rude remarks, coarse conduct [BARTY]

Three o' clock was a terrible time of day. Bright, clear, happy; it was no wonder Barty was miserable. After leaving a pointless Divination lesson, Barty was once again reminded that he shouldn't have taken the class in the first place. He excelled at every subject, but Divination was something special. He firmly thought that disgusting class was for ninnies who believed in the magic of the stars, or some idiotic theories like that. The class should have been banned a long time ago, but those aforementioned ninnies kept it alive. Barty scowled to himself. Perhaps he was just angry he had gotten an A on his latest paper. What a dolt of a professor. That paper was obviously worth an O. All of his papers were worth an O, and the professor was just too thick to realize that. What a dolt.

He realized he was getting mad, which he supposed he was mad about. Divination was not something to get riled up about. Barty shook those thoughts out of his head, his expression hardening as he flicked his tongue over his lips. Ridiculous. He was obviously out of it.

Barty trotted through the corridors, his shoulders straight and his back arched. His stride was that of a proud peacock, stretching his feathers to prove to everyone, including himself, that he was superior. As he walked past, the few students he saw immediately quieted down or sent him disapproving looks. He smirked at a pretty girl in Ravenclaw robes, licking his lips and leering at her; he felt satisfied as the girl immediately widened her eyes and quickened her pace. At least he knew he had an effect on others. That was something to feel superior about.

Fuck Divination. Bloody useless subject.

Before he realized what he was doing, Barty had made his way through the hallways and to the Quidditch pitch. Immediately, his entire demeanor changed. His eyes sparkled with some sort of sadistic fondness as he stared up at the blue sky, remembering past Quidditch matches. Within moments, Barty took out his wand and whispered, "Accio broom!" He typically kept his broom in the Slytherin locker room, so Barty wasn't surprised as he felt the familiar wooden stick drop at his feet. "Up!" he declared rather quietly, mounting the broom quickly and proceeding to fly into the air.

The feeling was exhilarating and terrible and tense and frightening, and he loved it. Barty felt his hair whip around his face as he squinted and attempted to survey his surroundings.

Barty hissed and almost fell off his broom as he spotted a rather familiar, dark-haired figure standing near him. He watched a Bludger zoom past him, his cat-like reflexes automatically causing him to react and swerve to the ground. Instead of hitting the grass, Barty kept himself at a steady foot in the air, his mind turning as he heard a female voice tell him it was rude to spy. Barty's eyes narrowed, his voice coming out raspy and rather masculine as he responded. "I don't need to spy on you, Black," he replied simply, glaring daggers into the back of Bellatrix's skull. How dare that bitch speak to him like that. Spoiled, overconfident brat; she got too much attention for her own good. Bellatrix Black had life handed to her on a silver platter, and yet she insisted on stealing the only man he idolized.

Bitch.

Barty wasn't shocked. Few things truly shocked him anymore, especially coming from Bellatrix's filthy mouth. He had expected a response like that coming from her, although being associated with a vampire was a bit unnerving. Dwelling on that thought, Barty's eyes narrowed to where they were little more but slits, and his lips curved dangerously as he emitted a menacing growl. He was tempted to just fly over and bash her skull in, but after years of playing Quidditch with the girl, he knew her skills. Barty hated to admit it, but the witch was Quidditch captain for a reason. It would do no good to fly over to her; she had faster reflexes than that. The girl standing near him was Bellatrix Black, not a Hufflepuff. He had to remember that.

It was difficult. The temptation to hurt her was too strong. Barty licked his lips, conveying his emotions in one angry, fast tilt of the head.

As soon as his head turned around, Barty heard the distinctive whizzing sound of a bludger far too close to him. Swiftly, he flew to the left, his eyes flashing as he saw the ball bury itself into the ground. It had missed him by a few feet. Too close. How had he let it get so close? With another tilt of the head, Barty was once again facing Bellatrix; she seemed determined, which was not a good sign. That meant she wanted something, but Barty knew he wasn't prepared to give her anything. Especially answers.

If he didn't have an answer, she was sure as hell not getting one.

Barty smirked to himself as she got on her broom, flying several feet above him. Within seconds, Barty flew upwards, so that their levels were equal. Barty didn't like feeling inferior, especially on a broom.

As Barty stared at the dark haired girl, his smirk flickered. Gods, how he hated her. It would be so easy to just take out his wand and curse her to oblivion, and it would be so much fun. But he had to restrain himself. If he did anything, she would retaliate and...that implied he had a low tolerance for pain. Barty dealt with pain very well, actually. Very well.

"You ask such simple questions, Black," Barty responded to her, his voice nonchalant, as if he had no care in the world. It contrasted his devilish expression. "I merely wanted to play a game of Quidditch. Didn't know I was intruding on sacred ground. You're like a dog, you know that, Black?" Barty grinned widely, dangling his left hand precariously close to his wand pocket. "Like a dog marking its territory."

Woosh. He was flying behind her now, his beaming face fading as he waited for a reply. He wanted her to say something evil and characteristic. He wanted her to fuel him, to the point where he would take his wand out and...Barty shuddered deliciously.

He thought the entire world spun around to fulfill his every whim, but reasonably, he knew that Bellatrix Black was one of the few exceptions. Barty hated her so much that the feelings had to be reciprocated with the same vigor; if she was completely indifferent to him, his feelings towards her would not have been as strong. Barty knew this. He also knew that Black was a bomb waiting to erupt, and she didn't have a set time of combustion. It was random, but an explosion did eventually happen. Wasn't he like a ticking bomb, then, too? Did that somehow make their relationship more justifiable? No, not justifiable. Exciting. Two bombs waiting to explode. That was his version of fun.

Talking to Bellatrix, while annoying most of the time, had its benefits. Sometimes, she was far too easy to read. Her anger got the best of her, and talking to her made him angry, too. Merlin, if put together, they would be invincible. But that wouldn't be fun, would it? Bombs, when neutralized, aren't bombs at all.

Barty licked his lips. Even, she said. He nodded thoughtfully. In some twisted sense of the word, they were even, weren't they? But they couldn't be even. He had to be stronger, faster, not even with her. He had to be better. In fact, he was better. The sentence reverberated like a mantra inside him. Better, better, better. And because he was better than her, he refused to take any of her shit. The witch was lucky she got him to be quiet for even two seconds. She didn't deserve quiet. Not from him. She deserved angry shouts of vehemence; Barty muttered to himself, taking his hands off his broom and wringing them, agitated. "You don't have the guts to piss on anyone, Black, let alone me," Barty spoke up, his tone hushed. "I imagine you'd be one of those chihuahuas. Ugly little things. All bark and no bite. You do share quite a resemblance to them; don't you think so?"

After several seconds of tense silence, Bellatrix spun around slowly. Barty stared at her, his expression practically unreadable as she proceeded to insult him. He took the abuse; in fact, he relished from it. The witch was getting angry, and he was, too. His blank face momentarily flashed, a slow smirk being drawn on his pointed features. He had no idea what it was like in the real world, because Pampered Bitch knew all about it. Then again, she was no longer that pampered anymore. Her darling family just couldn't afford to spoil their most cherished child. Barty's smirk grew wider as he pictured the oldest Black sister, her face gaunt and malnourished. That wasn't a far stretch from the real world, was it?

And then the insults stopped. For once, Bellatrix took Barty by surprise. He drew in a quick breath, his eyes lowered as he pondered her statement. He knew what she didn't want to hear. Was he prepared to torment her and risk the consequences of Riddle's wrath? In actuality, Barty was pushing himself; his favorite professor had nothing to do with it. Then again, he was talking to Bellatrix, and he wasn't the only one in the vicinity who thought himself high and mighty. "I could ask you the same question, Black," he said, his grin unfading, "and the answers would be identical. You know very well who put me up to it. Question is - are you going to admit it? You don't seem like the type of witch who likes to share." There. Let her suffer. Perhaps he wouldn't need his wand to torment her, after all.