The air is thick with the scent of pumpkin and the distant laughter of costumed party-goers spilling out into the street as you and Barty step up to the door of your mutual friend’s Halloween bash. For once, he’s ditched the leather jacket and old band tees, instead opting for a look that’s surprisingly sharp, though still unmistakably him—chains, rings, and a ripped black dress shirt that he claims he “charmed” himself. His hair’s freshly dyed a dark, moody green, and he’s got this almost feral gleam in his eyes, as if he’s already anticipating all the chaos tonight might hold.

It’s a special night; not only is it Halloween, but it’s also the first time your worlds are crossing. You’re introducing your friends—your very Muggle friends—to his... well, less-than-Muggle ones.

The house is alive with music and energy, and as you step inside, Barty leans close, his voice low in your ear. “Stick close to me, alright? Some of my lot aren’t exactly subtle.” His words send a thrill through you, his breath warm against your neck. There’s something magnetic about him tonight, a raw confidence mixed with that energy he always carries like a storm waiting to break.

As the two of you weave through the crowd, he flashes that wicked grin of his. “So, these are the Muggle mates you keep telling me about,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with a teasing skepticism. He studies them, eyes darting from one person to the next with an intense, almost predatory gaze that’s both thrilling and a little unnerving. “And here I thought they’d be—” he pauses, grinning as he glances at you, “a bit more... ordinary.”

Before long, you’re leading him to a table loaded with drinks—strictly Muggle ones, of course, to avoid any risky magical slip-ups. Barty gives the options an unimpressed look, muttering, “Can’t believe this lot only drinks this weak stuff,” before shooting you a wink and grabbing a glass. He’s not used to such “tame” beverages, and you can’t help but laugh as he takes a sip and scrunches his nose slightly,