"I don't excuse you. I really don't. You bother me." And that, Barty found, was pretty inexcusable. Here he was again, talking about his privilege as if he deserved it. What a little prick. "What you need is a lesson. Or several, really, but I don't have that much free time on my hands."
All his life, Barty had been angry and resentful. Most of his life he had had to bury that. But now? There was really no need to hold back, especially not with someone like Draco. His hand moved, sudden and quick, grabbing the boy's wrist tightly. He pulled his sleeve up, staring at the dark mark and huffing.
Still holding him, nails digging into his skin, he looked directly into the boy's eyes. Coward. Throwing curses at someone's back and too little backbone to stand up to anything or anyone without using his father to hide behind. His father was nowhere now. Barty had drawn his wand and he used it, first to point at the dark mark - not touching it - and then to point at Draco as he hissed quietly. "Tell me what this means to you."
Draco's eyes went wide as he was suddenly grabbed, not expecting such a move and remembering all too well how dangerous this psychotic loon was. His mother kept saying to be respectful and not to upset anyone so he had to bite his tongue not to throw insults. Not that he could had dared right now, all his desire to stand up for himself drained right out of him and he paled. Well, paled more than normal.
Shrinking away, he whimpered as the nails dug into his skin and squirmed, trying to yank his arm back. "You're hurting me!" Well, duh. Even so, he felt like pointing it out. He looked down at the dark mark then Barty, his wand far too close and he tried not to just straight out scream for his parents. This was bad. This felt pretty bad. Well, he could do this. He could get out of this mess. "It means -- loyalty. I'm a pure blood, I stand with dark lord!"
That was the right answer, right? He ticked every box. Loyal, dark lord, pure blood.
Barty laughed, not letting go of him. He wanted to hurt him. He felt that was part of the point he was making. "Your blood is pure. I'll say that much. Although that has never kept anyone from being a cowardly sycophant. Runs in the family just as the blood does."
Idly he wondered whether Draco even knew what sycophant meant. Maybe he'd have to ask his mommy later. There was an entertaining thought. "You've never had to fight for anything, have you?"
No wonder he was soft. Spoiled and useless, a coward filled with doubt. Easy enough to see. Barty let go of him at long last and then he smiled. "Do you think you are up for the fight, Malfoy?"
Draco wanted to tell his father almost instantly about this vile mistreatment but he knew better to threaten that right now. He recoiled and pulled his arm close to his chest, looking at Barty with horror. He attacked him! Not a violent attack as such but in his head, it rather was. He moved back slowly as he kept his arm close to himself, not sure if he should answer or just run for it.
But he felt he wouldn't actually get too far. "A--A fight?"
No. God no, he was not up for a fight. Unless it was a fight on his terms. He liked to hit from behind and run. Or just fight weaker people. If he was fighting some children, perhaps. Not really people his own age. Or older. Or stronger. He supposed he could take old people if he had to... if they were unarmed, he could just shove them. Ha. "I'm not a coward, I can fight." Ehhhhhh. Kinda. "I just have no cause to."
"No cause? Do you need me to give you a cause, you spineless little ferret? You really are your father's son." And, no, there wasn't even an attempt to make that sound like anything other than an insult. "How about if I turned around? Will you feel better attacking from the back? That seems more on your level."
Barty's voice sounded cold rather than furious. Mocking, really, he had no actual stake in this, other than feeling that this boy could stand to learn. "What are you going to do when you've run out of people actually lesser than yourself to stand near you? Trust me, in your case? It won't take that long."
"You shouldn't insult my father." He spoke it quiet and without conviction because he wasn't sure if he should pick a fight but Barty berating him was starting to get on his nerves a little. What had he done? He hadn't even started anything against the lunatic and he was trying to fight him. He moved his hand subtly to be closer to his wand, just in case. "And I'm not a spineless ferret. I am my father's son. My father is loyal and earned what he has."
So there. He gritted his teeth, flittering between fear and annoyance non-stop. "I won't run out of people. I have a lot of friends. More than you, I'd bet."
"That's not a difficult feat to accomplish. I'm hardly looking for friendship." It was the most endearing thing he had ever seen the boy too, arguing back like that. Showed a lack of awareness and foresight, sure, but it was almost... cute. "How many people respect you, Malfoy? Think hard and think fast. Because in the world we are headed for, that's what is going to matter."
And he knew Draco, better than he cared to. Likely better than the boy knew himself. "Your father has earned about as much as you have. And he'll get what's coming for him."
He wasn't sure what of or why but he felt like throwing something at him and going on the attack. Perhaps because he knew, deep down, that Barty was right. But that was deep down. Deep, deep down where Draco never ventured. He was very much a surface level person, he didn't care to dig deep or know himself. "You're jealous that my father has had a good life and you haven't." Was that it? Probably. Who wouldn't be jealous of the Malfoys? They had a great life!
"I haven't had a good life," Barty agreed, "I haven't had a good death either. I haven't had a father's support or a mother who'd fight battles for me. But that has made me strong. So, perhaps that is what you are lacking."
He looked at Draco, making a show of how he was pondering the matter. "Is that it? It makes sense. Have you ever suffered pain? I could get you used to it."
Shit. He didn't like where this was going. He took another big step back and debating running towards his mom's room. Though that did seem kind of childish - he was a man now, a death eater... he should be fighting his own battled. Though he'd really rather his mother did it for him. "I'm strong enough, I don't-- don't need than. I... I want to go." He should have been firmer on that. He tried to say it with more conviction. "I need to go, I'm -- it's late." And he didn't want any pain.
"Then ask me properly. Politely. Maybe I'll give you permission." He could have flung a curse right then, but Barty preferred the psychological torture for now, the build-up. And making that arrogant little prick beg for freedom of movement in his own home? There was a lot of satisfaction in that, he'd admit it. He watched Draco, even smiling. Wand in hand, but not pointed. Waiting to be shown however much respect he felt like asking for.
"But it's my house..." He shouldn't have to ask. Yet there was that wand. Looming, ready to strike... he really didn't want to end up a ferret for the rest of the night. It was horrible enough the first time. Politely. He just had to ask politely. Lowering his head, he tried his best not to have to look in this prick's eyes. "Can I go to my room now?"
"Run along then. And do some studying, you're an embarrassment." Barty exhaled, watching the boy to see what he'd do, because he didn't lower his wand just yet. He liked terrifying him. Very, very low-hanging fruit, but still. Fun nonetheless and he did deserve it. He wondered if there was anyone in that generation who actually knew how to fight the fight on their side.
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All his life, Barty had been angry and resentful. Most of his life he had had to bury that. But now? There was really no need to hold back, especially not with someone like Draco. His hand moved, sudden and quick, grabbing the boy's wrist tightly. He pulled his sleeve up, staring at the dark mark and huffing.
Still holding him, nails digging into his skin, he looked directly into the boy's eyes. Coward. Throwing curses at someone's back and too little backbone to stand up to anything or anyone without using his father to hide behind. His father was nowhere now. Barty had drawn his wand and he used it, first to point at the dark mark - not touching it - and then to point at Draco as he hissed quietly. "Tell me what this means to you."
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Draco's eyes went wide as he was suddenly grabbed, not expecting such a move and remembering all too well how dangerous this psychotic loon was. His mother kept saying to be respectful and not to upset anyone so he had to bite his tongue not to throw insults. Not that he could had dared right now, all his desire to stand up for himself drained right out of him and he paled. Well, paled more than normal.
Shrinking away, he whimpered as the nails dug into his skin and squirmed, trying to yank his arm back. "You're hurting me!" Well, duh. Even so, he felt like pointing it out. He looked down at the dark mark then Barty, his wand far too close and he tried not to just straight out scream for his parents. This was bad. This felt pretty bad. Well, he could do this. He could get out of this mess. "It means -- loyalty. I'm a pure blood, I stand with dark lord!"
That was the right answer, right? He ticked every box. Loyal, dark lord, pure blood.
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Idly he wondered whether Draco even knew what sycophant meant. Maybe he'd have to ask his mommy later. There was an entertaining thought. "You've never had to fight for anything, have you?"
No wonder he was soft. Spoiled and useless, a coward filled with doubt. Easy enough to see. Barty let go of him at long last and then he smiled. "Do you think you are up for the fight, Malfoy?"
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But he felt he wouldn't actually get too far. "A--A fight?"
No. God no, he was not up for a fight. Unless it was a fight on his terms. He liked to hit from behind and run. Or just fight weaker people. If he was fighting some children, perhaps. Not really people his own age. Or older. Or stronger. He supposed he could take old people if he had to... if they were unarmed, he could just shove them. Ha. "I'm not a coward, I can fight." Ehhhhhh. Kinda. "I just have no cause to."
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Barty's voice sounded cold rather than furious. Mocking, really, he had no actual stake in this, other than feeling that this boy could stand to learn. "What are you going to do when you've run out of people actually lesser than yourself to stand near you? Trust me, in your case? It won't take that long."
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So there. He gritted his teeth, flittering between fear and annoyance non-stop. "I won't run out of people. I have a lot of friends. More than you, I'd bet."
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And he knew Draco, better than he cared to. Likely better than the boy knew himself. "Your father has earned about as much as you have. And he'll get what's coming for him."
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He wasn't sure what of or why but he felt like throwing something at him and going on the attack. Perhaps because he knew, deep down, that Barty was right. But that was deep down. Deep, deep down where Draco never ventured. He was very much a surface level person, he didn't care to dig deep or know himself. "You're jealous that my father has had a good life and you haven't." Was that it? Probably. Who wouldn't be jealous of the Malfoys? They had a great life!
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He looked at Draco, making a show of how he was pondering the matter. "Is that it? It makes sense. Have you ever suffered pain? I could get you used to it."
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Shit. He didn't like where this was going. He took another big step back and debating running towards his mom's room. Though that did seem kind of childish - he was a man now, a death eater... he should be fighting his own battled. Though he'd really rather his mother did it for him. "I'm strong enough, I don't-- don't need than. I... I want to go." He should have been firmer on that. He tried to say it with more conviction. "I need to go, I'm -- it's late." And he didn't want any pain.
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