Barty Crouch, Jr. is not Oedipus Rex. (culling) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-08-27 22:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1979-08] august, ! group threads, barty crouch jr, corbina lestrange, demetrius mulciber, marius lestrange, regulus black, rodolphus lestrange, severus snape |
Who: Barty, Demetrius, Severus, Marius, Corbina, Dolph, Regulus & several onlookers.
Where: The courtyard of Lestrange Manor, Swanton Morley, Norfolk.
When: Wednesday evening, 27th August, towards the end of dueling practise.
What: Funny things happen when you don't sleep. The Baby DEs learn this the hard way when dueling practise turns into Fight Club.
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, bb DEs making really awful puns, etc.
Status: Complete!
There was a significant advantage to 'taking the air' with Corbina (taking the air being an ironic phrase that the pair had thought up over a decade ago to appease their mother, who didn't approve of women taking to books or studies when she was at home and meant to be acting a proper lady); besides enjoying his time with his sister - as much as he was capable of enjoying the company of another human being - Rodolphus had the singular opportunity today of closely studying the younger death eaters' dueling skills. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but at some point in the last five years, he'd become somewhat of an overseer to the next generation of death eaters, and he prided himself in being keenly aware of their strengths and failings, which seemed so fickle that he wondered at times whether the creator had bothered to give them any defined talents or hoped they would succeed on luck alone.
His disappointment in their inconsistency had waned, however, as the year marched on, for he'd given them orders, taken them to battle, and watched how they performed under duress. Most had met his lofty expectations. Some had fallen short. Exercises like these provided an invaluable insight into their techniques, and though Rodolphus had never been a particularly insightful person, he did appreciate a learning opportunity.
So he and Corbina had taken seats in the courtyard today, near enough to the dueling to keep an eye (and ear) on the young men, but far enough the their studies would not be interrupted by a poorly aimed spell. He'd pulled some of his more advanced runes books - as well as a folded bit of parchment that he desired to translate, and for the better part of half an hour, the two Lestranges pored over scribbled notes and addenda that littered the margins.
One could likely blame the weather on Corbina's distraction from the Runes texts: it was nice out, the wind kept insisting on blowing past the page she was working in (until she'd performed the charm to stop this from occurring, of course), and there was the ever-present sound of spells landing and bodies hitting the cobblestones not far from where she sat with her brother (as the duelling practice likely would have been held in the ballroom on a less pleasant day). And, while not one to easily be distracted, Corbina found herself glancing away from her books more frequently than normal, watching the fighting and occasionally saving Barty Crouch from impending doom.
Returning her wand to her pocket once finished with the quick elastic spell she'd placed on the pavement, Corbina turned her attention back to the parchment Rodolphus had brought along with him once more, peering between it and the frayed-edged volume sitting on the table in front of her. "I believe this here might be the Latin for 'eschew'," Corbina mused, looking towards her brother to see what his thoughts were.
Rodolphus resisted the urge to smack his sister's hand and tell her to pay attention; their father might have done something similar - though it would not have involved a mere hand, to be sure - and, if anything, that fact reduced Rodolphus's desire to do so. "Pay attention," he grumbled, squinting over symbols she pointed at before glancing sidelong at Corbina. "If this parchment turns out to be a spell for excising all foolishness from one's family members, I will not hesitate to inflict it upon you." His threat bore little weight, however, for they were nowhere close to determining its true purpose.
"This looks like an eth with an ogonek. Dalecarlian corruption perhaps?"
Corbina held back a smirk, finding a slight bit of sadistic pleasure in irritating her brother (as all little sisters do), but instead kept her expression one of focused concentration, returning her gaze to the parchment. "Why waste something so useful on me when it would be put to such better use on Rabastan?" she replied, although she wasn't interested in the response, as she was well aware that Rodolphus was joking.
...Probably.
"I think you are correct, though," she agreed, reaching for another of her books and, tapping her wand on the cover, opened the book precisely to the page that she desired. After a quick moment of scanning the page, Corbina nodded. "Let me rephrase that: I know you are correct."
"Point." Rodolphus conceded; he was hardly likely to use dark magic on his own kin, but if there was a relative that needed a cure of his foolishness, Rabastan most certainly outranked Corbina in that regard.
Given how things at St Mungo's had been, it would have been an understatement to say that Barty had been looking forward to dueling practise on Wednesday evening. The novelty of constantly battling his fellow trainees for superiority had begun to run out -- that wretched idiot Gloria was so insistent on waiting for Barty to make a mistake; every single day, he had to see her at patient rounds and suffer that detestable glint she got in her eyes every time she answered a question correctly, which was usually compensated for by the look of complete and utter disappointment she gained when he answered harder questions perfectly. As long as he was at the hospital, Barty could not fail; he would not allow himself to do so, not when so many people who worked there already discredited him for being young, and wealthy, and a Pureblood, and his father's son. Obviously, he could not have obtained a position as a trainee Healer without resorting to nepotism. He had to prove them all wrong; it was a necessity.
It rather did not help things that he had not been sleeping properly. Even after nearly skipping Astra's birthday party with the intention of resting and studying, he had not gotten nearly enough sleep, not by any stretch of anyone's imagination. Barty was naturally easy to upset, but, under most circumstances, he could keep himself contained with a good deal of proficiency; when he could not, his agitation tended to come out as twitches (and, thus, ink spills) or as a burning desire to clean something. Without sleep, he had no such outlets. He had come to dueling practise on Wednesday night with the intention of working out his aggressive desires in a controlled environment, with a productive outlet, and without doing anything regrettable. In theory, it was a brilliant plan. He always felt a combination of relaxation and exhilaration after doing a mission for the Dark Lord, and he saw no reason why it would not be the same now -- but, as the evening wore on, he had only gotten angrier. Every little victory was not sufficient, and every single slip was an appalling failure; the importance of everything was magnified by a power of ten, and, by the time he got to his duel with Demetrius, it was probably a natural wonder that he was still able to duel properly, let alone well. The fact that he was still using silent spell-work was likely nothing short of a miracle.
And he was dueling well, at least such was his assessment. Was his performance perfect? No, of course not, but he had been hitting his marks and he had managed to fend Demetrius off with a fair amount of proficiency. Not as much as he would have liked, but such was the sacrifice of taking the offensive approach to things. Recoiling from Demetrius's previous jinx, Barty quickly shot a Tripping Jinx at the other boy, following it almost immediately with a malevolently thought Rictusempra! Laughing Jinx. Yes, Barty supposed that it was juvenile, but it was also effective and, so help him, he would make it hurt.
Demetrius had been on the defensive for the entire duel, and was beginning to wonder what in the hell was wrong with Barty. Normally, he was nowhere near this aggressive, but it seemed like that as the night had worn on, the younger boy had gotten more and more agitated. St. Mungo’s had obviously taken a toll on the boy.
Of course, Demetrius would’ve felt sorry for Barty until his head cracked against the floor rather loudly. “Fuck,” he said to himself, his vision blurring from the impact. Tripping Jinx, a good choice all in all. Not quite worth nearly cracking his skull. He cursed himself for not paying attention, he could’ve easily dodged that. As he moved to stand back up, he felt another rather unpleasant sensation. Falling back, this time laughing rather unwillingly, Demetrius was getting really annoyed at Barty.
After a minute or so of laughing until his ribs felt like they were breaking, he caught his breath long enough to cast a Finite Incantatem, and stood up again, his lungs positively aching. He needed to get back on the offensive before Barty did something serious.
Tarantallegra! he thought with a flick of his wand, if he wanted to use a juvenile spell, well, Demetrius could play that game too. He rather angrily hoped it landed, as he watched the other boy carefully. His head was aching and it was making him quite a bit more irritable than he wanted to be.
Barty got a familiar grin on his face at the thoroughly satisfying crack, and it just got wider as he watched Demetrius collapse, pull himself up, and then collapse again in a fit of manic laughter -- oh, but that felt good. For a moment, it almost felt as though Demetrius had not simply ended the hex but had, instead, turned it back on Barty. He felt so inclined to laugh right along with the other boy -- because it was worth at least a small show of amusement. What could be more hysterically funny than tall, competent Demetrius, with his history of meting out magical punishment on those who deserved it, being felled by tiny, awkward Barty Crouch Junior, who did not even have an original name?
The sense of victory, however, was not to last: Demetrius's hex landed squarely on its intended target, which only served to make Barty's anger burn more fervently while his legs set about doing a complicated jig that might have been amusing to a third-party observer. How on earth could he have been so insufferably stupid as to get wretchedly self-contented and to practically welcome Demetrius to hexing him?! Honestly, Barty would have been better off simply holding his arms out and inviting Demetrius to attack him because, in that situation, he at least would not have had call to dare to feel good about his presumed successes only to have his wretched, undeserved, completely ludicrous self-contention viciously torn out from under him.
But he could not simply surrender just because Demetrius had managed a hit. He would never be the best if he surrendered, and doing so only would have proven that he had never deserved to join the Dark Lord's followers. With a quick flick of his wand and a gruffly thought Finite Incantantem, Barty ended the ridiculous dancing and quickly rebounded with a malicious Depulso! Juvenile spell-flinging had its place and Barty had decided that this was not it.
Demetrius didn’t have a second to block that spell, and was forced backwards into the nearest wall. At this rate, he’d better be planning to fix my cracked skull, he thought to himself, getting up. He touched the back of his head gingerly, and righted himself again. Any reservations about going all out on Barty were gone. He may have been short and scrawny, but he obviously wasn’t going to relent, so neither would Demetrius.
Though, his body didn’t seem to be thinking along the same lines, and his legs felt like they were close to giving out. Probably a concussion. The little twit had given him a concussion. Gritting his teeth, Demetrius narrowed his eyes at Barty.
Not entirely sure of how his performance would be affected by his injury, Demetrius went the simple route. Levicorpus! he though, flicking his wand upward. Maybe if he dangled him long enough, the kid would pass out from all the blood rushing to his head.
...Oh. ...Oh! For the love of all things holy -- Barty had done it again. When would he learn not to let himself get content with one pathetic success? He had not even gotten a decent enough hit on Demetrius with his Banishing Charm -- the sound that the other boy had made when crashing into the wall had been momentarily satisfying, but Barty could do better; he knew that he could do better and he knew that he needed to do better; there was absolutely no good explanation for not doing better. Why had he bothered to get contented with something as miserable and useless as his attempt at a simple Banishing Charm.
Well, Barty was not going to allow a simple setback such as being suspended by his ankles in midair stop him from being the better dueler. Failure was not an option, it never had been, and, so help him, he was going to win. Although his aim was somewhat off -- due to the fact that he was suspended in midair and practically flailing... and due, in part, to a small voice in his head that seemed to think it was a good idea not to break Demetrius's kneecaps -- Barty was still completely and intently focused as he thought out the curse: Reducto!
Demetrius dodged the Reductor Curse, very careful to avoid having any piece of him blasted off. He didn’t really get what Barty was playing at, but it was so easily dodged, maybe the kid hadn’t meant to hit him. Of course, with his focus shifting away from the Levicorpus charm and towards him not missing any body parts, only one thing could happen. “Sorry Barty,” he said sarcastically as the enchantment broke and Barty crashed towards the floor.
While her studies usually did well in keeping Corbina's attention, it was a bit more difficult to remain focused on the intricacies of Ancient Runes when her peers were duelling in extremely close range to where she and her eldest brother were sitting. She'd glanced up every now and again, smirking at creative jinxes and raising an eyebrow at the sight of hexes she was not personally familiar with, but without fail would return to her reading within a few moments, chatting idly with Rodolphus. When she glanced up this time, though, she noticed Barty suspended several feet into the air... and then quickly falling face-first toward the ground. Well then. That had the potential to be messy. Rather than giving the servants something gory to clean up later (and, she supposed, saving Barty from breaking important face-bones), Corbina quickly pointed her wand towards the pavement Barty was plummeting to, charming the ground to bounce as he hit it. There. Less mess, and greater entertainment value for herself.
Oh, for the love of -- Barty could not believe what an idiot he was. Even with the mild assistance he got from Corbina, Barty had still upset Demetrius's focus on the spell, which had, of course, lifted it and sent Barty plummeting. How on earth could he have been so stupefyingly obtuse as not to think that -- maybe, just on a small, offhand chance -- it was a bad idea to upset the focus of the person who was suspending him twelve feet in the air?! He did not deserve to take part in these practice duels, let alone in any actual and proper missions for the Dark Lord, if he could not hold his own in a duel with Demetrius. Demetrius! Even if he had managed to make it this far into the evening without failing utterly, that was no excuse to start now.
Despite the pain that was presently wracking his face (and limbs, and torso, and... most of his body), Barty was not going to allow this to beat him. Forcing himself back up, he aimed properly -- though still not directly at Demetrius -- and thought, again, Reducto!
Getting away from the second Reductor Curse was a bit harder than the first, but Demetrius wasn’t going to surrender, concussion or not. He could recognize Barty getting more and more desperate as the duel continued. He didn’t really know what could stop the boy at this point, it didn’t seem like there’s was anything that would.
But if he can’t walk properly…, he thought to himself, casting the Jelly-Legs Jinx almost as soon as that thought entered his head. Panting for breath, he knew was wearing down a lot faster than Barty, and he was possibly more injured than Barty too.
Barty hardly considered himself desperate -- oh, no, he was far from being desperate. If he was anything at all, he was merely exhilarated by this duel and by the fact that, for once, he appeared to be winning without his victory being stolen from him and tainted by his undeserved pride. Again, this was short-lived, and Barty knew almost immediately that he was going to find another bruise on his pride soon enough: Barty felt the Jinx in his knees first as they started to shake, and, before too long, the wobbling sensation spread up into his thighs and down into his calves and ankles. Screwing his face up with the determination to win, Barty attempted to move and he managed to take three steps before collapsing once more. However, unlike the previous times that Demetrius had managed to knock him down, there was not a sense of complete failure. He had been felled, yes, of course he had, but he was not yet done. He was not going to allow Demetrius to defeat him and, after quickly casting a Finite Incantantem! on his legs, Barty forced himself back up and hit Demetrius with two quick Slicing Hexes -- the first to the older boy's torso, between his stomach and his chest, and the second to his left cheek.
Demetrius raised a hand to his cheek and wiped off the blood trickling down his face. He wrinkled his nose up in disgust, but tried to not let the full extent of his displeasure show. He hated blood. Well, he didn’t hate other people bleeding, unless they were bleeding on him, but he hated bleeding. He hated the smell of it -- the sight of it. It nearly made him nauseous to even think about the fact that Barty had made him bleed.
He wanted to retaliate with something worse, he was angry and bleeding. His headache had slowly progressed to a splitting level of pain, and he couldn’t react as quickly as Barty at that point, he needed to stop, they needed to stop, more than that; Barty needed to stop.
Barty didn't think he needed to stop. Barty saw absolutely no reason that would have merited stopping -- why in the ever-expansive, collective mind of Merlin, Morgana, and Salazar himself would he want to stop? Once again, he felts an overpowering urge to laugh, but he managed to keep it down as he slowly advanced on the poor, bleeding Demetrius, practically prowling as he did so. As much as he could find issue with Greyback's cleanliness, or with the less-than-reputable members of Greyback's pack, Barty could still sympathise with him on this notion: it was exhilarating and intoxicating just to watch someone bleed. And Demetrius just looked so disgusted -- as he drew himself up to full height, attempting hopelessly to loom over the taller boy, Barty couldn't help but allow himself a few brief, sadistic laughs.
"Oh, what happened, Demetrius?" Barty taunted, not fully aware of what he was saying or of the harshly sardonic tones that found their way into his words. "Did you get your hands dirty?" Barty laughed harder and shorter than he had previously laughed. "Please. Be a man, Demetrius; it's just a little blood."
Scoffing, Demetrius drew himself to full height in response, looking down his nose at Barty and wearing a sneer. His head was still pounding, but the pain was momentarily lost in the irrational amount of rage he felt. Under most circumstances, Demetrius could shrug off an insult easily, but this was different.
Wiping a good amount of blood off his face, he patted Barty on the cheek, successfully covering half his face in blood. “There, we match,” he said with a rather patronising smirk, trying to ignore the shots that Barty was taking at him.
Barty could feel his stomach twisting painfully as Demetrius wiped the blood on his cheek -- why of all the nerve -- And his tone was just uncalled for in absolutely all regards. Barty felt half-tempted to spit, but he would not lower himself by mimicking Demetrius's disgusting delinquent behaviour. Barty was a better Death Eater for a reason -- several reasons, really. One of said reasons happened to be that, unlike Demetrius, he seized proper opportunities rather than wasting his time on sheer humiliation. "Well, I really must concede, Demetrius," Barty said, his voice beguilingly calm. "You certainly are a sharp one."
On sharp, hardly even thinking about it, Barty took a half-step towards Demetrius, turning, ducking slightly, and jamming his elbow into Demetrius's stomach with as much force as he could muster. To be sure, it hardly seemed to be a logical step, given Barty's size, but what he lacked in size and ability to do strength-based physical damage, he made up for in hope, determination, and having inhumanly pointy elbows.
Recoiling with the contact, Demetrius took a step back, nearly completely winded. "I'd say you're the sharp one in this situation," he snapped, gritting his teeth. Catching his breath and standing fully erect again, he lunged at Barty, magic forgotten in exchange for a fist into the shorter boy's jaw. He wasn't normally a fan of physically fighting, but Barty started it, and he'd return whatever Barty wanted to dish out. At least, he would until one of them finally collapsed.
Barty was hardly fond of physical fighting either, but, in this case, he felt entirely justified. Demetrius was behaving like an animal and, so, Barty was going to treat him like an animal -- or, at the very least, Barty was not going to afford him any dignity in this fight. "So glad to see that you recognize your betters," he taunted. "But then, you always did keep both feet on the ground." Screwing up his face in a smug, harlequin grin, Barty stomped hard on Demetrius's left foot. If he could get the other boy on the ground, this fight was his.
Wincing, Demetrius hid the pain (that had to be at least two broken toes) behind a smirk. "Is that the best you can do?" he hissed, raising an eyebrow. "I've never really been able to stomach defeat," he added, moving as quickly as he could manage, grabbing the shorter boy by the shoulders and forcing his knee into Barty's stomach. He kind of hoped this could be the end of it, but really doubted Barty would be giving up that easily.
Oh no, Demetrius did not just ask if that was the best Barty could do -- did the boy have a death wish? Barty could only imagine that he did, given all the present evidence, but if Demetrius wished to fashion himself after and ask questions often heard from Barty's father, then, by all means, Barty would give him the same treatment he wished to give his father. Damn the pain, and damn the spasms that Barty felt starting in his stomach, and damn everything else too -- Barty would win this. "Neither can I, Demetrius," he growled, wrinkling his nose at the older boy. "To that end, I have several ideas that you should kick around." With perfect timing and no hesitation, Barty aimed a swift kick at Demetrius's shin, following it with a quicker kick to his kneecap.
Finally, with a broken toe (Demetrius thanked Merlin that Barty didn't have more weight to put into that kick) and pain shooting up on of his legs, Demetrius crumpled to his knees. He was at a loss. He didn't want to give up. He didn't want to lose to Barty. So of course, he didn't the dirtiest, most underhanded thing he could think of. "I think we need to stop dicking around Barty," he said, aiming a punch right into Barty's crotch.
Despite the noises of the duel, Rodolphus didn't look up, but dragged too-large fingers over his text, eyebrows furrowed over twisted and mangled runes. "Good." He wasn't prideful enough to take his own knowledge for granted - though such a wager was often a safe one when it came to academia - and he liked that Corbina didn't take it for granted either. It was the sign of intelligence, of skepticism, both things he greatly valued in a scholar.
"And your interpretation of such a symbol?"
Corbina frowned, attempting to piece together the interpretation into something of a greater academia, rather than simply a loose interpretation of a single runic passage. It meant nothing on its own, and it would be difficult to derive a meaning from the jumble of runes on the parchment without understanding the entirety of the sample. Then again, there was always the chance that the reading on the parchment could very well be an incomplete message in its own right.
"It's difficult to discern without the occurrence of a base pulmonic egressive beta in close range; that would likely connect it to the Varuna of Vedic mythology, but this is of an entirely different time period," Corbina noted. "It's obvious; there are no Etruscan italics, which you can see..." she paused, reaching to move Rodolphus's oversized index finger from the markings it was covering on the page, "here."
A flash of anger spilled over Rodolphus's features as he glanced up, distracted by the tasteless taunting rather than proper dueling occurring mere paces from where they sat. Barty and Demetrius. He'd speak to them later, assuming they didn't brain each other beforehand.
"Mmhm." His attentions were returned immediately to the parchment as he followed Corbina's gesture with a frown of concentration, lifting his finger and poking his nose deeper into the book. He was beginning to come to the very sad realisation that he might need reading glasses soon. Beh. Glasses were for old people. "I think this may be a poor translation of a much earlier parchment," he mused (as much as someone like Rodolphus could muse rather than grumble). "Some pieces" he paused to point, squint, and point elsewhere, "here and here. They were too lazy to change the cedilla into the proper representation of the fricative. Idiots."
Corbina nodded in agreement. Obviously she knew this already; she was well acquainted with translations that were missing their fricative cedillas. "Are you going blind?" she asked instead, commenting on the squinting.
"You're going blind," came the testy reply, and Rodolphus batted Corbina's hand away from his side of the page. "Maybe you should pay more attention to your runes than your aging brother."
"Someone is tetchy," Corbina smirked, replying as audibly joking as life as a Lestrange would allow. "You'd think that noting your age would come in convenient with runic studies; you should remember when these were first scripted. Oh look, a double þurisaz and a mention of lög," she changed the subject, jotting this occurrence into her notes.
And to that, Rodolphus simply reached over and tugged on her hair. "Brat. Maybe I should begin asking Chloris for advice, instead." Not that he really needed the advice; but this was a learning experience for Corbina, and many hands made light work - except when two of the hands belonged to a sassy younger sister.
"One of these days I am going to tell you to go ahead and ask her, and then you will be in quite the situation, will you not?" she replied, raising an eyebrow. As if Chloris would have the slightest idea what she was even looking at. "I'm concentrating, promise."
There were a myriad of reasons that the final round of the evening was the one Severus was least looking forward to. To begin with, it was Marius Lestrange, and while part of him enjoyed the opportunity to fight the other man, mostly it frustrated him. Marius was a stronger dueler than Severus and he typically ended up winning their rounds. Most of his reasons, of course, were personal. And tonight, that fight was at the end of the evening and when he was already tired from five other duels, he did not have much hope of winning it. Still, he was determined that someday he would face Marius Lestrange and show him once and for all that his family name and his very pure blood did not matter - Severus Snape was the better dueler. Unfortunately for Severus, that day was still to come.
These sessions had been Severus' idea: something that they could do to be better prepared after Georgie and Evan's deaths. He felt certain that they would eventually be in another situation similar to the Diagon Alley battle, if not even worse, and Severus did not wish to be unprepared. Additionally, he felt that the fact he had suggested and organised the evenings could not be overlooked by those within the inner circle. He had hoped that it would bind them together, give them all the opportunity to break outside of their preferred fighting techniques, thus strengthening the group as a whole, while allowing them the opportunity to learn each other's styles. And the final could both help them fight differently, as well as help them provide back-up to each other when in battle.
So tonight Severus stepped up to Marius, trying to think back on what he had learned from Marius' preferred techniques during previous dueling practises. And as the spells had flown back and forth, Severus felt comfortable that he had improved somewhat since they had begun. He had perfected using most of his fighting spells without actually speaking them aloud, and thanks to his learning occlumency, Severus had begun to think about using spells during fighting to mislead individuals, a distraction there, and then a spell fired while they were looking away. He cast protego to deflect a spell from Marius and followed it almost instantaneously with rictusempra.
In the weeks they'd been dueling, Severus was certainly getting better and Marius was enjoying himself far more than he had before. He liked a challenge, and as spells flew at him faster and with more precision than before, he felt a surge of adrenalin as he fired back. The only thing hampering him from the sort of focus he would prefer, was the incessent bickering of Barty and Demetrius. It was disgraceful that they should behave in this way during a duel, but Marius had no intention of saying anything to them at the moment since he and Severus were still in the midst of their practice. It was far more important to Marius to win than to babysit children who could not compose themselves properly.
Merde
Severus had managed to hit him with a spell that Marius had not seen coming because of the distraction from the other two boys. Grimacing against the pain, Marius was half tempted to aim his wand at Barty and hit him with something nasty, but Severus was his intended target and Marius was very devoted to the dueling rules of engagement.
Of course, it was even more difficult to keep his head clear when he kept being distracted by the others. Severus was usually quite good at tuning out the other people in the room, focusing exclusively on the fight in front of him, but as Barty and Demetrius kept picking at each other, they also kept getting louder, with taunts and spells. And Severus could see the dueling over Marius' shoulder and it was not only getting more intense than he'd ever seen the two of them, but it was not until they began moving out of charms and hexes into physical taunts and beating that Severus began to get angry with them. He did not know what the problem was between the two wizards, but it was distracting and it was quickly moving into the realm of immature and petty. Whatever Avery might have accused him of, Severus had not begun these evenings to facilitate petty bickering or settling of personal vendettas. And Severus was fairly certain he had more reason than most in the room to turn it into such.
It was effecting his ability to focus on Marius, and Severus thought there was a good possibility it was beginning to be distracting to the others as well, which meant that it was distracting from their overall duty to the Dark Lord. And that was certainly not acceptable. He cast a shield charm between Marius and himself and raised his hand, as he decided that it was time to say something. Dueling was one thing, practising spells was another, and Severus even understood the usefulness of being able to physically bring down an opponent as well as magically do so, but this had fallen so far out of the realm of usefulness.
"Merci," Marius said, glad that Severus was doing something about this, because he could feel his temper rising, and he did not wish to continue a practice duel when he felt the pull to really hurt someone. At least not with so many witnesses. "They are out of line," he said, fully glaring at the other two boys now. He moved his wand in their direction, not casting any spell, but ready to, should it look as if it might be necessary. "And they will be glad for you to stop them, before my father decides to put an end to this foolishness," he added.
...Oh. Oh, Merlin -- Barty had not been expecting that. He did not even groan from the pain, but merely doubled over and helplessly gasped. He was certain that, although this was not the Cruciatus Curse, the pain was likely as close as anything non-magical could get, and it was even worse when coupled with the fact that he had not expected it. As he felt his knees buckle under him and as he collapsed to the ground, Barty could not honestly think of what he had expected from Demetrius, and he did not get any better answers as he rocked forward, getting his head situated between his knees and continuing to gasp in what he presumed would have been screams had the pain not been as excruciating as it was. Oh, Merlin, Barty felt sick with himself, but so help him, he was not going to lose to Demetrius, and especially not after the other boy had sounded just like his father.
"I would agree with you," Barty choked out in a strained voice, despite the agony he was currently suffering, "but I don't think I have the heart." Although Barty's aim was far from perfect, he was certain that his point was communicated clearly when he slammed his foot into Demetrius's chest with as much force as he had left in him.
Demetrius let out an audible groan at the impact, and nearly collapsed, but somehow managed to stay at least half-way upright. This wasn't going to end well. Grabbing his wand, he looked at Barty. He didn't need to get up again, that was for sure, neither of them did. "Stupefy," he muttered, seeing the familiar blast of red (though much feebler than Demetrius was normally capable of) but he didn't care if it hit, he simply fell backwards, sprawled out on his back, his entire body screaming in pain.
"ENOUGH." Severus was irked that he needed to even step away from his own duel. It was extremely clear to him that neither Barty nor Demetrius were going to stop what they were doing until both of them were so injured they couldn't move. Severus covered the distance between Marius to where Barty and Demetrius were now both laying on the floor rather quickly. If his dark eyes were usually cold, right now they were furious. He glared at Demetrius and then at Barty. These were his classmates and friends. And what the fuck did they mean making a spectacle of themselves during something he had taken the time to put together to help them all?
"Expelliarmus," he snapped at Demetrius. "Ennervate," his wand was pointed at Barty, followed by a second, silent Expelliarmus so that Barty's wand too arched through the air and Severus grabbed both of them in his right hand. "Enough," he repeated, taking a moment to glare at each of them in turn. "What is the meaning of this? Do I need to take ten points from Slytherin?" He snapped glaring between them. "Are you at Hogwarts settling some petty school boy squabble? Or are you actually mature servants of the Dark Lord that take your duty seriously?"
Not even bothering to movie, Demetrius raised a hand, but it flopped uselessly to his side again. "'M sor-" he barely managed to get out through the pounding in his head. "S'not my faul..." he added, then realising it was useless to try and talk, he fell silent.
After being in the first physical scrap he could genuinely remember being in ever, and after ending it because he had been stunned, Barty's insane energy had gone from its level of a forced high to an almost crushing low that was entirely more appropriate, given the pathetically minimal amount of sleep he had gotten and the amount of stress he had forced on himself in the past few days. For the life of him, he couldn't even remember why he had felt the need to push things as far as he had. That he managed to sit up and keep his eyes focused on Severus was even more of a miracle than his continued dueling had been, but... he could not just stay on his back while he was being lectured; being comfortable while being lectured defeated the point entirely.
Judging from Demetrius's slurred speech, he was not going to be able to properly defend himself, and... well, Barty had hexed him into a wall. Clearing matters up for him was the least Barty could do. "I'm sorry, Severus," he managed, pausing for a moment before adding: "I started it. He was just... standing up for himself. ...And I hexed him into a wall. It likely... affected his judgment. For the worse."
Severus was not particularly interested in who had started it. He was mainly furious that they had not taken it seriously. That they had allowed whatever it was their problem was, to get the better of them and prove so distracting from their purpose there this evening.
"I am not interested in excuses," he said, and there was no sympathy in his voice. "Or who started what. Mister Lestrange has not been so kind as to allow us the use of his garden to practise for you two to tear each other apart." He stopped; His brows furrowed and his jaw set. Neither of them were in any shape to continue dueling, and he was very aware that Rodolphus Lestrange was sitting nearby and could potentially be paying attention to the entire thing. Something that he thought both Barty and Demetrius should have considered before allowing themselves to behave so ludicrously.
"This group is a privilege," he said finally. "Invitation into it is not a right. This is your only warning. If I ever see such behaviour from either of you again, you will be practising with your mentors alone until such time as I am convinced you are mature enough to join us." It felt odd, because he knew he was younger than Demetrius, and not that much older than Barty, but this was serious. They were in a war, dammit. And Georgie and Evan had both been killed, where had they been better in a dueling situation, they might still be alive.
"Neither of you are in any shape to be useful should we be sent on a mission tomorrow. Sit out for the rest of this round. Mister Lestrange will have your wands and you may get them when you leave. Clear?"
Demetrius was half listening to Severus ranting and raving, but his hearing and vision was starting to go very fuzzy. He sighed. He felt really bad about upsetting him, Severus was one of his best friends. But... he couldn't have stopped himself anyway. He couldn't tell Severus he understood, or anything, because the second he opened his mouth to speak, his brain finally said enough, and Demetrius slipped into unconsciousness.
"Absolutely, Severus," Barty said earnestly, swallowing thickly and nodding. "It won't happen again." Some of his energy was returning to him now, but only in the manner that it did whenever he was filled with unspeakable self-loathing. Severus was entirely right, of course, and Barty would never dream of contesting that, especially not when the blame for this entire debacle was entirely on his hands. Everything that Demetrius had done had been a reaction to Barty's instigation, and, if he had not been so insufferable, neither of them would be in this position now. Pursing his lips, he looked from Severus to Demetrius, just in time to watch as Demetrius nodded off -- oh, hell.
"Someone should wake him up," Barty said with some urgency, albeit not as much as he normally would have had. The lack of sleep was draining the better part of his affect. "His head hit the wall and the cobblestones. He likely has a con-con -- he... he should not be allowed to sleep."
It was all Severus could do to not roll his eyes. He was aware that a concussion was serious, and considering what Demetrius had been put through he more than likely did have one. But Sev was too annoyed to even think about waking him up. Particularly considering that he would feel somewhat obligated to take Mulciber home and stay up with him most of the night so that he did not fall asleep and never wake up. "Regulus?" He waved his right hand, with the two wands in it, towards Demetrius. "Get him up and make certain he doesn't sleep. Gaius," he motioned to the wizard who had been sitting out. "Join Lucius."
For his own part, Severus gave both Demetrius - who was unaware of it - and Barty a final glare, and took the two wands over to where Rodolphus and Corbina were sitting. "I told them they could collect them when they leave, sir," he said firmly, but respectfully, handing Barty and Demetrius' wands over to the older wizard.
The wands were accepted with a look of succinct displeasure, and though Rodolphus had a few choice words for the children who seemed to think themselves fit for the Dark Lord's cause, he was in the middle of runes and one of the guilty parties was unconscious. "They do not seem to be in a position to use them, regardless," he said briskly before setting the wands down upon the table with a very final sounding thwap. He then turned his sights back down to his work, leaving no room for misinterpretation as to whether he was interested in furthering the conversation.
Severus was not foolish enough to continue a conversation with Rodolphus Lestrange when it was clear he was not interested. Mostly Severus was infuriated, and if Barty or Demetrius had in any way threatened his standing, he would be tempted to tell them to stay home even if they did not show any further signs of unstable behaviour. But there was no helping it now. He turned on his heel and returned to Marius Lestrange, his look very determined as he nodded at the other wizard for them to begin dueling again.
With a crinkled nose, Regulus took in Demetrius's unconscious and rather worse-for-wear form. He was not a fan of the concept of scuffling -- he wasn't even particularly enthused about fighting if it wasn't being used to somehow improve his standing and further his family's honour -- but even though he could not help but privately wish for his best friend Barty's success, he did not in the least desire for Demetrius to suffer. After all, this was not a time to be condoning such behaviour, even as a private mental note.
Kneeling down, Regulus gently shook at the older boy's shoulder in an attempt to bring him back to consciousness. When it yielded little success, he patted at his face, crinkling his nose a bit more as he avoided the blood.
"Demetrius? Wake up."
Unfortunately for Regulus, Demetrius didn't stir. He was far too interested in a dream that may or may not have involved a giant vanilla ice cream and some sort of unicorn. Though regardless of the dream, he didn't even flinch when Regulus patted him. He could faintly hear noises from the outside world, but was so much more in favour of sleeping. Couldn't they shut up and leave him alone? His head was hurting and he wanted to rest.
Vexed by the lack of immediate response, Regulus tried again, patting rather more forcefully. He had hoped this would be easy, but no, nothing could deign to be easy for him, of course, so he should not have expected as much.
"Demetrius." Not trusting this to do the trick anymore than the first attempt had, Regulus muttered Aguamenti under his breath, flicking his wand to send a brief wash of water over Demetrius's face. When the blood streamed from his face, he took no notice to whether or not the spell had brought Demetrius back -- rather, he scougified the blood from the carpet before it could settle and began swiftly drying it. He would leave no mess. It was only when he had the drying spell suitably started that he turned his attention back to the 'victim'.
Blinking, Demetrius groaned, sitting up a bit too quickly, his head throbbing. "Fuck," he muttered. He looked around. "Regulus?" he asked, confused.
"Awake now?"
"Unless this is a dream, yes. Do you have any ice cream?" he asked, still a bit disoriented.
"Ice cream? I beg your pardon?" Regulus blinked at him, lowering his wand once again as the carpet was once again in perfect condition. He failed to see any connection between brawling and unconsciousness and ice cream, though he supposed disorientation made sense -- but ice cream?
He shook his head gently. "I don't know. It must've been a dream or something," he muttered. "I just have a craving for vanilla ice cream." Demetrius grumbled slightly, surveying his damages. "Is Barty going to be alright?" he asked.
"Oh...well, I am to keep you awake because you might have a concussion. I have not had a chance to closely inspect Barty, but I think he will be alright," Regulus answered, pursing his lips together. "It was not a very intelligent move on the part of either of you, but I suppose that goes without saying. How are you feeling?"
"My head hurts," he said bluntly. "And my knee. I think I may have a broken toe. And I'm still bleeding," he rattled off. "Ugh- I'm bleeding. I may be sick." Demetrius wanted to push himself to his feet, but his legs didn't even feel remotely strong enough to hold his weight. "How much longer until Severus will let us leave?"
Severus completed the final few minutes of dueling, managing to get in a few decent shots at Marius, possibly because he was so extremely vexed at Demetrius and Barty and the entire evening's events. As he finished, he gave Marius a nod, and stepped back towards where Regulus and Demetrius were to the side, and stepped up in time to hear Demetrius' question.
"Now," Severus said, but his words were not particularly comforting. He looked at his friend, and his lips tightened with annoyance. "I'm going to take him home with me," he said to Regulus. "I don't think he can make it back to his place, and he needs someone to make certain he gets a few healing potions and to stay awake for the entire night." This had not been what Severus had planned on doing this evening, but he also did not want Mulciber to die. "If you can get him up, I will go and collect his wand."
Although Barty was not sure how he managed it, he managed to retire to a corner of the courtyard that was well off from the rest of the action. He supposed that it would have done him well to watch the remaining duels and to attempt to learn something from them, but the only thing that properly commanded his attentions, at the moment, was that he had failed so completely and utterly that there were not proper words for it. He felt so sick with himself, and he could only imagine that he would be in an unspeakable amount of trouble for this debacle. Demetrius likely would be as well, once he regained consciousness and was out of danger from his concussion, but that was hardly a comforting thought; Barty had been the one to deny himself sleep in the interests of proving that he was more dedicated to his Healer training than his coworkers, and Barty had been the one to instigate everything, and Demetrius was not the one who had clawed his way up to a position in which he could potentially have deserved any commendation only to spectacularly ruin everything because he was so incurably stupid.
The worst part was, he thought, that he really should have seen something like this coming; ruining things was just his specialty, it seemed. Perhaps his father was right about him after all.