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"Do you ever think maybe she missed her calling?" you muse as you watch Pandora scream, dropping her drink and lurching to reach the lifeless form of her brother. She shakes his shoulders desperately, a panicked wailing coming from her as the scene unfolds.
Around them, students gasp and clamber about, desperate to see more of the scene. Evan, as he lies on the ground, tries to reach for one of Pandora's wrists as she shakes him - and it's an action that gets him nothing more than a smack on the knuckles and the reminder that he's dead.
"No way," Barty drawls from where he's sprawled out next to you on the plush, blue couch. "She's got plenty of time still to realize she should go into theatre."
"She should, I feel like I should be paying to see this," you giggle, watching as she lurches up to a stand, declaring that her brother's been killed - that the party's officially become some kind of murder mystery.
You're curled up against Barty, the fire warm and prickling as he keeps an arm slung around your shoulders so you can twist and fiddle with his rings, his other hand holding onto your drink securely.
"Don't let Evan hear you saying that," Barty warns. "He kept trying to convince Pan that he wouldn't do this without payment."
"How'd she end up convincing him?" you muse as you watch the twins and their theatrical charade.
"Dunno," Barty shrugs, the action shifting you so that you're leaning a bit more heavily against his chest. "Pretty sure she just threatened him."
"Ah, sisterly love," you say dryly, and he laughs loudly enough that Pandora shoots him a look across the crowded Ravenclaw common room.
"I think you're gonna be the next victim if you disrupt anymore," you tell him, tipping your head back against his shoulder so that he can lean down and kiss you, nipping at your bottom lip.
"She can't kill me, I helped her plan it," he murmurs against your lips, and it makes you pull away. He chases you, just a bit, whining as you wiggle further away to look at him.
"You did this?" you laugh in disbelief. "Come on, tell me who the killer is."
"No way, I wouldn't spoil the fun," he teases, his fingers poking meanly at your side until you giggle enough that he can pull you back into his lap.
"But I'm not part of the fun," you argue. "I'm a passive onlooker."
"Then telling you would be like spoiling the end of a good book," he counters, and you furrow your brows in an unhappy expression. It doesn't do much, you know, when you're tucked in his lap like this, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist to keep you there.
And he knows, too - a point that's proven to you when he grins and presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.
"Why aren't you part of it, anyway?" Barty asks - and it's gentle, kind and curious as he smoothes his thumb across your hip. You just shrug.
"Why aren't you?" you counter.
"I planned it."
"Pandora's still involved."
"Pandora has more love for the performance than I do," Barty says pointedly, squeezing your cheeks together gently with one big hand so that he can turn your head and make you watch her acting, Evan still lying on the floor in a party-soaked crime scene.
"She does look happy, doesn't she?" you murmur, and he lets go of your face in favour of keeping a firm grip on the back of your neck and guiding you back to him.
"And you're very pushy tonight," you add - but you let him, of course, laughing as he nips along your jaw in response.
"It's a party, we're all supposed to be having fun," he points out, and the way his lips brush against your neck makes you squirm.
"Is this fun for you? Manhandling me?" you quip, but the grin that Barty sends you is a bit too cocky, his grip tightening so you can feel the metal of his rings against your hips.
"It's fun for you, isn't it, baby?" he coaxes, and you sniff indignantly.
"I'm not sitting on your lap ever again," you threaten in response, and he buries his face in your shoulder.
"Don't deprive me," is his only comeback, mumbled against your skin. It works, though, of course, and you press a gentle little kiss to his cheek.
"Do you…" you start, and there's a nervous little quirk to your voice that has Barty straightening a bit to look at you intently. "Do you think I should be part of it?"
"Of what? That?" he gestures to the party. When you nod, he frowns thoughtfully.
"Do you want to be?"
"I'm good here," you insist, but the damage, it seems, has already been done. You shift in Barty's lap a bit, watching the spectacle of Pandora's performance as she gets the other students involved. The light of the nearby fireplace has long shadows flickering in and out, warped and swaying across the carpeted floor. It catches your eye - you can't help it, and you wonder sort of vaguely if that's really the shape of you.
"Are you having fun?" Barty coaxes, the knowing little tilt to his voice snapping your gaze back to his.
"Are you?" you counter, and he tsks a bit knowingly.
"I am if you are," he says gently, and you wrinkle your nose at the sweetness of it all.
"Is it weird that we're just sitting here?" you try, and he shrugs easily.
"Not if we're having a good time, it's not."
"Are we?"
"Are you?" he asks pointedly, and you let out a huff. You should know by now, you think, not to try to go in circles with Barty. You should know, by now, that you're the one who'll end up dizzy. The fire snaps and pops, and your shadow wavers and flickers nearly out where it still lies spread across the common room floor.
"I guess, I -" you falter, but Barty's patient with you, kind as he brushes your hair out of your face and slides a warm palm against your cheek. "I usually do more than this."
"It's a party," he says easily. "You don't really need to do much other than have a good time. Your house isn't even hosting this one."
"Right," you agree. "It's - I do a lot, usually. So I can… not this time."
"Mhm," he coaxes, his thumb brushing back and forth over your cheek.
"And I, uh, I caught up on all that reading, you know - for next week," you continue. "And I -"
"Baby," Barty says - and there's something about it, something about the sickly sweet patience that he holds in his palms and the way that love pools in his eyes. It makes you sort of just melt against him, slumping down so that his hand on your cheek holds your face up and keeps your eyes on him.
"You don't have to tell me," he continues, and you snap your mouth shut. "You can, if you want to - but you don't have to."
"I… I know," you insist, but it sounds weak in the din of the party.
"I think, love," he continues - taking his time, choosing his words in a way that he doesn't normally. "I think that you can just… have a good time. I don't think you need to justify it. Not to yourself - and certainly not to me."
The fire dims a bit, fizzing and throwing sparks, and you watch as your shadow grows and stretches across the room, a twisted reflection of yourself.
"I think I'm tired, Barty," you murmur, watching your shadow twist and dance with his.
"Yea?" he croons, the sympathy in his voice enough to crack you in two.
"Yea," you agree softly, watching the darkness twirl into itself. "I'd really like to just enjoy tonight - right here, if you don't mind not moving."
"Oh, love," he murmurs, his lips finding your cheek once more. "We can stay here all night if that's what you want."
A second scream cuts through from somewhere, and Pandora explains that it must be from one of the dorm rooms as she begins herding participating students towards the new commotion. It leaves the common room sort of vacant, quiet and still with the abandoned remnants of the party. Evan groans from his spot on the floor, rolling over to stand up and stretch.
"Hey, who was that who screamed?" you ask curiously, and Barty grins.
"Xenophilius. He's been in on it."
"Oh, he's really in love," you laugh, but Barty's smile turns sort of sappy and sweet.
"He's not the only one," he offers, and you huff out a breath.
"No," you run a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp gently. "He isn't."
Evan, somewhere nearby, is throwing another log in the fireplace, and the new sparks of light have your shadow trembling and twisting around Barty's - and you find, as you watch the two shapes dance with each other, that maybe it's a more accurate reflection of you than you thought.