#deathstar

“I didn’t say a thing to the bird, Junior.” Mulciber scoffs drably. He comes close to smartening up when Barty shoves him roughly by the shoulder.

“You watch your fuckin’ mouth.” He spits before turning his attention to you. “What’s up, Tres? What’s got you so wound tight?”

Barty feels a smile threatening at the corner of his lips as you stomp your foot near petulantly. “He was running his mouth about Sirius.”

His interest piqued, Barty’s brows migrate to the top of his forehead as he turns back towards Mulciber. “Is that right?”  

Mulciber, for his part, scoffs. “Oh come off it, Junior. Even you have to admit that Black is a pompous sack of shite!” 

Mulciber has hardly blinked by the time Barty has him by the collar of his robes and is shoving him up against the stone wall of the corridor. 

“That is my pompous sack of shite you’re talking about, you twat. And I happen to think upsetting my girl is a capital offense, so I would choose your next words very carefully if I were you.” He murmurs threateningly. 

Mulciber, apparently, has enough brain cells to spare to recognise that he ought to keep his smarmy mouth shut. Barty offers him a sardonic smile before releasing his collar, offering him one patronising pat to the cheek as he takes a step back from his house mate. “Good chap.” 

Mulciber grumbles something under his breath as he stoops down to pick up his rucksack, and Barty graciously pretends not to hear it as he turns his full attention to you.

“Treasure, as much as I love seeing you hand a tosser’s bollocks to them, I do wish you’d wait for me to get into it with them, yeah?” He half jokes, drawing a gentle line down the curve of your jaw with the back of one of his knuckles which encourages you to unclench your jaw. 

You let out a sigh as you shake some of the residual tension from your shoulders. “Sorry…I just- he made me so mad.” 

“Oh I know, he’s fucking infuriating.” Barty agrees readily, smiling in return when his appeasement earns him a shy one from you. “D’you feel better now, though?”

You seem to think on it for a second before deciding that yes, you do feel better. Barty beams at you and bends down to kiss your forehead, throwing his arm over your shoulders as he begins guiding you in the direction of the one other person who might be able to take you from feeling better, to feeling great.

“Why don’t we go find that pompous sack of shite of ours then, hm?” He jokes, earning him an elbow in his side that he pretends nearly knocks him over and a peal of bright, bubbling laughter out of you.

Yup, Barty is having a great day, thanks for asking.