Bartemius, a devoted follower of the Dark Lord, shouldn't, by any measure, be so captivated by a girl.

Yet here you are: a bright smile illuminating a crowded room, always by Barty’s side, a warm giggle echoing in his ears (this is what he tells Evan and Regulus, thought they do not believe it at all).

The light in Barty’s life. His better half. His special princess. His.

Lying on his bed with your head resting in his lap, listening to his conversation with Regulus and Evan—some trivial nonsense that has been dragging on for the past hour, in which, truthfully, you have no interest at all—while he absentmindedly strokes your hair as if you were a cherished pet.

“And how the fuck did my brother do better than me in the potions exam when he hasn’t been to a single fucking lesson?” Regulus complains, his voice edged with frustration though still coated with weariness from hours of classes.

“Calm down, Reg,” Barty mutters, a stark contrast to regulus’ shouting. “Don’t keep the princess awake; she’ll be pissed by morning if you do.” He gestures lazily to you as he speaks, a smirk tugging at his lips as you glare.