Author's Notes: Written for the Care of Magical Creatures class for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Forum.

Write about someone losing themselves in or thriving on a lust for war or blood. Your assignment must be 500-1000 words long.

)O(

Barty's pale eyes were wide, bulging, and glittering in the moonlight. He ran a bloody hand through his hair, leaving crimson streaks against the blonde. Internally, Regulus cringed a little. Tasteless. He tried to excuse it by telling himself that it was Barty's first murder, and that a little tastelessness was to be expected, but he knew he had not behaved like that when Bellatrix had brought him on his first killing mission. She probably had, but he would have preferred not to think that Barty had anything in common with Bellatrix. One Bellatrix in his life was more than enough.

"I've never felt anything like that before," Barty panted. He leaned back against the alley wall and turned his face skyward, breathing in deeply as if he was inhaling the moment.

"We ought to clear up and go." Regulus sounded unnaturally sharp and businesslike, even to himself. He had never protested to loitering about a corpse before, but there was something unsettling about Barty's behaviour, and he was overcome by a desperate and near-irrational desire to get him back to some familiar, bloodless place – his flat, perhaps, or a pub where they would be forced to behave like ordinary young men instead of a pair of murderers.

"Don't be so dull, Regulus." Barty looked back at him and ran the tip of his tongue around his lips. "Let me enjoy this."

"You'll get us caught." Regulus didn't believe it for a moment. They had planned well, waited for the right place and the right moment, prepared for the murder as he had been taught to do by his cousin before him. They were as safe as killers ever could be.

Either Barty sensed his lack of conviction, or he simply didn't care. He kicked the Mudblood victim's body over and looked down at her wide, fearful eyes and gaping mouth with the sort of indulgent, pleased smile that a parent would give a precocious infant.

"Barty–"

"Shut up, Regulus."

Regulus bristled. "You can't talk to me like that! The Dark Lord put me in charge–"

"As if I care." He looked at him again, and one corner of his mouth lifted into a crazed, lopsided smirk, a twisted facsimile of the sort of smile that Regulus might have found charming – attractive, even. "What are you going to do to me if I want to enjoy this a little longer? I did my work for the Dark Lord. You can leave if you don't want to risk getting caught."

"The Dark Lord wouldn't want me leaving you alone," Regulus mumbled. In truth, he feared what Barty might do without him there – something reckless, something that would put them all in danger. Regulus didn't flatter himself that he had any sort of control over him, but, if it looked like he was going to do something truly stupid, he could always resort to force. The Dark Lord wouldn't begrudge a stunning spell used against a fellow Death Eater in the name of preserving both their lives.

"Then stay." Barty crouched down and traced a finger along the gash in the Mudblood's throat. He raised his hand to his face, and Regulus's stomach churned – he wasn't going to taste it, was he? Oh, dear God, please don't.

Perhaps Barty did consider it, for he looked at his bloodstained finger for a long time, rather thoughtfully, but at last, he simply wiped it on the front of his robes and straightened up again.

"Let's be off, then," he said, briskly and cheerfully. "I could do with a drink. Maybe a little trip to Knockturn Alley?" He cocked one eyebrow slightly and smirked at Regulus again. Regulus felt his face grew very hot.

"I'm sure the Dark Lord won't object. As we've done our work."

"Quite so." Barty ran his tongue around his lips, eyed Regulus, and then, as fast as a snake striking, he grabbed him and pushed him roughly against the brick wall. Regulus seized up, petrified, and convinced that he was about to be either killed, or kissed, or possibly both.

For an eternally long second, Barty was pressed against him so tightly that Regulus could feel his racing heart, his fast and shallow breath, every part of his body crushed into his, and he himself barely dared to breathe. He suspected Barty enjoyed his fear, his uncertainty, for he held the position for an unnecessarily long time before whispering in his ear.

"Tell the Dark Lord that I want to kill again," he breathed. "I'll do it for him if he'll only tell me who he wants dead – but if he doesn't give me any names, I'm going to do it anyway, and I can't make any promises about who's going to get out alive."

)O(

Fin