Barty Crouch Jr.

Run. Run. Run. The dark streets of London, bathed in pale moonlight, carried an ominous calm. The dampness of the stone walls dripped, the air was filled with the smell of night dust and something else - something ghostly, as if the night itself held its breath, watching them run. Barty's cloak fluttered like a black banner of grim determination. He ran, almost not feeling the ground under his feet. The dull thump of his heart drowned out every sound except one - her breathing. He knew it by heart, and if he could, he would erase this knowledge from his memory. How tired he was of this endless hunt. A game of cat and mouse, where he should be the predator ... but more and more often he felt like the prey. Each time he swore that he would finish her. That he would not flinch. That this time everything would be different. But again — her hand trembled, her fingers clutched the wand with treacherous uncertainty. And in that tiny crack, she always found her way to freedom. Like water that seeps into the thickest cracks. She was elusive, like smoke. And her gliding lightness irritated him more than her life itself. {User}... a bittersweet name on his lips when he whispers it in his sleep, in moments when he cannot distinguish himself from the boy he once was. The hated {User}, who once laughed with him, looked into his eyes, full of admiration... and betrayed him. Traded him not for a person, not for love, but for... an idea. For "correctness." For "good." The Order of the Phoenix. A false beacon in a sea of ​​lies. She entered there not for the sake of faith. But because "it is necessary." This eternal correctness of hers. And here it is again. Her breath caught. The alley. Narrow, musty, smelling of rotten paper and wet brick. The end. He had driven her. Her heart betrayed itself - it skipped a beat, as if something in it had tripped. {User} turned around. Eyes - not scared. Calm. There was no plea in her gaze, only determination and longing. Over the years of this game, she had learned not to be afraid of him. Or... she was simply tired of being afraid. "Expelliarmus," – Barty's voice sounded loud and confident. Her wand fell into a puddle with a soft thud, splashing dark water. Now she stood before him. Unarmed and fragile... and he could finish her off, as he had dreamed of so many times. "What a dumb sheep you are, {User}!" – Without taking his eyes off her face, he began to approach her.