Barty twisted towards the intruder, startled slightly but not alarmed. He had half expected someone to follow after him – sometimes the name ‘Regulus’ was muttered as the older Death Eaters looked at him, part warning, part warped hunger. But the man wore a mask that wasn’t a Death Eater’s, yet he was here, wand drawn, voice holding a muted slickness under the calm, excitement and curiosity there. More than the fact he wanted to play, it was the youth of his voice that let Barty relax and trust he was one of the Dark Lord’s flock.<br/><br/>He felt a thrill – this man was asking Barty if he might play. Rightly, too – Barty outranked him. Marked, masked, he was in the inner circle. He nodded once, and said, “Finite.” The pain lifted, but the binding remained. Both muggles whimpered and wailed. No, no, he didn’t like how pathetic they sounded, not at all. He liked using his power, revelling in the status he had over the muggles, making them learn it, but it wasn’t as satisfying as battling aurors.<br/><br/>He did so love to duel.<br/><br/>But this wasn’t the night to harass the ministry. His Master’s pleasure was to torment these unfortunates. Barty wasn’t about to defy him just to scratch an itch. “Pick one. They are just getting warmed up. Let see what you’ve got – but don’t use Unforgivables.” The Unforgivables were used too frequently, there were many spells that were less known but still chillingly dark.<br/>