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And all the kids cry out, please stop, you're scaring me
I can't help this awful energy
Goddamn right you should be scared of me
Who is in control?
Look.
Barty is not a good son.
He knows it, down to the rotten marrow coagulating in his bones. His father had imprinted it into his veins, traced the letters into his tendons and sealed them with his fascia.
Barty is a disappointment. Barty is not what his father expected. Barty has to make up for his sins, has to make up for being lesser.
(Has to atone for being smarter than Bartemius Sr., but that's a story for another time. Barty's not supposed to acknowledge that one aloud.)
He knows of the Unforgivables. Of course he does. He's read all his textbooks, back to front, and while his memory isn't picture perfect exactly, it's damn close.
He knows the Killing Curse. He knows the other two.
It still hits him like a crossbolt to the heart when his Defense professor starts rattling on about them, starts demonstrating them on hapless small creatures at the front of the bloody classroom.
"Barty?" Regulus whispers from the side, voice pitched just low enough that only Barty can hear him. "You alright?"
Barty nods, but the movement is wooden. Stilted. Pathetic. His eyes are glued to the small rat on the professor's desk. Under the Imperius Curse. The rat moves smoothly, unnaturally graceful.
If you won't behave, Junior, then I will make you behave.
Bow and smile politely. Or so help me-
Barty swallows. His throat is clogged with broken glass. The rat's eyes are impossibly placid and dull under the curse.
Somehow, the Cruciatus is worse. Barty flinches when the high-pitched squeaking fills the room, clutching at the edge of his desk, as if that will do anything.
"Stop it!" Someone on the other side of the room says, fierce and shrill. It is not over Barty, but he feels exposed anyway when their professor ends the curse. His tongue flicks to the right and up, across the same patch of upper lip as always. A nervous tic. That's all. It's no wonder, the bookish Ravenclaw, lost in his own studies.
"You're not alright," Evan says, quiet and certain, to his other side. Barty stiffens. He eyes his friend, trying to even his breathing.
"I'm fine," Barty grits out, as softly as he can. The professor is talking again. Barty can't make himself pay attention.
Use of any one of the Unforgivables is enough to earn a stay in Azkaban-
Not for my dad! Barty thinks, and feels the sudden, crazed urge to laugh. No one's throwing Bartemius Sr. in with the dementors. He's too good for that. Too Light. Surely Barty has earned his ire. Surely Barty is to blame for this.
When class ends, Barty shoots to his feet, gathering up his belongings with a careless, wordless wave of his wand, and darts out the door before any of his friends can follow. His head is full of static and fog. His tongue keeps darting out. Keeps patting his upper lip. He can't stop.
"Crouch looks mental as always-" He hears sneering words, somewhere behind him, but can't identify who they belong to. He jerks his wand over his shoulder, intent coalescing, and hears a screech of pain. Good.
He can't stop. Can't stop walking, robes swishing around his legs. He remembers his first formal set. He'd tripped over the hem, not tall enough for them quite yet. His father had scowled at him, then deliberately lengthened them with a callous spell.
Learn to walk properly. You're a Crouch, act like it.
By the time the first formal event rolls around, Barty's knees are a mess of purple and scab, but he glides over the floor like he was born to it, and his father almost smiles at him.
He thinks he hears someone call his name somewhere behind him, as he darts out the front doors, as he feels the cool wind slap his face. He ignores them. Idly, Barty wonders if perhaps he should just walk into the lake and keep walking. Maybe the squid can devour him. Eat him, body and soul, and leave his father to find some other poor fool to demand a child from. Merlin knows his mum is barren now. Something else that Barty is to blame for, another sin laid at his stoop.
"Barty!" Regulus, breathless and sharp, and Barty whirls in time to see Regulus nearly hurtle into him and send them both crashing to the ground. He catches Regulus instead, grasp whisper-soft. Regulus looks like shit. His eyes are huge, his face pallid, and Barty can see the pulse fluttering in his throat.
Oh.
"You too?" Barty asks, light and airy, like he might float away at any moment. Regulus nods, and Barty's face crumples.
"There you bastards are," Evan says, as he catches up, panting for breath. "Pandora's in a right mood about you running off, something about the moon-"
"We'll go back in in a moment," Regulus interrupts. Evan glances between the two of them, before nodding and falling back a little. Like he can tell this is a moment just for them.
Just the ol' Unforgivable Survivors over here. So far. Until green light smashes me into the ground and I'm dead, dead, dead-
"Barty," Regulus murmurs, interrupting the spiral. Barty blinks, suddenly realizing that his tic has slowed. "We'll make them pay. Someday. Yeah?"
"Yeah," Barty says, nodding rapidly. Tears glisten in his eyelashes. Bow, damn it, Junior. Don't you know how to bow by now? Why are you so useless, boy?
Regulus's fingers tremble as he raises a hand and rests it on Barty's cheek.
"Someday," Regulus vows. Barty bends his head, bestowing a featherlight kiss on Regulus's brow.
"Let's go back in before Pandora has a bigger fit," Barty murmurs. Regulus laughs, and the sound is like quicksilver.
Later, Barty will find his way to the dungeons and slip inside Regulus's bed. They will hold each other, almost painfully tight, and Barty's nose will clog and Regulus's eyes will be red and sore. They will remain that way until dawn approaches, when Barty has to sneak back into Ravenclaw Tower.
But for now, Evan slings an arm over Barty's shoulders and Regulus bumps his arm with one of his, and they walk back into the castle. Together.