Barty noticed the other’s hesitation to follow his order and couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m no Slytherin, do not fear.” That house were all ready and willing to take any little advantage they could. To Barty, attacking from behind was low and scummy. It took all the fun out of it, too.<br/><br/>Once on the street, Barty pointed his wand at the house and blasting it with magic. It collapsed, dragging down half of the house next to it, too. He tsked, sloppy spellcraft a pet hate of his.<br/><br/>He followed Bastien’s finger to a promising looking house and nodded once. “We’d be wiser to mark this one, so no one else tries to level it while we – uuurghg!”<br/><br/><em>graves, a coiled snake,</em>come, come,<em> a large rotting house,</em>come here, come,<em> pale white hands and slitted eyes,</em>come to me,<em> he had to he had to</em><br/><br/>Barty pressed the heel of his palm against one eye to try and push down the invasive impulse, swaying where he stood. The village twisted sickly for a moment and he found his head turning of its own accord back towards the cemetery.<br/><br/>“Did you…” his question trailed off as he shot a glance at his fellow, seeing the man was not reacting at all to what had just rushed through Barty. For an instant he suspected the loyalist of casting something on him, but no, no – it was a summons from the Dark Lord. Just very unlike either the mental call or the caress of the Dark Mark. “I’ve been called. Continue, or join me – if you dare.”<br/><br/>It was half challenge, Barty quite sure the loyalist would baulk at seeing the Dark Lord up close. He started towards the graveyard, not waiting for the other man, not caring about showing him his back. The need to see his Master too strong.<br/>