than someone's sexuality...

Over the next few days there was a new, much more entertaining rumor spreading around … And this time, it was a rumor that could be backed up with fact. Barty didn't even care if McGoogles found out about it and reversed his handiwork – he wouldn't get into trouble anyway. That seventh year might have been stupid, but he wasn't that dumb; Bartemius Crouch Jr. was a Slytherin. If he got into trouble for this, he'd only come back with something worse – and the most powerful deterrent was one's own imagination.

The blond wasn't even sure he could come up with much worse without the possibility of serious repercussion, but that was alright. He didn't have to. The now-female seventh year would likely come up with plenty of less than savory fates for himself, and that would keep him from spilling who had done it. Not to mention his reputation – what would it look like if he not only was beaten up by Regulus Black, a sixth year, but also had this happen, once again courtesy of a sixth year?

Nope; Barty had nothing to worry about in that department.

What he did have to worry about now, was Regulus.

He'd gotten his friend into this mess; he figured the more time he spent away from Reg, the more likely it was that people would forget what had been said about the two of them, whatever that had been. And so, he'd taken to sort of avoiding his friend unless being around him was absolutely necessary, such as double potions that morning, in which they were lab partners. It probably hadn't been wise not to explain to Reg what he was doing, but he didn't necessarily want his friend to make the connection that their unfortunate seventh year friend's fate had been of his doing.

The temptation to mention the fact to someone would've been too much – hell, he had been tempted to brag about it, because the more he thought about it, the more proud of that little feat he was. Even most seventh years probably couldn't have pulled that off – not without at least getting more information from McGoogles and the like. Barty had nearly come up with it on his own – sure, he'd used a few of the things they'd learned in class, but he'd had to modify them substantially to come up with something that worked convincingly.

Especially because that thing about the monthlies?

Yeah – that hadn't been a bluff.

As it was though, it was likely that Regulus thought that Barty was avoiding him because he was mad at him – so he'd made an effort to at least smile if he caught Reg's eye, or otherwise acknowledge him in a friendly manner, so that at least his friend, hopefully, wouldn'tve decided that he was the scourge of the earth, and he needed to go drown himself or something …

Again, hopefully …

The End ..?

Sorry there were so many timeskips in this chapter – I hope it wasn't too confusing …

1 – I reserve the right to say he didn't know that Evan was there during that incident … He was busy trying to hobble downstairs without death ensuing … xD