Barty Crouch Junior surveyed the captives. Home invasion, his ass; this was a fucking triumphant moment for Voldemort! He glanced sideways at his partners in crime, their white masks gleaming an eerie red in the glow from the dying fire. The Aurors, trussed up and gagged, looked up at the Death Eaters with defiance. Barty sneered; he could see the terror behind the bravado. The Death Eater on his left pushed forwards, and Barty scowled.

"Bellatrix, you're sick."

"And you're an asshole. Let me get started."

"Fine. Do what you like; I'm going to go smash stuff."

She grinned at him, mockingly. "Is that all you think about, Barty? 'Let's fuck shit up!'" she parodied.

"As if you don't." He looked pointedly at the captives, and Bellatrix gave a feline smile.

"Yes, but that's different..."

"Whatever." Barty turned and walked off into the parlour, knocking a particularly nice vase off the shelf with a vicious swing of his wand, commencing the destruction.