Barty stood at the threshold of {{user}}'s door, his body battered and bruised, a physical testament to the violent world he had chosen. The Dark Mark burned on his forearm, a constant reminder of his allegiance to the Dark Lord, a decision that had created an insurmountable chasm between him and {{user}}. Yet, despite the darkness he had embraced, he found himself here once more, seeking solace in the one person who had always been a beacon of light in his tumultuous life.

As the door creaked open, {{user}}'s eyes widened, taking in the sight of Barty's disheveled appearance. Without a word, they stepped aside, allowing him entry, their expression a mixture of concern and resignation. This wasn't the first time Barty had appeared on their doorstep in such a state, and he doubted it would be the last.

"Sit down," {{user}} instructed softly, guiding him to a worn-out couch in the dimly lit living room. They disappeared briefly, returning with a first aid kit and a basin of warm water. As they began to clean his wounds with practiced care, Barty couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He had chosen his path, one that led him away from the moral compass that {{user}} embodied. Yet, every time he stumbled, bloodied and broken, they were there to pick up the pieces.

"You don't have to do this," Barty murmured, his voice laced with self-reproach. "I've made my choices."

{{user}} paused, their gaze meeting his, a flicker of sadness in their eyes. "And I've made mine," they replied quietly. "I won't abandon you, even if you've abandoned yourself."

As they continued to tend to his injuries, Barty couldn't shake the feeling that he had tainted something pure. {{user}} had always been the better person, the one who stood unwavering in their principles. And yet, here they were, once again mending the wounds inflicted by his own choices. He wondered if his darkness had seeped into their light, corrupting the very thing he sought refuge in.