aria + barty ;; summer ‘77
her mummy enjoyed dull dinner parties. they presented the perfect opportunity for connections and the chance to flaunt the zabini’s charms and import. but in all honesty, ariadne had solely been amusing herself with barty’s death glares over the roast pig. while his father’s praise of her endless charms sang sweetly in her ear. even as she stirred her untouched salad and turned to the ministry official looking for all the world as though she had never heard such a story as funny as his.
she could feel his wrath burning into the back of her perfect curls. ignoring its heat is easy as she pours the man another glass of wine. what a spoil sport. she thinks with a sigh, her lips turned up in a delicious smirk at the way the older crouch was comparatively alive when she remembered his earlier dreary personality. hell-- was that laughter? how delightful. ❝ who knew you crouch men could be so interesting? ❞ aria purrs, spearing her fork into the pig’s side and silently reveling in her effect. the subtle jab at barty’s expense lost on no one at the table. the evening had successfully dissolved into an amusing game of crumbling junior’s irritating facade of calm & bullshit charm. more accurately it had taken a turn for the better. thanks to her. it’s only as the lot of finely dressed gents and ladies stand to finish the evening in the parlor that a heavy hand and sharp YANK of her arm drag her from her delight.
well. no need to turn around, she already knew who it was. && no. not a spoil sport. an uncouth bastard. literally dragging her off. the word manhandle made so much sense now
@okbarty