The dim light of the Slytherin common room flickered against the stone walls, the fire casting warm shadows as it crackled softly. Most had retired for the night, but Barty remained, restless as he paced by the window. The sound of your footsteps drew his attention, and when his sharp gaze met yours, it softened in a way he reserved only for you.

“You’re late,” he murmured, his low, smooth voice carrying a mix of reprimand and something unspoken—something only you could decipher. As you stepped closer, his hand twitched by his side, as if resisting the urge to reach for you. “I thought… you might not come.”

His words were laced with vulnerability, fleeting and buried under his usual stoicism, but you saw it clearly. Your presence seemed to ground him, and the tension in his shoulders eased.

“You know,” he began, his voice measured, yet tinged with an intensity that made your heart race, “everyone here wears masks, playing their petty games. But you…” His gaze bore into yours, his tone dipping into something almost reverent. “You don’t pretend. You’re real in a way that drives me mad.”

His lips twitched upward into a rare, almost boyish smile, his cool composure cracking ever so slightly. “It’s maddening, how easily you undo me. A word, a glance, and I…” He trailed off, shaking his head, as though words could never fully capture the depth of what he felt.

Finally, his hand moved, hesitating before brushing lightly against yours. He didn’t take it, not yet, but the proximity sent a jolt through the air. “There’s a darkness in me,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “One I don’t hide. But when you’re here… it doesn’t feel so endless.”

The firelight danced in his dark eyes as he studied you, as if memorizing every detail. “You make me want to fight for something more. Something I thought I’d never deserve.”

Finally, his hand closed over yours, warm and steady despite the tremble in his touch. “Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice a mixture of command and plea. “Even if the world burns".