degenerate

dimitri depardieu. dix-sept ans. gryffindor.

[noble-padfoot]

I’ve snogged my fair share of Ravenclaws as well, mate. They’re supposed to be the clever ones, aren’t they?

[jrbarty]

Eh, not really. They're the bookworms who repeat everything the teachers say and aren't able to think for themselves. Probably why one of them would get involved with someone like you.

[itsritaskeeter2-blog]

I can't wait until the first Hogsmeade weekend

Honestly, I’m already running a little low on ink. Plus, getting some chocoballs from Honkeydukes sounds like a good idea…

[jrbarty]

Are you sure about that? Rita, love, you don’t want to get unattractively chubby, do you?

[marlenemcks]

Quidditch season is back.

[marlenemcks]

You’re awfully sure of yourself. Setting yourself up for disappointment, if you ask me. I’d settle for a few days - not that it matters, since I’m going to win, anyway.

If I win, you’ve got to be about as gun-ho as you possibly can about Muggle rights. And I don’t mean just casually mentioning that they’re not all bad. I mean…borderline passing out pamphlets, shoving it in everyone’s face.

[jrbarty]

Right… I’ll just ignore everything you’re saying because it’s irrelevant and it's not going to happen. Bet on, McKinnon.

[noble-padfoot]

What is this, amateur hour? I don’t snog in the corridors. There are much better places in this castle for snogging than corridors and cupboards. I simply prefer to be able to walk around in broad daylight without stumbling upon two idiots tongue wrestling as loudly as they possibly can.

[jrbarty]

I'm so sorry, Sirius, it must have slipped my mind but I forgot to mention I'm not interested in your opinions, especially not when you're telling me about your snogging ways.

You're kissing Gryffindors, right? Now I understand why they're called brave. It all makes sense, mate.

[dorcasinblue-blog]

There is nothing I would appreciate more than a cup of tea, right about now.

[jrbarty]

Then be self-sufficient and go get one.

[marlenemcks]

Quidditch season is back.

[marlenemcks]

How long of a time period are we talking here?

[jrbarty]

Forever? Is that too long? I can settle for less, though. As long as it's long enough for all of your friends to hate you, eh? Since I'll win anyway.

[caintravers-blog]

Where are all you fuckers?

[caintravers-blog]

I’ll have you know I have both a brain, and muscles unlike you scrawny piece of filth like what can be found on the dirty soles of my quidditch shoes.  -straightens his back, making himself look larger, he sneers-

[jrbarty]

Merlin, you look like a dog, Travers. Not the good kind, though. Like a brainless pitbull, eh? I bet that if I start using pompous words to offend you, you’ll take them as compliments. That's to be expected from someone who's obviously the result of a degradation in their gene pool.

[noble-padfoot]

Watching, no. Getting my revenge on them for smutting up the corridor I like to use, for sure.

[jrbarty]

You're jealous because people are violating the sacred place where you snog Potter? Don't be so selfish, mate.

[marlenemcks]

Quidditch season is back.

[marlenemcks]

Going to win against Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw? I’m perfectly confident in both, so in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter either way - what sort of bet did you have in mind?

[jrbarty]

Well, I’ll put my money on Hufflepuff. That's to show that I'm completely sure your little team still doesn't know what a Golden Snitch is. If Hufflepuff wins, my dear Marlene, you’ll have to be nice to the people here at this school that you despise. That includes me, darling. By that I mean no sarcasm, only the best that your heart has to offer.

And since you'll have a lot of repressed anger inside, use it on your little friends, especially mudbloods and Gryffindors. How about that? Love the ones you hate, hate the ones you love.

[noble-padfoot]

Found two third years sucking face in the corridor behind the tapestry on the third floor.

Really, you think they could find some place more creative. I wonder how long it will take them to make it to the hospital wing with their faces stuck together like that.

[jrbarty]

Never pegged you as a voyeur, Black. You enjoyed watching? That's nasty.

[caintravers-blog]

Where are all you fuckers?

[caintravers-blog]

Fuck off, Crouch. I’m certainly not in any mood to draw blood this afternoon.  As I rarely take days off from terrorizing the student body, I’d suggest you head in the other direction and let me be or tomorrow morning, I will hunt you down and bend each of your fingers so far backwards that the seams will begin to tear, and then I will hang you by your feet from a tree at the edge of the forbidden forest, leaving you there until the ground keepers find you dangling at the brink of night fall which by then, I will have already planted a false memory charm into that useless pea brain of yours and there will be nothing you can do about it. 

[jrbarty]

Ops, sorry Travers, I forgot what a huge joke you actually are. The brainless cliché, eh? Muscles and no brain? That’s ok, mate. I know it must be harsh to live with your mental retardation and that’s why you use physical force when you want to express yourself. I’ll get you a therapist, big boy, you don't need to be angry any longer.

[the-deepblue-sea]

[themarauder-prongs]

Feels weird stepping back into Hogwarts after being gone for so long...

[themarauder-prongs]

Fuck this, I’m tired of you. James pulled out his wand.

[jrbarty]

Don't push it, Potter... You know I don't fight girls.

[caintravers-blog]

Where are all you fuckers?

It’s terribly dull in this place. This is perhaps one of the only days of the year that I’m feeling particularly tolerable and not wishing on the disappearance of most of you.

[jrbarty]

I wouldn't mind your disappearance, Travers, sorry the feeling isn't mutual. Unrequited love's a bitch, eh?

[themarauder-prongs]

Feels weird stepping back into Hogwarts after being gone for so long...

[themarauder-prongs]

Or maybe I could just force you to leave? Or at least leave me alone.

[jrbarty]

You can try. It doesn't mean you're going to succeed. Eh, you probably won't.

[rodricktyce]

I'd forgotten how much I'd missed Hogwarts in my time away.

[rodricktyce]

Oh, I’m very talented. Anyone who could follow in my footsteps would be a abominably lucky soul, indeed.

I couldn’t miss the opportunity to come back, now could I? Hogwarts is so wonderfully quaint, after all.

[jrbarty]

You think you’re talented yet you’re working at Hogwarts. Isn’t that a paradox? I guess the key-word is "think". You think you're talented, it doesn't mean you actually are.

Let me guess... you're here for the young girls?

[jrbarty]

BLOOD - Prompt 01

His pointy ears had turned red due to the freezing cold temperature outside the house. Whirling snowflakes fell slowly upon his face, melting at the contact with the warm skin as he constantly dabbed at it with a sleeve. The only noise to be heard was the rusty sound that echoed through the air every time he rocked on the swing. Outside, his only company was the vast wilderness offered by the loneliness of the night, an infinite space for his thoughts to wonder free. Inside, people clogged the large saloon filled with music and drinks. Little cockroaches drinking eggnog and talking about things no one really cared about but had to be mentioned due to social norms. Bartemius Crouch Sr. had been honored with the title of official Ministry Parties Host. For as long as Barty could remember, most of the Ministry events had been held at his house, the Annual Christmas Dinner being the most important of them.

Barty couldn’t stand the hypocrisy that intoxicated the air in every single one of these events. Most of those people hated each other. Bartemius Crouch Sr., our illustrious host, complained on every single family dinner about his subordinates being brainless robots that weren’t capable of respecting authority. “You know, son, most people at the Ministry are a bunch of dim-witted little hippies who think they can change the world because they mean well. Words can’t change the world. If someone hits you, you hit them back twice as hard. That’s how we’re going to win this war.” Barty knew that by controlling his department with an iron fist, his father had gained multiple enemies inside of the Ministry. And yet, they all gathered there on Christmas night, drinking together, smiling and pretending they hadn’t thought of multiples ways to kill each other whenever a controversial opinion surfaced.

Two-faced hypocrites who loathed each other, all gathered in the same room. No wonder Barty had to get out. Once upon a time he had tried to be the perfect son, to give out smiles and polite commentaries whenever they would fit a conversation amongst his father’s ‘so-called’ friends. He would gladly participate of the parties, mingling perfectly amongst the other kids because he believed doing that would please his father. Unfortunately, Bartemius Sr. was never pleased, not when it came to his son. He would accuse Barty of being a sycophant, which led the boy to move away from all of his old friends and neglect what he would call ‘their phony lives’, opting to stand on his own instead.

Slowly, he started to notice the fraud behind his father’s arguments. He had made Barty believe that the Crouch family was above all of the other families in the Wizarding World but, at the same time, he was the one who was always putting his son down for being his own person. He had implanted his opinions on the young boy’s head. Now, he loathed Barty because the young wizard started to live by everything his father believed in – even if Bartemius himself wasn’t capable of doing that. He was, after all, thrilled to be hosting the Annual Christmas Party and socializing with people he hated. Bartemius played with his son’s mind simply for the fun that entailed watching the young boy struggle internally trying desperately to please his father. But not anymore.

Barty jumped out of the swing and started to run towards the house, a tourbillon of thoughts circling his head. He invaded the party, attracting a few inquisitive looks from guests who were surprised by the young Crouch finally deciding to appear. Walking around the room, the boy stopped at the center of the Main Hall and cleared his throat, preparing himself for what was about to come.

“Please, can I have everyone’s attention? I’d like to propose a toast for my dearest father, Bartemius Crouch.”

Curious observes shushed the talkative invitees, looking expectantly at young wizard who almost never spoke anything.

“First of all, I’d like to thank you all for being here. You have no idea how important it is to keep up appearances in such difficult times in our lives. I have to compliment you all on being such great actors. I was flabbergasted observing your interactions. You folks almost make me believe you’re not a bunch of individualist rats who care about nothing but your own insignificant existences. And now a special toast for the greatest actor amongst you: Bartemius Crouch Sr. He has told me multiple times that he despises each and every single one of you and yet, he’s still here, playing his part perfectly. I’m noticing some surprised faces and I have to say: don’t worry. He’ll never hate any of you as much as he hates his own son. I feel as if…”

Before he could finish, a pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and violently conducted him to one of the unoccupied guest rooms. An evil grin settled in Barty’s face when he saw his father’s angry complexion. Bartemius was livid. Barty felt like he had won the game they were playing. He had finally gotten his father’s attention.

“What’s wrong, father? Does the truth bother you? You should’ve let me finish my toast; I had some interesting things to say.”

Bartemius slammed his fist with as much force as he could muster into the side of his son’s jaw. Barty stumbled backwards, shock clearly plastered in his face. He turned around, waiting for another hit that didn’t come. Instead, he heard the thud of the door being aggressively closed. Barty sat on the bed, his shirt stained with BLOOD that wouldn’t stop dripping from his apparently broken nose. The shame made it impossible for him to return to the party. He curled up in bed and hid his face beneath the cushions, trying to ignore the pain. Bartemius had won again. 

His pointy ears had turned red due to the shame that ran through his whole body. Outside, people clogged the large saloon filled with music and drinks. Little cockroaches drinking eggnog as if nothing had happened. The next day, people would consider the party a success.