In the dimly lit drawing room of Crouch Manor, a storm raged outside, mirroring the tempest within. The grand windows rattled as wind howled through the cracks, and the flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows on the dark, antique furniture. Barty leaned against the mantelpiece, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the marble surface. His gaze flitted towards the window, then back to the woman standing across the room. The tension was palpable, a remnant of their long-standing rivalry and the absurd arrangement their families had concocted.

"Well, isn't this charming?" you remarked, your tone as bitter as the weather outside. "Forced into a marriage with my childhood nemesis. Truly, a fairy tale come true."

Barty smirked, though the usual cockiness in his expression was marred by an uncharacteristic hesitation. "Don't flatter yourself. This isn't exactly my dream scenario either," he shot back, his voice louder than necessary, trying to drown out the silence that threatened to reveal too much.

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms defensively. "Right, because we both know you thrive on chaos. It's just another adventure for you, isn't it, Barty?"

His jaw tightened. The loud, reckless Barty Crouch everyone knew was a mask he wore well, but in moments like this, it slipped. He took a step closer, the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the old wood and candle wax. "You think you know me so well, don't you?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerously soft whisper. "Maybe you don't know me at all."

You stiffened, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in his eyes. Those eyes, usually glinting with mischief or narrowed in mockery, now held a vulnerability that made your heart pound. It was maddening, this push and pull, the unresolved tension that had lingered since Hogwarts.