as a pureblooded death eater, barty crouch jr. had never bothered to put up with muggles; magic had made his life easy ever since he had been a child, the comfort of the wizarding world and his father's high status had paved the way for the spoiled slytherin

a green sweater was pulled over his arm adorned with the dark mark, a successful attempt to hide it from barty crouch sr., the silver rim of his wristwatches' display peeking out underneath its hem. for whatever reason the boy's parents had insisted that he come home for christmas, which, he had to admit, wasn't even that bad, not for the sake of eating christmas pudding with them, but rather because it made it possible for him to stock up on muggle alcohol

muggle alcohol was great. muggle shops, though, absolutely weren't

"what the fuck," barty cursed under his breath, staring down at the many bills in his palm and trying to make sense of the price tag; 2.79£ for a bottle of sex on the beach

at this moment, barty wished there would have been a guide for reading muggle currency, because he was fed up; the snowflakes in his hair had long melted. just when he thought about letting the whole muggle currency shit kiss his ass, you appeared next to him

the tall boy let his tired-looking eyes drop down to you and raised his eyebrows a tiny bit as if yo question why you were next to him; he wasn't even sure if you were a customer or an employee

when you pointed out that he looked rather confused, barty prepared to snap a snarky retort at you, pausing when he saw the silhouette of a wand in your sleeve; his eyebrows dropped and his eyes narrowed in intrigue;

"hm," he made and scanned you up and down a tad bit arrogantly before checking his environment for possible eavesdropping muggles, "I happen to be," he nodded, glancing down at the bills in his hand, "what do you know about this shit? 'never handled paper money," he added, adjusting his sweater so you could see the wand in his pocket, hoping you would get the hint