(no subject)
It was one of those moments where people nearly forgot what happened because they were so dumbfounded. Barty Crouch Jnr had heard the slight made against purebloods and merely thought to threaten, insult or hex the mudblood scum but Regulus had just lost it.
Everyone had sucked in their breath as an entirely unexpected yell of Expelliarmus rang out through the corridor. Then a pause. Another cruel, round-syllabled word edged its way along his tongue only to beaten back by the cry of Accio.
And then wands were done away with altogether. What fellow Slytherins were around him at the time could only look upon this act of savagery, not knowing what to do, unsure if they really wanted to. The Head Boy had some Hufflepuff on the ground and was slamming his face into the pave stones and what an interesting shape the blood made dribbling down between the gaps and just what did you do.
And even when the professors had come with restraining spells he had bit, swore, kicked and screamed blue murder until he was flung into an empty classroom to cool down.
There were no other pupils to hear Regulus’ further screaming at one Headmaster, at one Most Powerful Wizard in the World.
“…defender of Muggleborns, Mudbloods but you’re never there for us, are you?! Nobody fucking cares you just let us rot! Doesn’t matter if we turn up with bruises at the start of term! Doesn’t matter what goes on between the younger and older lads in the dormitories! Just let the inbred scum copulate until they breed themselves out well it’s not fair, it’s not right, we’re your pupils too and we deserve better but you never stand up for us, the ones who are too terrified or too conditioned to know otherwise…”
And on it went until he flung his badge at a very calm Headmaster’s feet and stormed off to the Slytherin dungeons, flinging clothes, books, whatever had his name on it into a trunk while everyone else stared wide eyed, a little impressed and a somewhat appalled by this collected little prince gone wild, until he dragged his belongings out of the dormitories and out of their immediate lives.
It was only the next day, when the house elves were cleaning, that a copy of the latest Daily Prophet was found, garish headlines screaming various deaths on both sides in some attack along with a crumpled piece of parchment from Regulus’ mother stating that his father had had a relapse, both of which could allow some shred of understanding into the boy’s actions. By then, of course, it was too late.