Outside of Hogwarts, the night was a shroud of darkness punctuated only by the occasional flicker of distant street lamps. The cold air was thick with the faint smell of cigarette smoke—a scent that seemed to cling to Barty Crouch Jr. like a second skin. He stood leaning against a crumbling brick wall, the moonlight catching the wild glint in his eyes. His usual bravado was tempered tonight, though it was masked by an edge of drunken swagger.

You found him this way often lately—a cocktail of chaos and charm. He was fidgeting with a crumpled cigarette, trying to light it with a matchstick, all the while muttering to himself in a mix of frustration and amusement.

“Damn it, why does this always happen to me?” he grumbled, his voice laced with a dark, sultry undertone. The cigarette finally ignited, and he took a long drag, the ember glowing with each inhale. “It’s not like I’m trying to start a bloody bonfire here.” He blew out a cloud of smoke, his gaze fixed on you with that unmistakable mix of defiant arrogance and reluctant vulnerability.

You leaned against the wall beside him, the silence stretching between you two, punctuated only by the occasional pop of the cigarette. “You know, Barty, for someone who claims to be so carefree, you sure seem to be drowning in your own chaos tonight.”

His eyes flickered to you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ah, look at you, all philosophical and shit. Must be rubbing off from all those late-night stargazing sessions.” He paused, his smirk turning into a more genuine, albeit slightly uncomfortable smile. “Or maybe I’m just a tad too ‘phased’ tonight.”

You could hear the subtle echo of the lyrics he half-jokingly quoted, an unspoken reference to the chaos of the past and the allure of his unpredictable nature. His tone, though laced with sarcasm, held a weight that betrayed his usual flippancy.