( ~ Found in Barty's trunk, under a false bottom, is an innocuous folded bit of parchment. Barty never looks at it, but he can feel its presence constantly, a dark spectre haunting the nary treaded recesses of his memory, sometimes, when rummaging through his trunk, he pauses to acknowledge its existence, does this just to feel the hate pounding through his veins, like a molten river beneath his ribcage. He keeps it there to remind himself who the enemy is. Keeps it there to stoke his anger, his ability to resist, his need to resist. Keeps it there to keep his fear fresh, his mind always alert. Keeps it there to remind himself how this all began, that perfect summer day on Brighton beach when the muggle girl had dropped his ice cream and he'd picked up a rock and brought it against her forehead...~ )

[ooc: DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME THE WIZARDING WORLD DOESN'T HAVE ELECTROSHOCK THERAPY. BECAUSE THEY TOTALLY DO.]

~ The corner of the Slytherin dormitories that Barty claims as his own is normally not a particularly tidy looking place, posters of the Wimbourne Wasps and various muggle horror films plaster every open space of wall and strange metal contraptions and potentially fatal looking booby traps hang from the ceiling or are otherwise strewn about, willy-nilly. However today, it's a great deal messier than usual, all of Barty's things lie out in the open and Henry has conquered a pile of the carnage, curled up soundly on the top, while Barty sits in his now empty trunk, holding a photograph and giggling manically. ~

~ Barty watches, elated and giggling, as Henry kills and devours some of Hagrid's chickens ~



WHO'S A GOOD BOY? YOU'RE A GOOD BOY!

~ Barty strikes an pose he perceives as rather inspirational ~

NEVER GIVE UP HOPE THAT ONE DAY YOU TOO MIGHT GET A CHANCE TO SUCKLE THE TEAT OF GLORY!