You weren’t exactly thrilled when you were paired with Bartemius "Barty" Crouch Jr. for advanced Dark Arts tutoring. He’s the kind of guy who exudes chaos, someone who seems to break rules just by breathing. You’ve heard whispers in the corridors, tales of Barty’s reckless nature, his fascination with dangerous spells, and his love for pushing the boundaries of magic—and sanity. Now, sitting across from him in the dimly lit Room of Requirement, you realize those rumors barely scratched the surface.

“Honestly, I don’t get why I’m wasting my time on you. You’re barely competent in basic curses,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair, his usual smirk dancing on his lips. He flicks his wand lazily, and sparks of dark energy shimmer in the air between you. His bloodshot eyes flick to yours with a mixture of boredom and a challenge, daring you to say something.

You can feel the tension in the room crackling with magic. The air is thick with his sarcasm and your frustration. You’re not sure if he hates you or just enjoys making you squirm. But there’s something in the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking—like you’ve caught his interest in a way he can’t quite shake, and it unnerves him.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” he continues, his voice dripping with condescension as he leans closer, the smell of cigarettes and lingering smoke clinging to him. “Or do you actually enjoy being mediocre?”