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The issue is, Barty considers, that Theo looks quite attractive with blood on his hands.
He watches from the shadows as Theo wipes his fingers on a cloth, calm and collected as if he hadn’t just run a knife across his palm moments ago. The blood is still fresh, a dark stain on the pristine white fabric, and the bloody runes on the floor have already burnt and dried themselves. Theo rises, rolling his sleeves back down as if they weren"t streaked with remnants of magic and blood. His movements are precise, deliberate—everything about Theo is always so maddeningly controlled. Barty"s eyes narrow, watching him tuck the cloth into his pocket, still damp with his own blood. He turns slightly, as if sensing Barty"s gaze, but doesn’t acknowledge him. Not yet.
Barty"s grip tightens on his wand, though he remains still. The silence stretches between them, broken only by the crackling of the dying embers on the floor. Barty wonders if Theo knows how much he enjoys watching him like this—dangerous, efficient, and unbothered.
“You’re staring,” he says.
Barty grins, even though Theo has his back to him. “Hard not to.”
Theo doesn’t turn around immediately, but Barty can sense the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It"s in the shift of his stance, the way his shoulders roll back with that signature ease. When he finally does turn, his eyes are sharp, cutting through the darkness like a blade, though his expression is infuriatingly calm. “We aren’t done yet. Focus.”
“Oh, I am focused alright,” Barty replies.
“The runes are done, but we won’t know if they succeeded until tomorrow.” Theo extinguishes the lights with a flick of his wand, casting the room into near-complete darkness.
“They will,” Barty says, almost wincing when Theo brings down the wards maintaining the heat and the cold air nips at his exposed arms. “You had a great teacher.”
“I wouldn’t use that word to describe him.” Theo doesn’t make any noise when he begins walking out of the chamber, but Barty knows exactly when to move to follow exactly one pace behind him regardless.
“What word would you use, then?”
“Obdurate. Obsessive. Obvious.”
Barty scoffs. “And what words shall I use for you, then? Stupid? Reckless? Traitor?”
Theo falters. Barty smirks.
The hallway ends, the darkness finally giving way to light. Barty gives the manor a quick glance; he was hoping to run into Narcissa, make some progress on her replacing her useless husband.
“None of those words apply,” Theo says, finally, his voice seeming quieter now that they were out of the small hallways. But his jaw is clenched, his shoulders stiff. Barty is absurdly pleased with this new chink he’d found.
He’d known, obviously, about Theo’s reluctant commitment. He wouldn’t be his Lord’s best (and only) student if he’d been unaware. But Theo having doubts, having to be forced to take the Mark– that was new information that had landed freely in his lap a month ago courtesy of one Draco Malfoy.
Barty had already been paying attention to the only Slytherin that had managed to figure out Moody wasn’t Moody, but this new information had made him pay renewed attention to the Nott heir.
“If none apply, dearest Theodore, then why did it take you so long to deny them?” Barty’s tone is sickly sweet, an imitation of Narcissa’s faux innocence (though he’d never admit that.)
“I was considering whether ignoring you would be best here,” Theo drawls, relaxed once again. Barty almost misses the stiffness.
“It never is.” Barty hums. He takes note of the absence of the albino peacocks; his Lord would be pleased to know his… reprimand last week had made Lucius hide his precious things.
Theo places a hand on Barty’s wrist, right before he’s about to apparate. Had he still been in his Theo’s tutor, he would have cautioned him about the splinching risk. But right now, he cares more about the fact that Theo’s hands are no longer as appealing as they were when they’d been covered in blood.
“Don’t throw around words you don’t understand the weight of,” he says, his words light but his eyes dark.
“I know their weight,” Barty replies. He tilts his head, considers how much of a bone to throw here. “For what it’s worth, I… understand your position.”
“I’m not sure you do.”
Barty sighs and pulls his hand away. He might not understand the exact brand of caution and wariness that Theo’s mind had gone through, but he understood not wanting to jump in head first, eyes closed like a lion. He understood being unsure about the future, about their ultimate victory. And yes, fine, none of those things had stopped Barty from getting his mark as soon as he could, and yes, maybe he didn’t consider the decision as much as Theo probably had, given that he’d been in Azkaban when he’d devoted himself to his Lord.
But Barty understood, is the point.
Explaining all of that right now would be in vain; Theo had decided he’d walk this path alone, and Barty couldn’t begrudge him that decision. Not when the only thing keeping Theo away from losing his prized mind to the Cruciatus was a hasty secrecy charm placed on a Malfoy and his Lord’s trust in Barty preventing him from using Legilimency on him.
“I hope all your contingencies are proven unnecessary,” Barty says finally, after a lengthy pause. This is going to be as close to admitting his concerns as he’d be getting.
“So do I,” Theo says, and Barty firmly refuses to let his mind figure out how much of that three-word sentence was a lie.
The issue then, Barty reconsiders, is actually that a perfidious Theo doesn’t look any less attractive.