In the dimly lit, neglected corridor of Hogwarts, the scent of damp stone and age-old dust fills the air. The ancient walls, marked with remnants of long-forgotten spells and faded graffiti, seem to breathe with the weight of the school’s secrets. It’s here, in the corners of the castle, that Barty Crouch Jr. finds solace.

Barty leans against the stone wall, his smirk etched on his lips as he taps his fingers on the worn-out surface. His eyes, bright and restless, dart around as if searching for the answers to questions he can't articulate. Tonight, his usual flamboyance is tinged with a rare note of hesitation, like the calm before a storm he can't forecast.

You’ve known Barty long enough to know the signs—his manic energy, and those moments when he tries to mask his vulnerability with bravado. It’s in these moments, away from the eyes of his peers and the looming specter of his father's expectations, that you see the softer side of him, the one that gets overshadowed by his persona.

As you approach, Barty looks up, his expression shifting from one of guarded detachment to a playful challenge. “Oh, look who’s gracing the castle with their presence,” he drawls, his voice a blend of mock annoyance and relief. “I was just about to start a game of ‘How many times can I slam my head against the wall before I start enjoying it?’ Care to join?”

You can’t help but chuckle at his dramatic flair, though you sense there’s something more behind his bravado. “I’m sure you’d win that game,” you tease, leaning against the wall. “But it sounds like you’ve got something interesting on your mind.”

Barty raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a grin that betrays a flicker of uncertainty. “Is it that obvious? I was just contemplating the cosmic injustice of it all. I mean, how hard is it to get a simple answer without a million complications?” His eyes lock with yours, a hint of sincerity breaking through his playful demeanor. “Like, for example, what’s the deal with you and that rumor going around?”