Amycus hadnât started out with any amount of respect for Barty Crouch. His father at least seemed no-nonsense, ruthless, if a little misguided, but Barty himself was weak, sickly, useless. Or at least, so heâd thought; their adventure with Ari Avery, the wonderful night in the homeless shelter, had grudgingly changed Amycusâs opinion. He still didnât respect the mask that Barty presented to the world â it seemed like cowardice, pretending to be who you werenât â but knowing that he was secretly devious, bloodthirsty and fun as hell certainly helped.
His respect for Barty was one of the reasons he hadnât cursed Gilderoy Lockhart into a million tiny smithereens.
His anger at Gilderoy still simmered under his skin like electricity, but so too did his gratitude. He had been shocked to discover that he was pleased Delilah hadnât been hurt at the Halloween debacle, and that had been entirely as a result of Barty Crouch â yet another surprise.
If he hadnât already had business with Crouch heâd never have approached him. It was one thing to be grateful; it was quite another to actuallythank the man, especially without prompting. But he did have business, and theyâd been chatting idly  for a while before Amycus interrupted the conversation with: âI heard about Halloween. Why did you save her?â
Barty had been watching Amycus for a small time before Voldemort decided to send him on missions with other death eaters. Heâd heard things about him, of course, in school and from strangers as well as from his Lord himself, but he hadnât been expecting to have quite as good a time with him as he had ended up doing. As some of the first people allowed in on the secret of his mask, Ari Avery and Amycus Carrow were fun to work with. Their first mission together in the homeless shelter had been entertaining, and the entertainment he and Amycus had gotten up to after their work was over was even moreso. The idea of working with him again was thrilling for more reason than just the thought of blood, sweat, and tears.
Heâd taken up the offer of discussing plans for their next outing at Amycusâs home, and they had been sitting there for some small while now. Barty had slipped off his sweater and his shoes, was folded up lazily in his seat and drinking directly from a bottle of vodka heâd brought himself. He was comfortable, and thinking idly of the business he had with Amycus, when the man interrupted their conversation with a question.
Grey eyes slipped back over to Amycus and Barty regarded him for a moment before his brows furrowed and he turned to take another sip of his drink before speaking.
âSheâs yours,â he explained simply, not understanding why the action was questioned in the first place. âShe belongs to you, and youâre a friend of mine, or something like that,â a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips but slipped back to blank quickly enough.
He didnât need to bother forcing expression when he wasnât wearing the mask, after all.
âFucking weird to be asking about it. Did you not want her to be saved?â