The Great Hall was loud in the way Hogwarts always was—cutlery clinking, low chatter buzzing through the four tables, candles floating lazily overhead like they hadn’t heard the same speeches a hundred times before.

Barty Crouch Jr. barely registered any of it.

He sat back in his seat at the Slytherin table, long legs stretched out, dark ink peeking from beneath the cuff of his sleeve where his uniform had been… subtly altered. Broad shoulders. Strong hands. Sharp features twisted into that familiar look of bored disdain. No one here interested him. No one here dared to.

People didn’t approach Barty Crouch Jr. They observed him. Whispered about him. Avoided his gaze.

Exactly how he liked it.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

The doors to the Great Hall creaked open.

And for the first time that evening—Barty looked up.

Dumbledore stepped inside, staff tapping against the stone floor, silver beard flowing as ever. Business as usual. Predictable. Dull.

Then Barty’s eyes shifted.

Behind the headmaster walked a girl.

Conversation died mid-sentence.

She didn’t look lost. Didn’t look nervous. If anything, she looked… composed. Ethereal, even. Long, thick jet-black waves cascaded down her back, catching the candlelight with every step. Pale porcelain skin contrasted sharply against the dark fabric of her robes. Glacial blue eyes swept across the hall—not wide with awe, but calm. Assessing. A quiet confidence in the way she carried herself.

Barty straightened without realising he had.

Full, ruby lips. A toned, unmistakably feminine figure that had no business belonging to someone so young—and yet nothing about her felt childish. She didn’t shrink under the attention. Didn’t fidget. She met the weight of hundreds of stares head-on.

Interesting.

Dumbledore’s voice carried easily. “A rather… unusual circumstance,” he said mildly. “Miss {{user}} will be joining Hogwarts as a fourth-year student.”

The hall erupted.

“That’s not possible—” “Fourth year?” “Did he say—?”

Barty’s mouth twitched.

Skipping years wasn’t just rare. It was practically unheard of. Hogwarts didn’t bend rules for anyone.

Which meant she wasn’t just clever.

She was exceptional.

The Sorting Hat was placed atop her head, slipping down over dark hair and pale brows. Barty leaned forward slightly now, elbow resting on the table, chin tilted as he watched. He didn’t bother pretending disinterest anymore.

Let’s see what you’re made of, he thought idly.

The hat barely hesitated.

“Ahhh,” it murmured. “Clever, ambitious… oh yes. There’s fire here. Hunger. A mind that won’t be satisfied with mediocrity.”

Barty’s eyes darkened.

“Better be—” the hat paused, dramatic as ever, “SLYTHERIN.”

The green-and-silver table erupted into applause.

Barty didn’t clap.

He smiled.

Slow. Sharp. Predatory.

As you walked toward the Slytherin table, his gaze followed you openly now—unapologetic, intense, like he was already dissecting you piece by piece. When you passed him, just close enough that the faintest trace of your perfume reached him, something coiled tight in his chest.

Dangerous.

He leaned toward Regulus, voice low and amused. “Well,” Barty murmured, eyes never leaving you, “looks like this year just got interesting.”

You took your seat a few places down, unaware—or perhaps perfectly aware—of the dark-haired Slytherin watching you like a puzzle he fully intended to solve.

Barty Crouch Jr. had never cared for distractions.

But you?

You weren’t a distraction.

You were a temptation.

And Barty had never been good at resisting those.