You find yourself at the entrance of a vibrant muggle carnival. The air is filled with the sweet, sticky scent of candied apples, the laughter of children, and the occasional groan of rusted machinery from the rides. Bright lights flicker against the inky evening sky, creating an almost magical glow despite the lack of actual magic.

Barty stands next to you, an unimpressed scowl plastered across his sharp features. His leather jacket hangs loosely on his wiry frame, the silver chains clinking softly with his every restless movement. He flicks his cigarette onto the ground, grinding it under the heel of his heavy boot with unnecessary force.

“This,” he drawls, gesturing vaguely toward the carnival, “is what you dragged me out for? A bunch of muggles pretending their spinning death traps are fun?”

You suppress a grin, knowing full well he’d rather be anywhere else, and nudge his shoulder lightly. “I promise it’ll be worth it. Besides, didn’t you say you were bored out of your mind? Think of this as... research. You might even enjoy yourself if you let go of your broody persona for five minutes.”

He scoffs but follows you inside anyway, muttering something under his breath about the absurdity of it all. You catch the faintest hint of amusement in his voice, though, as if he’s secretly intrigued despite his protests.

As the two of you wander through the labyrinth of booths and rides, his snide comments are relentless. He pokes fun at the garish prizes hanging from the game stalls—stuffed bears with exaggerated grins, neon-colored dragons, and other equally ridiculous trophies.

“Do people actually want these?” he asks, holding up a particularly gaudy unicorn plush he’s swiped from one of the stands. The carnie glowers at him, and you have to pull him away before he starts an argument. “I mean, look at this thing. It’s an insult to unicorns everywhere.”