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The entire affair was utterly undignified.

He only bristled further when Barty dared to order him around as if he were a lowly lackey, only to bristle some more when he was reminded that a lackey was exactly what he was, while Crouch bore the Dark Mark on his arm. Which meant he couldn’t even curse the wanker.

Unless of course… When Crouch told him to hit him with the Cruciatus Curse, all Atticus could do was gape at him. It was too good to be true. He couldn’t get away with cursing a marked Death Eater under normal circumstances, but if he was invited to do so…

Before he knew it his hand gripped his long, black wand, fingers clenching and unclenching around it with an eagerness to cause pain which he rarely felt. He didn’t know if it was enough to make him cast the torture curse, as Crouch was his classmate, and what he felt for him was more akin to regular schoolboy irritation than the full-out desire to set him on fire he felt for, say, Amycus Carrow, but…

The curse was already on Atticus’ lips when he stilled, wand half raised to point it at Crouch, and narrowed his eyes at him. “Is this a trick?” he demanded, voice sharp, caught somewhere between the usual irritation at Crouch’s very existence and sharp, bitter disappointment at having his one chance to torture the pest snatched away from him. 

He cringed as the other boy’s voice went sharp, grimacing and then heaving an exaggerated sigh. “You’re a fucking idiot, Scabior. Did I question if you knew the Unforgivables? No. Because I don’t actually care about you. Someone told me I had a job to do, and I’m doing it. If I told you to curse me, I meant it. I’m not here to play games, I’m here to teach you something. Though I’m not sure if that’s even possible with a stupid slug like you.” Here, Barty stopped to smirk a bit, playing up his hostility in hopes of making Atticus lash out. He took a step forward and shoved into the other’s personal space, eyeing him down and shoving him the shoulder slightly before continuing, tone mocking.

“Besides, even if I was tricking you, I guarantee you wouldn’t catch it. You’re not that bright. Now come on, hit me with the fucking curse. Unless all that big talk was for nothing? I wouldn’t doubt it. I bet you really don’t know your spells-- it’s not surprising in the slightest. You’re such a waste of time.”

He shoved the slight boy again, looking down at him and scoffing in mock distaste. As he turned to lean on a tree away from the Ravenclaw, his brain was working overtime. If Atticus could cast the spell in the heat of the moment then it would be easy to teach him how to access that same heat to cast the spell whenever, or even how to strengthen it, Barty reasoned. But, if he still struggled with even casting it out of anger or annoyance then he was in for a longer training session than he originally thought. 

hogwarts aesthetics - slytherin

Well, that was— rude. Daisy stared at her tutor disbelievingly, the smile quickly fading from her face, as he waspishly informed her that she was practically failing. “I am not!” She absolutely was not! Daisy never failed anything!

Except for that one assignment she’d handed in after Easter holidays… but she’d spent that week kidnapping and interrogating Death Eaters, that had taken priority over her (very dull) assignment on non-verbal spells! And, okay, yes, she had missed more classes this term than she had in her first five years of school combined— but it still wasn’t that much. Same with the homework; she’d turned most of it in.

And, while there may have been an incident the previous week— exhausted from having attended an Order meeting the night before, she’d mixed up a Transfiguration spell with the one they were supposed to be learning— it had all ended okay! The professor had gotten rid of the antlers that poor Ravenclaw boy had sprouted right away! It wasn’t that big a deal!

Okay… so maybe she did need some help. But there was no call for him to be so rude about it!

“I really don’t need much help,” she said again, a hint of stubbornness lacing her tone. More than anything she needed a bit of practice in some of the more combative spells, for the practical part of her exam. And there was the essay she had due on the ethics of Aurors being allowed to use otherwise illegal spells and potions, but she didn’t want his help with that.

She folded her arms and stared at him, determined not to say a word until he had phrased his question a little more politely. But when he snapped at her again, she couldn’t help it. “How kind of you!” she exclaimed, eyes widening. “I could really use some work on Stunning spells. Could we practice those?” she asked innocently, her tone overly sweet.

He scoffed as she continued to insist that she didn’t need help, instead picking his quill and running it absentmindedly through his fingers; albeit a sure way to mess up the feather faster, but it felt good lightly tickling his fingertips. A waste of fucking time, just like he’d thought it would be. At this point, he’d take making the Doxy antidote for screaming first-years over her huffing and puffing. 

As Barty watched, the girl’s eyes widened so far that he thought she broke something. His own eyes narrowed-- was she really about throw this tantrum? Just because he’d offered her some help? Then she spoke, and he almost fell out of his chair. Her voice, already shrill and aggravating, had been sharpened to something sickening and sweet, reminding him of rotting flowers. 

On instinct, the Slytherin boy grimaced and leaned away from her, darting his own eyes around the dusty library in search for Madam Pince and her omnipotent shushing powers. When he didn’t find the woman immediately, he turned his attention back to his student.