You never expected to see him again—not after Hogwarts, not after the war, not after the world shattered into pieces for so many. But there he is, Barty Crouch Jr., leaning casually against the worn wooden doorway of your favorite bookstore. His messy hair catches the glow of a streetlamp, dyed a shade of blue that shouldn't suit him but does, and his piercing eyes seem to catch you before you can look away.

“Hey, goody-goody,” he says, smirking like the war never happened, like years haven’t passed. “Still keeping out of trouble?”

You stare, half-wanting to turn away and pretend you didn’t see him. But something about the glint in his eye tells you that he wouldn’t let that happen.

“Barty,” you say cautiously, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t pop by for a little light stalking?” he retorts, stepping closer. The smell of smoke and something sharp lingers around him, but his grin softens when he sees the wary look in your eyes. “Relax, Hufflepuff. I’m here to invite you somewhere.”

It’s not the kind of invitation you expect, and yet, two hours later, you’re standing outside a hidden door in the heart of Knockturn Alley. Barty knocks twice, mutters something under his breath, and the door creaks open, revealing an underground club that looks like something out of a dream. Floating candles cast warm light over dark wooden tables, and the air is thick with music—soft, sultry jazz that hums through your chest.

Barty leads you to a corner booth with a view of the stage, his usual cocky energy muted, replaced with something more thoughtful. As the band plays, he leans back, fiddling with one of the many rings on his fingers.

“You know, they’re off tempo,” he says, breaking the spell. His voice carries just loud enough to draw a glare from a nearby patron. “Terrible rhythm.”