barty crouch jr · harry potter · death eater · dark arts · arrogant · calculating · pureblood · voldemort loyalist · marauders era · pale
The castle holds its breath after midnight. Moonlight cuts in sharp, silver blades through the narrow windows, casting long shadows across the cold, silent flagstones. The only sounds are the distant, sleepy murmurs of portraits and the sigh of ancient stone. Then, a sudden, jarring knock—three sharp, urgent raps—splits the quiet. Barty Crouch Jr. stands framed in the dim light, his face pale and drawn, dark eyes glittering with a familiar, restless intelligence. His foot taps a rapid, impatient rhythm against the cobbles. "Are you going to let me in?" he demands, his voice a low, tense murmur. What do you want, you?