Barty Crouch Jr

Barty owed his mother a massive favor. It had taken days of her soft pleading to pry him out from under his father’s thumb, but standing inside Burke Manor, he was glad he tagged along. The mixed company had no doubt set a major damper on the mood of his more extremist friends, but Barty actually didn't mind the presence of those of lesser blood tonight.

Maybe it was just the firewhisky putting him in a good spirit, but the sheer performance of it all made the evening genuinely interesting. After all, there was no point in being here if he wasn't going to take a look at the displays. That was how he ended up wandering the halls of the manor, eventually stationing himself in front of a large abstract piece

The galleries were quieter than the ballroom, the constant hum of conversation reduced to something distant and easy to ignore. It suited her well enough. What caught her attention, however, was the familiar figure standing before an abstract painting with an expression that suggested he was either studying it very seriously or trying to determine whether it had been hung upside down. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she approached, champagne glass balanced loosely between her fingers. “I’ve been watching you stare at that for nearly a minute,” she remarked, stopping beside him. “Should I be impressed by your appreciation for art, or are you still trying to figure out what it’s supposed to be?”

Her gaze flickered briefly toward him then, searching his features for a moment longer than necessary. The last time they’d spoken had ended rather abruptly, and though she hadn’t pressed him then, neither had she forgotten it. “Go on, then. Tell me what you see.”

#sabrinaavery #Sabrina 02 #event 001

Barty snapped out of his trance the second Sabrina’s voice cut through the noise of the gala. He blinked, jolted back to reality, and quickly raked a hand through his already messy hair. Forcing a quick smile, he turned to face her. "Oh, wow. When did you get there?" He was completely caught off guard. He had been so checked out that she might as well have materialized out of thin air.

Smooth move, he thought, mildly amused at his own lack of awareness. Well, nothing to be done about it now. "What do I see?" He repeated her question, dragging out the words to buy his brain a few seconds to actually look at the wall. His eyes locked onto the canvas. He squinted at the chaotic slashes of color. "Lots of lines," he offered cheerfully, leaning in toward a particularly jagged smudge near the center. "Oh! Wait. Maybe... a very deformed bird?"

Gala outfit

#event 001 #Musings #Outfit musings

Barty owed his mother a massive favor. It had taken days of her soft pleading to pry him out from under his father’s thumb, but standing inside Burke Manor, he was glad he tagged along. The mixed company had no doubt set a major damper on the mood of his more extremist friends, but Barty actually didn't mind the presence of those of lesser blood tonight.

Maybe it was just the firewhisky putting him in a good spirit, but the sheer performance of it all made the evening genuinely interesting. After all, there was no point in being here if he wasn't going to take a look at the displays. That was how he ended up wandering the halls of the manor, eventually stationing himself in front of a large abstract piece

#mrsmstarter #Event 001

Sabrina’s words hung in the air like a noose. Barty kept his lazy smirk fixed, but inside, panic flared. His composure was slipping. The laid back mask he wore so easily was cracking, and the terrifying truth was that she hadn't even pushed him. He was doing this to himself, coming undone by a simple, casual observation. If he couldn't even maintain his composure in a quiet pub, he would never survive what the Dark Lord required of him, or what his father would do if he found out.

"Well, you can't exactly negotiate with a downpour, can you?" Barty murmured, setting his glass down with a slow, deliberate shrug. He met her gaze, injecting a sharp, mocking sweetness into his voice to hide the frantic racing of his pulse. "The window shoppers can plan all they want, darling, but at the end of the day, everybody still gets wet. The clean slate is usually the point."

He glanced at the clock, his chest tightening despite his dry smile. He needed to get out, to get behind closed doors before his control vanished completely. "Fascinating theory, Sabrina," Barty said, sliding his chair back and standing up.

He adjusted his expensive robes, forcing his hands to remain steady as he gave her a lingering, amused look. "But I’ve had enough storytime for one evening. My father expects me home, and I'd hate to make him cry." He paused for just a beat by the edge of the table, waiting to see if she would let him walk away with the last word.

Sabrina remained perfectly at ease beneath his gaze, though amusement flickered unmistakably across her features at his sudden urgency to leave. She had noticed it long before he stood-- the stiffness hidden beneath his swagger, the careful placement of every word, every movement. Barty performed confidence beautifully, but performance always carried strain underneath it if one knew where to look.

"How noble of you," she replied lightly, a soft smile curving at her lips as she lifted her glass once more. "I’m sure your father will sleep far more soundly knowing you survived the horrors of an evening conversation." Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, thoughtful rather than cruel. "Still," the witch added smoothly, "you shouldn’t dismiss patience so quickly. Storms burn themselves out eventually. The people who endure are usually the ones clever enough to know when to step out of the rain."

She inclined her head with effortless politeness, every inch the pureblood socialite she had been raised to be. "Do try not to kick down too many doors on your way home, Barty. Some of them are far more fragile than they appear."

#sabrinaavery #sabrina 01 #Closed thread

Barty let his smirk linger for a beat too long, refusing to let her see the way his throat tightened. "Fragile things shouldn't be left out in the open then," he murmured, his voice maintaining that slow, mocking sweetness even as his heart hammered against his ribs.

He gave her one last, lingering look, offering a small, seemingly carelessness tilt of his head. "Goodnight, Sabrina." He turned and walked away. forcing his pace to remain steady and casual across the room, barty heads for the exit. The second his fingers gripped the heavy handle of the pub door he pushed it open with a sharp, heavy force, stepping out into the cool night air before the cracks in his composure could finally give way.

Barty stared into his drink, watching the ice swirl. Don't look up yet, he told himself. She’ll see right through you. His stomach twisted. The casual way she dismantled lives made him feel entirely exposed, like a specimen pinned to a board. He desperately needed to lock the discomfort down and pull his lazy mask back into place. Relax your shoulders. Keep your hand steady. He should really be used to this by now.

He forced a slow breath out, letting his eyes drift past her toward the crowd. He just needed one shallow comment.

He looked up, pinning a lazy smirk to his face. "Sounds like a massive headache, honestly," Barty said, his voice smooth despite his racing pulse. He took a casual sip. "Too much talking. I’d rather just kick the door down."

Sabrina's laugh was soft, low, and entirely unoffended. If anything, she seemed amused by the admission. She tilted her head slightly, studying him over the rim of her glass. "Yes, but kicking the door down only works if there's a door to kick down," she replied smoothly. "Half the time, the truly important things are hidden behind smiles, loyalties, habits. You can't curse those into submission."

She took a measured sip before continuing. "Don't misunderstand me, Barty. There is certainly a place for force. It can be effective, dramatic even. But force demands attention." Her fingers traced the edge of her glass absentmindedly. "People remember the man who breaks into a room. They rarely remember the person who convinced them to leave the window unlocked."

The witch's gaze lingered on him for a moment, sharp and assessing despite her pleasant expression. "Though I suppose it comes down to temperament. Some people enjoy being the storm." A faint smile touched her lips. "Others prefer deciding where it lands."

#sabrina 01 #sabrinaavery

Sabrina’s words hung in the air like a noose. Barty kept his lazy smirk fixed, but inside, panic flared. His composure was slipping. The laid back mask he wore so easily was cracking, and the terrifying truth was that she hadn't even pushed him. He was doing this to himself, coming undone by a simple, casual observation. If he couldn't even maintain his composure in a quiet pub, he would never survive what the Dark Lord required of him, or what his father would do if he found out.

"Well, you can't exactly negotiate with a downpour, can you?" Barty murmured, setting his glass down with a slow, deliberate shrug. He met her gaze, injecting a sharp, mocking sweetness into his voice to hide the frantic racing of his pulse. "The window shoppers can plan all they want, darling, but at the end of the day, everybody still gets wet. The clean slate is usually the point."

He glanced at the clock, his chest tightening despite his dry smile. He needed to get out, to get behind closed doors before his control vanished completely. "Fascinating theory, Sabrina," Barty said, sliding his chair back and standing up.

He adjusted his expensive robes, forcing his hands to remain steady as he gave her a lingering, amused look. "But I’ve had enough storytime for one evening. My father expects me home, and I'd hate to make him cry." He paused for just a beat by the edge of the table, waiting to see if she would let him walk away with the last word.

princesscissa

Who: @the-heir-apparent Where: Private Members Club, London

"My dear Barty" Narcissa greeted him with a quick friendly peck on the cheek, sliding into the booth next to him. "Please, we musn't go so long between a catch up next time."

Barty was someone that Narcissa genuinely liked. A rare occurrence really. Narcissa mostly put up with people in her circles. Most of the vapid and lacking intelligence. There was a quirk and a mystery to Barty that she could never quite place. Something that both intrigued and irritated her. "What mischief have you been getting up to lately?"

#Narcissa 01 #Princesscissa

"Narcissa, you look lovely as always," he greeted, pressing a feather-light kiss to her knuckles. He rather liked Narcissa. She certainly wasn't as openly opinionated as some of his friends, but conversation between them was never dull. He especially loved when they gossiped.

"I agree, it's been far too long!" His eyes crinkled at the corners. Narcissa was a bit of a mystery to him; she kept her cards close to her chest, and he respected that. He fancied himself an actor most days.

"Nothing as interesting as I'd like," he sighed. The Ministry had been dreadfully dull this past week, which was saying something in the current political climate. "How about yourself? Anything noteworthy going on?"

Barty nodded, a small, genuine smirk tugging at his mouth. It was times like this he remembered why he actually bothered hanging out with her. While everyone else seemed to be operating on a delay, her mind was always three steps ahead, clicking into place with a terrifying kind of precision. He watched her for a moment, admiring the way she didn't soften her edges for anyone.

That razor-sharp brain and the even sharper tongue she used to wield it were easily his favorite things about her "I see what you mean." He agrees. "And speaking of motivations, I'm rather curious about your latest...escapade. it really was marvelous planning, how did you pull it off?" He asks.

Sabrina’s expression barely shifted at the mention of her latest mission, though satisfaction flickered briefly through her dark eyes. She swirled the drink in her glass once, unhurried, as though they were discussing politics over tea rather than something far more dangerous. “Carefully,” she answered simply at first, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. “People always assume power is about force, intimidation, spectacle… but most doors are opened long before anyone thinks to break them down.” Her gaze drifted toward the crowded room again, thoughtful. “A well-placed suggestion here, the right rumour there, one person made to feel important enough to talk when they shouldn’t. By the time anyone realized what was happening, every piece was already exactly where I needed it to be.”

She looked back at him then, studying his reaction with quiet amusement. “No scene to clean afterwards, and yet the outcome remained the same. Efficient, don’t you think?”

#sabrinaavery #sabrina 01

Barty stared into his drink, watching the ice swirl. Don't look up yet, he told himself. She’ll see right through you. His stomach twisted. The casual way she dismantled lives made him feel entirely exposed, like a specimen pinned to a board. He desperately needed to lock the discomfort down and pull his lazy mask back into place. Relax your shoulders. Keep your hand steady. He should really be used to this by now.

He forced a slow breath out, letting his eyes drift past her toward the crowd. He just needed one shallow comment.

He looked up, pinning a lazy smirk to his face. "Sounds like a massive headache, honestly," Barty said, his voice smooth despite his racing pulse. He took a casual sip. "Too much talking. I’d rather just kick the door down."

dailycatsblog

#musings

"Patiently?" He echoed the word, testing it as if it were a spell he hadn't quite mastered. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, his smirk sharpening over the rim of the glass. "Is that the trick, then? Just sitting back and letting them unravel themselves?"

He leaned back, his shoulder brushing hers accidentally. "I'm trying to figure out what kind of mess she’s in. Do you think it's a date she's terrified will actually show up. some poor sap she’s lied to, perhaps? Or,"

he paused, his eyes flicking to her lap, "is it a collection? Looking at her hands, she isn’t reaching for her wand to defend herself; she’s white-knuckled around a coin purse. Perhaps someone’s coming to pick up what she owes, and she looks like she knows she’s short on the gold." He looks to Sabrina for her input.

Sabrina’s lips curved, slow and deliberate, as she followed his line of sight toward the anxious witch. For a moment, she said nothing, as if weighing his observations as carefully as she might appraise a rare artefact. “Better,” she admitted at last, her tone smooth with approval. “You’re beginning to look beyond the obvious. Most people stop at what they see and never consider what sits beneath it.”

The brunette rested one elbow against the table, leaning slightly closer as though confiding in him. “Fear tied to debt is plausible, but desperation has a sharper edge to it. She still has hope, that’s the difference. See the way she keeps straightening herself each time the door opens? That’s not someone bracing for punishment, that’s someone wanting to be chosen.” Her gaze flicked back to him, amused. “A date, perhaps. Or perhaps she has wagered more than gold tonight. Pride, affection, leverage… those are the currencies that ruin people far faster.”

#Barty & Sabrina #sabrinaavery #sabrina 01

Barty nodded, a small, genuine smirk tugging at his mouth. It was times like this he remembered why he actually bothered hanging out with her. While everyone else seemed to be operating on a delay, her mind was always three steps ahead, clicking into place with a terrifying kind of precision. He watched her for a moment, admiring the way she didn't soften her edges for anyone.

That razor-sharp brain and the even sharper tongue she used to wield it were easily his favorite things about her "I see what you mean." He agrees. "And speaking of motivations, I'm rather curious about your latest...escapade. it really was marvelous planning, how did you pull it off?" He asks.

"Indeed," he hums, his gaze prowling the sea of bodies. To him, everyone looks the same. Not in a literal sense, they have different features, of course, but the energy is repetitive.

He only picks up on two types: the fresh-out-of-school kids living life "to the fullest," and the middle-aged alcoholics here to drown their sorrows. But the way Sabrina studies them gives him pause. It makes him wonder if he’s missing the point, if there’s something more to be observed.

He raises a casual eyebrow at her. "Really? Care to elaborate on that?" His tone is playful on the surface, masking a genuine spark of curiosity.

The brunette smiled to herself, pleased to find Barty curious enough to try to understand what she meant. He might have been attempting to hide it, but she knew how to read people, it was all in the subtle hints. She took a sip of her drink before turning to watch the wizard beside her.

"It's simple enough, people try too hard," Sabrina began explaining, gaze focused on her companion. "Everyone has something to hide, even if it's seemingly silly, you just have to watch carefully and patiently." The witch nodded towards the blonde sitting by the bar, fidgeting with her robes. "She's nervous, that one. She keeps eyeing the door, waiting for someone perhaps? Scared of whoever might come?" She chuckled, taking another sip of her drink. "Wait it out and you'll see who makes her that anxious, then you'll know what makes her tick."

#sabrina 01 #sabrinaavery

"Patiently?" He echoed the word, testing it as if it were a spell he hadn't quite mastered. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, his smirk sharpening over the rim of the glass. "Is that the trick, then? Just sitting back and letting them unravel themselves?"

He leaned back, his shoulder brushing hers accidentally. "I'm trying to figure out what kind of mess she’s in. Do you think it's a date she's terrified will actually show up. some poor sap she’s lied to, perhaps? Or,"

he paused, his eyes flicking to her lap, "is it a collection? Looking at her hands, she isn’t reaching for her wand to defend herself; she’s white-knuckled around a coin purse. Perhaps someone’s coming to pick up what she owes, and she looks like she knows she’s short on the gold." He looks to Sabrina for her input.

Barty’s eyebrows shot up, a genuine glint of interest replacing his smirk. "Muggle theories on the pyramids? Now that is a rabbit hole. I’ve heard they think those stones were moved without a single Levitation Charm, impressive imagination, really." He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, glancing around as if to make sure no one is listening.

"Cecelia, right? Ravenclaw. I thought you looked familiar." He gestured toward the stubborn clerk. "If it’s for Melek’s eighteenth, we can’t have you showing up empty-handed. But Pringle there is a lost cause; he lives for the rules." Barty leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hum.

"Forget the bribe. I’ve been snooping around this place for hours waiting for Hawthorn's release. I happened to everhear sine chatter saying the delivery owl for the latest releases is resting behind shop before they process the stock. If we’re quick, we could snag a copy from the crate before it even hits the desk."

He gave her a challenging look. "Consider it field research. You coming?"

"I have read about something called Aliens? They believe beings from another planet have showed them how to build the pyramids." As they had no idea about magic it was only logical for them to fill the gaps of knowledge, but the thought of aliens did feel farfetched to her.

"Ceren, but yes. I was in Ravenclaw. You're Barty right? I think we had Potions together?" She wasn't offended that'd gotten her name wrong. It was kind of close. Sort of. Besides, she didn't spend much time with the Slytherin's in her year. It was mostly Ravenclaws and the occasional Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. Slytherins tended to stick to them selves.

Rules existed for a reason, sure some would say they were meant to be broken but she did not agree with that saying. "Oh um.. no I can't do that. I don't think it would be allowed."

#ceren 01 #Cerenkayabilge

"Yes, that's right. We had most classes together I believe...same house and all." He seems humored by her response on these "aliens." "it's ridiculous, I really don't mind the muggles, harmless lot really, but the things they make up to justify magic can get quite silly!"

"suit yourself." He shrugs, slightly annoyed with the refusal. Clicking on a pen he snagged from the bar a few nights ago he manages a (hopefully) polite smile.

"Well, good luck on your book quest." He gives a stiff bow, his dear mother would be scandalized if he was seen being anything less than proper in public. (What she doesn't know won't kill her.)

"I'll be in the back should you change your mind."

Barty tilted his head, stepping closer as the clerk’s dead-eyed expression remained unchanged. "Fifi LaFolle, eh?" he mused, a sharp edge of curiosity in his voice.

"Strays from my usual reading, though I hear her sensory descriptions are well renowned. For your sister?? A noble cause, but you’re fighting a losing battle with Pringle here. He wouldn't sell his own mother a quill before opening hours." He leaned against a shelf, his eyes lingering on her face as that flicker of recognition grew.

"Research, you said? That sounds far more interesting than fantasy book. What could possibly be so engrossing that you'd forget a deadline at Flourish and Blotts?"

"She's Melek's favorite author. Has been since she was deemed old enough to read a Fifi LaFolle book. Hooked from the first one." Ceren chuckles, clearly fond of her younger sister. She was turning 18 this year, it was her last year at Hogwarts.

"I read a few of them, but not all. They are quite complex, actually. More than people give them credit for." Romance novels were easily dismissed but she thought it was important to read a wide array of genres, change it up sometimes. She read a mix of authors, both muggle and wizarding ones.

"Did I say that out loud?" She mused, shrugging. She must have. "When I research a topic I tend to dive deeply into it, no matter what it is." She liked finding out whatever she could about things that caught her interest. "I was looking at muggle information on ancient egypt. They have fascinating takes on the pyramids and how they came to be."

#ceren 01 #Cerenkayabilge

Barty’s eyebrows shot up, a genuine glint of interest replacing his smirk. "Muggle theories on the pyramids? Now that is a rabbit hole. I’ve heard they think those stones were moved without a single Levitation Charm, impressive imagination, really." He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, glancing around as if to make sure no one is listening.

"Cecelia, right? Ravenclaw. I thought you looked familiar." He gestured toward the stubborn clerk. "If it’s for Melek’s eighteenth, we can’t have you showing up empty-handed. But Pringle there is a lost cause; he lives for the rules." Barty leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hum.

"Forget the bribe. I’ve been snooping around this place for hours waiting for Hawthorn's release. I happened to everhear sine chatter saying the delivery owl for the latest releases is resting behind shop before they process the stock. If we’re quick, we could snag a copy from the crate before it even hits the desk."

He gave her a challenging look. "Consider it field research. You coming?"

Barty browses the columns and rows of books, his finger tracing the spines as he passes. Rumor has it that Marilyn Hawthorn, author of Magical Traces and Signatures, is holding a limited edition sale of her newest novel right here at Flourish and Blotts, and Barty is determined to snag a copy. Sure, he might be a little early, about five hours, give or take, but he doesn't mind the wait.

His attention is immediately drawn to the front desk, where a vaguely familiar young woman is attempting to bribe a clerk who looks like he isn't paid nearly enough to deal with her. The corner of Barty's mouth twitches in amusement.

"What’s got you so out of sorts?" he calls out, a heavy tome on advanced Transfiguration tucked firmly under his arm.

"I need the new Fifi LaFolle book for my little sister. Quite desperately." She sighed, running a hand through her hair, clearly frustrated. It was her own fault, she was supposed to get the book days ago, but she got caught up in her research. "You see, she has all the other novels of the Enchanted Encounters series and I want to get it for her birthday."

#Ceren 01 #Cerenkayabilge

Barty tilted his head, stepping closer as the clerk’s dead-eyed expression remained unchanged. "Fifi LaFolle, eh?" he mused, a sharp edge of curiosity in his voice.

"Strays from my usual reading, though I hear her sensory descriptions are well renowned. For your sister?? A noble cause, but you’re fighting a losing battle with Pringle here. He wouldn't sell his own mother a quill before opening hours." He leaned against a shelf, his eyes lingering on her face as that flicker of recognition grew.

"Research, you said? That sounds far more interesting than fantasy book. What could possibly be so engrossing that you'd forget a deadline at Flourish and Blotts?"

location: Florish & Blotts status: open to anyone

"No you don't understand. I need this book. This is the last copy. It's my little sister's birthday in two weeks and this is her favorite author." When she first got into the store they told her she was lucky and that they had one copy left, but before she could grab it from the shelf someone else got to it. So now Ceren was grasping at straws, trying to reason with them. "If you let me have it I'll buy you a drink." Clearly a dire situation meant that she wasn't above bribery to get what she wanted. And maybe throwing in her best puppy dog eyes. "Please?"